Plenty Of Good Thieves Ch. 4 and 4B
Mar. 7th, 2011 07:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tabi_essentiallyFirst I want to say, I see now that I've missed some comments on old posts, even posts in these recent chapters. I'm so sorry about that! Sometimes I don't get all my notifications. I like answering all of these comments and prompts, it bums me out when I've missed some and then it always seems weird of me to answer a week later or so. :) I hope hope everyone understands that. :D
Second: This chapter feels more like an interlude to me. Two parts were necessary to the plot. The entire last section of it though? Total author wish fulfillment. I feel like I just needed to write that, and wish that it was really possible. ^_^ Hope you guys like it though. :)
Now to suggestions. You meanies overwhelmingly suggested something terrible happening to Eames. YAY! :D That will be coming along, down the road.
LOTS of suggestions!
Anonymous suggested:
I hope they stop somewhere in mongolia. Or Irkutsk! The link calls the city the "Paris of Siberia" plus a goggle search tells me that lake Bakial next to it is the deepest lake in the world! Adding to this,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wirrrn says, Russia's (and the world's) largest lake, Lake Baikal- possibly with one of the passenger's remains being scavenged by the large amphipod crustaceans unique to the lake :) YUMMEH. I love this!
scriblix rightly pointed out: if this is the same fic-verse as all your other work, would Eames have a scar from being shot in the head? THANK YOU for clearing up a plot point for me. You have no idea (yet) how inspiring this observation was!
astheytick - Arthur says to Eames "Just wait. Wait for me."
orion_nightbane - people lurking outside their door would be interesting?
twisted_ream there's this huge spider on eames' back and he can't get it off and arthur just laughs
efcia a broken mirror, possibly a small one. I can see the shattered glass, maybe even a small amount of blood on them? This gave me a really cool idea!
quixyjie and twilightthief - wanted Eames smoking a cigar. I will get to that soon. :D
fae_boleyn For some reason I want to see Eames messing up Arthur's hair. I don't care why, I just want to see that.
Anonymous: One having to carry the other.
towel_master One of them thinks they see something dangerous/weird/downright creepy out of the corner of their eye in Ann's bag? Perhaps they see her opening it while on the train.
Anonymous: A line Eames says to Arthur: "You know that's not what I think of you."
negiyou - I would like to read about a litte 'contest' thing, where Arthur claims Eames couldn't steal from him because he is way too watchful. A few tries and then Eames finally manages to steal his wallet or something, which Arthur just realizes when he finds a note in it, saying 'told you so' (I'm not sure if this is going to be exactly like this, but this gave me an idea that I REALLY needed to have! Something like this might show up in the next chapter.
gelbwax - WHAT IF the wind whips the fedora off Arthur's head and into the siberian wasteland. OMFG, horror, right? AND THEN. AND THEN. It comes BACK TO HIM. THE FEDORA COMES BACK. RIGHT WHEN HE NEEDS ITS POWERS OF BADASSERY IT COMES BACK TO HIM.
I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Not in this chapter, but down the road. :D
twilightthief - How about Eames says: "It's always been you." Probably too cheesy. But in the right context, that's giving me some ideas! ^_^
sparrow_hubris - Eames glances up at Arthur from across an empty train car, posture stiff, with a blank or hostile look. He then turns slowly and walks away. Arthur for some reason cannot follow/can't catch him and it scares the crap out of him how empty/possessed?/haunted Eames looked. SO EFFING CREEPY. Not this chapter, but down the road. :D Also: And I'm totally in love with the idea of Arthur having to steal something more difficult than truffles because they need it and Eames' hand is too unstable to steal it himself. Nice!
hazysea - A line for Eames to say to Arthur? "Stay at my level and keep to the shadows.
Onwards!
** ** ** **
The frozen lake gleamed under the weak sun as Arthur stood at the edge. Eames was nowhere around. Arthur stood watching couples and families zoom around on snowmobiles across the surface of the ice. These festivities alarmed him under his own surface; anxiety pulled at him and he didn't know why.
From a great distance, the little girl Michelle waved at him. She wasn't aboard a snowmobile; she just stood at the center of the frozen lake, smiling. He could make out the red dot of her Pokemon keychain at her hip.
"Baikal," said a voice in his ear, "is the deepest lake in the world."
Arthur turned to look, but no one was there. The voice was unisex and accent-less. He still knew it was Dinclusin. Who else spoke when they weren't around? He could feel it, those blue eyes on his back.
The ice cracked. Michelle's face showed a moment of innocent horror, and then the chasm opened beneath her feet and swallowed her. He hands grabbed at the air, at nothing, and then disappeared.
Arthur ran to the center of the lake and dove in after her. The icy water stung his back. Just his back though; the front of him, where his heart thumped against his ribs, felt warm. He kicked his way to the bottom of the lake. It was strangely peaceful down here, with the sun shining through the waves. Dead silence. His back was cold enough to hurt. He swam deeper.
Something brushed his ankle and he realized that he had lost his shoes and socks. He turned (so slow in the water) to see what had touched him. A crustacean the size of his arm aimed sightless eyes at him, running a long antenna up his leg. Its pink, segmented body flexed and then unfurled, revealing pinching little limbs along its underside. Arthur choked back a cry of disgust and wrenched his leg away.
"Those are corpse-eaters," Dinclusin's sexless voice said in his ear. "They scavenge. Follow them and see."
Looking down into the depths, Arthur saw a mass of them: lake-floor crustaceans that looked like big, flesh-colored fleas. Some of them burrowed into the sand. Others writhed and pulsed over something at the center of them.
They were loathsome, but Arthur swam deeper and kicked them away. They scattered, some of them grabbing his skin with their many legs, a few others refusing to be pushed away from their meal. He struggled to pull them away with his hands as dirt and silt from the bottom of the lake floated into a cloud, obscuring his vision. He got to one crustacean that would not budge at all. He pulled and pulled, bracing his feet against whatever purchase the creature had. He had to remove it.
The silt and sand settled back to the lakebed floor, and the sun shone down on what he was tearing the animal from.
Michelle's tiny, naked body was torn to shreds from the waist down. The animal that Arthur was pulling from her had its mouthparts buried into her scalp. Her body rocked in time with the motion, and tendrils of her skin and hair floated rhythmically. Her Pokemon keychain drifted by in front of his face.
Her eyes opened, showing only whites that he sensed were looking at him anyway. Then her mouth opened and one of the corpse-eaters crawled out from between her gums.
"Where's my mama?" she cried. "Please, my mama! Please! Please! I don't want this anymore. Please!"
He'd seen enough of this; too much, in fact. Arthur opened his eyes.
It never took him more than a few seconds to orient himself into the waking world. He was on the train, they had left Kazan, it was morning, and he had fallen asleep in the bottom bed with Eames. He mused that it should have felt stranger than it did, because they so seldom shared a bed, and usually only by necessity.
Eames was already awake. Casually, he used the sheet to dry the tears on Arthur's face. This happened often among dreamers that Arthur was quite used to it. It was more a gesture of practicality and understanding than actual tenderness – although his touch was gentle.
"Didn't think I should wake you, as natural dreams are hard to come by," Eames said.
"Thanks," Arthur said. He'd struggled in the past just to be able to dream normally at all. He'd even take nightmares if he could get them.
His back was pressed up against the cold wall of the train and he pulled the blanket around his back and scooted away. Eames moved aside to give him room.
"Anything important or enlightening?" Eames asked.
"Michelle, dead at the bottom of the lake," Arthur said. "It was one of those dreams where you finally decide it's gotten bad enough and you wake yourself up. One of those, you know, pathos dreams."
"Right," Eames said. "When you feel pity for one of your projections, amplified times a thousand."
"That's the one." He took a deep breath and straightened his legs so that Eames could stretch out beside him. He thought the dream over again, turned it around fearlessly in his head, put parts of it on repeat.
He'd pulled Eames out of lake once, not too long ago. Maybe it had come from that.
A flare of understanding lit the fire in his brain, and he braced himself on one elbow and leaned over Eames. "Turn your head," he ordered.
Eames did so without asking why. His hair was short these days, and it was easy to see the scar cutting through the brown strands, where a bullet had clipped him on the right side. He'd had a bad concussion after that one, nasty whiplash and maybe even...
"Nerve damage," Arthur murmured, running his finger along the scar. "Eames, how's your hand this morning?"
Eames turned back to him, his eyes bright with revelation. He held his right hand up. It was fine, not even a tremor. "You think it could be residual effects from the concussion? But what about you? Your foreign accent syndrome cranked up to eleven? Ah," Eames went on before Arthur could answer. He lifted his hand to Arthur's temple.
The last job had gone badly, extremely badly, and they had both ended up as test-rabbits in someone else's insane experiments. Arthur had found himself on the wrong side of electricity a handful of times during that adventure.
"Perhaps we don't need to look for anything metabolic," Eames said. "It would make sense for lingering symptoms to manifest at any time. But as I haven't had the symptom in the last seven months, and you haven't, I presume, been randomly speaking French..."
"Well I don't know," Arthur said. "Maybe I did. I couldn't feel it when I was speaking in French yesterday, so for all I know, I could have done it."
Eames turned to face him fully. He surprised Arthur by putting a hand over his shoulder and pulling him close, then lying back on the bed. It wasn't as uncomfortable as Arthur used to pretend it was. He just didn't know what had brought it on.
"No one would have been around to tell you if you'd lapsed into a different language," Eames said. "And no one would have been around to tell me if my hand had been shaking without my noticing it."
It confirmed something that Arthur had already suspected over the last three or so years: there was no one else for either of them. He didn't question it or read anything further into it. Every few months was fine. Being alone was fine, too. Not particularly wanting to fuck anyone else these days, that was all right with him. The fact that Eames didn't seem to want to either – also fine. Eames's hand on his back, the shudder and rumble of the train swaying beneath them - maybe a step above fine.
The mystery of what the fuck was happening with them, though, for all that he felt sure that it wasn't any of the horrible scenarios he'd considered the night before... not so fine.
"So we go under together," Eames said. "It's as good as an MRI for sickness, which I'm fairly sure is not the case anyway. And better than any medical procedure for finding what might actually be wrong. I look in your head, you look in mine."
"If we find anything," Arthur said, "we have to get off the train."
"Yes. But if that's the case, we have to find out how it got there, too," Eames said. "And who did it. If it's just some fucked up residue from past meddling, then we forget about Dinclusin and the rest of them."
"I still think it seems likely that something here triggered it," Arthur said. "Same environment, same food, same water, same people around us."
"Makes sense," Eames said.
"Once we're done basically cat-scanning each other, I'm taking Dinclusin under. I'll need your help."
"I've got the compounds," Eames said. "I can get him alone."
Arthur didn't like that part too much. It forced him to admit something that hadn't occurred to him yet: this guy made him legitimately nervous. "That's not even necessary."
"What's your plan?"
"Today's Yekaterinburg," Arthur said. "We can come back to the train early and stake out his room. We don't have to do the entire walking tour today. We can disappear early. You give me your own tour, 'cause I really want to see it. Also, if people see us leaving the train with the rest of the group and meeting up with them at different points of interest, it'll look less suspicious. But we wrap it up quick, come back and do re-con before dinner, and set up a timed-release sedation in his room before he comes back. He's got to be rooming with one of them. That's no problem though; they both get knocked out. I take Dinclusin under for maybe about ten, fifteen minutes at the most. If need be, you go play cards with his little gang for a while. I show up a few minutes later in the lounge, Dinclusin wakes up about five minutes later, duck soup."
"Duck soup," Eames repeated softly. "But first."
"First we go under together. Three layers down."
"Three?" Eames sounded surprised.
"If something is wrong with either of us, that's where it will be most obvious. The brain already knows, but at the top levels, I find it's more willing to lie to protect itself." Arthur stood up. Instead of reaching for the PASIV, he set the light alarm across the door. Then he plugged his phone into a small set of speakers and turned back to Eames. "Three minutes. That'll give us plenty of time in the third level. If someone comes in while we're down there, it trips the alarm on my phone. We hear the ringtone and we shoot ourselves awake."
Eames sat up, now fully awake. "All right. Let's go take a look."
** ** ** **
Chapter 4B – Plant Your Hope With Good Seeds
** ** ** **
Arthur walked the streets of Eames's subconscious. Eames was nowhere to be found, but that was just as well. His projections would speak for him enough, just as Arthur's projections would give away his mind's secrets, the ones that his conscious mind would cover up. Somewhere in his mind, Eames was walking his streets, or going through his rooms.
It was a shared dream; they were both the dreamers.
The construct of Eames's subconscious this time was a pretty, tree-lined path populated by easy-going projections. It looked almost like a jogging path, or maybe hiking. Sun dappled the green grass, and a breeze scented the atmosphere. Arthur tilted his head. The scent was his own aftershave. The fact that Eames was close enough to smell him, and that's what he dreamed of in his deepest layers made him feel warm, almost hot, down here where everything was amplified.
The sky was a vivid blue, too vivid to be real life. This did not seem like a mind that was growing a cancer, but Arthur had to be sure. There was no sense even taking this chance if they weren't going to be thorough.
He stopped one of the projections on the street, a young man in khakis and a fitted tee shirt. Arthur said, "What nice weather today."
"It is," the projection answered in a London accent. "It truly is. Strange, though."
"What's that?" Arthur asked.
The projection looked at the sky. "Well, I swear it was just winter. And then a few days ago, this. High summer, all at once."
"How long did the winter last?" Arthur asked.
"Months, I think." He rested his hand on a trail mile-marker. Seven, it said.
"That's really nice," Arthur said. He couldn't add anything more, for fear of disturbing the structure of the dream or influencing it. He was already influencing it enough with his own emotional reaction, and he didn't want to add anything further. "I'm looking for a secret place," he said. "Any secret place where it's not summer. Can you show me to anywhere that's cold or dark?"
"Why would I want to do that?" the projection asked.
"So that I can open the windows," Arthur told it. "And let the light in."
"Oh. Well in that case." The projection pointed to a tall, grey building that rose against the blue sky. It hadn't been there before. It was marked with a big, dark blue "H" on the front of it. "There's where you want to look for anything important, anything hidden."
It occurred to Arthur that Eames's subconscious was simply telling him where to go to look for his secrets. The hospital was the fear of mortality they had discussed the night before. Likely, it was also any and all of Eames's past experiences with mortality; his own and that of others around him.
"You've got the key in your pocket," the projection told him. And then it jogged away.
Arthur went into the medical building. The air here was chilled, like an air-conditioner was running; something necessary to cool the constant heat that Eames gave off. Orderlies and doctors bustled around. None of them looked exactly urgent, but a few did look worried, or maybe anxious.
Arthur fought down his own anxiety. He must not influence this.
He went up to one of the doctors. This was a generic doctor-archetype in a white lab coat. He wore glasses and had white hair.
"I'm here for the results," Arthur said. It was an open conversation starter.
"Then I'll have to take you to the top floor," the doctor told him.
Without any other shifts in time, they stood inside a glass elevator, that was rising, rising to the top. When the doors opened with an official-sounding "ping", the doctor led the way through a large, sterile, tiled hall.
"I assume you're concerned about victims of the recent quakes," the doctor said. "That's why I brought you to the top."
"Victims?" Arthur asked.
"Months ago there was an explosion that rocked the entire country."
"I remember it."
"People got burned in that explosion. And there have been aftershocks."
"Aftershocks," Arthur said. "So, that means the aftershocks... those are from the explosion? There's nothing else?"
"I've looked everywhere," the doctor said. "I haven't found anything. But would you care to see the results?"
"I would."
The doctor took him into a vast medical room. It was dark save for the backlit x rays lining the walls, and a full body scan x ray on a table in the center, lit from underneath.
"Can you see all the different fault-lines on this map?" the doctor asked.
"I see them," Arthur said. He didn't see a map, he saw an outline of Eames's body. But this was the time to just go with it. He knew what most of those "fault lines" were from, too. Not all, but most.
"I don't see anything growing up from any of those cracks," the doctor said. "There were some burn victims from the explosion. That's about it."
Arthur looked the scan over completely, checking for dark spots, anything that would show up in waking life as pain, as some nagging unrest. As something Eames would know without knowing. He ran his hands over the image, feeling for heat or cold or pain. He saw nothing, felt nothing, and breathed a sigh of relief.
He then pointed to the right hand on the x ray. "What about this, here?"
"That," the doctor said. "Yes, that. It's not something from within the world. What you see happening there is coming from somewhere outside. We're trying to pinpoint what it is. We can't know from in here because it's not from here."
"I understand that," Arthur said, even though he didn't, not quite. There had been some meddling inside Eames's head on their last job, but surely Eames would know this as the cause. "No guesses, though?"
"Something from the outside," the doctor repeated. "Some kind of terrorism. Some kind of punishment."
** ** ** **
Eames opened his eyes to Arthur's deepest layer – or at least as deep as they were willing to go. Arthur was somewhere probably messing about with his projections, wheedling secrets out of them. Not that Eames had many left to share with him. A few, perhaps, maybe ones he'd just never thought to tell.
In Arthur's subconscious, an expanse of blue, warm, glittering water surrounded Eames, a sea of light. He looked down to see that its depths were endless. There was no sea-floor – this still water went on forever, to the other side of the world. For a second, Eames almost panicked. A man could drown here, sucked under, breathless, never to surface. What was he doing so far out here?
But the water supported him and seemed to carry him along. He felt naked. He was naked.
While there was no bottom to this sea, there was a shore. White sand, gleaming like glass, lined the water. Eames swam toward it. Out here in the center of Arthur's depths, there was no one to talk to. Interesting and intimidating as it was, he needed actual information on his body, not his mind or his emotions.
He reached the shore in a few short strokes, and pulled himself onto the warm sand. Sun-bathers and beach-goers all populated this space. They weren't being loud or obnoxious, or making a lot of noise. However, they were all just as nude as he was. Eames reflected briefly on what it meant, that Arthur let him into his waters so far out, and that all of his projections were naked. It gave him a shiver, the feeling of something primal, something he wanted to hold onto and protect. He knew that this intensity would fade once they both woke up. And he was here for a reason.
He went up to one of the projections, a blond woman playing volleyball with no net and no partner.
"Hey handsome," she said. "What is it you're looking for?"
"Something frightening," he said. "Something that doesn't live in the bottom of that warm sea, but elsewhere. Something, anything, that's not supposed to be in this world. Can you show me anything that's not supposed to be here?"
"Not anymore," she said.
"Anymore? Was there something recently?"
"Hmm." She toyed with the volley-ball between tanned hands. Eames wondered at the fact that Arthur's subconscious sentinel was a ditzy, naked beach-bunny.
"It was strange, a while back," she said. "Someone came in speaking French."
Eames's mouth went dry. He had to stop and re-set. The entire beach shuddered and he knew it wasn't movement from the train three levels up. "Define 'came in,'" he said.
"Came in," she said. "To here. Down here."
"A man?" Eames asked. "A woman?"
She said, "Yes. A man. A woman. Neither. It's strange, because some of us speak French anyway. But this person just showed up all the way down here. From the outside. You know?"
"When was this?" he asked. "Was it perhaps a while back? During the time of lightning storms, maybe?
"Nope," she said. "It was, like, more recent than that."
"Well," Eames said. "Well, fuck."
** ** ** **
They met in the middle ground of the third layer, between the tree-lined park and the sea. Arthur got there first and was waiting on a stone bench when he saw Eames making his way towards him. For all the warm, scented dreamscape, he suddenly felt like he was in a doctor's waiting room.
Eames didn't keep him waiting too long. Before he even sat down beside him he said, "You're not sick."
"Neither are you," Arthur said, feeling so glad to tell him that, and to see the relief on Eames's face.
Then Eames sat beside him and dropped a bomb that Arthur hadn't expected. "Your subconscious says a french-speaking person broke in."
Impossible Arthur thought. But since they were dreaming, Eames heard him anyway.
"I'd have thought so, too. But you told me yourself."
"Well, it's not just me who got invaded by whoever. Your subconscious seems to think that some of your symptoms are after-effects of head trauma. But it also suggested that someone from the outside did something to hurt you. 'Punishment,' it said."
Eames turned to face him. "What does that mean?"
Arthur had no answer for that. He stared into a gleaming sunset. "Well, look." He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "It's not an ideal situation. Obviously someone got to us, right? But this is something that we can chase, shoot and fight. That's what we wanted it to be."
Eames remained silent.
"We wanted something that wasn't a sickness. That's what this seems to be. Someone did something to both of us, on purpose. We can find out what it is now. Then we can undo it."
"This was supposed to be a vacation," Eames said.
Arthur put his hand on Eames's knee. "It can still be. We can see all the things we wanted to see."
"Still. Do wish people'd stop fucking with us."
Arthur hated the forlorn look on his face. "But that's the kind of life we're in," Arthur said. "I'm going to just be glad that it's nothing worse than that. Yes, I know, it still could be. Just because we're not dying doesn't mean we won't end up dead. But..." He looked around at the dreamscape. What a beautiful space his and Eames's collective subconscious had created, and which Eames had scented with Arthur's aftershave, of all things. "But we're alive now," Arthur went on. "And we have a mission. I can deal with missions. Missions are doable."
Eames fell silent again, and for a while, so did Arthur. There was still some time on the countdown; years of dreaming had given him a sense for it.
"While we're down here," Arthur said, "I want to give you something. It's important."
Eames turned to face him, looking a little worn, a little tired. It steeled Arthur's resolve for what he was about to do. He picked up the blue bottle that was sitting next to him on the stone bench. When he held it up to the dying sunlight, blue, grey and white light swirled fluidly within it, glittering. It looked like something out of a fantasy. To Arthur, it was.
"What's that?" Eames asked.
"It's Cure-all." He put it into Eames's hand. "Your body ultimately does everything your brain tells it to. You can tell it to get sick. But more importantly, there are documented cases of people willing themselves better from incurable diseases."
"Some people have very powerful minds," Eames said. He looked wary.
"Some people have powerful ideas," Arthur corrected. He pushed the bottle into Eames's hands and held them together tight. "We're three levels down, so pay attention. If a day comes when you do get sick... if it's some kind of terminal disease? You'll know when it starts. You'll know, and you'll get to the doctor right away and have every test under the sun. Then, you'll have this bottle of Cure-all with you. Your subconscious will drink it every day. You'll think yourself well. It will give you a chance, and you'll beat it. Whatever it is, whenever it is, you'll beat it. You don't have to know why, you just will."
Eames's eyes were wide, but he didn't look away. "You're incepting me."
"I am," Arthur said. "And I'm going to tell you to forget this part when we wake up, too. It works better if you forget. And I'll ask you to keep trusting me as well. I'm sorry, Eames, I really, really am. But I'm not ashamed."
Eames pulled his hands away from Arthur's, but he didn't let go of the bottle. He sat back against the bench and seemed to think this over. When Eames tucked the bottle into his pocket, Arthur let go of the breath he hadn't known he was holding.
"What if the day comes when I want to die?" Eames asked. "If I'm through, I'm alone, if I'm old and tired and I need to die?"
"Then you have my permission," Arthur said.
"Right," Eames said. "Right. Well. In that case." From beside him, he pulled a gun. When Arthur flinched, thinking he was going to end the dream, Eames held it up harmlessly. Arthur saw that it wasn't any normal sort of gun, more like something out of a sci-fi film, with tubes and shining wires looped around it, in green, blue and white. He put it into Arthur's hand.
"And this is?" Arthur said.
"If the day comes that you get sick, this is the gun you'll use to fight it. You'll also know right away and you'll do everything necessary to take care of yourself. When you find out what it is, every day your subconscious will fire this gun at the sickness until it's gone. Unless you are entirely out of hope and you wish to die. Then you have my permission. Consider yourself incepted as well, you prick."
Arthur took the gun, not bothering to hide his smile.
"Oh," Eames added. "And you should also forget about this part when we wake. And continue to trust me as if I hadn't just broken a cardinal rule against your psyche."
"Do you think I'm a bad person for doing this?" Arthur asked.
"You know that's not what I think of you," Eames said.
"Are you angry?"
Eames looked at him for a long moment before threading his fingers through Arthur's hair and kissing him.
** ** ** **
/Wish fulfillment :D
Sweet, a lot of you guys googled Dinclusin. YES! ^_^ Well played! Has anyone googled Ann Dromalius? :D
Okay, so now give me more ideas, because I'm really stuck! This plot is constipated, someone give it some fiber, hehe. ^_^ While I obviously can't use everything everyone suggests without making the plot a tangled mess, once in a while a suggestion comes along that's like BAM, and it fits perfectly.
Images, scenes, lines, general ideas – these are all awesome! Thanks, guys. ^_^
Chapter 5 - There Is A King
Second: This chapter feels more like an interlude to me. Two parts were necessary to the plot. The entire last section of it though? Total author wish fulfillment. I feel like I just needed to write that, and wish that it was really possible. ^_^ Hope you guys like it though. :)
Now to suggestions. You meanies overwhelmingly suggested something terrible happening to Eames. YAY! :D That will be coming along, down the road.
LOTS of suggestions!
Anonymous suggested:
I hope they stop somewhere in mongolia. Or Irkutsk! The link calls the city the "Paris of Siberia" plus a goggle search tells me that lake Bakial next to it is the deepest lake in the world! Adding to this,
wirrrn says, Russia's (and the world's) largest lake, Lake Baikal- possibly with one of the passenger's remains being scavenged by the large amphipod crustaceans unique to the lake :) YUMMEH. I love this!scriblix rightly pointed out: if this is the same fic-verse as all your other work, would Eames have a scar from being shot in the head? THANK YOU for clearing up a plot point for me. You have no idea (yet) how inspiring this observation was!astheytick - Arthur says to Eames "Just wait. Wait for me."orion_nightbane - people lurking outside their door would be interesting?twisted_ream there's this huge spider on eames' back and he can't get it off and arthur just laughs efcia a broken mirror, possibly a small one. I can see the shattered glass, maybe even a small amount of blood on them? This gave me a really cool idea!quixyjie and twilightthief - wanted Eames smoking a cigar. I will get to that soon. :D fae_boleyn For some reason I want to see Eames messing up Arthur's hair. I don't care why, I just want to see that.Anonymous: One having to carry the other.
towel_master One of them thinks they see something dangerous/weird/downright creepy out of the corner of their eye in Ann's bag? Perhaps they see her opening it while on the train.Anonymous: A line Eames says to Arthur: "You know that's not what I think of you."
negiyou - I would like to read about a litte 'contest' thing, where Arthur claims Eames couldn't steal from him because he is way too watchful. A few tries and then Eames finally manages to steal his wallet or something, which Arthur just realizes when he finds a note in it, saying 'told you so' (I'm not sure if this is going to be exactly like this, but this gave me an idea that I REALLY needed to have! Something like this might show up in the next chapter.gelbwax - WHAT IF the wind whips the fedora off Arthur's head and into the siberian wasteland. OMFG, horror, right? AND THEN. AND THEN. It comes BACK TO HIM. THE FEDORA COMES BACK. RIGHT WHEN HE NEEDS ITS POWERS OF BADASSERY IT COMES BACK TO HIM. I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Not in this chapter, but down the road. :D
twilightthief - How about Eames says: "It's always been you." Probably too cheesy. But in the right context, that's giving me some ideas! ^_^sparrow_hubris - Eames glances up at Arthur from across an empty train car, posture stiff, with a blank or hostile look. He then turns slowly and walks away. Arthur for some reason cannot follow/can't catch him and it scares the crap out of him how empty/possessed?/haunted Eames looked. SO EFFING CREEPY. Not this chapter, but down the road. :D Also: And I'm totally in love with the idea of Arthur having to steal something more difficult than truffles because they need it and Eames' hand is too unstable to steal it himself. Nice!hazysea - A line for Eames to say to Arthur? "Stay at my level and keep to the shadows. Onwards!
** ** ** **
The frozen lake gleamed under the weak sun as Arthur stood at the edge. Eames was nowhere around. Arthur stood watching couples and families zoom around on snowmobiles across the surface of the ice. These festivities alarmed him under his own surface; anxiety pulled at him and he didn't know why.
From a great distance, the little girl Michelle waved at him. She wasn't aboard a snowmobile; she just stood at the center of the frozen lake, smiling. He could make out the red dot of her Pokemon keychain at her hip.
"Baikal," said a voice in his ear, "is the deepest lake in the world."
Arthur turned to look, but no one was there. The voice was unisex and accent-less. He still knew it was Dinclusin. Who else spoke when they weren't around? He could feel it, those blue eyes on his back.
The ice cracked. Michelle's face showed a moment of innocent horror, and then the chasm opened beneath her feet and swallowed her. He hands grabbed at the air, at nothing, and then disappeared.
Arthur ran to the center of the lake and dove in after her. The icy water stung his back. Just his back though; the front of him, where his heart thumped against his ribs, felt warm. He kicked his way to the bottom of the lake. It was strangely peaceful down here, with the sun shining through the waves. Dead silence. His back was cold enough to hurt. He swam deeper.
Something brushed his ankle and he realized that he had lost his shoes and socks. He turned (so slow in the water) to see what had touched him. A crustacean the size of his arm aimed sightless eyes at him, running a long antenna up his leg. Its pink, segmented body flexed and then unfurled, revealing pinching little limbs along its underside. Arthur choked back a cry of disgust and wrenched his leg away.
"Those are corpse-eaters," Dinclusin's sexless voice said in his ear. "They scavenge. Follow them and see."
Looking down into the depths, Arthur saw a mass of them: lake-floor crustaceans that looked like big, flesh-colored fleas. Some of them burrowed into the sand. Others writhed and pulsed over something at the center of them.
They were loathsome, but Arthur swam deeper and kicked them away. They scattered, some of them grabbing his skin with their many legs, a few others refusing to be pushed away from their meal. He struggled to pull them away with his hands as dirt and silt from the bottom of the lake floated into a cloud, obscuring his vision. He got to one crustacean that would not budge at all. He pulled and pulled, bracing his feet against whatever purchase the creature had. He had to remove it.
The silt and sand settled back to the lakebed floor, and the sun shone down on what he was tearing the animal from.
Michelle's tiny, naked body was torn to shreds from the waist down. The animal that Arthur was pulling from her had its mouthparts buried into her scalp. Her body rocked in time with the motion, and tendrils of her skin and hair floated rhythmically. Her Pokemon keychain drifted by in front of his face.
Her eyes opened, showing only whites that he sensed were looking at him anyway. Then her mouth opened and one of the corpse-eaters crawled out from between her gums.
"Where's my mama?" she cried. "Please, my mama! Please! Please! I don't want this anymore. Please!"
He'd seen enough of this; too much, in fact. Arthur opened his eyes.
It never took him more than a few seconds to orient himself into the waking world. He was on the train, they had left Kazan, it was morning, and he had fallen asleep in the bottom bed with Eames. He mused that it should have felt stranger than it did, because they so seldom shared a bed, and usually only by necessity.
Eames was already awake. Casually, he used the sheet to dry the tears on Arthur's face. This happened often among dreamers that Arthur was quite used to it. It was more a gesture of practicality and understanding than actual tenderness – although his touch was gentle.
"Didn't think I should wake you, as natural dreams are hard to come by," Eames said.
"Thanks," Arthur said. He'd struggled in the past just to be able to dream normally at all. He'd even take nightmares if he could get them.
His back was pressed up against the cold wall of the train and he pulled the blanket around his back and scooted away. Eames moved aside to give him room.
"Anything important or enlightening?" Eames asked.
"Michelle, dead at the bottom of the lake," Arthur said. "It was one of those dreams where you finally decide it's gotten bad enough and you wake yourself up. One of those, you know, pathos dreams."
"Right," Eames said. "When you feel pity for one of your projections, amplified times a thousand."
"That's the one." He took a deep breath and straightened his legs so that Eames could stretch out beside him. He thought the dream over again, turned it around fearlessly in his head, put parts of it on repeat.
He'd pulled Eames out of lake once, not too long ago. Maybe it had come from that.
A flare of understanding lit the fire in his brain, and he braced himself on one elbow and leaned over Eames. "Turn your head," he ordered.
Eames did so without asking why. His hair was short these days, and it was easy to see the scar cutting through the brown strands, where a bullet had clipped him on the right side. He'd had a bad concussion after that one, nasty whiplash and maybe even...
"Nerve damage," Arthur murmured, running his finger along the scar. "Eames, how's your hand this morning?"
Eames turned back to him, his eyes bright with revelation. He held his right hand up. It was fine, not even a tremor. "You think it could be residual effects from the concussion? But what about you? Your foreign accent syndrome cranked up to eleven? Ah," Eames went on before Arthur could answer. He lifted his hand to Arthur's temple.
The last job had gone badly, extremely badly, and they had both ended up as test-rabbits in someone else's insane experiments. Arthur had found himself on the wrong side of electricity a handful of times during that adventure.
"Perhaps we don't need to look for anything metabolic," Eames said. "It would make sense for lingering symptoms to manifest at any time. But as I haven't had the symptom in the last seven months, and you haven't, I presume, been randomly speaking French..."
"Well I don't know," Arthur said. "Maybe I did. I couldn't feel it when I was speaking in French yesterday, so for all I know, I could have done it."
Eames turned to face him fully. He surprised Arthur by putting a hand over his shoulder and pulling him close, then lying back on the bed. It wasn't as uncomfortable as Arthur used to pretend it was. He just didn't know what had brought it on.
"No one would have been around to tell you if you'd lapsed into a different language," Eames said. "And no one would have been around to tell me if my hand had been shaking without my noticing it."
It confirmed something that Arthur had already suspected over the last three or so years: there was no one else for either of them. He didn't question it or read anything further into it. Every few months was fine. Being alone was fine, too. Not particularly wanting to fuck anyone else these days, that was all right with him. The fact that Eames didn't seem to want to either – also fine. Eames's hand on his back, the shudder and rumble of the train swaying beneath them - maybe a step above fine.
The mystery of what the fuck was happening with them, though, for all that he felt sure that it wasn't any of the horrible scenarios he'd considered the night before... not so fine.
"So we go under together," Eames said. "It's as good as an MRI for sickness, which I'm fairly sure is not the case anyway. And better than any medical procedure for finding what might actually be wrong. I look in your head, you look in mine."
"If we find anything," Arthur said, "we have to get off the train."
"Yes. But if that's the case, we have to find out how it got there, too," Eames said. "And who did it. If it's just some fucked up residue from past meddling, then we forget about Dinclusin and the rest of them."
"I still think it seems likely that something here triggered it," Arthur said. "Same environment, same food, same water, same people around us."
"Makes sense," Eames said.
"Once we're done basically cat-scanning each other, I'm taking Dinclusin under. I'll need your help."
"I've got the compounds," Eames said. "I can get him alone."
Arthur didn't like that part too much. It forced him to admit something that hadn't occurred to him yet: this guy made him legitimately nervous. "That's not even necessary."
"What's your plan?"
"Today's Yekaterinburg," Arthur said. "We can come back to the train early and stake out his room. We don't have to do the entire walking tour today. We can disappear early. You give me your own tour, 'cause I really want to see it. Also, if people see us leaving the train with the rest of the group and meeting up with them at different points of interest, it'll look less suspicious. But we wrap it up quick, come back and do re-con before dinner, and set up a timed-release sedation in his room before he comes back. He's got to be rooming with one of them. That's no problem though; they both get knocked out. I take Dinclusin under for maybe about ten, fifteen minutes at the most. If need be, you go play cards with his little gang for a while. I show up a few minutes later in the lounge, Dinclusin wakes up about five minutes later, duck soup."
"Duck soup," Eames repeated softly. "But first."
"First we go under together. Three layers down."
"Three?" Eames sounded surprised.
"If something is wrong with either of us, that's where it will be most obvious. The brain already knows, but at the top levels, I find it's more willing to lie to protect itself." Arthur stood up. Instead of reaching for the PASIV, he set the light alarm across the door. Then he plugged his phone into a small set of speakers and turned back to Eames. "Three minutes. That'll give us plenty of time in the third level. If someone comes in while we're down there, it trips the alarm on my phone. We hear the ringtone and we shoot ourselves awake."
Eames sat up, now fully awake. "All right. Let's go take a look."
** ** ** **
Chapter 4B – Plant Your Hope With Good Seeds
** ** ** **
Arthur walked the streets of Eames's subconscious. Eames was nowhere to be found, but that was just as well. His projections would speak for him enough, just as Arthur's projections would give away his mind's secrets, the ones that his conscious mind would cover up. Somewhere in his mind, Eames was walking his streets, or going through his rooms.
It was a shared dream; they were both the dreamers.
The construct of Eames's subconscious this time was a pretty, tree-lined path populated by easy-going projections. It looked almost like a jogging path, or maybe hiking. Sun dappled the green grass, and a breeze scented the atmosphere. Arthur tilted his head. The scent was his own aftershave. The fact that Eames was close enough to smell him, and that's what he dreamed of in his deepest layers made him feel warm, almost hot, down here where everything was amplified.
The sky was a vivid blue, too vivid to be real life. This did not seem like a mind that was growing a cancer, but Arthur had to be sure. There was no sense even taking this chance if they weren't going to be thorough.
He stopped one of the projections on the street, a young man in khakis and a fitted tee shirt. Arthur said, "What nice weather today."
"It is," the projection answered in a London accent. "It truly is. Strange, though."
"What's that?" Arthur asked.
The projection looked at the sky. "Well, I swear it was just winter. And then a few days ago, this. High summer, all at once."
"How long did the winter last?" Arthur asked.
"Months, I think." He rested his hand on a trail mile-marker. Seven, it said.
"That's really nice," Arthur said. He couldn't add anything more, for fear of disturbing the structure of the dream or influencing it. He was already influencing it enough with his own emotional reaction, and he didn't want to add anything further. "I'm looking for a secret place," he said. "Any secret place where it's not summer. Can you show me to anywhere that's cold or dark?"
"Why would I want to do that?" the projection asked.
"So that I can open the windows," Arthur told it. "And let the light in."
"Oh. Well in that case." The projection pointed to a tall, grey building that rose against the blue sky. It hadn't been there before. It was marked with a big, dark blue "H" on the front of it. "There's where you want to look for anything important, anything hidden."
It occurred to Arthur that Eames's subconscious was simply telling him where to go to look for his secrets. The hospital was the fear of mortality they had discussed the night before. Likely, it was also any and all of Eames's past experiences with mortality; his own and that of others around him.
"You've got the key in your pocket," the projection told him. And then it jogged away.
Arthur went into the medical building. The air here was chilled, like an air-conditioner was running; something necessary to cool the constant heat that Eames gave off. Orderlies and doctors bustled around. None of them looked exactly urgent, but a few did look worried, or maybe anxious.
Arthur fought down his own anxiety. He must not influence this.
He went up to one of the doctors. This was a generic doctor-archetype in a white lab coat. He wore glasses and had white hair.
"I'm here for the results," Arthur said. It was an open conversation starter.
"Then I'll have to take you to the top floor," the doctor told him.
Without any other shifts in time, they stood inside a glass elevator, that was rising, rising to the top. When the doors opened with an official-sounding "ping", the doctor led the way through a large, sterile, tiled hall.
"I assume you're concerned about victims of the recent quakes," the doctor said. "That's why I brought you to the top."
"Victims?" Arthur asked.
"Months ago there was an explosion that rocked the entire country."
"I remember it."
"People got burned in that explosion. And there have been aftershocks."
"Aftershocks," Arthur said. "So, that means the aftershocks... those are from the explosion? There's nothing else?"
"I've looked everywhere," the doctor said. "I haven't found anything. But would you care to see the results?"
"I would."
The doctor took him into a vast medical room. It was dark save for the backlit x rays lining the walls, and a full body scan x ray on a table in the center, lit from underneath.
"Can you see all the different fault-lines on this map?" the doctor asked.
"I see them," Arthur said. He didn't see a map, he saw an outline of Eames's body. But this was the time to just go with it. He knew what most of those "fault lines" were from, too. Not all, but most.
"I don't see anything growing up from any of those cracks," the doctor said. "There were some burn victims from the explosion. That's about it."
Arthur looked the scan over completely, checking for dark spots, anything that would show up in waking life as pain, as some nagging unrest. As something Eames would know without knowing. He ran his hands over the image, feeling for heat or cold or pain. He saw nothing, felt nothing, and breathed a sigh of relief.
He then pointed to the right hand on the x ray. "What about this, here?"
"That," the doctor said. "Yes, that. It's not something from within the world. What you see happening there is coming from somewhere outside. We're trying to pinpoint what it is. We can't know from in here because it's not from here."
"I understand that," Arthur said, even though he didn't, not quite. There had been some meddling inside Eames's head on their last job, but surely Eames would know this as the cause. "No guesses, though?"
"Something from the outside," the doctor repeated. "Some kind of terrorism. Some kind of punishment."
** ** ** **
Eames opened his eyes to Arthur's deepest layer – or at least as deep as they were willing to go. Arthur was somewhere probably messing about with his projections, wheedling secrets out of them. Not that Eames had many left to share with him. A few, perhaps, maybe ones he'd just never thought to tell.
In Arthur's subconscious, an expanse of blue, warm, glittering water surrounded Eames, a sea of light. He looked down to see that its depths were endless. There was no sea-floor – this still water went on forever, to the other side of the world. For a second, Eames almost panicked. A man could drown here, sucked under, breathless, never to surface. What was he doing so far out here?
But the water supported him and seemed to carry him along. He felt naked. He was naked.
While there was no bottom to this sea, there was a shore. White sand, gleaming like glass, lined the water. Eames swam toward it. Out here in the center of Arthur's depths, there was no one to talk to. Interesting and intimidating as it was, he needed actual information on his body, not his mind or his emotions.
He reached the shore in a few short strokes, and pulled himself onto the warm sand. Sun-bathers and beach-goers all populated this space. They weren't being loud or obnoxious, or making a lot of noise. However, they were all just as nude as he was. Eames reflected briefly on what it meant, that Arthur let him into his waters so far out, and that all of his projections were naked. It gave him a shiver, the feeling of something primal, something he wanted to hold onto and protect. He knew that this intensity would fade once they both woke up. And he was here for a reason.
He went up to one of the projections, a blond woman playing volleyball with no net and no partner.
"Hey handsome," she said. "What is it you're looking for?"
"Something frightening," he said. "Something that doesn't live in the bottom of that warm sea, but elsewhere. Something, anything, that's not supposed to be in this world. Can you show me anything that's not supposed to be here?"
"Not anymore," she said.
"Anymore? Was there something recently?"
"Hmm." She toyed with the volley-ball between tanned hands. Eames wondered at the fact that Arthur's subconscious sentinel was a ditzy, naked beach-bunny.
"It was strange, a while back," she said. "Someone came in speaking French."
Eames's mouth went dry. He had to stop and re-set. The entire beach shuddered and he knew it wasn't movement from the train three levels up. "Define 'came in,'" he said.
"Came in," she said. "To here. Down here."
"A man?" Eames asked. "A woman?"
She said, "Yes. A man. A woman. Neither. It's strange, because some of us speak French anyway. But this person just showed up all the way down here. From the outside. You know?"
"When was this?" he asked. "Was it perhaps a while back? During the time of lightning storms, maybe?
"Nope," she said. "It was, like, more recent than that."
"Well," Eames said. "Well, fuck."
** ** ** **
They met in the middle ground of the third layer, between the tree-lined park and the sea. Arthur got there first and was waiting on a stone bench when he saw Eames making his way towards him. For all the warm, scented dreamscape, he suddenly felt like he was in a doctor's waiting room.
Eames didn't keep him waiting too long. Before he even sat down beside him he said, "You're not sick."
"Neither are you," Arthur said, feeling so glad to tell him that, and to see the relief on Eames's face.
Then Eames sat beside him and dropped a bomb that Arthur hadn't expected. "Your subconscious says a french-speaking person broke in."
Impossible Arthur thought. But since they were dreaming, Eames heard him anyway.
"I'd have thought so, too. But you told me yourself."
"Well, it's not just me who got invaded by whoever. Your subconscious seems to think that some of your symptoms are after-effects of head trauma. But it also suggested that someone from the outside did something to hurt you. 'Punishment,' it said."
Eames turned to face him. "What does that mean?"
Arthur had no answer for that. He stared into a gleaming sunset. "Well, look." He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "It's not an ideal situation. Obviously someone got to us, right? But this is something that we can chase, shoot and fight. That's what we wanted it to be."
Eames remained silent.
"We wanted something that wasn't a sickness. That's what this seems to be. Someone did something to both of us, on purpose. We can find out what it is now. Then we can undo it."
"This was supposed to be a vacation," Eames said.
Arthur put his hand on Eames's knee. "It can still be. We can see all the things we wanted to see."
"Still. Do wish people'd stop fucking with us."
Arthur hated the forlorn look on his face. "But that's the kind of life we're in," Arthur said. "I'm going to just be glad that it's nothing worse than that. Yes, I know, it still could be. Just because we're not dying doesn't mean we won't end up dead. But..." He looked around at the dreamscape. What a beautiful space his and Eames's collective subconscious had created, and which Eames had scented with Arthur's aftershave, of all things. "But we're alive now," Arthur went on. "And we have a mission. I can deal with missions. Missions are doable."
Eames fell silent again, and for a while, so did Arthur. There was still some time on the countdown; years of dreaming had given him a sense for it.
"While we're down here," Arthur said, "I want to give you something. It's important."
Eames turned to face him, looking a little worn, a little tired. It steeled Arthur's resolve for what he was about to do. He picked up the blue bottle that was sitting next to him on the stone bench. When he held it up to the dying sunlight, blue, grey and white light swirled fluidly within it, glittering. It looked like something out of a fantasy. To Arthur, it was.
"What's that?" Eames asked.
"It's Cure-all." He put it into Eames's hand. "Your body ultimately does everything your brain tells it to. You can tell it to get sick. But more importantly, there are documented cases of people willing themselves better from incurable diseases."
"Some people have very powerful minds," Eames said. He looked wary.
"Some people have powerful ideas," Arthur corrected. He pushed the bottle into Eames's hands and held them together tight. "We're three levels down, so pay attention. If a day comes when you do get sick... if it's some kind of terminal disease? You'll know when it starts. You'll know, and you'll get to the doctor right away and have every test under the sun. Then, you'll have this bottle of Cure-all with you. Your subconscious will drink it every day. You'll think yourself well. It will give you a chance, and you'll beat it. Whatever it is, whenever it is, you'll beat it. You don't have to know why, you just will."
Eames's eyes were wide, but he didn't look away. "You're incepting me."
"I am," Arthur said. "And I'm going to tell you to forget this part when we wake up, too. It works better if you forget. And I'll ask you to keep trusting me as well. I'm sorry, Eames, I really, really am. But I'm not ashamed."
Eames pulled his hands away from Arthur's, but he didn't let go of the bottle. He sat back against the bench and seemed to think this over. When Eames tucked the bottle into his pocket, Arthur let go of the breath he hadn't known he was holding.
"What if the day comes when I want to die?" Eames asked. "If I'm through, I'm alone, if I'm old and tired and I need to die?"
"Then you have my permission," Arthur said.
"Right," Eames said. "Right. Well. In that case." From beside him, he pulled a gun. When Arthur flinched, thinking he was going to end the dream, Eames held it up harmlessly. Arthur saw that it wasn't any normal sort of gun, more like something out of a sci-fi film, with tubes and shining wires looped around it, in green, blue and white. He put it into Arthur's hand.
"And this is?" Arthur said.
"If the day comes that you get sick, this is the gun you'll use to fight it. You'll also know right away and you'll do everything necessary to take care of yourself. When you find out what it is, every day your subconscious will fire this gun at the sickness until it's gone. Unless you are entirely out of hope and you wish to die. Then you have my permission. Consider yourself incepted as well, you prick."
Arthur took the gun, not bothering to hide his smile.
"Oh," Eames added. "And you should also forget about this part when we wake. And continue to trust me as if I hadn't just broken a cardinal rule against your psyche."
"Do you think I'm a bad person for doing this?" Arthur asked.
"You know that's not what I think of you," Eames said.
"Are you angry?"
Eames looked at him for a long moment before threading his fingers through Arthur's hair and kissing him.
** ** ** **
/Wish fulfillment :D
Sweet, a lot of you guys googled Dinclusin. YES! ^_^ Well played! Has anyone googled Ann Dromalius? :D
Okay, so now give me more ideas, because I'm really stuck! This plot is constipated, someone give it some fiber, hehe. ^_^ While I obviously can't use everything everyone suggests without making the plot a tangled mess, once in a while a suggestion comes along that's like BAM, and it fits perfectly.
Images, scenes, lines, general ideas – these are all awesome! Thanks, guys. ^_^
Chapter 5 - There Is A King
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 01:26 am (UTC)LIGHT UP MY LIIIIIIIIIIFE
YOU GIVE ME HOOOOOOOOOOPE
TO CARRY ONNNNNNNNN
YOU LIGHT UP MY DAAAAAAAAAAYS
AND FILLLLLLLLLLL
MY NIIIIIIIIIIGHTS
WITH SOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG
That's for you, because this fic is amazing. All of my hopes and dreames~
The inception at the end was really sweet. Schmoop. <3
Um. I'm thinking. Is this set in the same relative verse as any of your other fics? The head wound made me think Glitch, which makes me wonder if any of the baddies from Glitch are still hanging around.
Michelle needs to do something totally badass.
Okay, so Dinclusin broke into Arthur's head? He's now going to snag Eames while Arthur's setting up the PASIV, right? Snag Eames and... try to destroy him. Physically? Or mentally? Inside or outside the mind? OR BOTH? Oof, both would be great. I have an extraordinarily huge physical pain kink, so... work your magic? AND ALSO EMOTIONAL TRAUMA. AND THEN! And then he tries to get Eames to do something to Arthur? But he resists! And then Eames TAKES THAT FUCKER DOWN. Using only items he can find in the dining car, which is where he's been trussed up and left for dead.
OH JEEZ, sorry for the long ramble. <3 You're actually the best.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 01:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 02:21 am (UTC)Firstly, I just want to say that I'm really excited that this is continuing in your 'verse you've been writing in. Post-Glitch. SO AWESOME. Really.
And second, as interlude-y as this is, was still really lovely. And interesting, how they normally still sleep in their own beds. curiouser and curiouser... ;-) I like this part, how it's just them doing things they both need to do. A bit ominous, though...
and hm, ok. so like, outside sources trying to get into Arthur and Eames' heads. SUCCEED at getting in their heads. Maybe Dinclusin just gets into people's heads for a living or some weird shit that i cant really think through, but is drawn to Arthur adn Eames because of the shared dreaming they do? something it does to their heads, making them more... succeptible? to tremors and french-speaking? what if tremors give way to like, Dr. Strangelove hand? lol, until it tries to choke Arthur after Arthur tries to break into their train car? oooh.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 03:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 02:29 am (UTC)Also, I love the double inception, how very like the boys. As I said, they're really not good at discussing emotional stuff. Though really, boys, when you're to the point of incepting each other... One talk might be in order. Just once, say it all, then you can go back to your regularly scheduled interactions.
Put Google-fu to use, and... Oh dear. Ann Dromalius is a concern too.
Since I brought it up... Hmm. I think I kind of want to see them either drunk or on some kind of drug, and kinda-sorta having that talk they really should have. (I don't think they ever will sans intoxication of some sort.) As it's them, it'll probably be a mess, but good Lord, they actually might need it now.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 02:52 am (UTC)I know you've said in the past tabi that you dont have them say the mushy stuff like the obvious "I love you" but maybe they get toasted at some point during this "vacation" and some unspoken things come out.
They dance around it but they never really say it. Lets have one or both of them say something that they normally wouldnt :)
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 02:33 am (UTC)I've now Googled Dinclusin and Dromalius. You're so f-ing clever! :D I can't wait to see how this plays out! Yes! So awesome!
Let's see... Well, in terms of plot, you're going to have them do the tour and then try to put Dinclusin under, right? Well, obviously, something's going to have to happen before they can do that. Possibly Eames, while distracting the mates with cards, gets grabbed by them. Arthur, lying in wait for Dinclusin... Um. I don't know. You;re much better at plot than I am. XD
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Date: 2011-03-10 04:05 am (UTC)I'm glad it's not a sickness either. I was kind of fretting as I wrote it, trying to figure out how I was going to get out of it. O_O
Well, in terms of plot, you're going to have them do the tour and then try to put Dinclusin under, right? Well, obviously, something's going to have to happen before they can do that. Possibly Eames, while distracting the mates with cards, gets grabbed by them. Arthur, lying in wait for Dinclusin...
You said the words "lying in wait" and you gave me an idea that I really like. I feel like something can go forward now. You have no idea how much that just helped. ^_^
THANK YOU!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 02:40 am (UTC)I could write boatloads of fic based off of that! So brilliant!
I was near tears at the end-that never happens when I read fic! So bravo to you. *tips hat*
I keep thinking about this fic and IDK I think it would be interesting if the train "gets lost".
I don't know if you've seen "The Darjeeling Limited" but there's these quotes that I keep thinking of when I think of your fic: "He said the train is lost."
"How can a train be lost? It's on rails."
Maybe they get lost but really its just someone messing with/ransacking the train? Maybe outside forces or maybe Dinclusin or someone on the train.
I dont know if you can do anything with that or not.
I like the idea that Michelle really isn't who she seems. There's something more to our Pokemon lovin' friend.
I love the idea that they are going to extract from Dinclusin. YES! That needs to happen. I think they need to do the same or find out more information about this Ann Dromalius chick. Maybe she's the one pulling the strings and Dinclusin is just the "point man" gathering information?
I think when they go under there's going to be something about Eames or Eames' past that comes out that maybe shocks Arthur and Eames. They keep saying that there aren't any secrets between them or that they know everything but I kind of want the opposite to happen like someone uncovers something.
Maybe a little more action happening? Like a chase, shootout, debate, argument, someone throws a table or chair over after a game is lost or accusations being thrown around.
I feel a little stuck as well as far as ideas. Sorry, BB. I'll try to think of more.
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Date: 2011-03-10 04:03 am (UTC)DOOO EEEET... ;D
I keep thinking about this fic and IDK I think it would be interesting if the train "gets lost".
Holy crap, I love this idea, it's so Twilight Zone. I have no idea how the hell I would do that, but I'm going to think on it. It would almost have to be a dream, right? Or, hmm. Maybe not. What if it's not that the train gets lost, but what if it falls off the grid in terms of contact? Like, all cell phones, computers, and other "outside world" contact that is lost for a while. I wonder if that might work? That would give a lot more wiggle room in terms of scary, exciting things happening aboard.
I like the idea that Michelle really isn't who she seems. There's something more to our Pokemon lovin' friend.
A lot of people are saying this, and I think it's a great idea. If the others aren't who they seem, then why not her, too? YES, I love this.
But who? That's what I don't know. :)
Maybe a little more action happening? Like a chase, shootout, debate, argument, someone throws a table or chair over after a game is lost or accusations being thrown around.
YES, totally. You're right, this is why the train needs to get abandoned somehow, or left on its own. Maybe someone could even take it over. Like I said a few comments below ('cause I answered top to bottom this time, hehe :D ) having the train on the rails is exactly the same thing as having the story on the rails. There's only so much you can do. If a shootout or fight happened on a tour train, obviously the authorities would enter into it. Hmm.
UNLESS. Unless the shoot out / action happens outside of the train and in one of the towns and no one sees it except the main characters.
But then they would need a reason to stay aboard the train and not just GTFO.
Wow, so much to think about. Thank you for helping me think this all out! Any more suggestions, I am totally up for it. :D
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Date: 2011-03-08 03:23 am (UTC)FUCK YEAH TABI!!!!
SHIT A BRICK!
Umm wow lets see, a suggestion. In the past you had Arthur getting the shit kicked out of him and turning into a killing machine. How about if Eames turns into a killing machine after getting beat up? I'd like to see that.
OMG DINCLUSIN AND "ANN" DROMELIUS!!!!!!
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:57 am (UTC)In the past you had Arthur getting the shit kicked out of him and turning into a killing machine. How about if Eames turns into a killing machine after getting beat up? I'd like to see that.
YES TO THIS. I think I'd like to write that, too. ^_^
Thank you!
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Date: 2011-03-08 03:30 am (UTC)-Could Eames have taken something from them in the past? If Ann brings thieves to justice, could she have clued Dinclusin in to Eames' deception? I don't know what he could have stolen, especially if he doesn't recognize either of them, but maybe they were inadvertently affected by something he did?
-Was their business/well-being somehow affected by Robert Fischer's inception (or anyone else's)?
-Maybe Ann actually catches Eames in the act of stealing something, which obviously doesn't really ever happen to him. This clues him in to the fact that he is really being watched by this pair. Maybe she casually mentions later that she saw him.
These are pretty vague suggestions (that I'm sure you've already considered!) but I just wanted to try to help out a bit. I don't comment on fanfic much, although I should, but I absolutely love your writing and your depictions of these two. Thank you so much for your dedication to this fandom! :)
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:56 am (UTC)Could Eames have taken something from them in the past? If Ann brings thieves to justice, could she have clued Dinclusin in to Eames' deception? I don't know what he could have stolen, especially if he doesn't recognize either of them, but maybe they were inadvertently affected by something he did?
To be honest, I'm struggling with the how/why - I really have no idea. But this might work out great! It actually helps me a lot. This is what I needed to muse on for a while.
I'm so glad you like these fics, and I'm really so honored that you're commenting. It takes time to make a comment, especially one that's helpful. Thank you for this! ^_^
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Date: 2011-03-08 03:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 03:54 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2011-03-08 03:59 am (UTC)Okay. Uhhhh. I'd like to see a moment of weakness or dependency between Arthur and Eames- something along the lines of "don't let me fall."
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:52 am (UTC)Weakness or dependency, god, I can't even tell you why that presses my kink button. YES TO THIS. *adding to queue.*
THANK YOU! ^_^
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Date: 2011-03-08 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 05:39 am (UTC)Eames's eyes were wide, but he didn't look away. "You're incepting me."
"I am," Arthur said. "And I'm going to tell you to forget this part when we wake up, too. It works better if you forget. And I'll ask you to keep trusting me as well. I'm sorry, Eames, I really, really am. But I'm not ashamed."
Idk why, but that struck me as a very, very powerful scene, even more powerful than Arthur's dream in the first part, which reminds me of Caitlin Kiernan's stories. It needs as much strength to trust as to ask to be trusted. I love that part so much ide.
Also: googled Ann Dromalius and I'm looking forward to seeing more of her. :D
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:50 am (UTC)I'm so glad you liked that scene. I love how you interpreted it as strength, too, because Arthur obviously felt like it was a sneaky and perhaps cowardly thing to do - but I actually agree with you. Because you know, if I were in the same position, I would do it as well and I also wouldn't be ashamed.
So glad you googled! :D Awesome.
Thank you! ^_^
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Date: 2011-03-08 05:53 am (UTC)Awesome. Love the cameo from my friends the amphipoda in Lake Baikal (they're not gross though- I love amphipods: I did a dissertation on their corpse eating for my Forensics Degree :)
http://c.photoshelter.com/img-get/I0000rAPtMAmsfE8/s
Also loved the references to GLITCH, with the headshot and the tasering. Loved how the projections were helping Arthur to diagnose any problems with Eames. Also loved them Incepting each other against future disease. Awesome!!
Plot moving forwardness- the boys discover voodoo dolls of themselves in an empty train compartment, Eames with a pin in his hand, Arthur with a pin through his tongue. Bonus points for having dolls of the rest of the team as well. Also, maybe Eames' twitchy hand starts to do things against his will?! Compulsively pocketing things at first (Dinclusin reference :)
btw- have you read my dark-ass Arthur/Eames yet?!
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:43 am (UTC)AHHH! IDLE HANDS! I love this idea. I'm going to try to figure a way to work this in.
OMG, you did a dissertation on amphipods! I agree that they're not really gross; but good nightmare fuel all the same. I actually really love scavengers of all kinds. They're so beneficial.
I'm loving these ideas, so awesome. Thank you so much! ^_^
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Date: 2011-03-08 06:49 am (UTC)I don't know why by I suddenly got the idea that every time Eames makes contact with Dinclusin it gets a little bit hotter until touching Dinclusin sears is hands, like when you touch an iron or burner. Or maybe every time he tries to steal something he gets a physical reaction, like his shakes, or burning, or electricity, or injury.
You've taken the plot farther than I would have imagined already with the dreaming. I love it! Their dreams are so surreal. Arthurs deep, bottomless, calm, pool is very telling to me. Like he's so calm and collected and honest with himself.
Maybe Charlotte draws Arthur into another conversation in which he can't escape speaking French after at all?
I like the idea of punishment of thieves. Like going after Eames for some action in his past, or just because.
I really would like one of them saying, directly "I need you. You can't leave me yet." And realizing that maybe it's really the truth. Arthur is getting comfortable with Eames being the only one and that's fine. But of course I want more!
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:41 am (UTC)You are completely in my head. I'm so glad you suggested this, LOVE it.
I also love how you threw "Charlotte" in there, because there is no Charlotte, but damned if that wasn't going to be her original name. THE NAMES, YOU GET IT. :D That's so awesome.
Thank youuuuuu! ^_^
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 07:31 am (UTC)Also "Has anyone googled Ann Dromalius" - well, pretty much everyone now, I guess. ;)
Suggestions:
Michelle has got to be the key to something. A revelation, inspiration, information - she's aces and needs a part to play. Perhaps her parents do too, maybe in that so-clueless-don't-know-what's-going-on-but-it-helps kind of way.
The style of gun Eames gave Arthur was awesome. I'd like Arthur to have a moment of almost remembering, perhaps watching kids play in a town/village they stop at, or ... something. Maybe he's worried about how important what he can't quite remember is to their predicament. Then Eames distracts him and it's gone.
I'd also like to see some quirks from the other passengers. It's a long time to be stuck with a small group of people. Eames could have some fun suggesting their life stories to Arthur based on his observations (dinner conversation as others come and go) and Arthur could have some fun second-guessing Eames assumptions (or just being absurd). Also, you never know how handy some of them could turn out as incidentals later.
Enough for now. Time to walk the dogs and make dinner. :D
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Date: 2011-03-08 12:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 07:43 am (UTC)Creepy, creepy, creepy!
Uhm, basically, love this, love you, love the schmoop. Love the way Eames reacts to the schmoop by calling Arthur a prick xD.
I'd really like to see Eames go through some sort of shit but NOT get saved by BAMF Arthur. Because Eames is awesome enough to save himself from danger (and then maybe Arthur would feel bad that he didn't/couldn't help Eames).
MAYBE MAYBE something happens with Jack, like idk, he takes Eames somehow and Arthur doesn't go to his rescue because he thinks Eames WANTS to be with Jack --and then idk, there's emo stuff because the pair of them have never really defined their relationship and... I can't remember where I was going with this.
Sorry for the rambling <3
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:37 am (UTC)Well now, I can't have them being too lovey and schmoopy. That would be out of character as I've always written them. :)
I completely agree: Eames needs to save himself this time, he needs to be a BAMF and this time, he needs to save Arthur. I also agree that Arthur would probably feel like he failed.
Rambling is good! This whole story is rambling. :D
As always, thank you! ^_^
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Date: 2011-03-08 10:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 03:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 11:00 am (UTC)As for the beginning of this chapter: there's no surprise that in's nothing but nightmare, but on the other hand, I don't think you wanted to surprise. For me is more like an annoucement of Arthur's mind- "something is wrong, but it's not what you think, go further". Somehow, I don't know how I'm glad to read about them sleeping casually in one bed. No matter how like your characterization, how you write them as persons that are independent and self-sufficient somehow I love this picture (even though I hate fluff. Ok, maybe not fluff generally but fluff with them). I like the fact that their relationship is growing and developing, the bond between them stronger and stronger after every "adventure" together.
I love also the fact that everything is so vague right now, this story can go anyway, and that it depends somehow on us, readers.
Hmm. I wish I could give yous some great ideas, but: first of all my mind is still exhausted after three days conference and second thing is that right now, while I'm writing this words I'm sittng on the lecture, which is extremaly boring and most probably completely useless, but doesn't help in thinking.
So yes, I'm completely in love with this story. It's not so intense as Glitch, but I'm sure everything is in front of us and this story will blow my mind.
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:34 am (UTC)That's really something to think about. This whole entire set of comments is really helping me! :D
I very much wish it would be possible in real life, to actually incept someone into health. :)
I'm not partial to fluff either. I really try to steer clear of it. But another part of me thinks that they've been through so much together, and they obviously trust each other, at that point it would be unlikely for them to keep pushing each other away. It's just like you said: by now they have to have some kind of bond. I think if they didn't, they'd be sociopaths. Which would also make a fun story. ^_^;;
So much of this does depend on you guys. Well, all of it, I think. I keep getting surprised at what's coming out. So for that, and for the encouragement, THANK YOU! ^_^
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Date: 2011-03-08 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 03:30 am (UTC)That's a really cool point about the linear journey, and you know what? It really limits the plot, but you gave me a good idea/feeling about the circular paths happening. It did come across right. Hmm, meditate on this, I will. There's something to that, being on rails. Like the story itself is on rails. I'll really have to think that out, but you've given me something to consider for this story. Thank you! ^_^
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Date: 2011-03-08 10:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 03:28 am (UTC)We are so terrible, aren't we? But then, they should stop being so pretty. ;D
Thank you very much! ^_^
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Date: 2011-03-09 02:40 am (UTC)Interesting, excellent fic. Sorry i don't have more, but i'm nursing a monster headache.
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:27 am (UTC)*Or maybe it's INCEPTION. I hear that can give you a headache. ;D
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-09 02:49 am (UTC)You can always break them both. :D This drug or whatever it is disturbs me greatly, but in a very good way. MORE.
(This is what your work does to me: all-caps monosyllables. <3 )
Ideas:
- French (in my head-canon, at least) is not the only other language Arthur speaks. Why did it come out first? Why, if it's the only foreign language affected by whatever is doing this, aren't the others surfacing? Use your imagination, but I think it's a link between Dinclusin and Mal.
- Dromalius keeps a pet snake. How this comes out when she's on a train far from home is up to you. Perhaps a shed skin, kept somewhere in her luggage, to frighten the unwary trespasser?
- I don't like it when things turn out to be genuinely supernatural, but I love subtle intricate gambits disguised as magic. (Loved how they did it in the 2009 Sherlock Holmes movie.) There's a LOT of potential for that here. Run with it.
- Re: the above: "Dinclusin" and "Dromalius" are carefully selected aliases, calculated to unsettle as much as to obscure. Still, if Arthur were to find out their real names, he would definitely remember them -- and neither he nor they will like what he remembers.
- Someone should wake up with at least one IV that they don't remember placing.
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Date: 2011-03-10 03:26 am (UTC)You are so right, the French is connected. :D
I don't like it when things turn out to be genuinely supernatural, but I love subtle intricate gambits disguised as magic. (Loved how they did it in the 2009 Sherlock Holmes movie.) There's a LOT of potential for that here. Run with it.
SO MUCH THIS. I really agree. I like things to be spooky and scary but actually have a logical reason that fits. Or at least somewhat fits. Like, it could fit from a certain angle, and in all likelihood, if you're being reasonable about it, it must fit. But... ^_^;;
I don't like it when things turn out to be genuinely supernatural, but I love subtle intricate gambits disguised as magic. (Loved how they did it in the 2009 Sherlock Holmes movie.) There's a LOT of potential for that here. Run with it.
I'm really glad you said that. You actually just cleared up a lot of the plot confusion for me. I felt like I'd painted myself into a corner with those names. But that's really a perfect way to clear that up. ^_^
Thank you so much!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-09 06:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 03:22 am (UTC)After that, I threw them together for at least a few days in My Blue Heaven. I like to think that it wasn't too long after Glitch that they worked together again.
After what was probably a few weeks together, I could imagine that they'd be sick of each other for at least a few months. I also have a feeling that Eames wanders away just as much as Arthur does.
I think that this would probably be my own ideal situation, if I'm being honest. Like, I'd never want to get married, but having a passionate and honest love affair every few months with someone I trusted would be pretty nice. Then we'd mutually agree "OMG, get out of my face for a while" and no hard feelings. Then start over the next time. ^_^;; I absolutely write my own issues into fic. Heh. :D
Thank you for reminding me of that! ^_^
deeerp.
Date: 2011-03-10 02:49 am (UTC)http://sweetsigh.livejournal.com/10188.html
I swear I will fix it up so it doesn't look as ugly. DX You'll probably get it on Sunday since Friday is my rest day but Saturday I have Championships-pt2. But I WILL get around to it! *flails around*
I really gave this to you now to force myself to finish and do it. >.
Re: deeerp.
Date: 2011-03-10 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-15 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-16 05:14 am (UTC)