Inception: Do It Yourself
Title: Do It Yourself
Author: Vashti
Fandom: Inception
Character(s): Ariadne, OC, Eames, Phillipa, James
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “Do you know who I am? I’m an Architect. I build dreamscapes. What makes you think you can hold us here?”
Length: ~900 words
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Dedication: finnijer and queena21 who wanted more :)
Notes: Sequel to " When All Else Fails" although I think it can stand alone. (Feel free to let me know if you disagree.) Story inspired by "Unbreakable" by Fireflight, and to a lesser extent "Army of Me (Sucker Punch Remix)" by Bjork ft. Skunk Anansie
§§§
Do It Yourself
by Vashti
Sequel to When All Else Fails.
He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back. The creak of the chair under her shifting weight was loud in the too still room. He could see the children on the other side of the bars from his peripheral vision staring and staring, but not moving. He couldn’t even hear them breath.
He held her hair, held up her head, assessing the puffy eyes starting to discolor, the fat and bloodied lips, the bruise marring her cheeks. She was a mess.
He released her hair, leaning in close as her chin slowly drifted toward her chest. “Just tell me what I want to know and this can all end.”
Her shoulders began to tremble, then shake. He nodded to himself. Finally.
He wasn’t actually fond of beating up women, especially one so small. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought she was one of the children, her features were so delicate. If they’d been able to get to Eames first, or if Seward had been a better Forger, this wouldn’t have been a problem. But it was almost finished now. He’d shoot them all in the head and put them out of their misery. The kick on the next level would give him and the rest of the team enough time to unhook themselves from their PASIV and make their getaway.
The shaking became harder, and he had to stop himself from reaching for the handkerchief his grandfather had always insisted he carry.
Until he realized that she wasn’t crying. Not at all.
Ariadne turned her head and spat. He’d broken her nose, this guy, and there was a lot of blood in her mouth. Tasted vile. Ruined her sense of smell.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked him.
“You’re Cobb’s architect.”
“That’s right. I’m an Architect. One of the best” She shook her hair out of her eyes. It had come loose during the beating. Blood smeared across her forehead. “Know what that means?”
He sneered. “I’m not new to the game.”
“That so?” She cocked her head, looking at him with suddenly clear eyes. “Then what makes you think you can hold us here?”
“This isn’t your dream.”
“Clearly, you didn’t hear me. I’m an Architect. I build dreamscapes.”
He lunged at her, face inches above her, hands on the armrests of the chair. “And you didn’t hear me. This. Isn’t. Your. Dream.”
Ariadne smiled. Teeth red with blood, she grinned at him. “You need to learn to dream a little bigger, darling.”
She smashed her head into his. He staggered back, hand to his forehead and the gash that had opened up there. Ariadne ripped free of the daisy-chains holding her down, scattering the yellow flowers everywhere. She yanked the sawed off shotgun from where it was attached to the chair and fired. The guy howled. Behind her, she heard the kids pause their shredding of the paper-maché bars.
Weapon held comfortably in her hands, she stood over their captor, whimpering in the nodding silver-backed grass. His frantic eyes jumped from her to his leg to the grass, and back again.
Ariadne smiled.
A seam cracked the meadow and sky beyond. A gun quickly filled it. Then a door, open to a bleak and hollow hallway. Ariadne flicked her eyes to and away from the man standing in it.
Her prisoner never noticed. Breathing hard and fumbling, he found the handkerchief. “But the projections...”
Ariadne’s smile turned into a smirk. “Will have to find us first, won’t they? Now you’re going to tell, me what I want to know.
“Hello, Eames.”
“Hello to you, too, darling. I see you don’t need my help. Hey! You two! Alright over there?”
“Yes, Uncle Eames!”
Ariadne saw him nod as he approached her. “You do this, love?”
She spared him a glance. “Who else?”
Laughing, he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I could marry a woman like you.”
“Too bad I’m already taken.”
“Must be a devilishly lucky man.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Horrible fashion sense, though.”
“That so?” He brushed at the shotgun so that she was holding it one-handed. “You’d think a gifted Architect like yourself should be able to do something about that.” Eames leaned forward.
“Only in dreams.” Rising on tiptoe, Ariadne clutched at his ratty tweed blazer. The brown fabric began to move, but neither paid it much mind.
Ignoring the adults, especially the one still crying, Phillipa grabbed her brother’s hand and pulled him aside. “We can’t ever tell Dad about this”
“Why not? Aunt Ari’s so cool!”
Phillipa huffed. “Would we have been kidnapped at Uncle Arthur’s?”
James didn't hesitate. “No way.”
“Exactly. And that’s the only place we’ll end up on weekends if Dad ever finds out. Okay.” She held out her pinky.
James grasped it with his own. “Okay.”
“What are you two doing over there?” their “aunt” asked.
“Nothing!” the said together. “Um,” Phillipa began before her aunt could pry, “how are we going to get out of the dream?”
Shrugging, she looked up at Uncle Eames. “I was thinking we could, y’know, have that picnic we were planning here. At least until the time on the PASIV runs out.”
“What about the projections, love?”
“Weren't you there for that part of the lesson?" She brushed something neither Phillipa nor James could see from the lapels of his navy suit. "Like I said, they’ll have to find us first.”
[in]Fin[ite]
Author: Vashti
Fandom: Inception
Character(s): Ariadne, OC, Eames, Phillipa, James
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “Do you know who I am? I’m an Architect. I build dreamscapes. What makes you think you can hold us here?”
Length: ~900 words
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Dedication: finnijer and queena21 who wanted more :)
Notes: Sequel to " When All Else Fails" although I think it can stand alone. (Feel free to let me know if you disagree.) Story inspired by "Unbreakable" by Fireflight, and to a lesser extent "Army of Me (Sucker Punch Remix)" by Bjork ft. Skunk Anansie
§§§
Do It Yourself
by Vashti
Sequel to When All Else Fails.
He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back. The creak of the chair under her shifting weight was loud in the too still room. He could see the children on the other side of the bars from his peripheral vision staring and staring, but not moving. He couldn’t even hear them breath.
He held her hair, held up her head, assessing the puffy eyes starting to discolor, the fat and bloodied lips, the bruise marring her cheeks. She was a mess.
He released her hair, leaning in close as her chin slowly drifted toward her chest. “Just tell me what I want to know and this can all end.”
Her shoulders began to tremble, then shake. He nodded to himself. Finally.
He wasn’t actually fond of beating up women, especially one so small. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought she was one of the children, her features were so delicate. If they’d been able to get to Eames first, or if Seward had been a better Forger, this wouldn’t have been a problem. But it was almost finished now. He’d shoot them all in the head and put them out of their misery. The kick on the next level would give him and the rest of the team enough time to unhook themselves from their PASIV and make their getaway.
The shaking became harder, and he had to stop himself from reaching for the handkerchief his grandfather had always insisted he carry.
Until he realized that she wasn’t crying. Not at all.
Ariadne turned her head and spat. He’d broken her nose, this guy, and there was a lot of blood in her mouth. Tasted vile. Ruined her sense of smell.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked him.
“You’re Cobb’s architect.”
“That’s right. I’m an Architect. One of the best” She shook her hair out of her eyes. It had come loose during the beating. Blood smeared across her forehead. “Know what that means?”
He sneered. “I’m not new to the game.”
“That so?” She cocked her head, looking at him with suddenly clear eyes. “Then what makes you think you can hold us here?”
“This isn’t your dream.”
“Clearly, you didn’t hear me. I’m an Architect. I build dreamscapes.”
He lunged at her, face inches above her, hands on the armrests of the chair. “And you didn’t hear me. This. Isn’t. Your. Dream.”
Ariadne smiled. Teeth red with blood, she grinned at him. “You need to learn to dream a little bigger, darling.”
She smashed her head into his. He staggered back, hand to his forehead and the gash that had opened up there. Ariadne ripped free of the daisy-chains holding her down, scattering the yellow flowers everywhere. She yanked the sawed off shotgun from where it was attached to the chair and fired. The guy howled. Behind her, she heard the kids pause their shredding of the paper-maché bars.
Weapon held comfortably in her hands, she stood over their captor, whimpering in the nodding silver-backed grass. His frantic eyes jumped from her to his leg to the grass, and back again.
Ariadne smiled.
A seam cracked the meadow and sky beyond. A gun quickly filled it. Then a door, open to a bleak and hollow hallway. Ariadne flicked her eyes to and away from the man standing in it.
Her prisoner never noticed. Breathing hard and fumbling, he found the handkerchief. “But the projections...”
Ariadne’s smile turned into a smirk. “Will have to find us first, won’t they? Now you’re going to tell, me what I want to know.
“Hello, Eames.”
“Hello to you, too, darling. I see you don’t need my help. Hey! You two! Alright over there?”
“Yes, Uncle Eames!”
Ariadne saw him nod as he approached her. “You do this, love?”
She spared him a glance. “Who else?”
Laughing, he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I could marry a woman like you.”
“Too bad I’m already taken.”
“Must be a devilishly lucky man.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Horrible fashion sense, though.”
“That so?” He brushed at the shotgun so that she was holding it one-handed. “You’d think a gifted Architect like yourself should be able to do something about that.” Eames leaned forward.
“Only in dreams.” Rising on tiptoe, Ariadne clutched at his ratty tweed blazer. The brown fabric began to move, but neither paid it much mind.
Ignoring the adults, especially the one still crying, Phillipa grabbed her brother’s hand and pulled him aside. “We can’t ever tell Dad about this”
“Why not? Aunt Ari’s so cool!”
Phillipa huffed. “Would we have been kidnapped at Uncle Arthur’s?”
James didn't hesitate. “No way.”
“Exactly. And that’s the only place we’ll end up on weekends if Dad ever finds out. Okay.” She held out her pinky.
James grasped it with his own. “Okay.”
“What are you two doing over there?” their “aunt” asked.
“Nothing!” the said together. “Um,” Phillipa began before her aunt could pry, “how are we going to get out of the dream?”
Shrugging, she looked up at Uncle Eames. “I was thinking we could, y’know, have that picnic we were planning here. At least until the time on the PASIV runs out.”
“What about the projections, love?”
“Weren't you there for that part of the lesson?" She brushed something neither Phillipa nor James could see from the lapels of his navy suit. "Like I said, they’ll have to find us first.”
[in]Fin[ite]