A/N: Aloha!
This chapter took so long to write, because life is like a ring of fire (or a was it a box of chocolates...? hmmm...)
In This Chapter: Action! fluff (A/A). Eames drama, Duh, Duh, DUH! & Hopefully a smidgen'-a-midgen' of humor :P
FYI: The story with Arthur and Ariadne starts in the present, backs up to the past, then works its way back to the present. The story with Eames occurs (an hour ) in the past. (I can't wait 'til this story occurs uses only one timezone again...)
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If you think I own INCEPTION, you've probably been Incepted. (I'm not that badass... okay, maybe a little badass... but I don't like to brag :p)
- RaifandRosefan
Chapter 7:
Getting There Pt 3: My Presence is a Present
The Present
Los Angeles County. 7 am. Arthur and Ariadne sit in a car, Arthur at the wheel. The twosome still rubbing sleep from their eyes, ignoring the rumble of their empty stomachs.
The Past
Contrary to expectation, the dreamers did not rent a fancy car or stay at a pricey hotel, prior to meeting their extractor and friend. That would be deadly - and stupid, Arthur evaluated.
Instead, they rested their heads at a small hostel named, The Tenement House. It was an out of the way shabby looking place with an informal check-in system and multiple exits. If you could pony up the cash, you could sleep for the night. Unfortunately, Ariadne realized, the low standards for entry also meant the hostel guests were not always pleasant... Who am I kidding? I invade people's minds for a living. I'm traveling with Arthur - the human death machine. Hell, I'VE even killed people.
From the airport to the tenament house, Ariadne contemplates this quietly. She smiles to herself. The smile quickly fades,
"It's sick, y'know..."
"What's sick?" Arthur sits behind the steering wheel, not sure what Ariadne means.
"This. What we do. We go into people's minds. We play doctor. We hack away at the things that make people who they are. And we do this because we're addicted to it. To the power trip. To playing God in someone else's subconscious."
"Ari, please wait 'til we finish the mission to grow a conscience." The point man throws his most charmingest half-smile to the architect. A tiny spark of something dark lingers in her eyes. Did I say something? "What?" The point man asks.
"You think I don't have a conscience."
What? "No! No, I think you have a conscience. I-just-I think it will get in the way of the mission-" Ariadne looked at him directly, her eyes darkening mischieviously,
"Oh really?" A smiles spreads dangerously across her lips.
"No-Ariadne-that's... not what I meant." A small panic settles into the point man - which he covers by looking out of his left window. How'd I manage to fuck up a small little conversation? Ariadne laughs.
She's never been witness to what Eames like to call, 'an Arthur-squirm-session." It was supposed to be a rare and subtle occurrence. She hardly expected she'd be the cause of it.
"Oh, relax Arthur. I take it as a compliment." Relief washs over the point man. He exhales discretely.
"Can't be a wuss and expect to survive doing extractions now, can I?" Ariadne throws a lighthearted smile at the point man who nods in agreement.
"It's rubbing off on you. Extraction... You're sounding more like Eames every day."
"Thank you," Ariadne enthused, looking at the road ahead.
"I didn't say it was a good thing."
"You were thinking it."
Arthur chuckles, deeply. The sound rumbling in his chest like a purr.
Their night was spent in a room with five drunken university students - two from England, one from Colombia and another two from Montreal. Five intoxicated sweaty men snored the night away a mere inches from Ariadne's head. The smell of alcohol added to the roaring chorus of nasal percussion. How awesome, Ariadne thought. It was all the architect could do to keep from snuffing her temporary roommates in their sleep with their own pillows. Their snores made the floor quake. Not surprisingly, Arthur, on a cot next to Ariadne, was fast asleep - not at all bothered by the noise coming from the extra bodies in the room. Arthur, the point man, was dead to the world. Then, Ariadne learned a new fact, Arthur didn't snore. Well at least there's that.
The sleeping point man wore an expression of relaxed concentration as he lay on the cot, all dead-like. And once again, Ariadne was jealous of the Arthur's ability to be completely at ease in an uncomfortable situation. This is so not fair. With that, the architect flopped back onto her cot, her jacket spread over her like a sheet, with hands at her ears, and went to sleep.
The Present
"So," Ariadne exhales, "we meeting Cobb at his house? A coffee shop? Where're we meeting?"
"Along the way," Arthur states simply. They are in the car again, Arthur behind the wheel, Ariadne in the passenger's seat.
That's not cryptic at all. Ariadne is unimpressed.
"And he knows where coming," She looks to the point man for affirmation. The point man doesn't answer. She faces front, "Arthur, he knows we're coming, right?"
"Not exactly..."
Ariadne turns again to look at Arthur, her seatbelt zzzz-ing in the process. You're kidding me-. "You're kidding me, right?" The architect waits for an answer. Arthur turns the dial on the radio. "Arthur, we can't just SHOW UP at Cobb's home and expect a welcome wagon. What's he gonna say? 'Yes, I'd love to risk death and the destruction of my family for you Ariadne? Please.' You should've prepped him. He's not going to be ready!" In a huff the architect slumps further into her seat.
Arthur reaches for Ariadne's hand. He slides his hand slowly over her own, entwining their fingers. When she doesn't resist, he is content to let their hands remain entangled. "Ari, I know you're nervous, but you need to relax." Ariadne groans forcefully, "You've barely slept in the last fifty-two hours. You'll bust a vein if you don't calm down." He looks at Ariadne, his eyes full of understanding and concern. The architect wears dark circles under her eyes, her hair tied loosely in a messy half-updo. Ariadne is drained. "If I told Cobb we were coming, he'd've skipped town. I'd be risking the mission to tell him we were coming."
They ride together in silence. Arthur releases his grip to turn the steering wheel. Ariadne adjusts herself in her seat, using her now free hand to push herself up, wincing at the soreness still throbbing in her arm, before settling, once more, against the window.
"What are we gonna say when we see him?" The architect looks out of the window, "He won't like us going to his home, what with The Council chasing us and all." The car goes over a small pot hole. Ow! Ariadne's forehead hits the window. She rubs it quickly.
"I'll handle it. You, stay in the car."
"What? I don't get to be in on it? That hardly seems fair."
"It isn't. But fair isn't gonna get Cobb on our side. Besides, we need to keep the engine running in case The Council shows up." They pull into a parking lot. The parking lot services a small plaza where mothers wearing Hanes-Ts and yoga pants, carrying Gucci purses, drop off their dry cleaning, get their nails done, and their coffee fix. Ariadne spies a coffee shop at the corner of a plaza.
"Oh please tell me we're going to get something from the Coffee Bean. I'm so hungry."
Arthur reverses into a parking space. "I'll bring you back something."
"Thanks for the concern Arthur, but I can get my own coffee-"
"No, look." Arthur points.
Across the parking lot, a strapping sandy haired man wearing a blue T-shirt, jeans, and Keds opens the back of his Audi Q7. He pulls a large bag of clothes out of the SUV - to be dry cleaned, most likely. Ariadne's eyes widen,
"Cobb."
"He does his dry cleaning every few days at this hour." Arthur and Ariadne duck as Cobb walks near their vehicle. Huddled down in the car, "And today is one of those days."
"You know," Ariadne begins, her voice bouncing off the center console, "What you do, this whole... being a point man stuff... in an alternate universe, people would call it stalking."
"I know."
"So what's the plan Sherlock?"
"It takes him exactly eleven minutes to drop off his dry cleaning. Then he walks down to the coffee shop, where he spends the next half hour reading the newspaper. That's when we strike."
"And until then?"
"We wait."
Great. If there was one aspect of dream share Ariadne did not like... it was the waiting.
Ariadne's stomach growls.
The Past
Eames rests at local bar. Éjo, a tall slender man with ebony skin and a big smile, the bartender and go-to-guy for anything not - strictly speaking... legal, chats with his loyal patron.
"What are you doing here? I thought you had work."
"I do, Éjo. I do. This is work." Eames gulps his whiskey. Éjo eyes him warily.
"This doesn't look like work to me. I think you should stop. You've had enough."
Eames finishes his drink, setting the empty glass down on the bar, "Éjo, I'm fine. Believe me."
"I've heard that before."
Éjo surveys the bar.
Seconds pass, Eames rests his head in his hands atop the wooden bar. Éjo slides another drink Eames' way - atop a napkin. Eames resists.
"No, Éjo, I think you're right I've had e-"
"Take it." Éjo's eyes fill with desperation, as he pushes the drink earnestly toward the forger.
Unnerved by Éjo's intensity, the forger takes the drink. He looks at the napkin. Written in Éjo's hand in smudged blue ink, SOMEONE'S FOLLOWING YOU. RUN. Eames jams the napkin into his pocket. He looks at Éjo. The man's expression, one of alarm.
"How many are there?" The forger asks, casually standing up.
"Three." Eames throws a bill onto the bar. Éjo collects it.
"Have they seen me yet?"
"No, but they will soon. Walk around the back and exit into the alley. It will get you to the street and you can disappear." Eames straitens his blazer.
"Just like old times, eh?" Eames walks around the bar into the kitchen. Back at the bar, Éjo watches as three men, wearing beige suits, discretely follow the forger to the kitchen.
"Just like old times," The bartender mutters, as he wipes the counter with a wet rag. Éjo picks up the drink Eames left behind, downing it in one gulp.
Eames runs through the kitchen, cooks swerve to avoid the drunken forger. "'scuse me. Pardon me." Eames dodges people and cookware as he makes his way to the back exit. Footsteps rumble behind him as his pursuers make their way through the kitchen. The forger finds the back door. He bursts through it, stumbling into the dark alley.
His vision swimming, the forger is barely able to right himself before he hears the calls of his pursuers, "Eames!" Fuck! Eames races down the never ending and hopelessly obstacle-laden alley way. His vision bends and flips the alley into dream-like proportion. What the fuck did you give me, Éjo? That's not whiskey. Eames smacks into a stucco wall. He hadn't seen it jutting outof a building into the alleyway. The humid air of Mombasa slowly chokes the forger. At least they haven't started shooting.
Zzzzzft! A bullet zooms past the forger's ear. Eames pushes his barely functioning body to its breaking point. Behind him, his pursuers have slowed down.
The first goon grabs the gun from the member of the trio holding the gun. "Are you mad? Boss needs him alive! He's no good to us dead, yeah!" He shoves the moron in the head. A second pursuer elbows the gun wielding goon in the stomach. The wind knocked out of him, the goon stops doubles over. The others pick up their pace, continuing after Eames.
Eames has made it to the street. People move about, minding their own business. Eames runs for cover across the street. A small crowd has gathered in a café to listen to a local jazz singer. Eames dips into the café. He takes a seat among a group of listeners who eye him with mild curiocity and pleasure. He nods his hellos to the group.
Outside, the goons have spread out combing the street for any sign of the forger.
"Eames," says the first goon, "I know you're in there. We just want to talk." He enters a café.
Eames turns to look at the entrance, a curvy curly haired woman, wearing a maroon dress and Mary Janes, and her husband, wearing black slacks and a navy blue shirt, enter the café. Whew! The forger slumps into his seat. The husky timber of the singer's voice soothes the forger as his mind races to figure out his next move.
Inside the other café, the first goon has searched through the main room. The café is fairly empty. He goes to the bathrooms, both men's and women's. He busts the doors open. No one. Frustrated and angry, the goon kicks in the door to a bathroom stall. The door breaks.
Goon two runs past a crowded café. Music emanates from the coffee house. Inside, a crowd has gathered to listen to some singer - she sounds like a jazz singer. The goon enters the café. Eames hears the door open and close.
In a second, the forger has shot up from his seat and raced toward the side exit. The goon speaks into his watch. Presumably calling his friends to help him.
Eames runs along the side of the building, headed toward another side street. The forger is faring no better than before. In fact, the sudden change from sitting to running has given the forger vertigo. The forger stops to hide around a corner. Bloody Bollocks! What the fuck did Éjo give me? The forger slides down, against the wall, and sits on the ground.
Goons one and two round the corner, they stop when they see the forger, gasping for breath on the ground next to them.
"I promise you, I'm worth more to you alive." Eames pulls himself to his feet. Goon one grabs Eames by the collar. Eames tries to push the goon away, but he can barely see strait.
"We know that." He shoves Eames against the wall. The forger slides down again, gasping for air.
"Who are you? What do you want from me?"
"We work for the people who hired you for the extraction in Paris. I guess that makes us... your colleagues." Goon one smiles at goon two. They chuckle.
"What...what do you want...?" Goon two snatches Eames up off the ground and tosses him against the wall once more. The world is spinning.
"The company has not heard from you or Arthur for a very long time now. The Boss expects results. Where are they?" Eames tries to speak, but it unable to with Goon two choking him. The goon loosens his grip. Eames gasps for another breath of air. "The results!" Goon two knees Eames, a sick whine escapes from the forger's lips. "Where are they?"
"They're-coming. I... promise. Compli...cations. We ran into," coughs repeatedly, "complications." Eames wheezes
Goon one steps closer to Eames. The forger tries to look at him, despite Goon two's restricting hold around his neck . "What kinds of complications?"
"Nothing. It's been taken care of..." the forger gasps, "I swear."
Goon two steps away from the forger, who turns to the wall, slumping against it for support.
Goon two puts on a pair of gloves, the other follows suit, "I wish you're promises were enough to satisfy our boss. But you know what kind of person he is-"
"Impatient," Goon one starts.
"Mmhmm, and angry."
"Very results oriented."
"Yes," goon two looks at Eames who is unable to focus on one the second pursuer's many heads. "So, y'see. We have to get our hands dirty, to make the boss happy." Eames braces himself for what is sure to be a brutal beating.
"Please, don't make us have to do this again," Goon one states, surprisingly sympathetic, "We have better things to do."
"And the next time," Goon two adds, "We won't be able to show you mercy."
WHOMPH! Goon two kicks Eames' already unsteady legs out from under him. The forger falls face first onto the ground. Eames manages to grab the goon's foot and pull him off balance. Just as Goon two falls to the ground, Goon number one kicks Eames in the side. The forger curls into a ball, protecting his head as the full-scale assault rains down on him. In the silence of the night, the only sound is of shoes and fists connecting with human flesh and bone as the subject struggles to remain conscious.
The Present
In the parking lot, Ariadne and Arthur are still crouch in their vehicle. They watch Cobb exit the dry cleaners with a newspaper and head into the coffee shop.
"Okay, now you go." Ariadne says to Arthur.
"No, not yet. I want to wait 'til he's settled. I saw the line in there. He'll be waiting to order for at least another six minutes."
Gah! This waiting game was really beginning to suck. It took Dom an extra ten minutes at the dry cleaners because the guy working the cash register was new and didn't know how to put his order into the computer. Twenty-one minutes gone by with another thirty-six to go.
The wait wouldn't feel so bad if Ariadne had been able to eat something after they'd left the hostel.
Arthur's phone vibrates.
"Who is it?" The architect inquires.
"Yusuf," Arthur answers the phone. The frantic chemist waits breathlessly on the line, "Hello?"
"Arthur! Eames-was-attacked-I-found-him-on-the-ground-in-an-alley-someone-really-did-a-number-on-him-they-broke-three-ribs-"
"Wait-Yusuf, slow down. What happened?"
"Eames! He was attacked!"
"Attacked?" Arthur and Ariadne share a look. The architect is alert. "By who?"
"Some thugs hired by your employers for your other job. He said they weren't seeing results soon enough. Arthur, they broke three of his ribs, gave him a concussion-! Look, there's more, but I can't list it all. I found him in an alley. Passed out. Arthur, you need to finish your other job, first. I can't have two sets of killers coming after me."
"Don't worry, Yusuf. I'll handle it. Tell Eames to hang in there." Ariadne points to herself, mouthing the words: 'Me Too.' "And tell him Ariadne said to hang in there too."
"Arthur," Yusuf begins, "I'm serious. Finish the extraction first. Inception will need much more time and we won't have that time if they keep beating up members of your team."
"Alright," Arthur concedes.
"Are you listening, Arthur?"
"Yes, Yusuf. I'm listening. I understand. I have to go."
"Talk soon."
"Bye." Arthur ends the call. The point man slips his cell phone into his pocket. Arthur pounds the arm rest,"Shit!"
"What happened?" Ariadne asks, more than a little worried.
"They attacked Eames."
"They who?"
"Our employers. The ones who hired us for the extraction. They just attacked Eames in Mombasa." Ariadne's eyes fill with shock,
"What? Why?"
"They said they aren't seeing results."
"Not seeing results! We've been updating them every week!"
"Well, apparently that's not good enough." A moment of silence passes between them. Ariadne gets up from her crouched position in front of her seat. She relaxes back into the chair.
"So, now we've got two agencies after us. ONE wants to knock us off, the OTHER wants to bludgeon us 'til we black out. What's next?" Ariadne cradles her head in her hand. Racking her brain to try and understand how the situation went from bad... to worse.
"You still want to do this, Ari?" Arthur stops to look at the arichect. She is on the verge of a violent breakdown, "Dreamshare. Do you still want to do it? Is it worth all this?"
Ariadne looks up at the point man. His swarthy eyes burn with an odd intensity Ariadne's never seen before. "What are you talking about, Arthur?"
"Answer the question." Where this harsh tone is coming from? Figuring it's best to play along, she answers.
"Yes. I still want this." Ariadne can't understand where her own resolve is coming from.
"Good. Because nothing's changed. We continue with the plan. We get Cobb on board, we fly back to Paris. We finish the extraction. Then we perform inception. We can work on the extraction case during the day, and perform tasks for the inception at night."
"When do we sleep?"
"When we're done." Arthur opens his door. He tosses the keys to Ariadne before he gets out, shutting his door. Ariadne locks it behind him.
The Past
Silence. Mombasa is silent. Pitch-black. And silent.
But this isn't really Mombasa. This is Eames' mind. This is the view from inside Eames' mind. Dark silent agonizing pain. That's what Eames' world feels like.
Each wave of pain moves the forger closer and closer to consciousness. Slowly, gently, gently, the forger opens his eyes. A dim yellow light blares, furious and wicked, in Eames' face. Aware of the pain in his lungs, the forger wants to scream. But he can't. The pain is too great. His vocal chords chafe from the effort, scraping against one another like dried reeds in the desert sun.
Consciousness is underwater. Every small move, every tiny gesture, sends the world swirling again.
Eames' mind is silent. Minus the ringing in his ears. Like a choir of jingle bells sounding somewhere in the distance. Except this is not Christmas. This is hell.
Light, pain, and swirls. Reality slowly seeps into the forger. His mind kicking him out of his warm, pain free, cocoon. Consciousness being forced upon him by the angry jolts of pain coursing through his body. Through his arms. His legs. His chest. His mind. Swirls of blinding golden light flash painfully before him, beckoning him like a vice.
Something warm and wet runs down Eames' neck. The smell of metal consumes his nose. Fire. Across his face. They sliced his face, right on the jawbone.
Oxygen rushes into the forger's lungs, raw and angry, taunting him with humidity
Now, an hour after the attack. The men are nowhere to be found.
The forger's head is bleeding. The golden light - a solar flare - a streetlamp. A solar flare, once more. The night is dark, and still. The air is tainted with the smell of iron. The smell of blood. The smell of Eames' blood. The forger can barely move.
Unable to scream, unable to speak, the forger lies on the ground. The solar flare becomes a street lamp once more. A swirly haze, but a streetlamp no less.
Eames rolls painfully onto his side. Colors flash behind his eyes. He spits. Thick globules of blood and saliva smack the ground. His lips are bloody. His shirt, covered in bloodstains. Eames tries to lift himself up off the ground. He flops back down as a shooting pain ricochets up his arms, through his chest, and into his lungs. Another jolt of pain finds him as his body makes contact, once more, with the ground. Remain still. Rest.
Eames braces himself. The forger pushes past the pain. Reaches into his breast pocket for his cell phone. Flashes of color and light. Swirls of light. 5. Haze. Speaker...
The phone rings. Yusuf answers, "Hello?" Eames fights for air.
"Hello?" Yusuf repeats. A horse exhale, as Eames fights to speak. "Eames, is that you?"
"Atta..." Eames fights. Solar Flare.
"Eames, I-I can't hear you. Speak up."
"At-tack..."
"Attack...? Who's been attacked Eames?"
Eames battles for one more breathe. Swirls of light. Solar flare. Streetlamp.
"Help... me..."
Waves of water flood Eames' consciousness.
"Hold on Eames. I'm coming..."
Fading...
"Hold on...
"Hold on...
The solar flare engulfs all.
The Present
Arthur enters the coffee shop. Dominic Cobb, in his t-shirt and jeans, sits at a table reading a news paper. Arthur approaches the extractor cautiously. Cobb speaks first, not taking his eyes off his news paper,
"I saw you in the parking lot. I was wondering when you'd come in and present yourself." Dom lowers his newspaper, lifting his head to see Arthur standing next to him, "I'm surprised it took you this long. But you were probably thinking you'd let me get comfy so I wouldn't run off, which is very astute of you, Arthur."
"I guess I need to brush up on my tailing skills." The point man wasn't expecting such forwardness from the extractor.
Ever since things had gotten back to normal for Cobb, he and Arthur's relationship reverted to its old dynamic. One of love, smugness, and a heaping helping of patronizing.
"Yes. I guess you do." Cobb's smugness is in full effect. Arthur has to keep from rolling his eyes. "Pull up a chair, Arthur. Don't be a stranger. How is everything? How's your mom?"
The point man sits across from Dom.
"She's fine. Upset with my stepdad, though. He keeps trying to fix things around the house."
Dom laughs at the images the scenario conjures up, "And Eames?"
Arthur's expression darkens. "He's been better. He's in Mombasa right now."
"And how's Ariadne managing... with the gunshot n' all?"
"That's actually the reason I wanted to talk to you..."
RED FLAG! "Did something happen? Is she alright?" Millions of scenarios - involving Cobb's father-in-law, Miles, hating him for killing his star pupil - flood the extractor's thoughts.
Arthur nods to quell the panic rising behind the extractor's eyes, "She's fine. She's fine. A bit frazzled but fine." Cobb exhales, relieved.
"Then what is it?" he presses.
"Ariadne needs your help. The team needs your help." Cobb folds his newspaper.
"What's the job?"
"An inception-"
"I knew it."
"What?"
"I knew that's what you were going to ask."
"Well?" the point man asks, "What's your answer."
"I need a reason first."
"A reason."
"Yes. I need to know your motivation. Why are you performing another inception?"
"Dom, we can't do this successfully without you. You're the best in the business."
"Stroking my ego will get you nowhere."
"Fine. Ariadne's life is at stake. People will kill her if we don't help."
"Not good enough."
"What?" He can't be serious, "I just said she'll die!"
"Not good enough, Arthur."
"You owe her. For the inception. She gave you your life back. The least you could do is return the favor"
"I owe her nothing. She was paid commission, like everyone else."
"Yeah, but she saved your ass big time, Cobb. If it weren't for her, you'd probably still be in limbo."
"True. But that's not good enough."
What! I. Am. THIS! Close to strangling-! Gah! "I don't know what you want, Cobb! There's nothing more I can tell you."
"Arthur, you keep telling me reasons why I should take on this mission, but that's not the question I asked you. I need to know why YOU want to do this mission."
"I'm doing this because Ariadne is a friend. Because she's helped us all and doesn't deserve to die at the hands of head-hunters."
Cobb sips his coffee and returns to reading his newspaper. A scowl to scare children plants itself on Arthur's face, "Remind me, when you're older and your kids are grown and out of the house, to come over and put you out of my misery."
Cobb lowers his coffee cup, "the answer's really simple, Arthur."
"Apparently not!"
"Yes it is. Think about why you want to help her. What is it about Ariadne that makes you want to help her? How do you feel about her?"
"She's a nice person!" Arthur has HAD IT with this discussion.
"Uh-huh," Cobb smiles mischievously, "what else?"
Arthur thinks, "I guess, she's fun to be around... She's smart. Her taste is music is pretty nice too. And she can fend for herself. You don't have to babysit her." Where is he going with this?
"And how does that make you feel, Arthur?" A Cheshire grin finds its home on Cobb's face.
"I don't know. I-guess-it makes me like her more."
"So, you wanna help Ariadne because..."
"Because it'd be much easier to date her if she was alive." Face. Palm.
"No." For someone so smart, Arthur is clueless.
Arthur thinks once more, "...Because I like her."
Finally! Cobb exhales in satisfaction, "Because you like her." Cobb leans toward Arthur. He squints his serious squint, reaching his hand around to slap Arthur on the back, "Now THAT is a good reason."
Thank God this madness is over, "Are you convinced?" Arthur asks, eagerly.
Cobb leans back, clutching his news paper and coffee cup, "I was convinced from the moment you walked in."
"Really?" Really! "Then what the hell was all this for?"
"To get you to admit it to yourself."
"What? That I like her."
"That you like her." Cobb smiles happily.
Eye roll. Arthur gets up to order two coffees, two muffins, and two coffee cakes.
"Is Ariadne here with you?" Cobb asks once Arthur returns to the table.'
"Yeah, she's waiting outside."
A moment of silence passes. "How did you know?" Cobb asks.
"Know what?" The point man feigns innocence.
"That I was gonna make you to say you liked her." Arthur shrugs,
"It's what you do, Dom. It's what you've always done. Except, this time, I was prepared and told Ariadne not to come."
"Smart man."
"I know. Listen, Cobb, I need you on a flight to Paris as soon as possible. We're meeting at the BP."
"The BP? THEE BP?"
"Yes." Arthur's order is called. Before walking to the counter to retrieve it, thanks the extractor. "I'll see you soon Dom. Thanks again."
"Of course."
Arthur exits the shop with breakfast in hand. Ariadne hugs the point man upon his entry into the vehicle. Her attention quickly turns to food before her. Mouth filed with muffin, "How'd it go?"
"He said yes."
"Thank God." Ariadne shoves more muffin into her mouth before taking a really long sip of her coffee.
A/N: Highlights: 1. Keeping a low profile = unsexy hostel visits. 2. Arthur doesn't snore and can sleep through anything (admirable). 3. Éjo is not to be trusted (that bastard) 4. Mowgli's mind can be a very scary place. 5. Arthur likes Ariadne (paging captain obvious) 6. COBB SAID YES! (happydancetime!)
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Hope you enjoyed this extra long (hard to write, ngl) chappie. (I do it all for you, My Lovlies :D)
-RaifandRosefan.