Inception does not belong to me.
The alarm went off. Groaning, Arthur slapped his hand on it, and rolled over. Another day beckoned.
He rubbed his forehead. He felt...hungover. Coffee with Eames had led to going to a bar, in which Eames had bought beers for them both.
"Eames, I don't drink on a wo-"
"Oh, live a little, Artie!"
He had. One pint had turned into two, and then a third. Finally, he was "loosening up," as Eames put it, and the two were in a booth at a dark corner of the bar, Eames listening attentively as Arthur sipped beer and begin to talk.
"I mean, she's lovely," he enthused, not noticing how the Drama teacher was grinning slyly. "She's got lovely fair skin, long dark hair..."
"Mmmm," Eames responded, picking up his glass.
"And...I think she might like me! I went over when she was sick..."
"Mmmm," Eames nodded again. "You've told me. Five times, to be precise."
"I like her..."
"I noticed..."
"I really like her..."
"I noticed that as well..."
"I really, really like her..."
"I noticed you're quite drunk now..."
"Eames?"
"Yes, Arthur?"
"I think I'm a bit drunk."
"I think so too. Come on, time for bed, said Zebedee!"
"Whose zebedee?"
"Character from the Magic Roundabout. Fine British telly, Artie. Come on!"
"Umm, I need to finish..."
"No, you don't."
And that was all Arthur remembered, although he did vaguely recollect Eames unlocking his apartment door, and throwing him on his bed. He blinked. He'd been sober enough to get undressed, and under the covers.
He groaned slightly. Standing up, he walked to the shower.
Arthur arrived at school. Swallowing, he checked his reflection in his rearview mirror.
He had remembered what Eames had said, to take a slightly more casual approach at work. As a result, he was wearing black trousers, and a white shirt, but no tie. He'd unbuttoned the shirt to the second button, exposing his throat. He'd even gone a little easier on the hair gel, resulting in his hair being slightly looser, almost floppy.
He smiled at his reflection.
"Remember, Arthur," he told himself sternly, "relax."
Arthur walked into the school building, trying to ignore the double takes at his more relaxed appearance. His PA, Mark (Cobb insisted on equal opprtunities, and the only male candidate had proven to have the best typing speed and attention to detail in note taking at the interview) blinked when he saw him.
"Um, Mr Ogilvie?"
"Yes?"
"Did you forget your tie?"
Arthur flushed. "No," he said sharply, "I didn't. And by the way, why is my data on the twelth grade summer results not fully written up yet?"
The PA went red. "Oh, of course, I'm sorry, I'll get onto it right away."
Arthur nodded. "Thank you." He walked into his office, and hadn't even sat down when Cobb walked in.
"Arthur, can you-" Cobb blinked. "Well."
Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Well what?"
"Nothing." Cobb looked at him. "Did you realise that you've forgotten to comb your hair this morning?"
Arthur blinked. Strands of hair were falling into his eyes. He smoothed them back. "Yes, of course I did," he huffed.
"That's fine then." Cobb smiled. "I need you to observe Ariadne."
"Observe Ariadne?" Arthur almost choked.
"Yes. Observe her teaching." Cobb looked at him. "Arthur, are you sure you're ok? You seem very-"
"What?"
"Distracted," Cobb finished. "No, I just want you to observe her teach. Interacting with the students. Is that ok?"
"Yes." Arthur stood up. "Its - perfectly ok."
"Good. Knew I could rely on you." Cobb swanned out, leaving Arthur to forage in his filing cabinet for a lesson observation plan, and hurry to Ariadne's art room. As he approached, he could hear her voice.
"OK, everyone, take your seats." Her voice was lilting, musical, as she ushered tenth graders to their places. He swallowed, and stood in the doorway. Several eyes turned to look at him, and he began to feel somewhat self-conscious.
"Wow, is that Ogilvie?" he heard one boy whisper. He blushed slightly.
"Yeah...he looks pretty...hot!" the girl he was sitting next to said. Arthur blushed even more, and tried to walk, unobtrusively, to a seat at the back. As he did so, he neglected to notice a folded art easel leaning against the wall, and tripped. Before he could stop himself, he fell, crashing onto his knees, his notes and clipboard flying out of his hand.
The whole class held its breath. Then, as if on cue, they burst out laughing. The sight of the Vice Principal tripping was too much. Ariadne, shocked, hurried over.
"Oh my god, I 'm so sorry!" She flustered, as the class roared. "It was entirely my fault, I should have checked that easel!"
"Hey, Ms Henderson!" A rude voice hollered. "Maybe you should offer to kiss his knees better!"
Arthur, his face flaming red, ignored her outstretched hand, grabbed the clipboard, and hurried out of the room. He'd never felt more embarrassed or humiliated in his life.
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