Thank you for those who reviewed for Part 2! I appreciate your feedback immensely Legal-Assassin-006 (who reviews every chapter ever so sweetly and diligently), blackbird878 and CainaStarsong.
Inception is not mine, so please lower your pitchforks.
3. Second Week: Picnics under the rain, the visit to the mentor and the cookie-induced inspiration.
The boy glided on his bicycle, pedaling furiously in the rain, keeping to the sidewalk. Cars rushed past him as they entered and exited the bridge. Suddenly the boy swerved out of the safety of the sidewalk, narrowly missing a school bus and continuing on his way.
The woman driving the bus however, upon evading the boy, found herself facing an SUV instead. Ariadne veered her SUV out of the way at the sight of the school bus, bracing against the sidewalk and over the barricade with the sickening crunch of metal and the groan of engine as the vehicle pitched into the cold, dark waters. All Ariadne could do was brace her hands on her windshield before her car plunged into the river, the coldness of the water shocking her system. And then there was nothing left to feel.
"May I know what are we doing here?"
Arthur's deep voice cut through Ariadne's musings and she looked away from the river in front of them, eyeing the man beside her. He was clutching a bright yellow umbrella, holding it above their heads to shield them from the torrential downpour of rain. A slight frown was evident on the grim line of his lips, and she looked down to his shoes, the water soaking the leather of his sleek Oxfords. She looked back up at him again, noting the deepening crease on his forehead as his brows knotted, his usually slick hair coming out of its strictly coiffed lines. His lack of perfection this morning made a crooked smile appear on her lips and she directed her gaze across the water towards the bridge to their right, where the traffic was still.
"We're imagining scenarios for a car crash."
"And why can't we do it inside?" came Arthur's grumble, the faint noise of leather squelching as he adjusted his feet, doubtless his socks were now soaked and his temper just as sodden. She rolled her eyes at him, hands digging into her coat pocket to fish out a bright red candy. Her other hand came up to her neck, adjusting the little blue scarf, the only thing that was neat in her men's dress shirt/ rolled men's slacks/ tatty flip flops ensemble. She looked sorry next to Arthur's dapper suit and Oxford shoes.
"Did you know 40% of car accidents happen during rain?" she removed the sweet wrapper and popped the candy into her mouth. Arthur gave her a sharp look and adjusted the umbrella, angling his upper body closer to hers to shield her tiny form from the rain.
"Yes and so does 90% of pneumonia cases." He added waspishly. Ariadne ignored him, keeping close to him, untroubled by the sudden closeness in their proximity or the faint, clean smell of his cologne tickling her nose. She was just taking advantage of the protection his larger form offered.
Arthur, however, was acutely aware of her small form snuggled perfectly onto his side. He snuck a quick glance down at her, looking like a kitten latched onto his side, content of the warmth seeping from him.
"You're surprisingly comfy." She said abruptly and Arthur nearly dropped the umbrella. She inched closer and clutched at the lapels of his coat and Arthur had to use both hands to keep the umbrella steady. He could feel sweat springing on his palm, heat spreading up his neck and ears. He tried to move to ease the tension until he heard Ariadne snigger.
"Arthur, are you fidgeting?" she asked teasingly and he stiffened, accidentally jerking the umbrella and sending rain splattering on her. "What the actual fuck-" came her enraged gasp. He quickly shielded her again, but the damage was done and she was now sodden and her eyes were narrowing at him, her lip curling derisively. "Sorry…" He supplied lamely, feeling like a fuck up while enduring her glare.
Ariadne ignored his apology, huffing in irritation. Arthur just gawped at her, not knowing how to react to her foul mood. They remained in that awkward state of silence as she kept herself busy sucking on her candy and focusing on the traffic on the bridge while he did the same, focusing back on researching.
"Fine, you're forgiven…" She finally said, glaring at him but her lips quirked into a smirk. "But you get to buy me pizza after we get out of here…" His eyebrows drew together and he rummaged in his satchel.
"About that… I made this…" And he produced a Tupperware container of steamed vegetables, which he held in front of her.
She stared at the vegetables for a long time, her eyes narrowed. "You made this? Why?" She said after a while, her gaze directed at him now. She still hadn't accepted the proffered container and he felt uneasy. What should he tell her? He didn't like the stuff she was eating; it wasn't good for her; her diet was unhealthy… How do I say this tactfully?
"Your diet is appalling." Well, so much for tact. She just looked at him blankly and shrugged. "I know. I don't eat like this, usually." His brows furrowed, puzzled at her response. "Then why?" He asked.
She looked back at the bridge. "I don't know. I just started eating like this when I started the book. I enjoy eating this way, the few times I actually spoil myself with junk food, but…" She paused and she fiddled at her coat buttons. "Lately, it feels more like a distraction…" She trailed off, looking contemplative. She was quiet for a while, her gaze focused on the water in front of her while he held the container in his hands, not sure if she wanted it or not. Probably not, he thought and he made a move to cover it.
Suddenly her hands shot out to stop him, and she grasped at the container. He looked up at her, meeting her steady gaze. She took the container from him and plucked a baby carrot, taking small bites from it.
He watched her small teeth move over the carrot, his eyes fixating on the movement before he reeled himself in and looked away. He heard the faint sound of her munching away on the vegetables, the sound of rain falling on the pavement nearly drowning it out. But he heard it anyway; everything in him is attuned to her. He gripped his umbrella tight.
"Thank you. For the vegetables, I mean." Ariadne said quietly and Arthur felt himself tense up at the sound of her voice. But he didn't look up, opting to look at the cars stuck in traffic. How hard is it to kill off a character? Would the wetness and coldness be worth it for getting inspiration to kill off a character? He'd never realized how much writers went through just to churn out plots and ideas that weren't even guaranteed a definite spot on a bestseller's list.
Ariadne, well, she was a genius who constantly churned out books that dominated the bestseller lists. She didn't have to go through what most of her contemporaries had to go through to get readers. But look at her now (and he cast a secretive glance her way), struggling through heavy rainfall and waiting for scenarios of horrible deaths just so she could get inspiration and finally finish her book.
She was pressured, he knows that much, by her publishers and the deadline looming above her head. And, perhaps, she might be cracking under that pressure.
He stood up and nudged her arm gently. She gave a start before raising her head and meeting his gaze with wary eyes. "C'mon, we should get out of this rain before you catch a cold. Wouldn't want you to be sick and unable to work."
Perhaps he was imagining things but he thought he saw disappointment flicker in her chocolate eyes before she looked at her rain-soaked feet, her tiny toes pale and wrinkly. "Besides, how can you enjoy the ice cream I'm treating you if you have a cold?" He said in a voice that he hoped sounded light and encouraging. She looked up at him and she grinned delightedly. Grasping his arm, she gamely walked with him towards the nearest cafe.
Later, when she was tucking herself into huge sundae (while he got himself an espresso instead) did he remember that she was supposed to stick to vegetables from now on, that eating junk food was a distraction for her. Seeing the wide smile she gave him from across their tiny table, though, made that thought dissolve for the moment. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to indulge her this one time.
Professor Miles' office was his classroom, as he was always never found in his office and his desk, his official one, was always empty. So Arthur found himself knocking on the door of a small lecture hall instead, hoping the teacher wasn't busy and his arrival at such short notice wouldn't be dismissed. He was determined to get help from the professor and he won`t be denied that help.
He rapped on the door, letting his professional side kick in. He heard a faint "Come in." from within and he turned the knob and pushed the door open, peering into the small lecture hall to see the old professor sitting at his desk, apparently busy marking papers.
He strode in and approached the desk, studying the professor. Professor Miles was not like he expected him to be (Truthfully, he didn't have any expectations of Ariadne's professor. His profession emphasised on the concreteness of goals, not on the ambivalence of expectations). However, based on Ariadne's… eccentricities, he wouldn't have been surprised if her mentor was of similar stock. The old man in front of him was stern-looking, his eyes observing Arthur from behind his spectacles.
"Professor Miles, my name's Arthur Maddox." Arthur introduced himself, stretching out his hands in a handshake. Miles took it and waved at one of the wooden desks behind Arthur. "Take a seat then, Arthur." Arthur sat rigidly on the edge of the desk as he waited for the professor to speak. Miles didn't talk right away, arranging a few stacks of papers on his desk instead for a bit until he spoke again.
"It seems I don't have to introduce myself, Mr. Maddox. Seeing as you already know who I am. Now, what brings a young man as well-dressed as yourself to my office?" Arthur cast a quick glance at his fine suit, noting how Miles easily dismissed the possibility of him being a student. No way would a student be able to afford fine clothes like his.
"I'm here on behalf of Ms. Ariadne Hollis. I've been tasked to help her finish her book." He said in his usual business-like tone. Miles only raised his eyebrows and said, "So you're her assistant, or as she phrases it, a 'spy'." Arthur's eyebrows drew together. "I hardly think being a consultant makes me a spy. Where on Earth does she get these ideas?" He said adamantly.
Miles merely chuckled. "She's obnoxious and paranoid, always has been. Now I'm guessing she's giving you a spot of trouble, am I right?" Arthur nodded. "Yes, and I was hoping you can help me help her." Miles' face took on a contemplative look and he removed his spectacles, polishing them with his tie. "Would you kindly regale with your noble efforts so far, Mr. Maddox?"
He spent around an hour summing up the past week and half with Ariadne and he couldn't help but voice out his own frustrations. He'd done every foolproof way to achieve efficiency in his arsenal but they have yet to give a pronounced and successful result with Ariadne's writing. She was still as stuck before he came. He was starting to think that Ariadne would be the client that would force him into an early retirement.
While he gave a detailed report of Ariadne's progress (or lack thereof) Miles was listening intently, perhaps analyzing the situation himself. Arthur was hoping Miles could give him a sensible answer; Ariadne's situation was unraveling his sense of control.
When he was done talking, Miles gave him a serious look before finally speaking. "I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Maddox. Ariadne's never had writer's block, not even when she was studying here. She constantly churned out extraordinary work and it's not lost on me how her contemporaries view her as writing machine. So if you're here for some wisdom I spout that may help you, I'm afraid I'm disappointing you."
Arthur didn't show it but he was disappointed, he felt like the sliver of hope he was holding out was snatched from him. His expression was stony and he quickly resumed his professional façade. He stood up, offering his hand to Miles. "Well, thank you for your time, Professor. I appreciate it." Miles gave him a confused look. "Would you kindly go back to your seat first, Mr. Maddox? I'm not done. I've still got something to say. And I believe it can help you, in only a small way of course."
Arthur's lips quirked into a small smile as he sat back down, inwardly thanking whatever deity out there that deigned to give him back his sliver of hope. "Now, I'm thinking that your failures up to this point are entirely of your own doing." Arthur opened his mouth to contradict this but Miles ploughed on, giving him no chance to speak. "Ariadne has her own work ethic that she's abided throughout her professional career and they haven't failed her until now. You come in with your systemized efficiency methods and although they haven't failed you before, these methods of yours aren't suited for Ariadne at all."
Arthur didn't say anything and Miles continued on. "I've had my fair share of former students complaining writer's block, and as a writer I have experienced too many to count as well. But I admit I'm only one of the ordinary stock of writers. I get frustrated whenever I can't write and material isn't just sinking in. For ordinary writers, your ordinary methods like research and systemized schedules work wonders.
"Ariadne is, and I'll be one of the first people who can attest to it, not an ordinary writer. Ordinary methods don't work on extraordinary people. I'm sure you know that," he smiled at Arthur then. "You seem like an extraordinary fellow yourself."
The professor's eyes twinkled with amusement and Arthur couldn't quite meet his eyes. If he was extraordinary then he could've helped Ariadne in the first place.
Arthur furrowed his brows in contemplation. "What do you suppose these 'extraordianry' methods could be?" Miles shrugged. "I don't know, Mr. Maddox. It's up to you. Think outside the box, you seem like a very imaginative young man." Arthur nearly scoffed at the thought; he wasn't the most creative person as a friend liked to point out.
"Just be kind to her, make life easier for her." Everyone kept telling him that but how was he to know that life was getting easier for her to finish that damn book. Miles brightened as a thought came to him. "Oh, and try gaining her trust. I'm assuming she likes you if she has already appointed you as her errand boy, but it's her trust that you should gain. I've mentioned that she's suspicious. People used to steal material from her when she was in her early years here, when news of her skills started to circulate. Her notebooks were always being stolen by students hoping that she jots down her ideas. That's why she's so mistrusting of assistants. She thinks that you're out to get her ideas and peddle them to the highest bidder."
At Arthur's look of disbelief Miles only laughed. "Just get her to open up to you, or at least be friendly with her. God knows that girl needs companions aside from books and sweets."
Arthur was silent for a while before he nodded at the professor. "Thank you for your help, Professor." He stood and showed himself out of the lecture hall, Miles' concerned gaze on his retreating form. He didn't think that his suggestion helped at all.
Once Arthur was outside campus grounds, he expelled an angry sigh. He'd never felt this lost or frustrated before. Ariadne and her situation were bringing out the worse in him. An ugly thought flashed in his head that moment as he walked briskly down the sidewalk. Maybe he can get out of this situation while he still can. It's obvious that the company didn't hire the right man for the job and Ariadne…
At the thought of her he slowed down, and he felt a twinge of guilt. He never was one who felt guilt when making tough decisions but at that moment he felt like a terrible human being. He'd seen what her writer's block was doing to her. He knew that the pressure of putting out great material was bearing down on her as her deadline loomed closer. He can't abandon her in her time of need.
He looked at his wristwatch and saw that he can still go to Cobb and discuss Ariadne's progress. At the sight of the watch's face, though, he smiled. He remembered Ariadne's character, Harold Crick, and his wristwatch. Truthfully he wanted to know how the story will finish, whether she killed Harold or not, Arthur was sure she'll do a fantastic job.
It was a nearing sundown when Arthur got back to Ariadne's office, carrying paper bags in his arms. He got into the dark office and called out. "Ariadne! Where are you?" When no one answered he called out again urgently. "Ariadne!" He started flipping light switches as he frantically searched around the room, his voice rising. "Ariadne!" He was on the verge of whipping out his phone to call in the police when he entered another room and saw her lying on the floor, on top of a pile of scrap paper.
She was curled up into a ball, apparently sleeping. He approached her, kneeling by her form and without thinking, he reached out his hand and touched her hair, sweeping it out of her face. He stared at her face, noting the bags under her eyes and the faint frown on her lips. She looks so young, like she should be worrying about making time to go out and have fun with friends her own age instead of struggling to make the deadline for her publishers. He nearly snorted at the thought though, what did he know about having fun? He's like that Harold Crick character, so absorbed in details and routines.
Gently, he nudged her awake, watching her eyes flutter open as she blinked the sleep away from her eyes. She looked up at him and he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from her gaze. She gave a small smile before opening her mouth to chastise him. "Where have you been? I was so hungry cause I ran out of those veggies you gave me but I was too lazy to go out and get food. Then I got sleepy instead."
He smiled at her and replied. "And you couldn't bring yourself to sleep on the sofa instead?" He indicated toward the sofa across the room. Ariadne looked at it indignantly and then grinned up at him.
"What's a sofa compared to the comfort that my failures can provide for me?" She patted the pile of scrap papers beneath her which bore her many attempts to write. Her smile slipped from her lips and her face became blank. He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat and turned his attention to the paper bags he was carrying.
"Well, lucky for you I thought ahead and figured you'd be hungry. So I made you something." He shook the bag at her enticingly and her grin was back in full force. "Aren't you a sweet man? Always on top of things, no wonder you're good at what you do." She winked at him and he felt heat in his cheeks and he prayed his ears weren't red.
"So what is it?" Her eyes trailed down to the bag then back up to meet his. He reached into the bag and brought out a container of cookies. "They're homemade and sugar free, so even if it's basically sweets it's not that packaged crap you gorge on." She was practically grinning ear to ear as she took the container and opened it. "Wow, I didn't know you could bake."
His eyes crinkled as he laughed. "I wanted to be a baker when I was a kid. Then I discovered that I'm better off earning big bucks with my attention for detail and that decking myself in three-piece suits attracted more clients…and ladies." Ariadne raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh really? You don't see me falling over myself to get to you and your well-clothed self."
"It's because you're not an ordinary girl. You're programmed to hate my guts and relegate me into becoming your pizza boy." They both burst out laughing. Her giggles trailed off and she looked at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. She raised the container of cookies. "Thanks for these. It makes me glad that you think about my dietary needs."
She captured his gaze just then and he felt something tug at his heart. He looked away and made to stand up. "We better leave, it's getting dark." He went to the other room, leaving Ariadne to gaze at him bewilderedly.
He got her coat and helped her gather her stuff and shepherded her out of the building. They got into his car and drove her to her apartment building. All of this was done in complete silence. He didn't dare to talk to her, not after their eye contact. She was discouraged to engage him in conversation, seeing as Arthur's professional façade was in full control. Once she was outside his car she gave him a small smile.
"Thanks again," She held up the bag of cookies. He only nodded. Her gaze softened and she spoke again, much more gently this time. "You're kinda cool, Arthur." And she walked away before he could reply.
He spent five minutes gazing at the door to her apartment building before he shook his head and drove off. What the hell was that? What the fuck was he doing flirting with her? And what about her? He was kinda cool? Cool? People like him who were nearing their thirties rarely used the term cool. She was definitely too young for him.
And her smile. Didn't she know how disarming her smiles were to others? Judging by how busy she was she probably didn't know it. Did she even have friends her own age? Or boys that asked her out? What was her life outside her career?
He stopped the car and realized he was outside his own apartment building. Life outside careers, he wouldn't know how that felt. Looking at Ariadne felt like looking into a mirror. He was the same, his career was everything to him. He does what he does best and gets paid handsomely for it. It's the same with her.
He laughed bitterly and slumped over the stirring wheel. Ariadne definitely brought out the worst in him.
Ariadne watched Arthur's car speed away before she opened the container. Taking the cookie, she slowly took a bite. She gave a contented sigh. "They're so good…" She said to herself before taking a few more and plopping herself down on her sofa. Arthur was really good at baking, maybe his talents extended to pizza making as well. She giggled at the thought as she munched on the cookies, savoring each bite.
She closed her eyes as she relaxed, her mind flooding with happy thoughts. Food brought her more comfort than anything and she began to let her mind flood with blissful thoughts, of summers reading with her grandfather, of letting her mum and dad read her little stories. She missed home and the security her family gave her. She wished she had them right now.
She suddenly sat upright, thinking deeply, her mouth still working on chewing the cookie. She got off the sofa and ran to her room. Rummaging through her closet she brought out a heavy case and laid it over her desk. Unlocking it revealed a small typewriter and she set it up before running to her supply cabinet and coming back with a ream of paper. She put one sheet into the typewriter and started
to type. The apartment was filled with the loud click clacking of the typewriter as she wrote through the whole night.
Arthur was roused from his sleep by a series of loud, urgent knocks on his door. Groggily he made his way to the door in only his pyjama pants, too sleepy to make himself decent. He opened the door and he suddenly felt wide awake when he was greeted by the sight of Ariadne carrying a file case.
She let herself in without his invitation. "Good thing you answered the door, there's this one guy creeping around the corridors. Anyway, I've got good news for you." She said excitedly as she held out sheets of paper.
He stared at her, his mind still grasping the fact that she just appeared in front of his door at (with a quick glance at his wall clock) 4 am. "How did you know where I live?" Was all he said and she rolled her eyes at him. "You're not the only one good with details, Mr. Maddox. Besides, I wrote something! Aren't you happy?" She was excitedly waving the papers in her hands and Arthur's head was clear enough to feel astonishment at her news.
"Really? Well, let's read it then." He was grasping her shoulders and leading her to his room before he heard Ariadne warble out. "Put a shirt on first." He looked at her red, indignant face and hurried to pull a shirt over his head and then lead her to seat on the couch instead.
It was nearing six in the morning by the time she finished. She'd reworked a part of her original story and it now included a scene in which Harold meets Ana Pascal, a baker, and she feeds him cookies. He was stunned at this new addition; their interaction had brought out a burst of inspiration in her and made incorporate it into her story. He didn't know how to feel about all this.
Ariadne looked at him with excited eyes. "I can still write! Aren't you happy?" He nodded and his smile was genuine, his eyes crinkling at the edges and his dimples showing. "I am. I'm very happy."
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