Re: Gen, Round 3: The Next Generation (Fill 4/5)
anonymous
August 31 2010, 00:09:30 UTC
“Um,” says Ariadne. “Phillipa, want to help me out here?”
Phillipa hops down from her perch in Eames’ arms and says firmly, “From now on, you two, I want to be your supreme leader and dictator on the strength of my own merits, such as my newly acquired rocket launcher, and not just because my parents are awesome.” Then she adds thoughtfully, “And if you have a problem with that, these people are going to get you.”
“For such a young kid, she's got a really good grasp of italics,” Eames mutters to Arthur, who gives him a tiny smile.
Phillipa’s almost gotten her two new devotees untied when Cobb ventures out from the kitchen, gives the entire scene a very perplexed look, and announces, “Yusuf’s going to be late. Caused a 16-car pile-up right in front of the bakery.”
There is a disbelieving silence. Then Saito’s head lifts, and he says icily, “My bakery?”
--|--
“There was a hill,” Yusuf wails, as Phillipa cuts the cake and Saito shoots him looks of sophisticated fury. “I just wanted to recreate my moment of glory.” He glances around the table and finds no allies. “Doesn’t that ever happen to you guys?”
“No,” says Eames, who has definitely never wandered around large buildings, looking for strategic points to place explosives.
“No,” says Arthur, who has definitely never taken an elevator up and down a hotel sixteen consecutive times, hoping that gravity will stop and enemies in well-made suits will come at him from all sides.
“No,” says Ariadne, who has definitely never thrown herself off a building next to Robert Fischer, although that would not be a bad way to go.
“No,” says Saito, whose life is made up entirely of moments of glory, which means that there’s never time to recreate any of them.
“Um,” says Cobb, whose moment of glory is probably Mal. He clears his throat. “More cake, you guys?”
--|--
By the time the cake is devoured, the presents are unwrapped, and Cobb is finished explaining to Saito why giving an amusement park to Phillipa redefines the idea of ‘spoiling children’, it’s almost completely dark outside. Ariadne needs to catch her flight back to Paris, and Yusuf needs to flee the country because there are fifteen drivers ready to slap lawsuits on him, so they grab a taxi to the airport together. Saito hops on a helicopter and disappears into the dead of night, holding a box of kittens that Phillipa’s deputized him to distribute. Then it’s only Arthur and Eames and Cobb, cleaning the kitchen in comfortable silence.
“So,” Eames says, licking frosting off the cake knife. Arthur drops a plate on the floor and looks at the pieces forlornly, which earns him a surprised, delighted grin from Eames and a squint from Cobb. “Do you think it worked?”
“Did what work?” asks Arthur, sweeping the shards into a dustpan.
Eames shrugs, running the knife under the faucet. “You know. Cobb’s plan where he gets rid of his residual guilt by showing the others his children as a subtle way of saying, Yes, I was willing to risk your lives, and this is why.” He glances into the living room, where James is expanding his structure across the Mediterranean, and whistles softly. “That was your plan, right?”
Cobb, drying a small plate, smiles at the towel and says nothing. Instead, Arthur stands, eyebrows raised, and begins, “I am -”
Then he stops, before he gets to the usual condescending impressed, Mr. Eames, and instead he smiles, beautiful and genuine, and Eames feels his heart miss a beat.
“Oops,” he says, when he snaps back to reality and there’s a second plate in pieces on the floor, and Cobb is squinting at both of them like his eyeballs are going to fall out if he doesn’t.
Phillipa hops down from her perch in Eames’ arms and says firmly, “From now on, you two, I want to be your supreme leader and dictator on the strength of my own merits, such as my newly acquired rocket launcher, and not just because my parents are awesome.” Then she adds thoughtfully, “And if you have a problem with that, these people are going to get you.”
“For such a young kid, she's got a really good grasp of italics,” Eames mutters to Arthur, who gives him a tiny smile.
Phillipa’s almost gotten her two new devotees untied when Cobb ventures out from the kitchen, gives the entire scene a very perplexed look, and announces, “Yusuf’s going to be late. Caused a 16-car pile-up right in front of the bakery.”
There is a disbelieving silence. Then Saito’s head lifts, and he says icily, “My bakery?”
--|--
“There was a hill,” Yusuf wails, as Phillipa cuts the cake and Saito shoots him looks of sophisticated fury. “I just wanted to recreate my moment of glory.” He glances around the table and finds no allies. “Doesn’t that ever happen to you guys?”
“No,” says Eames, who has definitely never wandered around large buildings, looking for strategic points to place explosives.
“No,” says Arthur, who has definitely never taken an elevator up and down a hotel sixteen consecutive times, hoping that gravity will stop and enemies in well-made suits will come at him from all sides.
“No,” says Ariadne, who has definitely never thrown herself off a building next to Robert Fischer, although that would not be a bad way to go.
“No,” says Saito, whose life is made up entirely of moments of glory, which means that there’s never time to recreate any of them.
“Um,” says Cobb, whose moment of glory is probably Mal. He clears his throat. “More cake, you guys?”
--|--
By the time the cake is devoured, the presents are unwrapped, and Cobb is finished explaining to Saito why giving an amusement park to Phillipa redefines the idea of ‘spoiling children’, it’s almost completely dark outside. Ariadne needs to catch her flight back to Paris, and Yusuf needs to flee the country because there are fifteen drivers ready to slap lawsuits on him, so they grab a taxi to the airport together. Saito hops on a helicopter and disappears into the dead of night, holding a box of kittens that Phillipa’s deputized him to distribute. Then it’s only Arthur and Eames and Cobb, cleaning the kitchen in comfortable silence.
“So,” Eames says, licking frosting off the cake knife. Arthur drops a plate on the floor and looks at the pieces forlornly, which earns him a surprised, delighted grin from Eames and a squint from Cobb. “Do you think it worked?”
“Did what work?” asks Arthur, sweeping the shards into a dustpan.
Eames shrugs, running the knife under the faucet. “You know. Cobb’s plan where he gets rid of his residual guilt by showing the others his children as a subtle way of saying, Yes, I was willing to risk your lives, and this is why.” He glances into the living room, where James is expanding his structure across the Mediterranean, and whistles softly. “That was your plan, right?”
Cobb, drying a small plate, smiles at the towel and says nothing. Instead, Arthur stands, eyebrows raised, and begins, “I am -”
Then he stops, before he gets to the usual condescending impressed, Mr. Eames, and instead he smiles, beautiful and genuine, and Eames feels his heart miss a beat.
“Oops,” he says, when he snaps back to reality and there’s a second plate in pieces on the floor, and Cobb is squinting at both of them like his eyeballs are going to fall out if he doesn’t.
--|--
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