And now I can post my crossovers_las story here.
Title: Photo Negatives
Fandoms: Inception & Howl's Moving Castle (strictly bookverse)
Character/Relationships: Ariadne, Eames, Arthur, Yusuf, Saito, Howell, Sophie, Calcifer; no relationships made explicit
Ratings/Warnings: PG, violence
Written for: crossovers_las
Wordcount: 930
A/N: Yes, I did actually write this one. EDIT: Oh for Pete's sake, did I just accidentally use the entire story as cut-text? Yes. Yes I did. Sorry to anyone whose f-list got eaten.
Her totem feels right, wooden shell all the right kinds of smooth and rough around the hidden iron core. Test one: checks out.
Test two: well, they flew in from Charles de Gaulle, first class, a luxury that she’s enjoying more and more. Saito picked them up in that helicopter of his, a luxury she does not enjoy at all. The details of the journey are clear in spite of the unnerving nature of their transport: Saito’s explaining that he’s found an extractor and that the extra team members are evidently a package deal but will probably be helpful given the complexity of the jobs, handing them a couple of files and a stunning budget to pull this trick, giving them a brief rundown of their time frame before dropping them here to meet their new associates.
It is those associates who are now causing her to question reality. To be specific, she is baffled by the sense of matter and antimatter streaming from one of the new and one of her own: Arthur and their new extractor, Howell.
Ariadne remembers saying something to Cobb, once, about the importance of feel over structure; these two remind her of that principle. Two men nearing thirty, dreamers in waistcoats with accents on the wrong side of the world; they seem so identical until you add in the details: Arthur’s costly black elegance and Howell’s gold-trimmed purple silk over lilac, Arthur’s slick black hair and Howell’s swinging shoulder-length gold. Arthur looks like an offended cat, every fastidious line of him radiating distaste for Howell’s amateur-actor inflections and far-flung arms.
“I think we’ve found someone who irritates Arthur more than I do,” Eames comments with a mixture of admiration and jealousy, tapping a finger against the wall.
The exercise is a revelation on numerous levels. Ariadne discovers that the Castle team point woman talks to everything that will listen and keeps her head when surrounded, and shortly after that learns that grenades are even louder than she remembers. She also concludes that shortcuts should indeed be added to the Catwalk Spiral Nest design (she’s been skittish about such things since the incident with the Mountain vents), that she should learn to use some weaponry besides her favorites, and that even if dream-glass can be made unbreakable, it will always be unnerving to see a firefight scant feet away.
In spite of a few difficulties, she, Yusuf, and Sophie are the first to the central bunker. Eames and Cal show up next, from four levels down and two turns to the right; they have some strong words to say about the inability to switch paths once they’ve chosen one. There’s a brief scuffle when some projections almost get the door open (the chemists adjusted the PASIV chemicals a bit to ensure there is security to train against) and then there’s nothing left to do but wait.
By the time Arthur and Howell show up, Sophie has stopped Eames from starting a poker game twice, and Ariadne’s scarf is a twisted mess in her hands. When she sees them, it’s only a brief flicker of movement on the very edge of the inner cylinder, and it takes her some moments to realize that there’s a veritable horde of projections after them, far more than any of the others had to deal with.
She doesn’t get a good look at what’s going on until they’re one turn away (her nest is as tangled as she imagined), and she bites her tongue: somehow the two have ended up on different pathways, so either they separated at one point or they’ve mucked up her design. Arthur’s circuit is farther out but it appears that he runs faster, because he beats Howell to the bunker, picking off projections as he sprints; he rolls the last few feet, tight and controlled, and Eames already has the door open for him. He’s up on one knee and surveying the group before they can blink; Ariadne catches a tight, familiar grin before he relaxes, holstering his gun. As always, not a hair is out of place.
Howell has almost reached them by this point, taking steps three or four at a time; his vest and shirtsleeves have come unbuttoned, and the cloth flies behind him like a knight’s cape. Three feet from the door, he stops to fire twice at the remaining projections - Ariadne hears Sophie snort behind her - and then he throws himself around the door in a flourish of silk. He meets everyone’s expressions and presents the entire room with a sweeping bow, beaming and self-satisfied; somehow it looks dashing rather than absurd.
“We all here, then? Good,” he says. Arthur reaches for his gun and Ariadne does the same, but Howell produces three primed grenades form his gaping sleeve like a stage magician and tosses them to the floor. Ariadne barely has time to think are those sparkling? before the explosion hurls them back into the world.
“So,” Arthur says, leaning against the desk. It’s just the original team right now; the day is over. “What does everyone think of the Castle team?”
“I like them,” Yusuf says immediately. “Mr. Cal had some very interesting ideas about the use of temperature in sedatives.”
“True, and Mrs. Hatter’s assistance would make my job much easier. Eames?”
Ariadne stops tracking the conversation; she considers flash and glitter, Howell and Arthur leaving a trail of dead projections in their wake, architecture and the importance of aesthetic balance and the calculated use of contrast to bring a façade together.
When Arthur asks, her verdict is “I say we work with them.”
Fandoms: Inception & Howl's Moving Castle (strictly bookverse)
Character/Relationships: Ariadne, Eames, Arthur, Yusuf, Saito, Howell, Sophie, Calcifer; no relationships made explicit
Ratings/Warnings: PG, violence
Written for: crossovers_las
Wordcount: 930
A/N: Yes, I did actually write this one. EDIT: Oh for Pete's sake, did I just accidentally use the entire story as cut-text? Yes. Yes I did. Sorry to anyone whose f-list got eaten.
Her totem feels right, wooden shell all the right kinds of smooth and rough around the hidden iron core. Test one: checks out.
Test two: well, they flew in from Charles de Gaulle, first class, a luxury that she’s enjoying more and more. Saito picked them up in that helicopter of his, a luxury she does not enjoy at all. The details of the journey are clear in spite of the unnerving nature of their transport: Saito’s explaining that he’s found an extractor and that the extra team members are evidently a package deal but will probably be helpful given the complexity of the jobs, handing them a couple of files and a stunning budget to pull this trick, giving them a brief rundown of their time frame before dropping them here to meet their new associates.
It is those associates who are now causing her to question reality. To be specific, she is baffled by the sense of matter and antimatter streaming from one of the new and one of her own: Arthur and their new extractor, Howell.
Ariadne remembers saying something to Cobb, once, about the importance of feel over structure; these two remind her of that principle. Two men nearing thirty, dreamers in waistcoats with accents on the wrong side of the world; they seem so identical until you add in the details: Arthur’s costly black elegance and Howell’s gold-trimmed purple silk over lilac, Arthur’s slick black hair and Howell’s swinging shoulder-length gold. Arthur looks like an offended cat, every fastidious line of him radiating distaste for Howell’s amateur-actor inflections and far-flung arms.
“I think we’ve found someone who irritates Arthur more than I do,” Eames comments with a mixture of admiration and jealousy, tapping a finger against the wall.
The exercise is a revelation on numerous levels. Ariadne discovers that the Castle team point woman talks to everything that will listen and keeps her head when surrounded, and shortly after that learns that grenades are even louder than she remembers. She also concludes that shortcuts should indeed be added to the Catwalk Spiral Nest design (she’s been skittish about such things since the incident with the Mountain vents), that she should learn to use some weaponry besides her favorites, and that even if dream-glass can be made unbreakable, it will always be unnerving to see a firefight scant feet away.
In spite of a few difficulties, she, Yusuf, and Sophie are the first to the central bunker. Eames and Cal show up next, from four levels down and two turns to the right; they have some strong words to say about the inability to switch paths once they’ve chosen one. There’s a brief scuffle when some projections almost get the door open (the chemists adjusted the PASIV chemicals a bit to ensure there is security to train against) and then there’s nothing left to do but wait.
By the time Arthur and Howell show up, Sophie has stopped Eames from starting a poker game twice, and Ariadne’s scarf is a twisted mess in her hands. When she sees them, it’s only a brief flicker of movement on the very edge of the inner cylinder, and it takes her some moments to realize that there’s a veritable horde of projections after them, far more than any of the others had to deal with.
She doesn’t get a good look at what’s going on until they’re one turn away (her nest is as tangled as she imagined), and she bites her tongue: somehow the two have ended up on different pathways, so either they separated at one point or they’ve mucked up her design. Arthur’s circuit is farther out but it appears that he runs faster, because he beats Howell to the bunker, picking off projections as he sprints; he rolls the last few feet, tight and controlled, and Eames already has the door open for him. He’s up on one knee and surveying the group before they can blink; Ariadne catches a tight, familiar grin before he relaxes, holstering his gun. As always, not a hair is out of place.
Howell has almost reached them by this point, taking steps three or four at a time; his vest and shirtsleeves have come unbuttoned, and the cloth flies behind him like a knight’s cape. Three feet from the door, he stops to fire twice at the remaining projections - Ariadne hears Sophie snort behind her - and then he throws himself around the door in a flourish of silk. He meets everyone’s expressions and presents the entire room with a sweeping bow, beaming and self-satisfied; somehow it looks dashing rather than absurd.
“We all here, then? Good,” he says. Arthur reaches for his gun and Ariadne does the same, but Howell produces three primed grenades form his gaping sleeve like a stage magician and tosses them to the floor. Ariadne barely has time to think are those sparkling? before the explosion hurls them back into the world.
“So,” Arthur says, leaning against the desk. It’s just the original team right now; the day is over. “What does everyone think of the Castle team?”
“I like them,” Yusuf says immediately. “Mr. Cal had some very interesting ideas about the use of temperature in sedatives.”
“True, and Mrs. Hatter’s assistance would make my job much easier. Eames?”
Ariadne stops tracking the conversation; she considers flash and glitter, Howell and Arthur leaving a trail of dead projections in their wake, architecture and the importance of aesthetic balance and the calculated use of contrast to bring a façade together.
When Arthur asks, her verdict is “I say we work with them.”