Re: Gen, Round 3: The Next Generation (Fill 2/?)
anonymous
August 31 2010, 00:02:12 UTC
His daughter fixes him with an accusatory stare and answers, “Santa didn’t give me one last Christmas, so I have decided to move in more influential circles.” Then her eyes sparkle and she adds blissfully, “Its aircrafts will fly around the world, transporting homeless kittens to kind owners.”
“Phil,” says James, tugging on her sleeve.
“Also,” Phillipa says, “James wants the Parthenon.”
She nods once, briskly, like she’s just concluded a business transaction, and climbs off the couch to traipse into the kitchen, where Yusuf is experimenting with the cake-making, because really cooking is just chemistry, after all. Eames barely has time to say, in tones of great reverence, “That is the most self-possessed kid I’ve ever come across,” when the fire alarms go off and Phillipa saunters in to request a new kitchen from Saito. And a proper cake, if it’s not too much to ask for.
--|--
Once the fire department has come and gone, leaving behind a slightly soggy house and a James in paroxysms of delight, Yusuf offers to pick up a cake at the local bakery, because, after all, there was that one time that he drove a van through heavy gunfire and ended up flipping it down a slope and landed it properly, and if that doesn’t make him qualified to drive two blocks over, then nothing will.
“Yeah, all right,” says Eames, because really no one wants to hear Yusuf bragging about driving down a slope again, since anyone can do that, courtesy of a little thing called gravity, and it’s not nearly as impressive as blowing up a heavily guarded fortress in the middle of a snowstorm (while possibly distracted by thoughts of certain people leading others on merry chases, and oh god is ‘merry chase’ a euphemism, because Fischer’s projections were really quite fit, and --).
“Go,” says Arthur, which clearly translates to I am a badass motherfucker who took care of the blowing up thing without gravity, thank you ever so much, and no, Mr. Eames, it is not, which shuts everyone else up pretty effectively.
When he’s gone, Phillipa beckons to Eames, who beams and scoops her up with a delighted “Darling!”, entirely missing the way Arthur turns and almost says, yes? Then she leans very close to him and whispers, “Was that a rocket launcher in the bushes outside?”
Eames glances at Arthur, Saito and Cobb, who are sipping coffee at the kitchen table while discussing the possible profits to be made off an animal shelter/international airline conglomerate, and then at Ariadne, who is helping James turn his Lego collection into a small-scale replica of the Temple of Nike Apteros. “Yes,” he whispers back, as Cobb goes into the next room to figure out what’s taking Yusuf so long. “That’ll just be our little secret, though. You can’t have it until you’re older.”
Phillipa looks at him with that melting gaze, and says, “But I need it now.”
“Oh,” says Eames slowly. “And why is that, sweetheart?”
Phillipa shrinks into herself and answers, “Don’t tell Daddy, but the - the neighbors’ kids. There are - they say that Mommy went mad and Daddy’s a murderer and I -”
She breaks off, chewing on her bottom lip, and looks at the floor.
“Phil,” says James, tugging on her sleeve.
“Also,” Phillipa says, “James wants the Parthenon.”
She nods once, briskly, like she’s just concluded a business transaction, and climbs off the couch to traipse into the kitchen, where Yusuf is experimenting with the cake-making, because really cooking is just chemistry, after all. Eames barely has time to say, in tones of great reverence, “That is the most self-possessed kid I’ve ever come across,” when the fire alarms go off and Phillipa saunters in to request a new kitchen from Saito. And a proper cake, if it’s not too much to ask for.
--|--
Once the fire department has come and gone, leaving behind a slightly soggy house and a James in paroxysms of delight, Yusuf offers to pick up a cake at the local bakery, because, after all, there was that one time that he drove a van through heavy gunfire and ended up flipping it down a slope and landed it properly, and if that doesn’t make him qualified to drive two blocks over, then nothing will.
“Yeah, all right,” says Eames, because really no one wants to hear Yusuf bragging about driving down a slope again, since anyone can do that, courtesy of a little thing called gravity, and it’s not nearly as impressive as blowing up a heavily guarded fortress in the middle of a snowstorm (while possibly distracted by thoughts of certain people leading others on merry chases, and oh god is ‘merry chase’ a euphemism, because Fischer’s projections were really quite fit, and --).
“Go,” says Arthur, which clearly translates to I am a badass motherfucker who took care of the blowing up thing without gravity, thank you ever so much, and no, Mr. Eames, it is not, which shuts everyone else up pretty effectively.
When he’s gone, Phillipa beckons to Eames, who beams and scoops her up with a delighted “Darling!”, entirely missing the way Arthur turns and almost says, yes? Then she leans very close to him and whispers, “Was that a rocket launcher in the bushes outside?”
Eames glances at Arthur, Saito and Cobb, who are sipping coffee at the kitchen table while discussing the possible profits to be made off an animal shelter/international airline conglomerate, and then at Ariadne, who is helping James turn his Lego collection into a small-scale replica of the Temple of Nike Apteros. “Yes,” he whispers back, as Cobb goes into the next room to figure out what’s taking Yusuf so long. “That’ll just be our little secret, though. You can’t have it until you’re older.”
Phillipa looks at him with that melting gaze, and says, “But I need it now.”
“Oh,” says Eames slowly. “And why is that, sweetheart?”
Phillipa shrinks into herself and answers, “Don’t tell Daddy, but the - the neighbors’ kids. There are - they say that Mommy went mad and Daddy’s a murderer and I -”
She breaks off, chewing on her bottom lip, and looks at the floor.
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