[INCEPTION] Fic: #197 (Gen, Implied Arthur/Ariadne + Eames) ~ 600 words
Title: #197
Summary: For the inception_kink prompt: The team or rather EAMES doing various things from this list. (Skippy’s List: The 213 things Skippy is no longer allowed to do in the U.S. Army) #197: I am not allowed to sing “Henry the VIII I am” until verse 68 ever again.
QUOTE: Second verse, same as first!
Arthur, as the Point Man, has a very sharp memory. He had a good sense of direction because he could memorize landmarks; he was still pretty fucking good at Physics because he paid attention in high school; he could educate Ariadne in Kerouac because he had several excerpts he could pull off the top of his head; and he could badger Eames about everything because he could remember everything wrong about everything Eames did.
Eames doesn't have a good memory. His compass is his instincts; he dressed up like a girl to distract Robert because that was usually what men like Robert went for; he used a big, fuck-off rocket launcher because there was a combustible electric box near an army of projections; and he elaborated on the father-son relationship because hell, weren't parents usually the reason why their children screwed up in the first place?
So during one of the nights that bled hours and hours of brainstorming, when Eames' head had gone off on a tangent in the middle of the meeting, instincts told him to go somewhere mundane and terribly routine.
Grammar school songs.
Under his breath, while slouched in his seat, with Arthur pouring over some Kerouac book he was buffing up his mind for another book club session or other with Ariadne, Eames sang:
"I'm Henry the Eighth I am, I'm Henry the Eighth I am. I got married to the widow next door, she's been married seven times before."
Arthur chucked rolled-up ball of paper at him as he turned a page.
Eames dodged it with a simple jerk of his head to the side and continued, smirking, "And everyone was a Henry," and with a higher pitch, "Henry!"
As if a ball wasn't enough, Arthur kicked him in the shin.
Eames belted out, "Henry!" In a pitch so high and so terribly off-key that made Arthur wince.
"Can you stop that?" Arthur cried, frustrated, slamming the book on the table.
Eames shook his head, grinning cheekily, not missing a beat. "She wouldn't have a Willy," he pointed down at his crotch, "or a Sam," then pointed at Arthur.
"No Sam!" In yet another high pitch, screwing his eyes shut as he sang it with all the pride of the British Armada.
"Second verse," Eames continued, taking on that perky, commercial, introductory tone, "Same as first!"
By this time his voice had gotten much too loud for Arthur to concentrate so with a huff, Arthur sharply stood up (his wheeled chair slamming against the bookcase behind him) and left the room with his book in hand.
Even out in the hallway, he could still hear Eames sing, "tan-an-tan-an-an," the banjo line in between verses, at the top of his lungs.
Later that evening, with the Kerouac book between them, Arthur sat on a bench beside Ariadne. He was having a good time.
Ariadne laughed heartily at a joke he'd just said, something about Kerouac and a sack of potatoes.
At the post-laugh lull in their conversation, Arthur found himself bobbing his head to a beat he couldn't remember hearing.
Ariadne was telling something, probably a joke as well, but Arthur was too distracted by the the tune in his head.
"Arthur."
Arthur snapped his attention back to her. "Yeah?"
"Just checking," Ariadne smiled, and continued her story. Joke. Whatever.
It wasn't long before Arthur was already singing the lyrics in his head, Henry the eighth I am.
And unconsciously, said out loud, "Second verse, same as first!" In that same perky tune.
He didn't realize Ariadne had stopped talking until he felt a smack on his arm.
Arthur grimaced, slapping his forehead. "Fucking. Eames."
Summary: For the inception_kink prompt: The team or rather EAMES doing various things from this list. (Skippy’s List: The 213 things Skippy is no longer allowed to do in the U.S. Army) #197: I am not allowed to sing “Henry the VIII I am” until verse 68 ever again.
QUOTE: Second verse, same as first!
Arthur, as the Point Man, has a very sharp memory. He had a good sense of direction because he could memorize landmarks; he was still pretty fucking good at Physics because he paid attention in high school; he could educate Ariadne in Kerouac because he had several excerpts he could pull off the top of his head; and he could badger Eames about everything because he could remember everything wrong about everything Eames did.
Eames doesn't have a good memory. His compass is his instincts; he dressed up like a girl to distract Robert because that was usually what men like Robert went for; he used a big, fuck-off rocket launcher because there was a combustible electric box near an army of projections; and he elaborated on the father-son relationship because hell, weren't parents usually the reason why their children screwed up in the first place?
So during one of the nights that bled hours and hours of brainstorming, when Eames' head had gone off on a tangent in the middle of the meeting, instincts told him to go somewhere mundane and terribly routine.
Grammar school songs.
Under his breath, while slouched in his seat, with Arthur pouring over some Kerouac book he was buffing up his mind for another book club session or other with Ariadne, Eames sang:
"I'm Henry the Eighth I am, I'm Henry the Eighth I am. I got married to the widow next door, she's been married seven times before."
Arthur chucked rolled-up ball of paper at him as he turned a page.
Eames dodged it with a simple jerk of his head to the side and continued, smirking, "And everyone was a Henry," and with a higher pitch, "Henry!"
As if a ball wasn't enough, Arthur kicked him in the shin.
Eames belted out, "Henry!" In a pitch so high and so terribly off-key that made Arthur wince.
"Can you stop that?" Arthur cried, frustrated, slamming the book on the table.
Eames shook his head, grinning cheekily, not missing a beat. "She wouldn't have a Willy," he pointed down at his crotch, "or a Sam," then pointed at Arthur.
"No Sam!" In yet another high pitch, screwing his eyes shut as he sang it with all the pride of the British Armada.
"Second verse," Eames continued, taking on that perky, commercial, introductory tone, "Same as first!"
By this time his voice had gotten much too loud for Arthur to concentrate so with a huff, Arthur sharply stood up (his wheeled chair slamming against the bookcase behind him) and left the room with his book in hand.
Even out in the hallway, he could still hear Eames sing, "tan-an-tan-an-an," the banjo line in between verses, at the top of his lungs.
Later that evening, with the Kerouac book between them, Arthur sat on a bench beside Ariadne. He was having a good time.
Ariadne laughed heartily at a joke he'd just said, something about Kerouac and a sack of potatoes.
At the post-laugh lull in their conversation, Arthur found himself bobbing his head to a beat he couldn't remember hearing.
Ariadne was telling something, probably a joke as well, but Arthur was too distracted by the the tune in his head.
"Arthur."
Arthur snapped his attention back to her. "Yeah?"
"Just checking," Ariadne smiled, and continued her story. Joke. Whatever.
It wasn't long before Arthur was already singing the lyrics in his head, Henry the eighth I am.
And unconsciously, said out loud, "Second verse, same as first!" In that same perky tune.
He didn't realize Ariadne had stopped talking until he felt a smack on his arm.
Arthur grimaced, slapping his forehead. "Fucking. Eames."