Writer's Block (1/?)
Title: Writer's Block (1/?)
Author: eevah14
Beta: need one, anyone willing to apply?
Pairing: Arthur/ Ariadne
Rating: PG- 13 (as of now)
Summary: Inspired by Karen Eiffel and Penny in Stranger Than Fiction. Arthur is a work consultant who is hired to help Ariadne, a famous writer (as well as a notorious recluse) to finish her work. He spends five weeks with her to finish her book, helping her with any task (from doing menial tasks like getting her pizza and coffee as well as helping her find inspiration). He counts on finishing the book, but doesn't count on falling in love with her.
Disclaimer: I don not own Inception, the amazing Christopher Nolan does. I, also, do not own Stranger Than Fiction. I am simply uniting these two awesome movies to make a fanfic.
Part 2
Part3
1. Her Name is Ariadne Hollis; writer, desk climber, autocrat, pizza omnomnomer, strange.
The sparse whiteness of the office wall were harsh on her eyes, even when she closes them she sees the glaring brightness. Her fingers twitch inanely, awkwardly hovering over the typewriter keys before settling over the paper and ripping it out and crumpling it, the half-finished sentence discarded. She can’t think, she can’t write, she can’t do anything. And with that thought, she slumped back on her high-backed chair, dreaming about anything except the story she’s supposed to be writing.
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Arthur looked at Cobb, boring a hole on the editor’s back with his dark gaze. “You were highly recommended. Your efficiency, they say, is top notch. Hopefully those claims are true, or else we’ll be in trouble.” The editor spoke while adjusting a few papers behind his desk, his back to the tall, young man seated on the chaise lounge. Dressed in a crisp three-piece suit and exuding an air of control, it wasn’t hard to imagine that this man was fastidious and efficient. However, Cobb knew better than to be fooled by his outer appearance; the publication depended heavily on who he would hire. Right now, their hope rested on the broad, well-dressed shoulders of a man named Arthur Maddox.
“My services are decent, Mr. Cobb.” Said Arthur, elaborating no more about his reputation as one of the strictest and most efficient office consultants. Claimed to be a work ethic guru, corporations and companies came to him when performances went sloppy and the corporate gears needed to be tightened and well-oiled. He specialized in details, and details ensured optimum performance for each employee for a corporation to keep running. Cobb turned to look at him then, eyeing the younger man for a moment before reaching for a file and a book and thrusting them in front of Arthur. Arthur raised an eyebrow before reaching over and rifling through the file.
“You have heard of Ariadne Hollis, yes?” Cobb reached out a hand to fiddle with a picture frame on his table, his eyes glossing over the picture of his wife and two kids. “Famous writer, Hugo and Nebula awardee, her novels are published by this publication if I am correct.” Arthur rattled the information about her, like he’d stored some info about her already. Cobb nearly smiled before taking the book Arthur didn’t take and raising it up. “Ever read her books? Absolutely brilliant, every one of them.” He said, his tone softening a bit. “She’s the best writer I’ve seen in years.”
Arthur regarded the book then said, “I haven’t read her works to be honest. I’m not that well-versed in contemporary literature, I’m afraid.” He paused as he grasped the book and flipped it open. “But I have seen her interviews on some occasion, she’s a very articulate speaker, too wordy sometimes but her dry wit compensates for it.”
“Well, you’re going to help her write her next book.” Cobb announced and Arthur’s eyebrow rising a fraction was the only indication of his surprise. “I don’t write books, Mr. Cobb. I hope that this isn’t what the publication hired me for” said Arthur, his tone clipped.
“Oh no, you’ll be her personal assistant. Help her with her writing process; make her life easier so she can work on her next book.” Cobb finally sat down and squinted at Arthur. He knew what Arthur was thinking, that this job was ridiculous. Babysitting a writer would be the appropriate job description; once the others realized that this is what they’ll be hired to do they backed out. Cobb was nearly sure that Arthur will take the same course of action.
“Ah, she’s been elusive as of late, am I correct?” inquired Arthur, phrasing the real problem differently. He already knew what was going on; Ariadne Hollis, famous writer, was having a writer’s block. The publication, anxious for another bestseller, hired him to be her assistant, to monitor and make sure that she finishes the book.
“Yes, she has. Mr. Fischer wants her to finish her work. She’s a bit recalcitrant about our efforts to help her, though” Cobb replied and by recalcitrant he meant that she was extremely hostile and all but declared war on her publishers if they sent her anymore spies to snoop on her writing process. But Arthur didn’t need to know that.
Arthur pondered on the subject, his eyes fixing on the writer’s picture. Ariadne Hollis was very young, her face looking more like it belonged to a 14-year old school girl than a 23-year old writer. He didn’t know what the deal was with her, or why she was having a writer’s block, but if the company’s performance would be forgone just to wait for her to realize her creative revelations, she got another thing coming. He would help her, shape her work ethic so she won’t be a liability to the company. He will make sure that book will be finished and published.
“Interested in doing the job?” asked Cobb, eyeing him warily, anticipating for a positive answer. If Arthur didn’t agree, Maurice Fischer will have their heads on a chopping block. Ariadne was one of their most valued writers and her output is much anticipated within the publication.
The consultant stared at Ariadne’s file for a bit before standing up. Holding out his hand in a handshake, Cobb grasped his hand as he said, “Yes, when can I start?” Cobb smiled at him ruefully, but it was brief and his professional mask was back on. “Why don’t we discuss this over lunch?”
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What’s a good way to die? Ariadne stood over the edge of her office building; tiny feet perched on the stone precipice. She closed her eyes, feeling the wind whip past her, can feel herself nearly tip over before regaining balance. Her arms stretched outward as she breathes in deeply, her head lolling back as she felt a strange sense of exhilaration rush to her, relishing the feeling of invincibility when one stands over the line between life and death. I can’t write anymore, she’s jarringly awakened from her carefree thoughts and can feel that emptiness seep back in. She lowered her hands and gazed blankly at the street below, imagining the feeling of hitting the pavement. Or perhaps she won’t feel it at all. You won’t know until you try. She steps off and she falls.
“Ms. Hollis.”
Ariadne opened her eyes, surprised to see the white walls of her office. She turns towards the source of the harsh call and sees a tall, lean man dressed in a dark overcoat, a silver briefcase in one hand and a stony expression on his young face. He was eyeing her, this tiny woman dressed in oversized men’s dress shirts, rolled slacks, dark dressing robe and her small feet bare. It didn’t help that she was standing on her desk. “Yes? Who are you?” she said rudely, not even bothering to come down. She felt powerful standing from this height, lording over him. She wouldn’t stand a chance if she confronted this tall stranger with her 5 foot 1 stature.
The stranger merely gave her a cold look before going into business. “Arthur Maddox. Fischer Morrow Publications sent me to assist you.” His voice was deep, lacking any warm affectation or character. Ariadne frowned at him then clambered down, moving past him to collect a discarded piece of paper by his feet and crunching it into a ball before tossing it into the bin. “Ah, the spy” she said acidly.
“Assistant” corrected Arthur, his monotonous voice echoing through the vast office. Ariadne made a noncommittal snort and moved to stare out the window, contemplating something. Arthur waited for her to speak, his eyes roving the bare state of her office. Most of the walls were white, the few furniture in the area were all darkly coloured, her typewriter sat atop her desk, wrappers of sweets scattered around it.
“What do you think about falling down a building? Suicide by jumping off the roof?” came her voice, quiet and the girlish tones still evident in it. “I beg your pardon?”
“They say when you fall,” she continues, as if she didn’t hear him, “it’s not the impact that kills you. It’s when you’re falling; all your troubles vanish, like catharsis. There’s this feature I saw once, a woman jumped off her apartment building. When they saw her lying on the concrete, her face was smooth,” her small hands come up to hover over her face, her eyes closing as she imagined the woman, “like the wind blowing on her face lifted her burdens, and she looked so peaceful… so beautiful, with the blood pooling around her head like a halo.”
He stares at her the whole time she talks, silent as he drinks in the sight of this tiny woman explaining the catharsis of suicide. “What exactly do you mean?” he said bluntly. Her hands immediately drop and she stares at him blankly before shrugging. “Doesn’t matter.” Ariadne walks to her desk and plops down on her desk. “Well, Mr. Arthur Maddox (pompous name, by the way), I’m assuming you are a stubborn automaton who does his job perfectly, why don’t you help me?” Arthur was inwardly relieved when she said that, her cooperation was essential or else he’d have to force her to cooperate. He nearly reached for his laptop, readying himself to draw up a whole systematic schedule for her, or to help her research for her book, when she spoke again.
“Can you get me those chocolate covered pretzel sticks down at the grocer? Or a pack of those fruit gummies? Or Cornish pasties at the bakery? Better yet, get them all.” She held up a piece of paper labeled: MY DIET. Underneath it were various names of sweets, chips, pastries and whatever else she deemed fit for her nutritional needs. “Pizza?” he read a random listing and Ariadne gave an excited whoop. “Ooh! Pizza! Go get me some! I need to omnomnom some!” He opened his mouth to argue, set her straight that he was an efficiency consultant, not an errand boy when she waved a dismissive hand and shooed him out. “Go on out, so I can write and you can get your job done.” Before he knew it he was out her door, clutching her grocery list and wondering what the hell he signed up for when he accepted the job.
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“What do you think of her?” asked Cobb as they sat underneath the awning at a café near the publishing office when he was called to report back after one day. Arthur sipped at his black coffee and frowned at the older man, who seemed to enjoy his frustration when a smile appeared on Cobb’s face. “She made me buy her pizza and sweets.”
“And?” Cobb said lightly as he swirled his sweet tea around. Arthur gave him an incredulous look. “I said she made me buy her food. That’s not in my job description.”
“That’s not what I asked you, Mr. Maddox.” Said the older man, still sipping his tea, seemingly oblivious to Arthur’s irritation. “And I did say that your job was to help her, so technically buying her grocery is part of your job. Anyway, I asked you what do you think of her.”
Arthur was silent for a bit and he stared at unopened packet of sugar by his cup. “She was standing on top of the desk when I walked in, her hands stretched out in front of her, her eyes closed. The first thing she discussed with me was about jumping off buildings, that plummeting to one’s death is cathartic.” He watched Cobb pause mid-sip to regard him with a curious glance before resuming his tea drinking. He didn’t say anything and Arthur continued on. “She’s strange.”
Cobb put down his cup, “Is that so? Well, sounds like she’s taken a liking to you. She’s rarely that talkative at first meetings. And she trusts you enough to let you buy her food without worrying that you’ll poison her. That woman is notoriously frosty and obnoxious when she meets someone new.”
Arthur said nothing, barely hearing Cobb’s next words as he contemplated his newest job. The petite woman standing on her desk earlier was not what he expected when he accepted the job. He didn’t count on her being so snarky, or so autocratic. He didn’t expect her to be so tiny compared to him, how his towering height easily dwarfed her form. He didn’t count on her soft features, her dark wavy hair framing her young face, her slight form or her intelligent brown eyes staring at him determinedly. Lastly he didn’t expect her to launch into a discourse about suicide and the beauty of death and catharsis. He did not expect Ariadne Hollis at all.
“You’ve got five weeks with her by the way. That’s the publications deadline for her book.” Said Cobb as he finished his tea. Arthur raised a brow, “That’s a short time to finish a book.”
“Oh, she only has one chapter left. Fischer thinks your efficiency can ensure that she meets the deadline. And judging on what you just told me, I think she’ll finish the book in no time.” Cobb smiled at him then, a knowing glint in his eye.
-------------------Author's Notes: Ariadne's discourse about suicide and catharsis was borrowed from Emma Thompson's dialogue in Stranger Than Fiction, I just tried to recreate it, hoping to capture the gist of what Emma Thompson's character was trying to say.
Author: eevah14
Beta: need one, anyone willing to apply?
Pairing: Arthur/ Ariadne
Rating: PG- 13 (as of now)
Summary: Inspired by Karen Eiffel and Penny in Stranger Than Fiction. Arthur is a work consultant who is hired to help Ariadne, a famous writer (as well as a notorious recluse) to finish her work. He spends five weeks with her to finish her book, helping her with any task (from doing menial tasks like getting her pizza and coffee as well as helping her find inspiration). He counts on finishing the book, but doesn't count on falling in love with her.
Disclaimer: I don not own Inception, the amazing Christopher Nolan does. I, also, do not own Stranger Than Fiction. I am simply uniting these two awesome movies to make a fanfic.
Part 2
Part3
1. Her Name is Ariadne Hollis; writer, desk climber, autocrat, pizza omnomnomer, strange.
The sparse whiteness of the office wall were harsh on her eyes, even when she closes them she sees the glaring brightness. Her fingers twitch inanely, awkwardly hovering over the typewriter keys before settling over the paper and ripping it out and crumpling it, the half-finished sentence discarded. She can’t think, she can’t write, she can’t do anything. And with that thought, she slumped back on her high-backed chair, dreaming about anything except the story she’s supposed to be writing.
--------------------------
Arthur looked at Cobb, boring a hole on the editor’s back with his dark gaze. “You were highly recommended. Your efficiency, they say, is top notch. Hopefully those claims are true, or else we’ll be in trouble.” The editor spoke while adjusting a few papers behind his desk, his back to the tall, young man seated on the chaise lounge. Dressed in a crisp three-piece suit and exuding an air of control, it wasn’t hard to imagine that this man was fastidious and efficient. However, Cobb knew better than to be fooled by his outer appearance; the publication depended heavily on who he would hire. Right now, their hope rested on the broad, well-dressed shoulders of a man named Arthur Maddox.
“My services are decent, Mr. Cobb.” Said Arthur, elaborating no more about his reputation as one of the strictest and most efficient office consultants. Claimed to be a work ethic guru, corporations and companies came to him when performances went sloppy and the corporate gears needed to be tightened and well-oiled. He specialized in details, and details ensured optimum performance for each employee for a corporation to keep running. Cobb turned to look at him then, eyeing the younger man for a moment before reaching for a file and a book and thrusting them in front of Arthur. Arthur raised an eyebrow before reaching over and rifling through the file.
“You have heard of Ariadne Hollis, yes?” Cobb reached out a hand to fiddle with a picture frame on his table, his eyes glossing over the picture of his wife and two kids. “Famous writer, Hugo and Nebula awardee, her novels are published by this publication if I am correct.” Arthur rattled the information about her, like he’d stored some info about her already. Cobb nearly smiled before taking the book Arthur didn’t take and raising it up. “Ever read her books? Absolutely brilliant, every one of them.” He said, his tone softening a bit. “She’s the best writer I’ve seen in years.”
Arthur regarded the book then said, “I haven’t read her works to be honest. I’m not that well-versed in contemporary literature, I’m afraid.” He paused as he grasped the book and flipped it open. “But I have seen her interviews on some occasion, she’s a very articulate speaker, too wordy sometimes but her dry wit compensates for it.”
“Well, you’re going to help her write her next book.” Cobb announced and Arthur’s eyebrow rising a fraction was the only indication of his surprise. “I don’t write books, Mr. Cobb. I hope that this isn’t what the publication hired me for” said Arthur, his tone clipped.
“Oh no, you’ll be her personal assistant. Help her with her writing process; make her life easier so she can work on her next book.” Cobb finally sat down and squinted at Arthur. He knew what Arthur was thinking, that this job was ridiculous. Babysitting a writer would be the appropriate job description; once the others realized that this is what they’ll be hired to do they backed out. Cobb was nearly sure that Arthur will take the same course of action.
“Ah, she’s been elusive as of late, am I correct?” inquired Arthur, phrasing the real problem differently. He already knew what was going on; Ariadne Hollis, famous writer, was having a writer’s block. The publication, anxious for another bestseller, hired him to be her assistant, to monitor and make sure that she finishes the book.
“Yes, she has. Mr. Fischer wants her to finish her work. She’s a bit recalcitrant about our efforts to help her, though” Cobb replied and by recalcitrant he meant that she was extremely hostile and all but declared war on her publishers if they sent her anymore spies to snoop on her writing process. But Arthur didn’t need to know that.
Arthur pondered on the subject, his eyes fixing on the writer’s picture. Ariadne Hollis was very young, her face looking more like it belonged to a 14-year old school girl than a 23-year old writer. He didn’t know what the deal was with her, or why she was having a writer’s block, but if the company’s performance would be forgone just to wait for her to realize her creative revelations, she got another thing coming. He would help her, shape her work ethic so she won’t be a liability to the company. He will make sure that book will be finished and published.
“Interested in doing the job?” asked Cobb, eyeing him warily, anticipating for a positive answer. If Arthur didn’t agree, Maurice Fischer will have their heads on a chopping block. Ariadne was one of their most valued writers and her output is much anticipated within the publication.
The consultant stared at Ariadne’s file for a bit before standing up. Holding out his hand in a handshake, Cobb grasped his hand as he said, “Yes, when can I start?” Cobb smiled at him ruefully, but it was brief and his professional mask was back on. “Why don’t we discuss this over lunch?”
----------------------
What’s a good way to die? Ariadne stood over the edge of her office building; tiny feet perched on the stone precipice. She closed her eyes, feeling the wind whip past her, can feel herself nearly tip over before regaining balance. Her arms stretched outward as she breathes in deeply, her head lolling back as she felt a strange sense of exhilaration rush to her, relishing the feeling of invincibility when one stands over the line between life and death. I can’t write anymore, she’s jarringly awakened from her carefree thoughts and can feel that emptiness seep back in. She lowered her hands and gazed blankly at the street below, imagining the feeling of hitting the pavement. Or perhaps she won’t feel it at all. You won’t know until you try. She steps off and she falls.
“Ms. Hollis.”
Ariadne opened her eyes, surprised to see the white walls of her office. She turns towards the source of the harsh call and sees a tall, lean man dressed in a dark overcoat, a silver briefcase in one hand and a stony expression on his young face. He was eyeing her, this tiny woman dressed in oversized men’s dress shirts, rolled slacks, dark dressing robe and her small feet bare. It didn’t help that she was standing on her desk. “Yes? Who are you?” she said rudely, not even bothering to come down. She felt powerful standing from this height, lording over him. She wouldn’t stand a chance if she confronted this tall stranger with her 5 foot 1 stature.
The stranger merely gave her a cold look before going into business. “Arthur Maddox. Fischer Morrow Publications sent me to assist you.” His voice was deep, lacking any warm affectation or character. Ariadne frowned at him then clambered down, moving past him to collect a discarded piece of paper by his feet and crunching it into a ball before tossing it into the bin. “Ah, the spy” she said acidly.
“Assistant” corrected Arthur, his monotonous voice echoing through the vast office. Ariadne made a noncommittal snort and moved to stare out the window, contemplating something. Arthur waited for her to speak, his eyes roving the bare state of her office. Most of the walls were white, the few furniture in the area were all darkly coloured, her typewriter sat atop her desk, wrappers of sweets scattered around it.
“What do you think about falling down a building? Suicide by jumping off the roof?” came her voice, quiet and the girlish tones still evident in it. “I beg your pardon?”
“They say when you fall,” she continues, as if she didn’t hear him, “it’s not the impact that kills you. It’s when you’re falling; all your troubles vanish, like catharsis. There’s this feature I saw once, a woman jumped off her apartment building. When they saw her lying on the concrete, her face was smooth,” her small hands come up to hover over her face, her eyes closing as she imagined the woman, “like the wind blowing on her face lifted her burdens, and she looked so peaceful… so beautiful, with the blood pooling around her head like a halo.”
He stares at her the whole time she talks, silent as he drinks in the sight of this tiny woman explaining the catharsis of suicide. “What exactly do you mean?” he said bluntly. Her hands immediately drop and she stares at him blankly before shrugging. “Doesn’t matter.” Ariadne walks to her desk and plops down on her desk. “Well, Mr. Arthur Maddox (pompous name, by the way), I’m assuming you are a stubborn automaton who does his job perfectly, why don’t you help me?” Arthur was inwardly relieved when she said that, her cooperation was essential or else he’d have to force her to cooperate. He nearly reached for his laptop, readying himself to draw up a whole systematic schedule for her, or to help her research for her book, when she spoke again.
“Can you get me those chocolate covered pretzel sticks down at the grocer? Or a pack of those fruit gummies? Or Cornish pasties at the bakery? Better yet, get them all.” She held up a piece of paper labeled: MY DIET. Underneath it were various names of sweets, chips, pastries and whatever else she deemed fit for her nutritional needs. “Pizza?” he read a random listing and Ariadne gave an excited whoop. “Ooh! Pizza! Go get me some! I need to omnomnom some!” He opened his mouth to argue, set her straight that he was an efficiency consultant, not an errand boy when she waved a dismissive hand and shooed him out. “Go on out, so I can write and you can get your job done.” Before he knew it he was out her door, clutching her grocery list and wondering what the hell he signed up for when he accepted the job.
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“What do you think of her?” asked Cobb as they sat underneath the awning at a café near the publishing office when he was called to report back after one day. Arthur sipped at his black coffee and frowned at the older man, who seemed to enjoy his frustration when a smile appeared on Cobb’s face. “She made me buy her pizza and sweets.”
“And?” Cobb said lightly as he swirled his sweet tea around. Arthur gave him an incredulous look. “I said she made me buy her food. That’s not in my job description.”
“That’s not what I asked you, Mr. Maddox.” Said the older man, still sipping his tea, seemingly oblivious to Arthur’s irritation. “And I did say that your job was to help her, so technically buying her grocery is part of your job. Anyway, I asked you what do you think of her.”
Arthur was silent for a bit and he stared at unopened packet of sugar by his cup. “She was standing on top of the desk when I walked in, her hands stretched out in front of her, her eyes closed. The first thing she discussed with me was about jumping off buildings, that plummeting to one’s death is cathartic.” He watched Cobb pause mid-sip to regard him with a curious glance before resuming his tea drinking. He didn’t say anything and Arthur continued on. “She’s strange.”
Cobb put down his cup, “Is that so? Well, sounds like she’s taken a liking to you. She’s rarely that talkative at first meetings. And she trusts you enough to let you buy her food without worrying that you’ll poison her. That woman is notoriously frosty and obnoxious when she meets someone new.”
Arthur said nothing, barely hearing Cobb’s next words as he contemplated his newest job. The petite woman standing on her desk earlier was not what he expected when he accepted the job. He didn’t count on her being so snarky, or so autocratic. He didn’t expect her to be so tiny compared to him, how his towering height easily dwarfed her form. He didn’t count on her soft features, her dark wavy hair framing her young face, her slight form or her intelligent brown eyes staring at him determinedly. Lastly he didn’t expect her to launch into a discourse about suicide and the beauty of death and catharsis. He did not expect Ariadne Hollis at all.
“You’ve got five weeks with her by the way. That’s the publications deadline for her book.” Said Cobb as he finished his tea. Arthur raised a brow, “That’s a short time to finish a book.”
“Oh, she only has one chapter left. Fischer thinks your efficiency can ensure that she meets the deadline. And judging on what you just told me, I think she’ll finish the book in no time.” Cobb smiled at him then, a knowing glint in his eye.
-------------------Author's Notes: Ariadne's discourse about suicide and catharsis was borrowed from Emma Thompson's dialogue in Stranger Than Fiction, I just tried to recreate it, hoping to capture the gist of what Emma Thompson's character was trying to say.