[fanfic] inception; revolution from my bed; 1600 words
revolution from my bed
gen, slight E/A; crack/humor; 1600 words
A/N: complete with art by nat under the cut, because she is a bloody enabler. title from the song "don't look back in anger" by oasis
Some days are inevitably slow for the team, usually the days Yusuf makes sedatives with his careful hands and Arthur’s maintaining equipment. Eames is only ever really useful when already in the throes of the job and Ariadne has no class, which just makes her edgy. So for no especial reason, Eames offers to teach her how to forge.
“A lesson?” She said, perking up way too fast for someone who’s just eaten half a pizza. Yusuf is at the makeshift chemistry lab set-up watching proteins separate or something but he turned to listen. Arthur is carefully cleaning PASIV spare parts. Cobb is taking a nap. Saito’s off…doing whatever it is Saito does.
Eames just smiled.
“A lesson,” he affirmed and tossed the toothpick he’s been chewing on away. It was a disgusting habit but Eames’ refused to apologize for any action of his that had Arthur shooting nervous looks at his mouth. Nervous, disdainful, whatever.
“A lesson in forgery,” Ariadne scrambled excitedly to their lawn chair set-up. “Interesting. I’ve been very curious about it.” That’s what they all love about her, really.
“What about you, Artie?” Eames asked, smirking as he dragged another chair over to Ariadne. “Can’t think of a better opportunity to test that staid imagination of yours.”
Arthur rolls his eyes but he comes over to help set up. “I can be the dreamer but you stay away from me. Yusuf can test his new sedative.” Yusuf came over to help them get settled.
“The last kept making me break out,” Yusuf explained. “Puberty was already awkward the first time around.”
“Very,” Eames agreed. He had worried the last sedative was making him bald.
Ariadne woke up in a pleasant Santa Monica-like area. There are no people and no sight of either man. She strolled around for a little, poking through the bushes and rearranging a road or two.
“Hello, love,” someone said, tapping her on the shoulder.
The woman is tall and leggy with a MILF-vibe but when she laughed it was definitely an Eames sort of laugh, all breathy and round. She pulled off her shades and normal Eames appeared, casually dressed in the clothes he slept in.
“The first thing you need to know about forgery that at first, it can be hard to maintain. Your mind has to be strong, which is why you always have to practice. If you can’t maintain a grip on the character, you’ll end up confusing yourself every time you pass buy some reflective surface.” Eames gestured to a nearby car window and became the woman again though the reflection was still Eames.
‘When you’re on a job, you have to be careful that no one figures you out and it’s easy to be given away by something like a mirror. Unless you’re very good.” Eames smiled at her, a woman once more.
Ariadne looked again and the reflection in the car window is the woman.
“You’re very good,” Ariadne complimented Eames.
“Thank you, love.”
And that’s when the explosions start going off.
-
“Arthur, that bastard!” Eames said, dragging Ariadne after him. The explosions continue but with some regularity so they could more or less predict which direction to run to. “We have to find him! This is not supposed to happen, he has to have more control than this.”
“Uh,” Ariadne said, huffing after him. They ducked into an alley. “Hang on a second.” Screwing up her face, she carefully shifted the environment, adding one-way streets and left turns with a speed that had always managed to impress Eames.
“That’ll buy us some time.”
“This’ll buy us some time too,” Eames said, panting and forging quickly into a woman. “Throw the projections off identifying me. You should try it as well.”
“Exactly how is that supposed to help!? I can’t believe you can run in those heels! My feet could never take it,” Ariadne watched, entranced as Eames produced his preferred grenade launcher literally from under his skirt that had somehow changed from country-club tennis ensemble to a deep blue evening gown with slits to his eyebrows.
“Only…in…my…dreams, love,” Eames-the-lady hefted the giant gun to her shoulder and took the shot. Debris-or dream-bris-flew everywhere.
“Okay, now to find Arthur. I’m going to kill him,” Eames huffed.
“HEY!” A voiced called to them. Ariadne and Eames looked up to find Arthur peering at them from the window of a second story building. “Look out!” He shouted at them, hefting the sniper rifle to his shoulder. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, which was nothing new, even though it was in a green camo print, which was. He was wearing some kind of night-vision goggle strapped to his forehead. Arthur methodically shot down two or three projections that had managed to come closer.
“Arthur! Come down!”
“Can’t! You didn’t build doors in this building,” Arthur said, scowling. “Who forgets doors, man?”
Ariadne shrugged. “So, jump!’
Arthur rolled his eyes and climbed out the window, aiming for the awning below. It was a short jump but one not normally attempted carrying very large baby armalite, so the grace he managed was well and truly impressive.
“Oh, my god!” Eames shrieked at Arthur when the Point Man came trotting up. Ariadne thought he sounded like she always imagined a frazzled Queen of England to sound like. “You never said your subconscious was like bloody Call of Duty!”
Arthur moved his gun from one side of his hip to the other. “I may have been playing it a little bit too much lately.” He admitted. “I could shoot you if you want to wake up?” He offered, looking nonplussed by the whole situation.
“No way! You said you would teach me to forge!” Ariadne pleaded. “Let’s just make him do it too.”
The speed at which Eames’ face glowed with enthusiasm at the suggestion was a little disturbing.
-
“I’m terrible at forgery!” Arthur protested, checking his magazines even though in dreams bullets never really ran out.
“That’s a lie, he’s terrific at it. He just doesn’t have much by way of variety,” Eames said. He was back to his normal self, glaring down Arthur while Ariadne experimented with changing the color of her scarf.
“I will have you know the few times I have played the part of Forger, the jobs went very smoothly,” Arthur argued, standing up to Eames.
“That’s because you probably played the Virgin Mary,” Eames mocked.
“Okay, I think I have it sorted!” Ariadne said, breaking up their row.
Eames and Arthur watched as one moment, she was their Ariadne and the next moment there was a boy who looked vaguely like Ariadne, like a twin brother, dressed exactly as Ariadne was, androgynous and box-shaped.
“Er,” Eames said. “Good job, love!” He clapped. Ariadne-the-boy laughed and jumped up and down in delight, exactly the way he’d seen Ariadne do countless times. “Don’t forget you have to have appropriate mannerisms…” He stopped, trailing off as Ariadne squared her arms and walked around the room in an exaggerated boy swagger.
“Now it’s your turn,” Ariadne said to Arthur. “Come on, I just want to see. No one else has to know.”
Arthur sighed, seemingly defeated by the killer earnestness in Ariadne’s face that apparently didn’t change whether she was a boy or a girl. And then in a blink, there she was, Artina or whatever, pale and slender with the look of a complete and utter bitch.
It made Eames hard.
“Well? Happy now?” Arthur asked Ariadne.
Lady Arthur was clad in a version of his suit, thought he’d already shed the jacket by then. The pants were slimmer and hugged his slim hips. He wasn’t much taller or bigger than he already was but hefting the AK-47 didn’t seem to pose a problem. They often all felt like they had retard strength in their dreams, anyway. The little vest cupped at his chest, hiding breasts that were probably little handfuls, like holding small apples and whoa, Eames was getting carried away thinking about it.
“Give me a kiss,” Ariadne-the-boy asked, her smile teasing and Lady Arthur loosened up, a laugh bubbling out of him. She turned her face coyly away, and the hair that Mr. Arthur normally kept slicked back, fell over her face, the sleek angled bob so very like what he’d expect of the tightly-wound Point, er, Woman.
“Okay,” Lady Arthur relented, leaning over to the tightly-jeaned, scarfed hipster Boy-Ariadne, pecking her on the mouth, chaste.
And that was when a hundred armed ex-girlfriends and boyfriends exploded into the warehouse they’d been hiding in.
-
Eames’ blinked awake and then staggered to his feet; tube still stuck in his arm. He fumbled for the emergency whiskey they kept in their makeshift cooler-slash-wetbar and took a quick swig from the bottle.
“Easy now,” Arthur said, moving over to steady him. Ariadne watched them, tiny amused smile on her mouth, curled up in the lawn chair across from them.
“Oh my god,” Eames panted. “Sorry for the whole my projections killing you thing.”
“I should have figured yours would be an army of all past lovers,” Ariadne said. “But it was kind of worth it,” she smirked. “Especially seeing you as a girl, Arthur.”
Yusuf looked at them, over the rim of his glasses. “Arthur forged a female identity? What was she like?”
“Bloody awful,” Eames said, interrupting Ariadne before she opened her mouth. “Terribly pale and skinny--like Posh Spice! Like Amy fucking Winehouse."
“Hey,” Arthur said, without any bite in his tone at all. “Keep your comments to yourself, Jessica Rabbit.”
Art by the effervescent bad ass bluestraggler. Please comment on the picture at her post here
or at her deviantart http://www.bluestraggler.deviantart.com
.
gen, slight E/A; crack/humor; 1600 words
A/N: complete with art by nat under the cut, because she is a bloody enabler. title from the song "don't look back in anger" by oasis
Some days are inevitably slow for the team, usually the days Yusuf makes sedatives with his careful hands and Arthur’s maintaining equipment. Eames is only ever really useful when already in the throes of the job and Ariadne has no class, which just makes her edgy. So for no especial reason, Eames offers to teach her how to forge.
“A lesson?” She said, perking up way too fast for someone who’s just eaten half a pizza. Yusuf is at the makeshift chemistry lab set-up watching proteins separate or something but he turned to listen. Arthur is carefully cleaning PASIV spare parts. Cobb is taking a nap. Saito’s off…doing whatever it is Saito does.
Eames just smiled.
“A lesson,” he affirmed and tossed the toothpick he’s been chewing on away. It was a disgusting habit but Eames’ refused to apologize for any action of his that had Arthur shooting nervous looks at his mouth. Nervous, disdainful, whatever.
“A lesson in forgery,” Ariadne scrambled excitedly to their lawn chair set-up. “Interesting. I’ve been very curious about it.” That’s what they all love about her, really.
“What about you, Artie?” Eames asked, smirking as he dragged another chair over to Ariadne. “Can’t think of a better opportunity to test that staid imagination of yours.”
Arthur rolls his eyes but he comes over to help set up. “I can be the dreamer but you stay away from me. Yusuf can test his new sedative.” Yusuf came over to help them get settled.
“The last kept making me break out,” Yusuf explained. “Puberty was already awkward the first time around.”
“Very,” Eames agreed. He had worried the last sedative was making him bald.
Ariadne woke up in a pleasant Santa Monica-like area. There are no people and no sight of either man. She strolled around for a little, poking through the bushes and rearranging a road or two.
“Hello, love,” someone said, tapping her on the shoulder.
The woman is tall and leggy with a MILF-vibe but when she laughed it was definitely an Eames sort of laugh, all breathy and round. She pulled off her shades and normal Eames appeared, casually dressed in the clothes he slept in.
“The first thing you need to know about forgery that at first, it can be hard to maintain. Your mind has to be strong, which is why you always have to practice. If you can’t maintain a grip on the character, you’ll end up confusing yourself every time you pass buy some reflective surface.” Eames gestured to a nearby car window and became the woman again though the reflection was still Eames.
‘When you’re on a job, you have to be careful that no one figures you out and it’s easy to be given away by something like a mirror. Unless you’re very good.” Eames smiled at her, a woman once more.
Ariadne looked again and the reflection in the car window is the woman.
“You’re very good,” Ariadne complimented Eames.
“Thank you, love.”
And that’s when the explosions start going off.
-
“Arthur, that bastard!” Eames said, dragging Ariadne after him. The explosions continue but with some regularity so they could more or less predict which direction to run to. “We have to find him! This is not supposed to happen, he has to have more control than this.”
“Uh,” Ariadne said, huffing after him. They ducked into an alley. “Hang on a second.” Screwing up her face, she carefully shifted the environment, adding one-way streets and left turns with a speed that had always managed to impress Eames.
“That’ll buy us some time.”
“This’ll buy us some time too,” Eames said, panting and forging quickly into a woman. “Throw the projections off identifying me. You should try it as well.”
“Exactly how is that supposed to help!? I can’t believe you can run in those heels! My feet could never take it,” Ariadne watched, entranced as Eames produced his preferred grenade launcher literally from under his skirt that had somehow changed from country-club tennis ensemble to a deep blue evening gown with slits to his eyebrows.
“Only…in…my…dreams, love,” Eames-the-lady hefted the giant gun to her shoulder and took the shot. Debris-or dream-bris-flew everywhere.
“Okay, now to find Arthur. I’m going to kill him,” Eames huffed.
“HEY!” A voiced called to them. Ariadne and Eames looked up to find Arthur peering at them from the window of a second story building. “Look out!” He shouted at them, hefting the sniper rifle to his shoulder. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, which was nothing new, even though it was in a green camo print, which was. He was wearing some kind of night-vision goggle strapped to his forehead. Arthur methodically shot down two or three projections that had managed to come closer.
“Arthur! Come down!”
“Can’t! You didn’t build doors in this building,” Arthur said, scowling. “Who forgets doors, man?”
Ariadne shrugged. “So, jump!’
Arthur rolled his eyes and climbed out the window, aiming for the awning below. It was a short jump but one not normally attempted carrying very large baby armalite, so the grace he managed was well and truly impressive.
“Oh, my god!” Eames shrieked at Arthur when the Point Man came trotting up. Ariadne thought he sounded like she always imagined a frazzled Queen of England to sound like. “You never said your subconscious was like bloody Call of Duty!”
Arthur moved his gun from one side of his hip to the other. “I may have been playing it a little bit too much lately.” He admitted. “I could shoot you if you want to wake up?” He offered, looking nonplussed by the whole situation.
“No way! You said you would teach me to forge!” Ariadne pleaded. “Let’s just make him do it too.”
The speed at which Eames’ face glowed with enthusiasm at the suggestion was a little disturbing.
-
“I’m terrible at forgery!” Arthur protested, checking his magazines even though in dreams bullets never really ran out.
“That’s a lie, he’s terrific at it. He just doesn’t have much by way of variety,” Eames said. He was back to his normal self, glaring down Arthur while Ariadne experimented with changing the color of her scarf.
“I will have you know the few times I have played the part of Forger, the jobs went very smoothly,” Arthur argued, standing up to Eames.
“That’s because you probably played the Virgin Mary,” Eames mocked.
“Okay, I think I have it sorted!” Ariadne said, breaking up their row.
Eames and Arthur watched as one moment, she was their Ariadne and the next moment there was a boy who looked vaguely like Ariadne, like a twin brother, dressed exactly as Ariadne was, androgynous and box-shaped.
“Er,” Eames said. “Good job, love!” He clapped. Ariadne-the-boy laughed and jumped up and down in delight, exactly the way he’d seen Ariadne do countless times. “Don’t forget you have to have appropriate mannerisms…” He stopped, trailing off as Ariadne squared her arms and walked around the room in an exaggerated boy swagger.
“Now it’s your turn,” Ariadne said to Arthur. “Come on, I just want to see. No one else has to know.”
Arthur sighed, seemingly defeated by the killer earnestness in Ariadne’s face that apparently didn’t change whether she was a boy or a girl. And then in a blink, there she was, Artina or whatever, pale and slender with the look of a complete and utter bitch.
It made Eames hard.
“Well? Happy now?” Arthur asked Ariadne.
Lady Arthur was clad in a version of his suit, thought he’d already shed the jacket by then. The pants were slimmer and hugged his slim hips. He wasn’t much taller or bigger than he already was but hefting the AK-47 didn’t seem to pose a problem. They often all felt like they had retard strength in their dreams, anyway. The little vest cupped at his chest, hiding breasts that were probably little handfuls, like holding small apples and whoa, Eames was getting carried away thinking about it.
“Give me a kiss,” Ariadne-the-boy asked, her smile teasing and Lady Arthur loosened up, a laugh bubbling out of him. She turned her face coyly away, and the hair that Mr. Arthur normally kept slicked back, fell over her face, the sleek angled bob so very like what he’d expect of the tightly-wound Point, er, Woman.
“Okay,” Lady Arthur relented, leaning over to the tightly-jeaned, scarfed hipster Boy-Ariadne, pecking her on the mouth, chaste.
And that was when a hundred armed ex-girlfriends and boyfriends exploded into the warehouse they’d been hiding in.
-
Eames’ blinked awake and then staggered to his feet; tube still stuck in his arm. He fumbled for the emergency whiskey they kept in their makeshift cooler-slash-wetbar and took a quick swig from the bottle.
“Easy now,” Arthur said, moving over to steady him. Ariadne watched them, tiny amused smile on her mouth, curled up in the lawn chair across from them.
“Oh my god,” Eames panted. “Sorry for the whole my projections killing you thing.”
“I should have figured yours would be an army of all past lovers,” Ariadne said. “But it was kind of worth it,” she smirked. “Especially seeing you as a girl, Arthur.”
Yusuf looked at them, over the rim of his glasses. “Arthur forged a female identity? What was she like?”
“Bloody awful,” Eames said, interrupting Ariadne before she opened her mouth. “Terribly pale and skinny--like Posh Spice! Like Amy fucking Winehouse."
“Hey,” Arthur said, without any bite in his tone at all. “Keep your comments to yourself, Jessica Rabbit.”
Art by the effervescent bad ass bluestraggler. Please comment on the picture at her post here
or at her deviantart http://www.bluestraggler.deviantart.com
.