Inception Fic: Battleship
The board game series continues!! :D
Welcome to the second brainchild from castor and myself, the first being - of course - the Clue fic found here. Expect a couple more of these in the near future. (I'm thinking LIFE and Candyland, but suggestions are always welcome.)
So without any further ado, please enjoy the silliness!
Title: Battleship
Pairing/Rating: Gen; PG(ish)
Summary: Dream Team Game Night turns epic.
- - -
Arthur raised the old two-way radio and said, “A5.”
There was some static from the other side, and then Eames’ gleeful, garbled voice replied, “Miss,” and Arthur could hear the bombs he had sent dropping impotently into open water on the other side of the massive black barricade.
Arthur sighed and turned his attention to the map laid out on the table in front of him. He stuck a white-flagged pin into the grid-square A5 and frowned out at the waves as he waited for Eames’ next request to carry over the radio.
He was standing on a the deck of a large battleship in the middle of the ocean, with three smaller boats positioned around him and a large, smoking aircraft carrier floating in the near distance (it had already been hit twice). A large black wall - looking rather out of place in the middle of the sea - stood between his fleet and Eames’, acting as a barrier to deter cheating eyes.
Arthur was on a team with Saito and Cobb, the former of whom was stationed on the little destroyer, the latter on the foundering aircraft carrier. Ariadne, Yusuf, and Eames formed the opposing team, and had already lost their submarine and half of what Arthur guessed was their battleship.
“D2,” Eames said over the radio, and Arthur glanced over with dejected resignation as bombs fell onto another section of his aircraft carrier.
“Hit,” he muttered, and he imagined he could hear Cobb’s curses even at this distance as the extractor tried to save the doomed vessel.
“Don’t sound so bitter, Arthur,” Eames chirped. “It’s only a game.”
“D5,” Arthur said, and smiled slightly when he heard Eames grumble, “Hit, and you sank my cruiser.”
“Don’t sound so bitter, Eames,” Arthur said. “It’s only a game.”
Eames said something entirely too rude into the radio and Arthur stuck a red pin into square D5.
The game continued in this way for a while. Arthur lost his aircraft carrier and Cobb was relocated onto the yet-untouched battleship. With a few more guesses Arthur sank Eames’ destroyer, leaving only the battleship and aircraft carrier, but he lost his destroyer. The smoke from all of the bombings was starting to clog the air and the projections of sailors were getting nervous as more and more of their brethren were forced into the sea. Arthur had purposely kept the battleship mostly clear of projections (just in case) but the sailors from the other vessels were yelling at him, telling him they should retreat or just go around the damn black wall. Arthur ignored them.
“H9,” he said into the old radio, and waited for the answer to come through the static. He heard some screaming and the low rumble of explosions as his bombs hit something, and then Eames’ voice came over the frequency.
“Hit,” he said. “G3.”
Splish, splish, splish, went Eames’ wasted bombs, and Arthur placed a red pin in the square and said, “Miss. H10.”
More explosions from the radio, and Eames admitted, “Hit. Ariadne, hold that map still! J5.”
“Miss,” said Arthur, inserting another red pin as the bombs fell in the distance. “H8.”
“Miss.”
Arthur froze, red pin poised over square H8. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said miss.”
“I know what you said, it just doesn’t make any sense. I already sank your destroyer.”
“Yes you did.”
“So then all of the ships that you have left should be more than two spaces long.”
“They are.”
“Then why is H8 not a hit?”
“Because there’s nothing there, Arthur. Haven’t you played this game before?”
Arthur glanced at Cobb, who was frowning. He held his hand out for the radio and Arthur gave it to him.
“Eames, this is Cobb.”
“Hello, Cobb.”
“Are you cheating?”
There was silence on the line, save for some crackling interference, and then Eames said, “I am appalled that you would even ask that.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed at this statement, and also the tone of voice that suggested Eames was struggling to hold back the giggles.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Cobb said.
“Well, it’s an insulting question.”
“But it’s a straight-forward one.”
“Even so. I thought game night was supposed to be about team bonding, not accusations and distrust.”
By now Arthur was sure that Eames was holding back laughter, and he thought he could hear Ariadne giggling in the background.
“Eames.”
“Yes, Cobb.”
“Please answer the question. Are you or are you not cheating?”
“Technically, I am not cheating. But I can say nothing for your cunning little architect, who happens to be able to do some very interesting things to ships.”
And then Eames joined Ariadne in the giggles. Cobb sighed and handed the radio back to Arthur.
“If Ariadne is bending ships, who knows what else she can do? This game could go on forever,” he said. “We may as well just call it a night.”
“I don’t think so,” Saito said, striding toward them on the deck of the battleship. “We have just as good a chance as they do of winning this game.”
“But we didn’t cheat,” Arthur said.
Saito cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t we?” He swept his hand out over the horizon. “Tell me, Commander Arthur. What do you see?”
Arthur looked out over the water. There were masses of ships approaching, at least ten aircraft carriers surrounded by dozens of destroyers and submarines and cruisers. They took up the entire south horizon as they sailed, a horde of battleships, bristling with men and weapons.
“I bought us our own fleet,” Saito said, watching the approaching ships with satisfaction. “It will take quite a while for our enemies to sink every one of these ships. We should be able to sink their remaining two in that time, no matter how bent out of shape they are.”
“Saito, you are a genius,” Cobb said with a grin.
“No, Mr. Cobb,” Saito said. “I just like to win.”
Arthur picked up the old radio and said, “Eames, it’s your guess.”
“Still playing, then? You’re not going to throw a hissy fit because we’re not playing fair?”
“We’re still playing.”
“Brilliant.”
“And I don’t throw hissy fits.”
“Of course you don’t. F4.”
Arthur glanced over and saw some bombs hit one of the newly arrived destroyers.
“Hit.” He glanced at the map, studying the red and white flags intently. “I9.”
“Miss, but you’re quite close, darling. F5.”
“Hit.”
The destroyer wallowed and sank, spewing fire and sailor-projections into the seething waters around it. Arthur glanced at Saito, who shrugged and said, “There are more where that came from.”
True to his word, a new ship moved into position just as Arthur was telling Eames, “You sank my destroyer.”
There was a beat of garbled silence from the other end of the radio, then Eames said, “I already sank your destroyer.”
“Fine, then you sank another one of my destroyers. Sorry,” Arthur said, keeping his voice completely flat. Another moment of static-filled silence passed and Arthur could picture Eames glaring into the distance, trying to put together what had just happened.
“Exactly how many destroyers do you have, Arthur?”
Arthur said, “Quite a few.”
“Ah,” said Eames. “So you’re cheating too.”
“Naturally. Is that a problem?”
Arthur could hear Eames grinning when he replied, “Not at all. I’ve always wanted to have a cheater’s grudge match. It’s your guess.”
“G9.”
“Miss. F1.”
Arthur glanced over and smiled when he saw that one of the submarines had just skittered away from that particularly grid square, meaning that Eames’ bombs dropped ineffectively into the sea.
“Surprisingly, miss,” he said into the radio. “G10.”
A loud explosion carried over the crackling frequency and Arthur heard Ariadne yelling for everyone to start abandoning ship.
“Hit,” Eames growled. “C8.”
The battleship lurched and Arthur was forced to grip the railing to keep his feet. Cobb bolted from the command deck to check the damage and Saito waved for some sailors to accompany him to another vessel, as the battleship would certainly soon be sunk.
“Hit,” Arthur said, motioning for the map to be collected and taken to one of the lifeboats. The sailor-projections hastily obeyed. “F10.”
“Damn. You sunk my battleship. Can you hang on for a sec, Arthur? I have to get to another bloody boat. But before I do that, B8.”
Arthur heaved a resigned sigh and glanced up just in time to watch the bombs heading for the command deck. It was too late for him to get out of the way, so he simply said, “Hit,” into the radio, and then closed his eyes as the explosions carried him off into the waking world.
The warehouse was dark when Arthur woke. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and wondered vaguely what time it was, then slid the line from his vein and stood, heading to the bathroom.
The others were rousing by the time he returned.
“Who won?” he asked.
“You did,” Eames said grumpily, pulling his line out with a petulant jerk. “Or should I say, Saito’s army did?”
“Don’t hate,” Cobb said, grinning. “You cheated, too.”
“You guys, Cobb just used the expression ‘don’t hate,’” Ariadne said. “I think it’s time we call it a night.”
Cobb frowned. “What’s wrong with me saying ‘don’t hate’?”
“Nothing, Cobb. You’re a very hip old man,” Eames said, rising and stretching like a languorous cat. “So. Next week, same time, another game night?”
“I will clear my schedule,” Saito said, shrugging into his suit jacket.
“What game were you thinking?” Yusuf asked. “And please, can we pick something that doesn’t involve us potentially getting bludgeoned to death by a British man or blown to bits in the middle of the ocean?”
For some reason Eames directed a mischievous grin at Arthur when he replied, “I thought we’d play the Game of Life. How does that sound?”
Everyone agreed and bid each other a good night, but Arthur remained silent, watching Eames with increasing wariness. That Cheshire grin did not bode well for him. Arthur could tell the forger had something up his sleeve, and he awaited the next game night with something akin to dread.
- - -
To be continued...? ;D
On another note...
Dear flist,
I am sorely tempted to write the WWII/Pianist AU that someone prompted on inception_bang but I am a little nervous because I've never done one before and it has to be 15,000+ words and I don't have a beta and I need to have a life and sleep and study sometimes... BUT I AM SO TEMPTED, YOU GUYS. Should I do it? And if so, does anyone want to beta? Please let me know! Also, if anyone has done one before and has any advice/help/warnings to offer, I would really appreciate it!
Thanks, guys! <3
Welcome to the second brainchild from castor and myself, the first being - of course - the Clue fic found here. Expect a couple more of these in the near future. (I'm thinking LIFE and Candyland, but suggestions are always welcome.)
So without any further ado, please enjoy the silliness!
Title: Battleship
Pairing/Rating: Gen; PG(ish)
Summary: Dream Team Game Night turns epic.
- - -
Arthur raised the old two-way radio and said, “A5.”
There was some static from the other side, and then Eames’ gleeful, garbled voice replied, “Miss,” and Arthur could hear the bombs he had sent dropping impotently into open water on the other side of the massive black barricade.
Arthur sighed and turned his attention to the map laid out on the table in front of him. He stuck a white-flagged pin into the grid-square A5 and frowned out at the waves as he waited for Eames’ next request to carry over the radio.
He was standing on a the deck of a large battleship in the middle of the ocean, with three smaller boats positioned around him and a large, smoking aircraft carrier floating in the near distance (it had already been hit twice). A large black wall - looking rather out of place in the middle of the sea - stood between his fleet and Eames’, acting as a barrier to deter cheating eyes.
Arthur was on a team with Saito and Cobb, the former of whom was stationed on the little destroyer, the latter on the foundering aircraft carrier. Ariadne, Yusuf, and Eames formed the opposing team, and had already lost their submarine and half of what Arthur guessed was their battleship.
“D2,” Eames said over the radio, and Arthur glanced over with dejected resignation as bombs fell onto another section of his aircraft carrier.
“Hit,” he muttered, and he imagined he could hear Cobb’s curses even at this distance as the extractor tried to save the doomed vessel.
“Don’t sound so bitter, Arthur,” Eames chirped. “It’s only a game.”
“D5,” Arthur said, and smiled slightly when he heard Eames grumble, “Hit, and you sank my cruiser.”
“Don’t sound so bitter, Eames,” Arthur said. “It’s only a game.”
Eames said something entirely too rude into the radio and Arthur stuck a red pin into square D5.
The game continued in this way for a while. Arthur lost his aircraft carrier and Cobb was relocated onto the yet-untouched battleship. With a few more guesses Arthur sank Eames’ destroyer, leaving only the battleship and aircraft carrier, but he lost his destroyer. The smoke from all of the bombings was starting to clog the air and the projections of sailors were getting nervous as more and more of their brethren were forced into the sea. Arthur had purposely kept the battleship mostly clear of projections (just in case) but the sailors from the other vessels were yelling at him, telling him they should retreat or just go around the damn black wall. Arthur ignored them.
“H9,” he said into the old radio, and waited for the answer to come through the static. He heard some screaming and the low rumble of explosions as his bombs hit something, and then Eames’ voice came over the frequency.
“Hit,” he said. “G3.”
Splish, splish, splish, went Eames’ wasted bombs, and Arthur placed a red pin in the square and said, “Miss. H10.”
More explosions from the radio, and Eames admitted, “Hit. Ariadne, hold that map still! J5.”
“Miss,” said Arthur, inserting another red pin as the bombs fell in the distance. “H8.”
“Miss.”
Arthur froze, red pin poised over square H8. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said miss.”
“I know what you said, it just doesn’t make any sense. I already sank your destroyer.”
“Yes you did.”
“So then all of the ships that you have left should be more than two spaces long.”
“They are.”
“Then why is H8 not a hit?”
“Because there’s nothing there, Arthur. Haven’t you played this game before?”
Arthur glanced at Cobb, who was frowning. He held his hand out for the radio and Arthur gave it to him.
“Eames, this is Cobb.”
“Hello, Cobb.”
“Are you cheating?”
There was silence on the line, save for some crackling interference, and then Eames said, “I am appalled that you would even ask that.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed at this statement, and also the tone of voice that suggested Eames was struggling to hold back the giggles.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Cobb said.
“Well, it’s an insulting question.”
“But it’s a straight-forward one.”
“Even so. I thought game night was supposed to be about team bonding, not accusations and distrust.”
By now Arthur was sure that Eames was holding back laughter, and he thought he could hear Ariadne giggling in the background.
“Eames.”
“Yes, Cobb.”
“Please answer the question. Are you or are you not cheating?”
“Technically, I am not cheating. But I can say nothing for your cunning little architect, who happens to be able to do some very interesting things to ships.”
And then Eames joined Ariadne in the giggles. Cobb sighed and handed the radio back to Arthur.
“If Ariadne is bending ships, who knows what else she can do? This game could go on forever,” he said. “We may as well just call it a night.”
“I don’t think so,” Saito said, striding toward them on the deck of the battleship. “We have just as good a chance as they do of winning this game.”
“But we didn’t cheat,” Arthur said.
Saito cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t we?” He swept his hand out over the horizon. “Tell me, Commander Arthur. What do you see?”
Arthur looked out over the water. There were masses of ships approaching, at least ten aircraft carriers surrounded by dozens of destroyers and submarines and cruisers. They took up the entire south horizon as they sailed, a horde of battleships, bristling with men and weapons.
“I bought us our own fleet,” Saito said, watching the approaching ships with satisfaction. “It will take quite a while for our enemies to sink every one of these ships. We should be able to sink their remaining two in that time, no matter how bent out of shape they are.”
“Saito, you are a genius,” Cobb said with a grin.
“No, Mr. Cobb,” Saito said. “I just like to win.”
Arthur picked up the old radio and said, “Eames, it’s your guess.”
“Still playing, then? You’re not going to throw a hissy fit because we’re not playing fair?”
“We’re still playing.”
“Brilliant.”
“And I don’t throw hissy fits.”
“Of course you don’t. F4.”
Arthur glanced over and saw some bombs hit one of the newly arrived destroyers.
“Hit.” He glanced at the map, studying the red and white flags intently. “I9.”
“Miss, but you’re quite close, darling. F5.”
“Hit.”
The destroyer wallowed and sank, spewing fire and sailor-projections into the seething waters around it. Arthur glanced at Saito, who shrugged and said, “There are more where that came from.”
True to his word, a new ship moved into position just as Arthur was telling Eames, “You sank my destroyer.”
There was a beat of garbled silence from the other end of the radio, then Eames said, “I already sank your destroyer.”
“Fine, then you sank another one of my destroyers. Sorry,” Arthur said, keeping his voice completely flat. Another moment of static-filled silence passed and Arthur could picture Eames glaring into the distance, trying to put together what had just happened.
“Exactly how many destroyers do you have, Arthur?”
Arthur said, “Quite a few.”
“Ah,” said Eames. “So you’re cheating too.”
“Naturally. Is that a problem?”
Arthur could hear Eames grinning when he replied, “Not at all. I’ve always wanted to have a cheater’s grudge match. It’s your guess.”
“G9.”
“Miss. F1.”
Arthur glanced over and smiled when he saw that one of the submarines had just skittered away from that particularly grid square, meaning that Eames’ bombs dropped ineffectively into the sea.
“Surprisingly, miss,” he said into the radio. “G10.”
A loud explosion carried over the crackling frequency and Arthur heard Ariadne yelling for everyone to start abandoning ship.
“Hit,” Eames growled. “C8.”
The battleship lurched and Arthur was forced to grip the railing to keep his feet. Cobb bolted from the command deck to check the damage and Saito waved for some sailors to accompany him to another vessel, as the battleship would certainly soon be sunk.
“Hit,” Arthur said, motioning for the map to be collected and taken to one of the lifeboats. The sailor-projections hastily obeyed. “F10.”
“Damn. You sunk my battleship. Can you hang on for a sec, Arthur? I have to get to another bloody boat. But before I do that, B8.”
Arthur heaved a resigned sigh and glanced up just in time to watch the bombs heading for the command deck. It was too late for him to get out of the way, so he simply said, “Hit,” into the radio, and then closed his eyes as the explosions carried him off into the waking world.
The warehouse was dark when Arthur woke. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and wondered vaguely what time it was, then slid the line from his vein and stood, heading to the bathroom.
The others were rousing by the time he returned.
“Who won?” he asked.
“You did,” Eames said grumpily, pulling his line out with a petulant jerk. “Or should I say, Saito’s army did?”
“Don’t hate,” Cobb said, grinning. “You cheated, too.”
“You guys, Cobb just used the expression ‘don’t hate,’” Ariadne said. “I think it’s time we call it a night.”
Cobb frowned. “What’s wrong with me saying ‘don’t hate’?”
“Nothing, Cobb. You’re a very hip old man,” Eames said, rising and stretching like a languorous cat. “So. Next week, same time, another game night?”
“I will clear my schedule,” Saito said, shrugging into his suit jacket.
“What game were you thinking?” Yusuf asked. “And please, can we pick something that doesn’t involve us potentially getting bludgeoned to death by a British man or blown to bits in the middle of the ocean?”
For some reason Eames directed a mischievous grin at Arthur when he replied, “I thought we’d play the Game of Life. How does that sound?”
Everyone agreed and bid each other a good night, but Arthur remained silent, watching Eames with increasing wariness. That Cheshire grin did not bode well for him. Arthur could tell the forger had something up his sleeve, and he awaited the next game night with something akin to dread.
- - -
To be continued...? ;D
On another note...
Dear flist,
I am sorely tempted to write the WWII/Pianist AU that someone prompted on inception_bang but I am a little nervous because I've never done one before and it has to be 15,000+ words and I don't have a beta and I need to have a life and sleep and study sometimes... BUT I AM SO TEMPTED, YOU GUYS. Should I do it? And if so, does anyone want to beta? Please let me know! Also, if anyone has done one before and has any advice/help/warnings to offer, I would really appreciate it!
Thanks, guys! <3