Fic: Nice and Accurate (G)
title: Nice and Accurate
author: ilovetakahana
pairing: Arthur/Eames, Cobb/Saito
warnings: cracky. yeah. I blame this on the Horlicks and the very cold weather. and because I can, I guess. XD
disclaimer: I don't own the original story or the characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.
summary: Ariadne's brain has been taken over by Gneil and Pterry.
There's something very particular about this dream level, Arthur thinks.
It might or might not have anything to do with the fact that he is now completely in black: the shirt, the suit, the tie.
Oh, and the jacket of his three-piece suit is now a knee-length duster in leather.
The leather is soft and supple to the touch, featherlight against his skin.
He dearly wants to change it back to his usual gray wool and pinstripes, but in here, Ariadne can pretty much read their minds, and she glowers at him. "Please don't."
"Why not?"
Ariadne blinks and suddenly she's right there by his side, wide eyes looking intently up at him.
Arthur is not worried about the incongruous Desert Eagle holstered at her side. He is not worried about the Victorian man's suit, and he is not worried about the lace at her collar and cuffs.
He is very worried that he is going to easily succumb to those hugely pleading eyes.
There's a deep, rumbling chuckle behind him, and Arthur spins around to see Saito. He is wearing a full kimono and hakama ensemble, complete with family emblems, and seems quite comfortable with all the layers and the rustling cloth.
"There's no standing against her," is all he says, and now Ariadne smiles and goes to stand next to him, leaning affectionately on his arm. "Not when she breaks out the heavy artillery."
Arthur is still trying to decide whether he's referring to the gun or to the puppy-dog act when Cobb shows up, and completely derails his train of thought.
[All aboard were killed, of course.]
He's in most of a gray suit - jacket, pants, good sturdy leather shoes - but he's wearing a t-shirt instead, and the pattern at the hem is made up of Saito's family emblem.
Cobb looks down at himself, grins incredulously. "Seriously, Ariadne, you couldn't have made it a little, I don't know, more subtle?"
Ariadne giggles, narrows her eyes. "Oh, like that?" And she points casually over her shoulder to a projection strolling by: Cobb, but dressed in the same clothes as Saito.
"Well that might be a sight for sore eyes, now wouldn't it?"
Everyone stares as Eames strolls around the corner, shooting his cuffs. He is dressed completely in white, and the hems of his coat flutter around his knees in the soft wind.
Ariadne claps her hands happily and goes to kiss Eames on the cheek. "Oh, you're perfect," she laughs, and tows him over to the group.
Arthur finds himself staring at the one shot of color in the other man's outfit, a shockingly scarlet rose pinned in his buttonhole.
"Hello, handsome," Eames rumbles, low in his throat.
Arthur glances over to where Ariadne is engrossed in showing Cobb and Saito the other details in this dreamscape - a deliberately confusing mix of old cobblestoned London, perched on a hill, which slopes away to wild flatlands broken by the occasional leafless tree or ruined house, which then meets a shoreline where the waves lap gently at the sand.
"Hey." And he can't help himself - he reaches up to straighten the other man's impeccable collar. He watches Eames capture his hands, hold them gently against his heart.
Eames passes his hands over the rose; it disappears.
Next thing Arthur knows, Eames has gestured at him, and the rose is now in his own jacket.
"Nicely done." And then, "Do you know," Arthur murmurs, "why she wants us dressed like this?"
Before he can answer, though, it is Saito who calls to them - only he doesn't quite use their names: "Aziraphale, Crowley," just a hint of hesitation over the Rs and Ls, beckoning them over.
Arthur sees the realization dawn in Eames's now-blue eyes, knows he himself must look startled and gobsmacked and amused all at once, and feels the grin steal over his own mouth.
When they get to Ariadne - who has completed her mannish ensemble with a top hat - Arthur produces a pair of sunglasses from his pockets, draws close, hisses in her ear: "Well played, little misssss."
And Eames falls in on her other side; the voice that issues from his mouth is a complicated mix of prissy, amused, and nanny-ish: "Lovely work. Shall we say we owe you dinner?"
Ariadne's delighted laugh rings out over the dreamscape.
author: ilovetakahana
pairing: Arthur/Eames, Cobb/Saito
warnings: cracky. yeah. I blame this on the Horlicks and the very cold weather. and because I can, I guess. XD
disclaimer: I don't own the original story or the characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.
summary: Ariadne's brain has been taken over by Gneil and Pterry.
There's something very particular about this dream level, Arthur thinks.
It might or might not have anything to do with the fact that he is now completely in black: the shirt, the suit, the tie.
Oh, and the jacket of his three-piece suit is now a knee-length duster in leather.
The leather is soft and supple to the touch, featherlight against his skin.
He dearly wants to change it back to his usual gray wool and pinstripes, but in here, Ariadne can pretty much read their minds, and she glowers at him. "Please don't."
"Why not?"
Ariadne blinks and suddenly she's right there by his side, wide eyes looking intently up at him.
Arthur is not worried about the incongruous Desert Eagle holstered at her side. He is not worried about the Victorian man's suit, and he is not worried about the lace at her collar and cuffs.
He is very worried that he is going to easily succumb to those hugely pleading eyes.
There's a deep, rumbling chuckle behind him, and Arthur spins around to see Saito. He is wearing a full kimono and hakama ensemble, complete with family emblems, and seems quite comfortable with all the layers and the rustling cloth.
"There's no standing against her," is all he says, and now Ariadne smiles and goes to stand next to him, leaning affectionately on his arm. "Not when she breaks out the heavy artillery."
Arthur is still trying to decide whether he's referring to the gun or to the puppy-dog act when Cobb shows up, and completely derails his train of thought.
[All aboard were killed, of course.]
He's in most of a gray suit - jacket, pants, good sturdy leather shoes - but he's wearing a t-shirt instead, and the pattern at the hem is made up of Saito's family emblem.
Cobb looks down at himself, grins incredulously. "Seriously, Ariadne, you couldn't have made it a little, I don't know, more subtle?"
Ariadne giggles, narrows her eyes. "Oh, like that?" And she points casually over her shoulder to a projection strolling by: Cobb, but dressed in the same clothes as Saito.
"Well that might be a sight for sore eyes, now wouldn't it?"
Everyone stares as Eames strolls around the corner, shooting his cuffs. He is dressed completely in white, and the hems of his coat flutter around his knees in the soft wind.
Ariadne claps her hands happily and goes to kiss Eames on the cheek. "Oh, you're perfect," she laughs, and tows him over to the group.
Arthur finds himself staring at the one shot of color in the other man's outfit, a shockingly scarlet rose pinned in his buttonhole.
"Hello, handsome," Eames rumbles, low in his throat.
Arthur glances over to where Ariadne is engrossed in showing Cobb and Saito the other details in this dreamscape - a deliberately confusing mix of old cobblestoned London, perched on a hill, which slopes away to wild flatlands broken by the occasional leafless tree or ruined house, which then meets a shoreline where the waves lap gently at the sand.
"Hey." And he can't help himself - he reaches up to straighten the other man's impeccable collar. He watches Eames capture his hands, hold them gently against his heart.
Eames passes his hands over the rose; it disappears.
Next thing Arthur knows, Eames has gestured at him, and the rose is now in his own jacket.
"Nicely done." And then, "Do you know," Arthur murmurs, "why she wants us dressed like this?"
Before he can answer, though, it is Saito who calls to them - only he doesn't quite use their names: "Aziraphale, Crowley," just a hint of hesitation over the Rs and Ls, beckoning them over.
Arthur sees the realization dawn in Eames's now-blue eyes, knows he himself must look startled and gobsmacked and amused all at once, and feels the grin steal over his own mouth.
When they get to Ariadne - who has completed her mannish ensemble with a top hat - Arthur produces a pair of sunglasses from his pockets, draws close, hisses in her ear: "Well played, little misssss."
And Eames falls in on her other side; the voice that issues from his mouth is a complicated mix of prissy, amused, and nanny-ish: "Lovely work. Shall we say we owe you dinner?"
Ariadne's delighted laugh rings out over the dreamscape.