Prompt Post No. 13
Welcome to Round 13 of the Inception Kink Meme. This post will be closed to new prompts once it reaches five thousand comments.
New Prompting System
- Prompt post will temporarily close to new prompts at 2000 comments.
- Forty-eight hours later, post will reopen to new prompts and temporarily close again when 4000 comments are reached.
- Forty-eight hours ( Read more... )
She said it with the same finality Cobb had always used, and Eames wondered just exactly when it was that she'd become leader -- or when they'd become an actual group and not just a bunch of freelancers. He hadn't worked a job without them in a year and a half.
“No, I'll go," Arthur said. "But I don't like it."
"Don't have to like it, darling. Really you don't have to worry. The hardest bit is over. We waltz in, drop the goods and this is my favourite bit -- get paid." Eames picked up the table tent, examining each image of artfully stacked pancakes.
"Eames," Arthur said.
"I find that no matter how much money I have, I always like more. Cold hard cash, filthy lucre. Strange, that money is the only thing you can say that about. Well, money and socks--"
"Eames," Arthur said again, more instantly.
"Actually, if anything I like socks even more, though money can readily be exchanged for socks--"
"Dammit, Eames." Arthur leaned over the table, batting the table tent aside and taking Eames' chin in his hand, forcing his head up to meet Arthur's gaze. "I can't read your lips if I can't see them." He released Arthur and sat back with a sharp release of breath. "I'll be back." He slid out of the booth and stalked off toward the back of the restaurant.
"Awkward," Ariadne said.
"Should I go after him?" Eames asked.
"You should let him cool off," she said, but Eames was already working his way out of the booth.
"I'm going to go after him."
"Suit yourself," Ariadne called after him. "But I'm stealing your bacon!"
Arthur was at the furthest sink, his face damp and dripping. He grabbed a handful of scratchy brown paper towels from the dispenser and dried his face, straightening as he caught sight of Eames' reflection in the mirror.
"I'm sorry," he said, turning.
"You've stolen my line,” Eames said. “I'm the one who's sorry. Why are you sorry?"
“I shouldn't ... have snapped at you,” Arthur said. “It was unprofessional.”
“I wasn't saying anything worth listening to, you know,” Eames said. Eames wanted to turn away or pace in the confined space and he'd never realised quite how often he manipulate his physical presence to deflect attention away from himself or evade scrutiny. But he couldn't turn away from Arthur now, even if it was all he could do to keep from squirming.
“Well, that's about par for the course,” Arthur said, his voice softening.
Eames took a step closer and forced himself to meet Arthur's dark gaze. “Look, Arthur, I...” The door swung open, admitting a large man in a trucker hat, who locked himself into the first stall. “... I think that might be my cue to exit.”
They returned to the table to find Ariadne had eaten not just Eames' bacon, but Arthur as well. She was now mapping out a route to the drop-off point in Reno.
“We're not flying?” Eames asked.
“Monsanto will be looking for us. McCarran will be crawling with his men. It's an eight hour drive from here to Reno. If we leave, oh, now, we can make it with plenty of time before the seven o'clock meeting.” She pulled her wallet out of her purse and pulled out a couple of notes to cover the bill. “So, chop-chop. Time's awastin'.”
Arthur exchanged a dubious look with Eames, who shrugged.
It was usually best not to argue.
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