Prompt Post No. 12
Welcome to Round 12 of the Inception Kink Meme.
Prompting System
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The city of New Angeles was old and rotting, spread out like a dark petrol stain on sand. Three great towers stood at its the center, so tall that the uppermost tips of their spires pierced the clouds. Like dreary, limp halos, mist spiraled down around the dark towers, cloaking the upper windows with an ever-present slick of rain and casting the occupants in a drear half-light. Dominic Cobb, Lord Mayor of the New Angeles - whom some dissidents and discontents mockingly called ‘King’, and most called ‘Black Cobb’ after his reputation for violence and use of Dark Magic - looked up slowly from his clasped hands. His eyes were hidden by shadow, and the shadows around his tight mouth grew outwards, looking to split his face in two. Next to him sat Ariadne, Priestess of the Cults, who oversaw all major religions, sects, and belief systems within the city. Her reputation was, if anything infamously Darker than Black Cobb’s. One of her hands grasped Cobb’s arm, the black and curved claws that had grown in place of her human fingernails piercing the fabric of his jacket. The inky darkness from the nails crawled up her fingers and the skin of her hand, staining her; it brought to mind, with vivid clarity, rumors of her Dark Magic experiments, the criminals sentenced to imprisonment never seen from again. Her fingers tightened, nearly imperceptibly.
Arthur turned his gaze away from her, and fixed it upon the Lord Mayor’s hands. They shifted, spreading apart and grasping the arms of his chair. Cobb stood; his hands straightened the jacket of his black suit, and the knot of the dark tie that had been perfectly straight to begin with. Arthur fixed his shoulders, watching, and stood as tall as possible when one was wearing only thin cotton pants and a dressing gown. He wanted to ask Cobb why he was here, why he had been dragged out of bed at the darkest hour of the night by Cobb’s police, and bundled away to the Lord Mayor’s towering to be kept waiting in suspended fear until this moment, but he remained silent. As his heart’s frantic beating slowed, and as he lifted his gaze to Cobb’s - observing the man’s pale, drawn face, his desperate eyes - Cobb spoke.
“You will Raise my wife.”
Arthur’s hands clenched in the soft fabric of his robe, involuntarily. The Lord Mayor’s wife had died a week before, killed by a train running on abandoned train tracks she had been standing on, or so rumor whispered. The story made little sense, and Arthur had long since learned to discount the mutterings of the rumor-mill. There had been no official announcement of Mal Cobb’s death and until this moment, Arthur had believed the woman alive.
Now Arthur’s abduction made some sense. He was only called upon when someone had died. Cobb wanted Arthur to work for him, and he wanted Arthur to Raise his wife from the dead. It was Arthur’s specialty, after all. And it was a task made much easier by the presence of a body, but after a week and a train collision, Arthur really didn’t want to know about that. He stepped forward, heard the click of armor and weapons from the guards stationed at the edges of the room, and stopped.
“I will need something of her, and three days.”
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