[Inception] "Faces of the Subconscious" (PG)
Author's Note: Written for "Inception, Ariadne/Arthur, his projections are nice to her" on comment_fic. I was in the mood for writing some cute fluff, and this prompt was just what I was looking for.
A routine check on the design for the new dreamscape before the team brought their subject into it: Ariadne always preferred to make the final adjustments in Arthur's company, or at least with him as the dreamer. Eames occasionally produced some terrifying or annoying projections, and Cobb was less than willing to let her inside his head after the Fischer Inceptiom, though she wasn't sure why and she wasn't about to press her mentor for his reasons, since that often lead to a snappy comeback or a stony silence.
She found a mistake in the second level: a walkway that was supposed to lead to nowhere opened onto a storage area that they didn't need. She made the necessary corrections, then headed back to the atrium where she'd agreed to meet up with Arthur. Along the way, she spotted a few projections coming toward her. Instinctively, she ducked down another hallway. But she saw one older gent with a grey fedora smile and tip his hat to her.
As she struggled to shift the clipboard and papers she was carrying while she reached for the latch on a set of glass doors, another passerby, a tall man in a brown suit, reached to open it for her, smiling and nodding to her as she sputtered a thank you and stepped through.
On reaching the atrium, she spotted a sweet-looking old lady sitting beside a small flower stall that hadn't been there before. The flower-seller smiled to her and held out a bouquet of purple and white violets. "The young gent who looks like Cary Grant told me to give these to ye," she said, pressing them gently into Ariadne's hand.
"What is going on?" Ariadne murmured, thinking out loud as she tracked her way to the table by a large window at which Arthur was already seated.
"You all right? Are the projections giving you trouble?" he asked.
"No, they're being nice to me, and that's almost scarier," she said, looking over her shoulder, to spot a tough-looking woman in a power suit pausing to look at the two of them, a misty smile crossing her face.
"Well, projections aren't always militarized and they don't always act hostile around someone who's changing something in the dream, especially if the dreamer is consciously familiar with them," Arthur said. And despite his calm, professional reply, she wondered what was going on behind it, wondered at a possibility that made her look away to hide a blush.
A routine check on the design for the new dreamscape before the team brought their subject into it: Ariadne always preferred to make the final adjustments in Arthur's company, or at least with him as the dreamer. Eames occasionally produced some terrifying or annoying projections, and Cobb was less than willing to let her inside his head after the Fischer Inceptiom, though she wasn't sure why and she wasn't about to press her mentor for his reasons, since that often lead to a snappy comeback or a stony silence.
She found a mistake in the second level: a walkway that was supposed to lead to nowhere opened onto a storage area that they didn't need. She made the necessary corrections, then headed back to the atrium where she'd agreed to meet up with Arthur. Along the way, she spotted a few projections coming toward her. Instinctively, she ducked down another hallway. But she saw one older gent with a grey fedora smile and tip his hat to her.
As she struggled to shift the clipboard and papers she was carrying while she reached for the latch on a set of glass doors, another passerby, a tall man in a brown suit, reached to open it for her, smiling and nodding to her as she sputtered a thank you and stepped through.
On reaching the atrium, she spotted a sweet-looking old lady sitting beside a small flower stall that hadn't been there before. The flower-seller smiled to her and held out a bouquet of purple and white violets. "The young gent who looks like Cary Grant told me to give these to ye," she said, pressing them gently into Ariadne's hand.
"What is going on?" Ariadne murmured, thinking out loud as she tracked her way to the table by a large window at which Arthur was already seated.
"You all right? Are the projections giving you trouble?" he asked.
"No, they're being nice to me, and that's almost scarier," she said, looking over her shoulder, to spot a tough-looking woman in a power suit pausing to look at the two of them, a misty smile crossing her face.
"Well, projections aren't always militarized and they don't always act hostile around someone who's changing something in the dream, especially if the dreamer is consciously familiar with them," Arthur said. And despite his calm, professional reply, she wondered what was going on behind it, wondered at a possibility that made her look away to hide a blush.