Sorry it took me longer to update this time…we had a death in the family last weekend, so all last week and this weekend were a little tough. Writing helps me escape though, so that's nice.

BIG THANKS, to my few reasons to smile since the news: nowarning23: omg, me too. The more angsty/depressing/tragic the better. That's why I love your story! It will get semi cheerier eventually, yes. I'm not sure how many chapters exactly. I know we're about at the halfway mark. I combined several chapters in the beginning to condense it down and it was about thirty two or something before I condensed…but I don't think it'll be longer than thirty, if thirty. Maybe twenty six or something? Lauraa-x: I know right? And Arthur literally gets easier to love as we go. He has his problems but he's so self-sacrificing for her. Even considering, she broke his heart by wanting dreamshare more, they broke up, she did the dangerous thing he warned her not to anyway and is incapable of opening up to him now…The flashbacks are fun to write cause we get a little relief and snippets of happy and healthy Ariadne and the two of them together again. =( musicismyheroine: not too far-fetched…but—agh, well you'll see. I'm glad you liked the way she reacted! You'll probably like this then. Fingers crossed. CoffeeFilters: Ahh the flashbacks give us a little happy in the midst of all the sad…but then again, the irony in all of them makes the sad sorta sadder. Poor Arthur. Thanks for reviewing!

Special Thanks to HelsoJediShade66 for becoming a story follower!

Chapter 14: Gorgeous Girl

Rain. What was it about the rain that could have her so distraught? Cobb wondered. It was Yusuf's turn to drive that day and Dom demanded he sit in the back with Arthur (who demanded he sit in the back with Ariadne). Eames was asleep against the window in passenger. Cobb fiddled with his phone trying to text an update to Miles and Arthur—well you could guess what he was doing. It was a clear and sunny day when they left the motel. Not a cloud in the sky, the air dry as a bone. An hour from the safe house they entered dark clouded territory and it was like the sky opened up and deluged them. The first few drops, she was fine with. It was when the pitter patter turned into clacking and pounding and when she could see nothing but blurs through the windows and windshield that something triggered.

Her seatbelt flew off. Arthur almost protested when Cobb tugged at his arm. After reasoning with himself, he did agree that physically picking her up, forcing her into the seat and restraining her with the belt wouldn't put him any further on her good side. He bit his tongue and observed as Ariadne sat in the floorboard in a ball, raked the material of the cloak over her eyes and gasped for deep breath like she was drowning. Drowning in the water droplets outside that couldn't touch her. Droplets she felt nonetheless. "99, 98, 97—please it's hot, 96, 95." The Chemist, white knuckling the steering wheel in the weather, risked a concerned look in the rearview mirror at Dom. Arthur's head slowly rotated to Cobb's warily. He mouthed, "Do you think she was water boarded?" The Point Man knew the agony of that feeling like the back of his hand. Some time ago he and Cobb were captured by an old mark and held for torture until their architect came to retrieve them. Dominic's personal forms of torture were whippings. Arthur's was waterboarding. The feeling of drowning, the burning in your lungs, water everywhere, the welcoming feeling of unconsciousness only to be revived and drowned all over again. If they had done it to her…

No. Ariadne hadn't been water boarded. However she was cleaned weekly. A process in which Wolffe would dump her into his adjoining facilities room and spray her with scalding water. The pressure was hard, like she was being jabbed with pencils and it was everywhere. The Architect would curl on the ground to protect her face and frontward portion of her body, pull her hair over her eyes and count down. All there was to hear was the clacking and pounding of the ribbons of water and all there was to see were blurs. Running into her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Next thing Ariadne knew (several countdowns later) the vehicle stopped and the rain got louder as she realized the door by her had opened. She got up into the seat then.

Arthur was standing with Dom behind him, ducking his head just under the roof of the car. Eames and Yusuf were slushing through the grass and mud to grab every bag they could and get in inside. The Chemist shoved his and Eames' computers (the others' were closed in bags) under his shirt and the Englishman stuffed the PASIV into his jacket to keep the equipment from getting wet. The Architect perused through the window opposite Arthur and laid eyes on what she deduced was the safe house. It looked like a cabin without the logs but with dark wood planks, a maroon roof and a rustic looking porch. All the shutters and blinds were closed because it was still empty. It looked abandoned but like a safe haven. It had the potential to feel the cozy, fireplace owning, home that her heart was supposed to bring to her when she was reunited with it. Still no progress on that though. Ariadne trusted the house even if her trust in the Team was askew but there was no way she was getting showered on. The Point Man held out his arms, "I'll carry you inside, Ariadne, you don't have to walk." Ariadne shook her head profusely—it was awkward and uncomfortable enough the first time he carried her. He and Cobb persisted, their bodies taking the beating from the rainclouds that she didn't want to suffer. "It's ok; put the hood over your head and you'll be fine." Arthur took a deep breath and then dipped his entire upper body into the car to coax her out. He merely touched her elbows lightly as a prelude to some comforting and reassurance and she crawled away from him to press herself into the car door on the other side. He could see it was going to take time and if he had to spend hours in the downpour talking her to the edge of the seat, he was willing. He was digging his feet in and getting prepared to be persistent and patient. Arthur sat back into the car. He leant his hand on the middle seat and—she kicked at him. Taken aback, Arthur gaped, "Ariad—" she hid her face and she kicked him in the torso. "Baby, I'm not going to—" She kicked him away frantically and made sounds of panic (like he was attacking her, "Ari, please—") until he was completely out of the car and three steps behind the open car door. The Point couldn't believe it…his hands grabbed the back of his head and he crouched to the ground. He just didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to help more than anyone and she wanted him to leave her alone more than she wanted anyone else too.

Cobb stepped up to try, drenched. Ariadne flinched when he came close to the door (the water now dripping inside onto the floorboards). He stopped at the opening with his palms on the hood of the car beside his head, "We just need to get you inside. What can we do to make that comfortable?" Caramel eyes peek back out. "Are you worried about getting wet? Is that it?" One nod. "Ok." Dominic quickly shed his jacket, "Put the Hood on your head, we'll put the blanket that's draped on the seat there over that and my jacket over that. The house isn't far; it won't rain through all those layers that fast." Ariadne complied with the cloak and the blanket and inched forward. At last, she let him place the jacket over the bundle of fabrics on her head and allowed him to pick her up. Now, Cobb just had to get her inside before it rained through those layers and she got wet like he promised her she wouldn't. Hastily, he shut the car door with his back and called to Arthur, "Ok, I've got her, come on." Arthur stood and indeed saw the Architect being transported by his friend. How come she could still trust him? Dom rushed inside without looking back. Eames stood holding open the door for him to get through. The looked around behind Cobb for Arthur and then back out at the car. Arthur was staring at the doorway she'd been carried through, letting himself soak to the bone. He hurried in after Eames called.

All the men were shivering from the combination of rain and air conditioning. Yusuf directed Cobb to take her into one of the two bedrooms upstairs where she would have more privacy and helped Eames unload the bags of equipment.
xxxxxx

"How about a bath?" It was the first thing the Point recommended when they were settled in and the rain had ceased. He explained carefully that a good soak would be beneficial to her sore muscles and perhaps even soothing to the surface wounds with backup from Yusuf. Ariadne was diffident about agreeing; the only two reasons she coincided with the idea were that she felt filthy and (though she believed no amount of soap could fix the kind of filthy she was) she wanted desperately, despairingly, to be clean. The other was that they bribed her with the comfort of leaving a sports bra and hot shorts on as she sat in the water. So Arthur drew the bath and guided her into the bathroom. He promised he would not intrude unless she needed him, set out a fresh pair of underwear and borrowed pajamas from Christa and left her be. Ariadne bravely removed her cloak and unbuttoned the nightgown (luckily the buttons were down the front.) As the fabric fell, she thought someone was staring at her through the bathroom's window. But this stranger in the window on closer, frightened inspection, was herself in the mirror.

Ariadne is humming, brushing her teeth. The sky blue bathrobe she's got on is fastened tight around her waist but it's loose enough to give a peep of her smooth, untarnished, creamy skin. Her tresses look almost black as they drip onto the floor. She's swaying even as he appears out of nowhere and joins in with a hold on her hips. He recognizes the tune and opts to put words to it. The English ones anyway, "The magic spell you cast…This is La Vie En Rose…" he smirks at her when she stops and rinses her mouth out. He beams, "You ready?"

It's a deadpan if he's ever seen one, "I just got out of the shower. I haven't even brushed my hair." As if for emphasis she picks up her brush and starts combing through the mess she created of it in the shower.

"Good." He nods favorably, "If you get any more beautiful I'll have to beat people up tonight and bailing me out of jail doesn't sound like your ideal birthday."

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Sir." She bonked him in the nose with the back of her brush playfully.

Arthur disagrees with her. "Only if it's not true, Madam, and in your case it most definitely is."

She rolls her eyes but she likes it. Every girl appreciates compliments from their significant others. "Well, I would like to look a little presentable…considering you won't let me stay home, order Le Fou's and watch Little House on the Prairie on Netflix…"

He shrugs and hands her her cosmetics bag when she reaches for it, "We do that every Friday. I want your night to be special."

"Buy me that huge tub of cookie dough to eat by myself and it will be…" The girl is referring to a snack in the refrigerated section of their favorite franchise bakery. Arthur had dragged her there earlier that week and insisted she pick out the exact cake she wanted. Flavor, frosting, levels, toppings…you name it. While they were waiting for one of the employees to bring out a book of options, they browsed the sections of frozen treats and she found a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough she'd rather stuff herself with. He said he might get it for her when he came to pick up her cake. Which she decided on the one layer personal Oreo cake so that they could split and not have any leftovers. (So she would have room.)

"Night's not over yet;" Arthur chides and winks, "that could be one of your presents." It most certainly is. Along with two new scarfs (a paisley he caught her eyeing and a houndstooth that suited her), a new duffel to take to Russia, an author signed copy of "Paris' Greatest Architectural Secrets", and an engraved case he had custom made for her compass, protractor, ruler and collection of ink pens.

"Fingers crossed." Ariadne performs the action she mentions.

He chuckles back, "Reservation's at seven thirty. Do you want me to call and push it back to eight?"

"No. I'll be ready."

"Alright." Arthur kisses her on the cheek and heads to the door, "I'll wait downstairs, gorgeous girl."

It probably shouldn't have come as the shock it had…after all, she appeared as she felt. There were no mirrors in the Woods, one was never put in front of her in the Maus' house. This was the first time she could view the evidence of her sufferings with her own eyes. Ariadne looked nothing like the 'gorgeous girl' she was used to the Point seeing her as. And while she'd never been vain—much less confident—about her looks, it was devastating that the silky, creamy skin was gone. Covered in all kinds of marks and dirt and dried up substances she couldn't recall and it hung on her bones like a shirt on a hanger. All structure in her skeleton was more or less withered away. It was the final cemented block in the evidence that she had been changed. Metamorphosed. Ariadne Sophia Bourgeois was gone. The pitiful creature she gaped at was Red. What was worse was the mortifying realization that her Team had seen her like that. Eames, Dom, Yusuf, the colleagues she respected and admired had seen her as this pile of shit. Arthur had seen her like this. Arthur knew every inch of her body and this looked nothing like it. No wonder he was so hysterical and disgusted when she first revealed her face to him. What would he think of the rest of her carcass?
xxxxxx

He suspected it would take a while but he didn't want to leave her room in case she needed him, so Arthur set up her bed with fresh sheets and a nice thick blanket. (Everyone else had changed into dry clothes. As Arthur wouldn't leave the vicinity she was in, he worked in a dripping wet suit. He claimed it would air dry.) He put some of her borrowed clothes into the drawers and made a mental note to leave the cabin and purchase some of her own in the small town closest to them. Or make Eames do it. Cobb brought in some lamps from other rooms and they plugged them in around her space. See, they'd gathered she had a newfound phobia of the dark when she woke up in a panic at 3 am the night she and Arthur slept in the car. When he turned on the overhead light so he could see what was wrong, she calmed, settled back down and even drifted off to sleep faster than the first time. So he left it on. Out of nowhere, a loud crash reverberated through her bathroom.

"Ari!?" Arthur burst through her door. Cobb in tow. The toothbrush holder was in the sink in pieces and the mirror was broken. All shapes and sizes of shards glittered on the sink's vanity and the tile floor. Ariadne sat with her back against the tub, knees pulled to her chest and one of the towels wrapped around her. Her cowl lay in a pool in front of her but she managed to take just the hood of it and pull it backwards over her head to hide her eyes from the cruel sight of her own image. The Point Man was able to piece the clues together and ascertain her loathing of her visage. "Sweetheart—"

Cobb (who figured it out as well) excused himself, "I'll grab a broom."

Arthur didn't address the situation. It would exacerbate it, especially when her arms were folded over her head and he could hear sniffling as plain as he could hear his own words. Instead, he acted like it was no big deal. "Have you not gotten in yet? I don't want it to get too cold for you." He would draw another bath if it was but he dipped his hand into the body of water. It wasn't scalding hot anymore but that might've been a good thing. It was still toasty warm. She let the material slip off of her head but kept it bowed. Her head shook negatively. The towel slid from her shoulder; Ariadne could sense his gaze on the exposed flesh. Could sense the displeasure it brought him. When she ventured a look at his face it was confirmed. His eyes were downcast and focused on her shoulder, her collar bones, full of melancholy. The Architect was quick to pull the towel back up. Quick to cower her head away when his eyes flickered to hers. So embarrassed.

The Point Man swallowed and put forth a near successful attempt at sounding relatively cheery. "Do you need help getting in?"

She's nearly dozing off. The uncomfortable angle of her head against the tile has gotten so familiar it's barely there. The bubbles kiss her cheek and create a blanket over the water. Arthur creeps in under the radar. Silently, undetectable. Her arms are resting on the sides of the tub. Once they got too pruney she gave them a respite. It's not until something squishy and wet releases trails of suds and water down one of them that she quizzically opens her eyes to find Arthur scrubbing off the dried ash and mud that was too built up to soak off yet. She raises her eyebrows…"Getting impatient? I made you take your shower first so I could take my time."
"We haven't eaten all day. I ordered up some food for us; it's getting cold."
"I'm sorry, "Ariadne sighs and shifts, "You can go ahead and eat if you want."
Arthur dips the hand towel back into the water and brings it up to wring it out, "Nah. We can microwave it when you're ready. Your root beer float however-" Those were a guilty pleasure of the Architect's. There was only one restaurant she'd sniffed out in Paris that served them. Otherwise, she had to buy the ice cream and soda and make them herself. Which she saved for special occasions and those nights when she needed the extra little comforts of childhood memories and classic American food. Since they'd had a particularly rough day in the field and she'd been forced to use her gun in reality for the first time (and thus forced to waste two real lives), Arthur deemed it a worthy enough night for some chicken and dumplings, corn on the cob and a root beer float.
"—Oh. I guess it's melted, huh?" Everything coming from her is low-key, a note away from monotone and a little bit numb. Arthur squeezes the rag at the top of her shoulder again and tentatively cleans it off. He mentions that he put it in the freezer and he thinks it'll be ok. Then adds that he'll just order her a fresh one since the soda would be flat anyway and because he remembers the first time he'd killed someone (accidentally on a training exercise in his early militant years) and the solace he needed afterwards…so he wants it to be the best damn root beer float she's ever had. She smiles halfheartedly and sits up. There's still debris and dirt on her back, her other arm and what he can see of her neck above the bubbles. Ariadne's been in here an hour and a half and is no cleaner than when she hopped in. Arthur jokes, "Your skin is going to shrivel up and peel off before this stuff magically soaks off of you. What have you been doing in here?" "Thinking." Overthinking he mentally elaborates. She's the kind of girl who worries that she's destroying parts of someone's mind just by shooting their projections. Ariadne is the kind of person who has enough regret and guilt over that, that he can't imagine what all she's burying down after killing two men. Enemies or not. Self-defense or not. She always makes the case that most of the cronies hired by the companies with bounties on their heads are just doing their job. That they all have Ariadnes and Philippas and James' and Arthurs and are merely trying to save their own skin for the people they care about protecting. He'll reason that it's what she had done. Her job. She was just saving her own skin. But the Architect would still have a problem with it because she was the one holding the gun. She pulls her soapy knees up and rests her head on them after she allows him to push her forward so he can clean off her back for her. Arthur soothes, "Thinking is my job. You're supposed to be the carefree one. I'm no good at that; we can't switch now." This wins her laughter.
Ariadne gets serious again soon, "I just hate—"
"The irrelevant guilt?"
"No. The lack of it. I should be depressed. I should be losing my mind over the fact that I shot two people today and instead I'm losing it over the fact that—I shot two people and it affects me no more than lying about my name or cooking a grilled cheese sandwich."
Arthur kisses the bruise on her shoulder blade and Ariadne asks, horrified, "Am I a horrible person?"
"No…You're just being numbed by the battle scars of the dream-share world. Physical and mental. Neither you deserve. It was self-defense anyway."
"But I want more." The Architect meets his eyes guiltily, "I like the chases and the adventure and going into people's minds and manipulating there dreams. And I don't mind that I have to be tore up or tear someone else up as a byproduct. I love this job. I love this world. Does that make me a revolting human being? If that's what I see when I look in the mirror, is that what other people see?... Is that what you see? Have I changed?"
Arthur shakes his head, "You're a goodhearted person, Ariadne. A passionate, self-sacrificing, team player: that's what people see. You're better than the rest of us—My heart wasn't worth fighting for and yet you did it anyway. You made me human again. You selflessly brought Cobb out of his guilt driven insanity. You're a beautiful person, inside and outside. You remember that and this business won't be able to take it away from you."

She ignored his offer. Dom had come back and begun sweeping up fragments of reflective glass. Yusuf came bounding in behind to check on her. He deemed her his "patient" until they ascertained what medical treatment and or diet plan she would need to make a full recovery and did so. Sure, he was mostly a scientist but his father was a doctor and he'd taken an interest in first aid and nutrition at school. He was well equipped in knowledge required to be somewhat of a nurse to her. Oddly (or not really) enough, when the Chemist inquired, "Oh…do you need assistance," he was the one she trusted. Yusuf was the one she looked in the eye, nodded and allowed the minimal touching needed to guide her in. She wouldn't stand until Cobb and Arthur had left the room. The extractor in haste and Arthur in deject. Perhaps it was because Yusuf was wearing his white coat (he donned when he was doing testing of some sort) and he looked medical…but everything about him reminded her of another version of Mila. She knew him first though so it should've been the other way around. Maybe she innately trusted Mila because she reminded her of Yusuf? They were both dream-share/ real life chemists, both of middle-eastern ethnicity, both with a minor background in medicine. Anyway, Mila was a chemist and she saved her. So since Yusuf was like Mila she knew he would only help. He turned his back to her to let her try washing off herself.

It only took Ariadne pressing the rag into the water to have an anxiety attack. Holding it down under the water—though it was only an object and it wouldn't hurt it—too closely reminded her of a faraway, half remembered memory of watching someone who looked like herself drown two innocent parents in a bin of oil. The Architect let it go like it was made of fire, pulled it to the surface to let it breathe and backed up away from it in the tub. She was scared she would hurt it. She was afraid of her own capabilities. Yusuf twisted Ariadne at the sounds of wild sloshing. In her rush, her hand slipped and she knocked her temple into the side of the faucet (not hard enough to do anything but startle her). From there her arms gave out and she went under the water with an open mouth. She was too weakened to push herself back up on her own so Yusuf yanked her up and patted her back to help her cough out the water. "You're ok. Breathe. It's fine. Breathe, Ariadne." Of course, the door swung open on accord of the Point Man but Yusuf held up a hand to keep him from coming in and upsetting her more… so he closed it back. Her coughing died down but her grip on the edge of tub only tightened. Yusuf offered, "Would you like me to do it? You can tell me to stop at any time and I will. I give you my word as a doctor and a friend."

Ariadne also permitted the Chemist to help her into bed.
xxxxxx

The next morning Yusuf (the new favorite) was able to talk her into letting him draw blood samples, take her temperature and blood pressure and run the information through the handheld he'd brought. The Team wanted to make sure they were aware of everything that could be wrong. Yusuf had noted that Jeff had performed the check up in the Maus' home and lacked the technology Yusuf had on hand to do one as extensive as they needed. Since Ariadne was still asleep (The girl couldn't keep her eyes open. She slept on night, dozed while Yusuf did his testing and went back out like a light. It was roughly three in the afternoon and she was still passed out. One couldn't rouse her for anything) the entire group of men sat downstairs in the living room awaiting the Chemist's results. Arthur had his own notepad and pencil, Eames had a sandwich and Cobb had nothing. He sat with one leg crossed over the other and listened intently.

"There are less white blood cells than there should be. Low iron." Yusuf determined from the bar graph on his handheld. "We should get her some vitamins…and milk. Her muscle strength and bone density is down, I'm sure."

Arthur wrote furiously in his pad for any and all things they'd need to procure. There was a list for things they needed to treat her and a list of things that—was wrong with her, "But no diseases or—"

"No she's clear of that. Thank God." There was a USB feature he was able to plug into one of their laptops for a further in depth analysis, "If there are any infections other than some pussy open wounds, they haven't entered the bloodstream." The program pulled itself up and he clicked over the tabs they'd reviewed to the list of things in her system and a rough sketch of her homeostatic (im)balances. "There is one thing…" He pointed to the bar on the far right of the screen and scrolled over, "There is an excess of sedative in her system." The numbers fluctuated like jumping beans but the height of the bar more or less remained in one spot. "As if she's been injected with it multiple times a day for a few weeks at the least." He shivered but tried to tell himself it was the temperature of the room.

Eames took a bite of his turkey on rye and gaped, "So they've been putting her under?"

"No. I don't think so." Yusuf tilted his head, clicked on the bar to maximize it and read off the jargon the rest of them couldn't understand. "It isn't Somnacin. It has many of the same properties…but I think it was custom-concocted. If I could make an educated guess, I would say it works the same way on your body except instead of falling asleep and dreaming, you stay slightly awake. Doze in and out instead of pulled into slumber." He looked up from the device in the other three's general direction, "That way the user is conscious enough to be aware of everything that's happening," his features grew dim because he was telling them she was made acutely aware of the torture but unable to even attempt to fight back, "but too drugged to do anything about it."

Eames shook his head, swallowed, then pointed out, "That's why she's so lethargic?"

"I'm sure there are numerous other factors attributing to that," Dom inserted.

Arthur was the one to get the ball rolling on how to restore natural balance to her body, "So…what do we do about it? Be active and pump her stomach or be passive and let it run its course?"

"Well…the latter. She's dehydrated enough without us forcing her to vomit. We can't risk her losing what nutrients she might have in there." The Point conceded and went to close his notebook. He believed Yusuf's presentation had come to a close. The Chemist's high pitched, "But…" made him open it back up and look at his inquisitively, "like any other drug you've had in your system for copious amounts of time." He winced.

Dom wanted the bandaid ripped off, "Out with it, Yusuf."

"Her body is undoubtedly dependent on it now."

The Extractor and Forger both displayed dread. That's what Dom was afraid of. As if Ariadne hadn't already been through enough. He wasn't sure her body could take much more toll. Could she make it through the storm that was fixing to come? Arthur had already been through enough…Eames' appetite stopped mid-bite. The last half of the sandwich lowered to the plate and the plate was pushed away on the coffee table. It was evident what they all were about to have to do, to force her to endure. But Arthur continued as if he didn't know what Yusuf meant by it. So Yusuf closed his laptop and laid it out. "She's addicted."

Arthur droned, "To what?"

Cobb reiterated, "To the sedative the Hoods have been giving her. They've gotten her dependent."

"Well they can't give it to her anymore, so…" he shook his head.

Sighing, Yusuf looked Arthur straight in the eyes, "She's going to go through withdrawal. Actually, it's been over 24 hours she should have started that process by now." The Chemist's eyebrows furrowed to calculate and then to demonstrate utter confusion. It should've set in by now. She'd gone a night and all day with it.

Arthur started like he'd slept through his alarm and woke up late. "Wait—you said it was a lot like Somnacin? It has similar properties, it imitates the effect?"

"Correct."

The Point Man stood, the pen and paper dropped to his seat, "Would Ariadne be able to deduce that in her state?"

"Yes. Her reflexes are slow, she's emotionally stinted but she still has the mental capacity to process like she used to."

Arthur rubbed his head, "The PASIV was in the backseat last night. Where she slept. Unlocked."

Eames groaned, "Shit. That's why it was so light carrying in."

Cobb sprung up and headed for the stairs, "Search her room."

Xxxxxx

Next Chapter: Ariadne finally speaks to Arthur (Guesses about topic or conversation length/circumstance?), The team pulls her through withdrawal, Ariadne seeks to weakly confide in Cobb for a favor. (Guesses on favor? It's been asked before. If you figure it out, guesses on his reaction! Would he alert Arthur?)

Thank you for reading! Please please review and I'll quickly quickly update.