*happy dance*

[anamuan]

So, for those of you whom I haven't flailpanicked, bitched, or gloated to about this yet, I signed up at getyourwordsout to write 300,000 words this year. It's my third year doing the yearly challenge thingy, but the first time for 300k, which is a number that is big enough that i sort of signed up for it because I have no real concept of how big it is

Comments

Arthur/Eames - locked in a nonfigurative closet

[anamuan]

"This is for your own good!" Ariadne yells through the door because she's evil or God hates them or she just doesn't fucking know when to mind her own business. Arthur kind of appreciated the whole thing with Cobb, because God knows he wasn't able to do anything about his increasingly deadly subconscious. "Is it getting worse?" he'd ask, and Cobb would say, "I'm handling it," and Arthur just...let it go. Because it was Cobb, and Cobb said he was handling it, and even when he was clearly not handling it (or, alternatively, handling it really badly), Arthur didn't know how to do anything besides take him at his word.

Now, though, now Ariadne's inability to leave well enough alone is starting to be really very annoying. "You two," she says accusingly, "have issues to work out. You're staying in that closet until you work them out, or time runs out." Ariadne sounds self-righteous and sure of herself and a little bit smug, like she thinks putting them in an actual closet is the cleverest thing to have ever occurred to her little brilliant mind. Arthur kind of hates her.

He turns to Eames. "D'you suppose you could dream us up some C-4?"

"Why, Arthur. I take everything I ever said about your lack of imagination back," says Eames. A block of C-4 appears in his hand, requisite plastic binder and plasticizer popping into existence on the shelf by Arthur's head. Arthur hands them over, and Eames starts attaching it to the inside of the door.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," says Ariadne. Her voice isn't being shouted through the door anymore--more like it's being piped in from somewhere. That's promising. Intercomm means a way out that's not the locked door. The dimensions of the closet shrink rapidly, trapping both men much closer to the rigged door than they'd really like to be for detonation. "Unless you're hoping to get a trip to Limbo. Dunno, maybe the weather's nice there this time of year."

"Ariadne. What did you do?" asks Eames.

"I...might have futzed with the somnacin cocktail. A little," she admits. Sheepish. She definitely sounds sheepish. But otherwise unrepentant. Arthur really, really hates her. He tells her so.

When he's finally done, it's quiet. Then Ariadne asks, "Eames, anything you'd like to add, or has Arthur got it covered?" She still sounds amused, damn her.

"No, I think I'll let my projections speak for themselves," Eames promises ominously.

"Well, then, have fun together you two. I'd best be off," and then they're left alone.

"Now what?" Arthur asks.

"Might have an idea there, pet," Eames says.

*

The closet's too small for a proper table, but they get some overturned buckets and crate mashed in sideways, and then Eames dreams up a deck of cards. Arthur dreams a bare bulb into existence over their heads, shadows cast by chain hanging down, and warns Eames that if he catches him cheating Arthur is more than willing to send him to Limbo for it.

When they get bored of poker, they move on to checkers. Then chess. Then Arthur dreams up his own set of cards and they play Bumper for a while. Arthur is nearly 500 points when the dream architecture starts to shake and tremble around them. Arthur has a moment where Eames grins at him wickedly from across the makeshift table, and Arthur thinks projections got the dreamer. And then they're waking up.

Ariadne's pulling the IV out of her arm and stumbling to her feet, and she takes off running. Smart girl. Arthur looks over at Eames and grins. Eames is grinning back. Ariadne is going to pay so much for this.