Part 19: Regalia
regalia-is Latin for the privileges and the characteristic of a Sovereign.
The ride to the Armistice Corps. Warehouse has been nothing short of God-awful.
The whole trip had been done in back-stabbing silence; a period of quiet that bit all of them repeatedly in the ass, as if saying 'We should have suspected this.'
At least, that is how Eames felt about it.
Eames stepped out of the rented van, planning to slam the door behind him when he heard a delicate clearing of the throat-it was a mere, slithering whisper-but he heard it.
His muscles rolled unconsciously, his shoulders stiffening- turning around he gracefully offered a hand to the bewitching Lacey Bishop-the traitor.
She was victorious in a crimson silk dress with a V-neck that pressed her gigantic chest to the forefront; the material sashayed with her hips as she elegantly slipped out of the van and touched down on the gravel that was Armistice Corps. Parking. Raising her spin-drift colored eyes to Eames', she radiated power and majesty-for she thought she had won.
And, really-what a tosser he had been to be drawn in by her-to be her friend-when she had, almost in fact, won.
It was enough to make him furious-good thing he had a low temper and an agile sense of humor, though he could hardly find anything funny about this now.
She rested her hand on his palm, as if they were entering a ballroom of some sort, like this was all a game-she looked away, her ginger hair trailing the movement across her bared back, for the victory dress, of course, was backless. Tottering on ivory heels she slowly walked forward, her palm in his, as if they were still jolly good friends and he was expected to follow like a lapdog.
"Is this the right place?" Cobb called-Eames glanced up to see the Extractor pacing in front of the warehouse' large tin door, his shoes gleaming in the starlight as he walked.
It had to be at least one in the morning, Eame' supposed-but the stars created a deathly pallor about the warehouse that he couldn't deny. The warehouse was two stories of solid, windowless concrete-it was painted in off-white, almost the same shade as beach sand. The door was large-at least 8 feet of dull tin that glittered among their empty, deserted desert surroundings. They were literally in some flat out mesa in Havanna, several miles away from the outskirts of the city-if they needed help, it would be hard to come by some. It would be even more difficult to explain their whereabouts without being packed off to some asylum.
Lacey turned her head halfway toward him, raising her long-lashed eyes to his in mock sincerity. She was nothing but a liar-and how Cobb had seen this, before Arthur, before Eames-it was like salt poured in an open wound.
"Oh, Eames-stop with that face." Lacey pouted, her succulent lips turning down.
Eames held her gaze, replying with: "So, this is where you decided to surrender Ariadne, eh? To that smoking pimple-faced cad?" His tone was conversational, as if they were talking about the weather.
She lowered her lids at him in a languorous manner before she turned away, pulling him to the door as if they were about to walk up to the king and queens throne…
Slowly, Eames and Lacey made the procession to the entryway-they passed Arthur, whose gun was raised at the place-his eyes flashed to Lacey and Eames, before they refocused on the door, his lips in a tight line. Yusuf lowered his small pistol at the sight of them-as she whispered: "You didn't think I was so boring as to actually go along on this insane mission, did you, Eames?"
Her voice could have been a lily petal wafting down and landing on a pool's surface-absolutely, delicately soundless. He restrained the urge to push her aside and scream at Arthur to run to the door and for God's sake, open it and get their Architect, but there was little time for dramatics.
Her heels smashed down on pebbles-his shoes were turning a lighter shade due to sand-and dust flew in their wake, like a fancy dresses' train…
Nearest to the door was Cobb-as they approached he pulled aside, assessing Eames and Lacey with tense teal eyes and keeping his gaze there.
"She better be here, Lace." Eames replied, locking his eyes on the tin growing larger and larger within his vision.
Finally, they were there-unfortunately, the queen was not done. They came to a halt and she dropped his hand-with a flourish she turned to face him, forced to looking up at him, as even in heels, she was squat. Her cat eyes sparkled like rare gems, her delicate eyebrows arching as she raised her voice.
"Or what, Eames? You wouldn't hurt your best friend?"
He held her gaze-his multicolored shirt gleamed in the shadows of the night, for it was silk, just as Lacey's dress was. "I don't like to get messy-but I would hurt you, Lace, if necessary."
He searched her face for a reaction but her smug grin stayed put-for she seemed to have expected such a comment. "It's Arthur, I'd be worried about, luve." He added.
Even in the bad lighting, he could see the blood drain out of her heart-shaped face and his features split into a soft grin at the sign.
Her lips moved numbly, her turquoise eyes locked with his: "He means nothing to me."
"I was your friend, love-" His velvet voice replied, his face weary from lack of humor, "And even though I don't understand it-" He joked temporarily, sarcasm palpable, "Arthur has an effect on women." He paused, drinking in the sight of her shocked and disgusted features before ending breezily with: "And you are a woman."
For a few sustained seconds, the air was deathly still-and then she laughed, throwing her sunset curls back in fake pleasure. It was the kind of laugh that makes small creatures freeze in their tracks-a nervous, insane cackle that only further proved how far gone she was. The laughing came halted as almost as soon as it had begun-she met Eame' eyes with glacial features, her dress the only color to be seen on her. "Don't be silly, Eames." She hissed-and then she reached over, holding his eyes, and pressed an invisible button the wall nearest to the door.
Eames eyes followed the movement but he stayed frozen, expecting the worst-but the only occurrence was that there was a series or rattling noises-after another long moment there was a hiss and a pop-and with a flourish, the door swung open. Eames leaned forward, visibly eager to see what was inside before he remembered himself. Leaning back he met Lacey's eyes once more-her face was enlarged with a monstrous, pompous smile.
"Looks clear…?" Eames' called, straightening up in his tight tan slacks-and then Arthur was beside him, eyes deadly intent on his ex-girlfriend.
"No tricks, Lacey." He called, arms stiff at his sides, handgun in hand.
"I wouldn't dream of it." She cooed, her curls fluttering in the night air-the pun fell onto dense silence.
With nothing more to say, Cobb, without a sound, took the lead, the rest of the team falling in behind-Lacey peered over her shoulder once before making up the caboose. She came inside before she reached over, pressing the hidden button for the second time-the series of noises commenced, and then it slid shut, throwing the whole group into pure and utter darkness.
On the inside, the place appeared to once have been a storage warehouse.
There were parking spots for trucks and the occasional wooden box was found lining the sides of the long room. There were no doors to other places that Eames could see-just one floor, endlessly going on, the ceiling almost just as barren save for what appeared to be several bulbous, out of commission lights. That being as it was, it was not hard to spot Andres.
In the center of the huge complex lay what appeared to be a curved, half-moon table-it was made up of several oak desks, melded together to make the shape-leather rolling chairs were pulled up to each desk, and various office supplies resided in a single cup for every single desk. Andres was standing below one of the lights, the only one lit, his face pained despite the arrival of his black-mail-ee's.
Each man lowered their guns upon arrival-for a minute Cobb paused, bringing the whole line to a halt-and then he began to move forward, his footsteps sure and reluctant. As before, the team fell in behind him as he allowed his voice to project over to Andres.
"Alright, Andres-we're here. What do you want from us?"
At about three yards away, Cobb faced the man-for a moment Eames compared them. Andres was in an ill-fitting black T-shirt that tightened over his semi-muscular form, his washed out jeans and muddied boots better for a cowboy than a CEO. His rheumy eyes were engulfed by his black irises-a few inches above his eyes lay his obsidian, thin curls, a few traces of hairspray to be found among the black thicket. Cobb stood across from him, his lion's mane smoothed back by gel, his aqua eyes furious as he stared their mark in a burgundy button-up under a tan leather jacket and olive green slacks, black weapon pointed at the floor.
For a moment, Andres went to the effort to appear as if he was listening to Cobb-and then he peered around the team. His cracked lips pulled away from his yellowed teeth as he opened his arms and jovially called: "Lacey-Baby!" Lacey rushed forward, her heels clacking across the open space as she threw open her thin, pale arms, the light catching on her vermillion nail paint.
Stepping in between Cobb and Andres, she embraced the man, holding him to her as she exclaimed: "Andres! Too longggg."
"Good job my pretty-" He began saying as he pulled away, his grin wide, his hands lingering on her wrists-Eames watched the greeting, not able to believe it. That was how Lacey greeted her friends-her friends…Lacey would never sink that low. Irritated Eames didn't move, saying:
"Would anyone care to tell me what the bloody hell is going on?"
There was a long, awkward pause that Eames had not expected-and then Lacey smoothly turned on her heel to look at him.
"Sure, Eames." Her lips parted in a gleaming smile, her turquoise eyes meeting his from across the room-and then Andres made a sweeping motion with his arm.
"Why don't you all have a seat? Then we can really get started."
-Sorry, readers! I am writing 3 stories, one of them my own original-and I find it harder to update lately. This was cut short so I could deliver it to you sooner-once again, I am so sorry for the lack of update. I hope you enjoyed what pathetic little I have here! I intend to finish Rappeler; and I certainly will :) Love all of my readers3-MsArtemis-