Splashes of Color

[Inception] Wired

callispi — Sat, 21 May 2011 19:22:05 GMT

Title: Wired
Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The movie

Summary: Ariadne builds Arthur's dreamscape, and she turns to a new drug to sustain her creative drive: caffeine.

Author’s Notes: A huge thanks to my beta, snakeling. She caught things that I never would have, and helped me through some particularly tricky details. (Who knew paradoxical architecture could never happen in 3D? …Hm, maybe it was obvious to everyone but me. :p) Much love and gratitude!

I originally intended this to be a moderately short ficlet, maybe around 1,500 words. But the words kept coming and coming after the one thousand mark, and the story did not want to end. Good for you guys (I hope), and very bad for my grades. Serious in some places, just plain cracked out in others, and if you squint really hard, you can spot tiny bite-sized pieces of sweet, sharp romance. Enjoy, my pretties.

Disclaimer: The onset of the European Enlightenment coincided with the mass distribution of coffee in Europe during the 17^th century. Take what you will from that.

Real Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me, but I do enjoy coffee. …What?

Wired

By Callisto Callispi

Ariadne cocked her head to the side, staring at the smooth stainless steel covering of the machine. It looked like some sort of time capsule—a time capsule of sci-fi proportions with colorful M&M-like buttons and various compartments designed to hold coffee bags, powdered milk, sugar, and creamer.

“Bloody hell, Yusuf. I ask for a simple latte and you bring home this monstrosity?” Eames snapped behind Ariadne.

Yusuf sniffed indignantly. “With this machine, you can get better quality coffee than the rubbish they sell in the cafés.”

As Yusuf started to demonstrate the mechanisms of the machine, the others took a break from their research on Fischer Morrow and circled around Yusuf. After a dizzying number of steps—adjusting the height of the dispenser to fit the cup, placing the coffee package in one compartment, a package of powdered milk in another, stacking specially designed cubes of sugar somewhere on the dispenser, and punching a few colored buttons—Yusuf pressed the “Brew” button. The members all watched in interest as the machine started to make a series of whirring noises as it dispensed dark liquid and foam. After a minute, the machine bleeped.

Yusuf pulled the mug out from the machine and handed it to Eames, who accepted it with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“That seems like an overly complicated process for a cup of coffee,” Dom said. He liked his coffee black.

“It’s state of the art.” Yusuf turned to Eames. “Try it. It’s the best latte you will get on this continent.”

Arthur snorted slightly in disbelief.

Eames placed the rim of the cup on his lips and delicately sipped on the steaming beverage. Everyone looked on curiously.

“Well?” Yusuf demanded.

Eames pulled the mug away, his cupid’s bow comically covered in foam. “Frothy.” He licked his lips and smirked. “And pretty damned good.”

…

Ariadne was never much of a coffee drinker. She really disliked bitter things. In fact, she could barely swallow down a cup of Earl Grey without milk and sugar, and she felt no desire to start torturing her taste buds now. She was mildly horrified to see Dom gulping down mouthfuls of plain, black coffee. No creamer, no sugar, nothing.

For a while, she watched impassively as the other members of the group slowly yet surely gravitated towards the coffee machine. Dom, never one for much embellishment, simply pressed “Brew” and promptly returned to his desk with his trademark black coffee to brood or research. Eames was more experimental, often spending ten minutes at a time mixing different flavor packages.

It was only during one particularly late night at the warehouse that Ariadne sampled the wonders of the coffee machine.

She had been pacing back and forth, shooting death glares at her architectural model of the second level of the dream for the Fischer inception. She was trying to construct escape routes that would cohere with the layout of the hotel, but was coming up with a blank or passages that were just aesthetically awkward.

Arthur hadn’t liked her model at all, judging by his expression earlier that day. She caught him staring at her models and, dear lord, cringing.

Ouch.

And though it was only a draft, and though they did have a few weeks to finalize things, his disapproval stung more that it should have. She was an architect and an artist, both in school and on the team, and she intended to live up to both standards.

It was his level of the dream that she was designing, after all. Plus, she wanted to impress Arthur. Maybe just a little bit more than anyone else on the team.

Unfortunately, her brain refused to connect the necessary synapses for her to construct the genius dreamscape that she knew she was capable of.

It was 1 AM and her head was buzzing with fatigue, but she couldn’t sleep. The look on Arthur’s face earlier that day made her shudder at the thought of even leaving the warehouse. She needed to fix this by morning.

“Rough night, sweetheart?” asked a cheerful voice from behind her.

Eames walked up and set down a mug of steaming something on the table. Ariadne sniffed, wincing as the bitter aroma of coffee assaulted her senses.

“Now, don’t give me that face. Or else you won’t get dessert,” Eames tut-tutted. “You look a fright. I made this special mixture for you—it’s not too hot or cold, too black or creamy, too bitter or sweet. It’s just right.”

Ariadne accepted the mug with both hands. “You just want another lab rat for one of your concoctions.”

“I’m concerned for you, that’s all. You look so haggard, and I thought you would enjoy this little pick-me-up.”

That comment would have been sincerely touching if his shit-eating grin didn’t give him away completely.

“Yusuf couldn’t take any more?” she asked dryly.

“Chap’s bouncing off the walls,” Eames admitted.

Ariadne set down the mug. “It needs to cool,” she said. “But thank you.”

Eames smirked and walked away. “You’re welcome, Goldilocks.”

Ariadne couldn’t help but smile. She turned back to the model and rearranged the layout, placing the stairs here and there. Nothing looked good, and as the minutes dragged on, her eyelids got heavier.

Perhaps it was time for a little pick-me-up.

Mug in hand, Ariadne stared skeptically at the caramel-colored liquid. It looked creamy enough. Shrugging, Ariadne took a sip, and was pleasantly surprised at the smooth, almost vanilla taste.

Ariadne pulled the mug from her lips and blinked, her expression a mixture of suspicion and pleasure. The coffee she made never tasted this good.

In five minutes, Ariadne finished the entire mug. Ten minutes later, as she played around with the dreamscape layout, she suddenly had an epiphany on where she could place the escape route in the hotel. She rearranged the hotel stairs, envisioning a Penrose staircase. It could easily enable Arthur to switch paths along the staircase to evade his pursuers, if need be. She drew an exceedingly precise image of the staircase on a blue sticky note and stuck it onto the side of the builder.

Ariadne stepped back and smiled proudly at her small adjustment. It was a perfect mix of unassuming grace and subtle cunning.

And the best part was that she had a lot more ideas as to how she could improve the layout.

Ariadne grinned broadly, feeling wired and more awake than ever. After another hour, her layout was riddled with different bits of brightly colored sticky notes. She took a quick break to ask Eames to make her another cup of whatever that delicious caramel-vanilla mixture was, and with another steaming mug of coffee next to her, Ariadne rolled up her sleeves and began to completely rearrange the layout of the hotel.

Her dreamscape was going to blow Arthur’s mind so much that he wouldn’t know what was up and down and front and back. Literally.

…

By the morning, Ariadne felt dead. She was slumped in one of the lawn chairs in the warehouse, practically melting into the cheap vinyl banding. Her eyes were blearily open, facing the door of the warehouse. She’d pulled an all-nighter—something she had hardly ever done even as a student—to finalize her model.

As usual, Arthur was the first to walk into the warehouse, dressed sharply in a beige waistcoat, a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and hair immaculately slicked back. He shrugged off his jacket as he turned to shut the warehouse door. But, as if he felt a pair of eyes boring holes into the back of his head (yeah, hers), he whipped around, posture tense and eyes wary.

He looks like a panther ready to pounce, Ariadne mused.

Upon seeing her, however, Arthur’s posture relaxed only very slightly. To her surprise, he rushed over to her and bent down, looking into her eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes scanning the length of her body.

In her slightly dazed state, Ariadne was slow to catch on why he was looking at her so intensely.

Arthur stepped back, confusion etching more lines into his already worried expression. His eyes slowly roamed over her body once more. “Are you hurt?”

Oh, Ariadne suddenly realized. He was searching for injuries, not checking her out.

She forced herself out of the chair and stood on wobbly legs. Arthur made to move to help her, but Ariadne stopped him with a heavy hand.

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired. But you’re going to like this,” she said, motioning for him to follow.

Arthur blinked, but followed soon after her.

“What do you think?” she asked him once they reached the desk where she situated her dreamscape.

Her model was much bigger than the previous one. In fact, it was almost five times as big as before and was host to 2D models of impossible stairs, never ending ringed passageways, inside-out towers, and other paradoxical structures, all color-coded in blues, greens, pinks and yellows. She couldn’t recreate the architecture three dimensionally in reality but Arthur could in the dream, and she was eager to show him how.

And that was only the first layer of the onion.

As she delved into explaining the intricacies of her model, all of her sleepiness forgotten, Ariadne was amazed at how much work she had gotten done over the span of the past five hours and four mugs of coffee. Eventually, over the course of the night, Eames had taught her how to make that magical brew for herself before retiring with a “God save you” and the tip of an imaginary hat. She worked in manic silence after that and finished just as the morning sun started peaking in through one of their few windows.

Through out her explanation, Arthur remained silent and his expression stoic.

Ariadne felt her initial elation falter slightly. “So, what do you think?”

Arthur spoke carefully, each word clipped yet gently delivered. “Did you stay up all night doing this?”

Ariadne flushed. “I-I mean, well, not the whole night.”

Arthur stared at her pointedly but offered a small smile. He circled the display slowly, scrutinizing the details of her model closely, almost like a vulture circling in before the kill. Ariadne had to bite back various bits of commentary on this secret passageway and that exit. Masterfully, she thought, she endured the silence until Arthur began speaking again.

“It’s…genius,” he said. He looked up at her. “Simply genius, Ariadne.”

“Really?” Ariadne asked, heat blossoming across her cheeks.

He nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. “But… I just…I don’t know how to say this, but I don’t…”

Ariadne felt her heart flop. Coupled with the insane amount of coffee she consumed, she was going to get an aneurism if he kept playing with her emotions like this. “What is it?”

He looked up, the lines of his furrowed brows further accentuated by the morning sunlight streaming in through the window. “I don’t think this layout would work. It’s too complex.”

Ariadne felt as if the air were punched out of her. “Oh,” she said after a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry, Ariadne,” Arthur said gently. “It’s a genius layout, really.”

Ariadne didn’t speak because something had risen up to her throat, and she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, everything would come up. The earlier despair, the hollowing exhaustion, the manic spurts of inspiration, the meticulous attention to every single detail, the hope that he would just like what she worked on for hours! So she just clenched her jaw tightly shut and nodded stiffly in a manner that she hoped wasn’t ungracious.

Arthur pointed out some structures that he thought could be changed, but Ariadne at this point was only half-aware of his existence. All she felt was a deep, dark desire to fall into her bed and never get up again.

After a few minutes, she nodded her understanding, promised to fix the layout as soon as possible, and picked up her jacket to leave, pleading fatigue. She avoided Arthur’s sympathetic gaze as she rearranged the scarf on her neck.

For one wild moment she wanted to overturn the whole stupid layout, but she smartly restrained herself. She would have to make another sooner or later, and she didn’t want to start from scratch.

No, she would just consult Arthur and build what he wanted.

Her inner artist blanched at the thought of creating another’s vision, but her stronger, sleep-deprived self quelled it ruthlessly.

God, she needed some sleep.

And because she couldn’t do it at Arthur, she threw an evil glare at the coffee machine as she walked out of the warehouse.

…

Ariadne dreamt.

Perhaps it was the result of her disoriented circadian rhythm, or Arthur’s gentle rejection—which was so much worse than a flat-out rejection; at least then she could find solace in being pissed off!—but this dream was more graphic that usual.

She was high above the middle of a dark, convoluted labyrinth of thick briar hedges, marble busts of mythical figures and creatures, and flagpoles that proudly sported her many different scarves. Ariadne forgot what she wore, but she did remember that she was barefooted because the tips of her toes just barely grazed the pointed tip of the structure she was on. She was suspended high up in the air, like a floating ornament.

Or a prize, she amended, as she watched with all-seeing eyes the men struggling to battle through the tangles of her labyrinth and despairing when they came upon a fork in the road. They were trying to reach the center, reach her, to break her free from her prison. But the paths were devious and lured them further and further away.

Yusuf, in bunny ears and a cottontail pinned behind his pants, hopped around, constantly staring at his watch. His wide eyes shifted back and forth, skittish and perhaps fearful of the depths of the labyrinth. He strayed towards the edges, unwilling to even attempt to penetrate her labyrinth. Instead, he brewed himself a cup of coffee with eight different flavor packages and eight cubes of sugar, and sipped on it with a caterpillar.

Eames ran and ran and ran through the maze, his laughter echoing through the passageways of the labyrinth. Sometimes, he would approach a marble statue bust and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to turn into the statue. When he opened his eyes, he would remain unchanged, but he didn’t know that and would proceed to swing his imaginary sword and slay his imaginary dragons.

Dom would hardly move from the clearing of a fork in the road, but he stared up at her with a wistful smile on his lips.

Hello, Lady Weaver, he would say to her.

Wrong myth, she would chide gently with a smile.

Dom’s blue eyes glowed like neon lights in the darkening gloom. I know, but you’re not my Mistress of Labyrinths quite yet.

Eames rushed up next to Dom and stiffened his arms at his sides and locked his knees, becoming as still as a board, trying to imitate Dom.

Ariadne wanted to offer them both a cup of steaming black coffee.

Don’t let your Theseus lose himself, Lady Weaver, Dom reminded.

Oh yes, how could she forget? She took off her red jacket, plucked a loose piece of thread, and pulled. Slowly the jacket unravelled as twines of red gathered around her feet. Gathering the thread in her arms, she searched the labyrinth for her Theseus.

Where was he? He was supposed to be there. He said he would come.

She built this labyrinth for him, after all.

Ariadne felt panicked as she whipped around in her glass cage, desperately searching for him. He was supposed to get her out. How could he not be here?

The world trembled around them, and Ariadne felt an onslaught of vertigo as she realized how ridiculously far up she was from the ground. Suddenly—as impeccable as timing is in dreams—the structure under her feet started to topple, and the glass cage that insulated her from the wind started to crack.

“I’m going to fall!” she shrieked, all the while looking around to find some jutting structure that she could lasso with her thread and hopefully hang on. She saw nothing but clouds.

The glass cage finally shattered, and the wind assaulted her, whipping her hair and her skirts back and forth so she couldn’t see anything. The stone blocks under her feet started to topple over, and Ariadne jumped from the collapsing tower.

“And thar she blows!” Eames cried in a really lousy American accent, his hand shading his eyes as he watched her flailing in the wind.

“That’s for whales, you idiot!” Ariadne screamed as she waved her arms around like a windmill, fruitlessly trying to stay up in the air.

“Would you like some tea?” Yusuf asked, this time full out in his bunny suit, carrying a silver tray with a steaming teacup, a small cup of milk, and stylishly shaped sugar blocks. A set of tiny wings sprouting from his upper back fluttered voraciously to keep him suspended in the air.

“No, thank you!” Ariadne screeched, trying at least to remember her manners.

The tower completely toppled over, and Ariadne screamed as she felt herself free falling into her own dark labyrinth.

…

Ariadne sat up, breathing hard, finding herself in the dark. What the…

Even now, the dream started to recede from her memories like water slipping through fingers. She concentrated hard to remember, to keep some part of it with her, because she felt the dream was important in some way.

But all she could remember was Yusuf with pink, fuzzy bunny ears, offering her a cup of tea with too much milk and sugar and wagging his cottontail as the world collapsed around her.

The fuck?

Ariadne turned her lamp on and automatically reached for her chess piece. She placed it on top of the table but hesitated before toppling it over.

She closed her eyes. The toppling tower, just like her chess piece, both in reality and in dream.

What did this mean?

Ariadne sat quietly in her bed, noting that it was 9 PM and that she’d slept through the whole day.

Ah, what the hell.

Ariadne poked the chess piece, and it fell just as it would in reality.

…

She ventured into the warehouse a bit late the next morning, and her reasoning was obvious: she didn’t want to face Arthur alone, if at all.

No one noted her absence yesterday, but Eames did shoot a mildly sympathetic smile at her. Ariadne pretended she didn’t see it. Maybe she was just cranky or something, but she felt a bit annoyed at Eames, as if he told everyone behind her back that she was fat.

Ariadne shook her head. She really shouldn’t mess up her sleeping schedule again.

Slowly, she faced the convoluted monster that was her second-level layout, feeling a pinprick of embarrassment as her gaze trailed over the absurdly colorful escape mechanisms and elaborate labyrinths.

She couldn’t blame Arthur for not liking it, to be honest, now that she looked at it with a clear head. Besides that, he was being a professional in telling her. He couldn’t very well build a dreamscape that he didn’t like on her selfish instructions. It would have been unstable.

Grumpily, Ariadne started to deconstruct some of her most elaborate buildings and kept at it tirelessly for the next half hour. The stack of colorful sticky notes piled up at the edge of the model.

Eames, sensing her mood, quietly brought her a cup of something steaming and sweet-smelling.

“It’s a new mix, dear heart. Sweet and creamy, just like you,” he said, wagging his eyebrows.

Ariadne scoffed at his portrayal of her, but thanked him as well. She felt a little better after the first sip, and from then on, she continued to work, methodically dissembling the convolutions in her design to slowly reveal the simple, yet elegant, blueprint underneath.

…

Ariadne hadn’t realized how hard and late she was working until Dom patted her on the shoulder. She jumped slightly and turned around, meeting his shockingly blue eyes with her own.

“Ariadne, it’s getting late. You should go home,” he said.

Ariadne peered over his shoulder, seeing that the shadowy warehouse was empty except for her, Dom, and Arthur. She then glanced at her own project. It was almost finished—so close to perfection. She couldn’t abandon it now; she would lose her inspiration.

Ariadne shook her head. “I want to finish this. It’ll take a few more hours, I think, but I should be able to finish it before midnight.”

Dom peered at her for a bit before nodding in understanding. “It bites and doesn’t let go, does it? The design, the power to create whatever you want.”

Ariadne looked back down at her layout of the hotel. She wanted to see it in person. She wanted to see those walls and stairs and passageways rise up around her. “It has a strong pull,” she admitted. “It’ll be so great, Dom. The first level, and the second, and the third… Everything is fitting together so seamlessly, as if it was almost, I don’t know, meant to work out like this. It will be perfect for the inception. You’ll see.”

She was surprised at her own vigor and passion. But this was her project, her work of art, and she intended to make it perfect.

Dom nodded, a rare smile creeping up the corner of his lips. “I believe that, Ariadne.”

He left soon afterwards for his apartment. Sometimes, he slept in the warehouse, but Ariadne figured that everyone needed some personal alone time.

She turned back and eyed the model critically, stifling a yawn. What time was it? Ariadne checked her watch. 7:23 PM, and already her energy was beginning to flag. Did she dare brew another cup of coffee? Just one would be okay because it was still early, and she knew she would sleep earliest by 1 AM, which gave her close to six hours to burn the caffeine away.

That was enough.

After slipping in the correct coffee packages and powdered milk, Ariadne impatiently waited as the machine whirred and sputtered out foam. Her mind was feeling fuzzy with fatigue yet so alive with ideas. Her fingers itched to play with her layout.

Why couldn’t this machine work faster?

“I didn’t know you were such a coffee drinker,” a deep voice said from behind her.

Ariadne turned to face Arthur.

Oh, don’t blush!

“I’m usually not,” she said coolly. She silently congratulated herself on her professionalism. “At least until Eames insisted that I try his concoctions. I don’t know if it’s the flavor or the caffeine, but I think I’m slowly becoming an addict.”

Arthur stared down at her, smirking in amusement.

The machine bleeped, and Ariadne turned to take her mug out. She breathed in the smell of caramel and cream, relishing in its sweet bitterness. “How do you take your coffee?” Ariadne asked. “I can make you a cup.”

She was surprised when Arthur chuckled. “I actually don’t drink coffee.”

Ariadne paused. “No way!” But then as she thought back on it, she never remembered Arthur using the machine. But if that was the case, how was he so alert and awake all the time? He came earlier than anyone else to the warehouse, clear headed and ready to start the day. Ariadne, on the other hand, could barely manage to wake up completely by noon.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. I prefer to condition myself on natural things, such as a healthy diet, exercise, and plenty of sleep,” he said with a playful smile.

Ariadne snorted. “Super human complex,” she drawled. “You do pull it off well. Anyway, I should finish up that layout. I want to try to finish it before midnight, but in any case it should be ready by tomorrow. I think you’ll like it better than the previous one, but if not, just let me know what you want to add or take out.”

As she walked away, however, Ariadne was suddenly pulled back by Arthur’s grip on her arm. She almost spilled her coffee but steadied herself just in time.

“Hold on,” he said quietly. “About that layout…”

Ariadne, despite herself, felt her heart beat a little bit faster. He was still holding her arm, and her cheek grazed the vest of his suit. They were too close. “What about it?”

“I apologize for my bluntness a few days ago. I should have realized that you spent a lot of time on that model, and for me to ask you to change it… Well, it doesn’t seem fair.”

Ariadne breathed out, feeling his hand on her arm getting warmer and warmer by the second. “It’s all right. You did the right thing—the structure of the dream should cohere with the dreamer’s preferences. Otherwise, the dream will fall apart that much more easily.”

Arthur didn’t respond, and Ariadne took it as an affirmation that she was right.

He finally let go, though he did it very hesitantly, almost reluctantly. His fingers ghosted over the crook of her arm and grazed her elbow before removing themselves completely. Ariadne swallowed down a lump in her throat.

Arthur stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Heart pounding.

“What?”

Suddenly, he looked abashed. “Why did you change the layout of the dream so suddenly?”

Ah, was it time to come clean? “I thought you would like it better.”

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. “What made you think I didn’t like the original model?”

Ariadne flushed. How to tell him without seeming like a desperate, moony-eyed schoolgirl? “Ah, um, well, I saw you looking at it earlier this week, and I saw you… Well, you didn’t seem to like it.”

Arthur stared at her with that calm, ponderous look. It was his scientist look, the look he got when he stumbled across a new piece of evidence that nearly unlocked some great mystery. Ariadne felt severely uncomfortable.

“Ariadne,” he said, voice low and smooth, causing goose bumps to trail up her arms. “I never disliked your model. In fact, I admired it very much. You think in ways that no one else does.”

“Huh?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“It’s true,” said Arthur. “I apologize if I discouraged you in any way. It’s just that, er—” He coughed slightly— “Well, your initial design before you even added everything else to it was very complex, and, well, I felt a bit anxious when you told me it was only a draft. I was a little nervous to see what it would look like when it was finished.”

Ariadne raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“What you have now, it’s genius,” Arthur said, echoing his earlier sentiments from a few days before. The sincerity in his voice made Ariadne’s heart swell. “I could not do justice to it, even in my dreams, just because of the sheer complexity of it.”

“Oh.”

They regarded each other in silence until Ariadne shyly spoke up. “I simplified the model a bit. It’s much less intricate, but the complexities are still there. Just not as elaborate. The layout is far more clean cut and exciting.” Like you, she added silently.

“I’m eager to see it,” he responded.

Ariadne tilted her head towards her workspace. “I can show you now if you want. I think you’ll like it better.”

Arthur obliged and followed her.

When they reached her model, Ariadne almost immediately began explaining the layout, leading Arthur through all of the twists and turns. But for some reason, she couldn’t concentrate her attention solely on her model, for she found that as she was explaining the layout, her eyes would flicker up towards his face, and more than once she caught his intense gaze. Flustered, Ariadne pointed out more and more areas of interest, while Arthur listened silently.

After almost ten minutes of non-stop speaking, Ariadne finally finished her “tour” and took a sip of her coffee. The foam was still fresh, and the coffee sweet on her tongue.

“So, what do you think?”

Arthur stared piercingly at her. “Elegantly byzantine,” he responded.

Ariadne tried to laugh and shrug off his comment, but she felt paralyzed under his intense gaze. Why was he staring at her like that? He locked his dark eyes with hers, and it was a bit difficult to breathe.

Quickly, Ariadne took another sip from her mug, almost choking on the hot drink and looked down at her layout. “It still needs work, I know, but—”

“It’s perfect, Ariadne,” Arthur’s low voice interrupted above her head.

She started, stunned that he was suddenly so close, and looked up to find his face mere inches but hers. She could smell his fresh cologne, and suddenly, Ariadne reached out hesitantly to him, her fingers just barely grazing the buttons of his waistcoat.

If Arthur was surprised, he did not show it. Instead, he cocked his head slightly to the side, studying her carefully, before he leaned his head in towards hers.

Almost instinctively, Ariadne closed her eyes, anticipating something she had not known she wanted so badly. As she tilted her chin up to meet his lips with hers, something slightly calloused pressed on top of her cupid’s bow and dragged along the outlines of her upper lip, stimulating every single cell of her body.

Ariadne opened her eyes and met his close, close gaze, her whole body prickling with a delicious sort of heat. Just barely managing to piece together her scattered thoughts, Ariadne realized that the pad of his thumb, not his lips, was on her upper lip. But before she could gather her wits and pull away, Arthur gently stroked the slope of her jaw line with his index finger, inspiring a deep, wanting shudder that tingled the tips of her fingers and toes. Heat violently pooled in her core. Her body felt so wired, a conduit of electric desire and crackling energy.

For a blinding moment, as the thick silence bound them together, Ariadne felt as if her world were turned upside down, inside out. If this were a dream, she wanted to throw her chess piece totem into the depths of the deepest ocean.

“You had foam on your lips,” Arthur finally murmured, pulling away his hand. He took out a small handkerchief and wiped his thumb gently.

Ariadne’s hand shot to her mouth and her eyes widened as she too was brought back down and harshly grounded into reality. The implications of that brief moment came crashing into her like a wave.

As if realizing the same thing, Arthur backed up, maintaining a respectable and professional distance. He looked flustered, but he quickly regained his polished composure, as if nothing had happened.

Ariadne, on the other hand, was still spinning. “I thought you were going to kiss me or something,” she blurted out. It took her a moment to realize what she had said, and probably for the millionth time in the span of the past hour, Ariadne felt her face heat up.

But Arthur, ever so cool Arthur, did not succumb to the sudden awkwardness of the situation. Instead of stumbling over his words like a schoolboy, he smirked down at her. “If I were to kiss you, Ariadne, you would know it for what it is. And you wouldn’t even see it coming.”

Ariadne didn’t know what to say to that. She wanted to respond with something witty, to be calm and collected and more mature. But she came up with a blank. “I can never figure you out,” she admitted.

He graciously bowed his head. “Figuring you out is like walking blind and deaf through a labyrinth. All anyone can do is feel their way around and hope that they stumble upon the right passage. I’ll consider it a fair trade.”

That said, he left, leaving Ariadne speechless.

An unbidden image of Yusuf in a fuzzy pink bunny suit floated to her mind. That, and toppling towers and an armful of shockingly red thread.

Hello, Lady Weaver, but this time, it was Arthur’s voice that spoke the words.

Ariadne shook her head. She set down the coffee mug and fondly stroked the rim of the cup, thinking that she needed to stop working so late.

“If you’re finished, I’ll walk you home, Ariadne,” said Arthur from across the warehouse. “It’s dark.”

Ariadne bit her lip and smiled a secret smile. Then again, maybe these late nights weren’t so bad.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

End Notes: In reference to what I said earlier about coffee and the Enlightenment, if you are a history buff like me, I would recommend A History of the World in 6 Glasses by Tom Standage. He’s not a trained historian (meaning that he doesn’t have a PhD in history, to the best of my knowledge) and the book should be read with a grain of salt. But while I don’t necessarily endorse all of what he says in the book, I did find reading it enjoyable.

Now if only writing papers for my classes was as fun as writing this fic. :)

[Inception] The Cast of the Die, Chapter 3

callispi — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 23:04:08 GMT

Title: The Cast of the Die
Part: 3/5
Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne, Dom/Mal
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The movie.

Summary: They first met, ironically, at a casino. Arthur was offered the world, and he was to be the god of it. Perhaps this is a risk worth taking.

Author’s Note: Contrary to popular belief, this story will be completed. :) Ariadne enters, and Arthur doesn’t know what to do with her. Surprise, surprise.

Disclaimers: Some snippets of the Inception script were directly lifted and used in the story. I claim no ownership for any part of the script.

The Cast of the Die 

By Callisto Callispi

Chapter 3: Wildcard

…

"What the hell was that?" Arthur demanded as they packed up their equipment and prepared to get off the train.

"I got it under control," was Dom's sharp reply.

Arthur stared at him with narrowed eyes. "I would hate to see out of control," he said wryly.

…

When Arthur first saw Mal after her death, he was more anxious than surprised. They were on a job, robbing a high-security bank. The red carpet underneath his feet was red and luxurious, and the concrete walls were papered with golden patterns. Within a hidden safe, Dom was to extract a string of account numbers of a supposed terrorist organization. They were close to succeeding, though Arthur had never counted on her being there. He knew that Dom thought about her constantly, but he never had even suspected that his grief over Mal’s death were strong enough to manifest in a living, breathing woman…a woman who was currently holding a gun to his forehead.

“Mal,” he breathed. “What are you doing here?”

She gazed steadily at him, her eyes glittering yet so empty in that beautiful face. “Arthur, it’s been a long time.”

Arthur’s heart fluttered in his chest. He was in a dream, he was almost certain, because Mal would not be standing in front of him. She had been dead for months.

Still, he itched to dig into his pocket and toss his die to make sure.

“Don’t move,” she snapped as Arthur started lowering his right hand towards his totem. He paused then slowly raised it back up over his head.

Mal smirked knowingly. Sometimes, the division between dream and reality were blurred, even in the most impossible situations. She—and Dom—knew the anxiety very well.

“Mal,” said Arthur in his calmest voice, keeping her gaze. “We’re here on a job. The kick is going to come any minute from above. You heard the music because Dom heard it, I know.”

Mal cocked her head to one side, her gun arm level on his forehead. “Dom had thought you wouldn’t come back after that first dream. He said you weren’t willing to understand the power of such creation, such imagination, as building a dream.”

Arthur endeavored to keep his face solemn, though he couldn’t help wondering why she—or Dom…she was Dom—would want to bring this up now.

“But I told him, no, give him some time. He’ll be caught by the net, I’m sure of it,” Mal whispered, cocking the gun.

Arthur tried to keep his breathing level and calculated the odds successfully tackling and stealing the gun before Mal could shoot. It would take him at least half a second to lunge, another second to get in position to wrench the gun away from her hands.

If she were as proficient as Dom was with a gun, she could blow three holes right in his head before he could even reach her.

“He feels sorry. He feels guilty. He wonders what he would do if you were taken by the dream too. You, dear Arthur, dear point man.”

Arthur clenched his jaw.

“Can you tell what’s real anymore?” she hissed. “Do you wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, scared that maybe the bullet in your heart, that knife in your gut finally killed you?”

“Mal,” he said sharply. “Lower. The. Gun.”

She grinned.

“You don’t want to do this, Mal!”

BAM!

The last thing Arthur saw before the gunshot was her pupils dilating, her eyes becoming pools of black emptiness. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled sharply, muscles tensing for the killing blow.

“Arthur!” someone cried in the background. An enraged scream followed.

Arthur slowly opened his eyes, half-expecting to see a big hole blown in the middle of his chest, half-expecting to wake up in a VIP room of a nightclub attached to tubes pumping sedatives in his brain.

“ARTHUR, MOVE!”

Neither scenario happened.

Dom was holding a gun behind Mal, and in the blink of an eye, he tackled his late wife to the ground. It took a moment for Arthur to register what happened. He wasn’t dead. Dom had shot Mal in her gun arm. The two were wrestling on the ground for the dropped gun.

Fueled by pure adrenaline, Arthur turned and ran from the scene, following Dom’s halting instructions on how to locate the safe for the bank account number.

The music was louder. The kick would happen any minute!

BAM! BAM!

Arthur ducked as wooden chips of the walls sprayed his face. German curses and shouts soon followed.

Great. The target’s subconscious was finally riled into action.

Arthur slid on the marble floor and ran into a door leading to a labyrinth. Leading his pursuers here would buy him some time at least.

How is she here?

Arthur asked himself the same question over and over again as he ran through the labyrinth. Something akin to panic flooded him, but he narrowed his eyes and firmly pushed the wave of emotion from his mind and tightly sealed it in a compartment in the corner of his brain. He would deal with it later. For now, he needed to find the safe.

Arthur finally emerged from the labyrinth and found himself outside of the bank. He paused and scanned the streets for what Dom described to him. The people on the sidewalk and street vendors stared at him conspicuously. They knew he was an intruder, but they weren’t sure how to deal with him. At least, not yet. He had to hurry.

Arthur jogged along the sidewalk, crashing into hostile projections as he went along. Finally, he found it.

It was a normal ATM machine, located in the front lobby of a bank, not unlike many ATM machines found in New York or any other big city. Clever to hide the greatest secret out in the open.

Arthur pulled on the glass doors protecting the ATM, and unsurprisingly they didn’t budge.

Without a second thought, he pulled out his gun and shattered the glass. Alarms went off, and the projections all stopped mid-step. They turned, and like possessed automatons started towards Arthur. The world started to quake. The dream was collapsing.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. He shot the projections closest to him to buy some time and stepped into the lobby. Arthur swiped the ATM card their sponsors provided for him and Dom into the ATM, and within seconds, the screen flashed and strings of code appeared. Arthur managed to punch in the pin number before the projections started grabbing for him. The screen flashed again, and as the projections tore at his suit and kicked him to the ground, Arthur finally saw the string of numbers they were looking for.

Got it.

When Arthur opened his eyes, he was in the dark. For a terrifying second, he felt pure, unadulterated fear. Was he dead?

“Get up,” a familiar voice hissed and strong hands pulled him from his chair.

Arthur blinked again and let his eyes adjust to the dim room. They were in the VIP room of the club. The German man next to them was still sleeping.

“Did you get it?”

Arthur turned to Dom and nodded curtly.

“All right. Let’s get of here.”

Arthur obliged.

They exited the room and split up. Dom headed towards the back exit, and Arthur to the front. Arthur descended the stairs and onto the dance floor. He squeezed by the dancing mob as quickly yet casually as he could, the rhythmic thrumming of techno music pounding in his ears. Suddenly, he felt himself slamming into someone. He steadied the woman, apologies on the tip of his tongue, until he found himself staring into startlingly clear blue eyes. Perhaps it was the lighting, but her eyes and her curly hair reminded him of—

“Let go of me, baby,” the woman slurred, her lips twisted in a lopsided smile.

Arthur shook his head slightly. He wasn’t dreaming anymore. It couldn’t be her.

“Sorry about that,” he said to the drugged woman before pushing past her. He shoved his hand into his pocket and fingered his die. He couldn’t tell whether the bass or the pounding of his heart caused the tremors in his body.

He exited the club and ran into an alleyway. When he was sure that he was away from prying eyes, he bent over and vomited against the wall.

…

That wasn’t the last time he would see Mal’s projection, and while he dreaded seeing her, he secretly hoped that she would talk to him again. He needed help.

Arthur knew that sometimes Dom sedated himself to sleep. Arthur once confronted Dom about it, but instead of reacting with anger, Dom turned his head away quietly and asked him to leave.

Arthur desperately wanted to help Dom, but he didn’t know how.

He wished Mal weren’t dead. Or better yet, he wished she could tell him how to fix Dom. But other than that dream with the bank and ATM, Mal never approached him again. He caught glimpses of her in his peripheral view, or either she captured him and shot his kneecap, like the one time she did in Saito’s dream. But never again did she speak with him, even if he demanded her attention. Arthur suspected Dom was behind it. Dom knew Mal said something to him, but he never asked Arthur about it, like Arthur never asked why the hell Mal was materializing in every single dream.

The wound was too deep for Dom, and Arthur felt helpless.

They were in Paris at Dom’s behest while Dom searched for a new architect and delivered gifts for his children to his father-in-law. Arthur, in the meantime, combed the city for an appropriate headquarters for their operation. One of his contacts directed him to a large warehouse, and Arthur paid the rent without hesitation.

When she and Dom walked in, he was assembling a number of chairs around the Pasiv device.

“Arthur, hook up our new architect,” Dom’s voice called from the doorway.

Arthur turned around and stared at the new architect. The first thought he had was, She’s too young. He kept his gaze on the girl as she followed Dom into the warehouse and towards him. She seemed a little anxious, and Arthur couldn’t blame her. She was following a strange man into a warehouse on whatever misplaced faith she had in her professor’s word. Either she was incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish.

She finally acknowledged his stare and she looked up, lips tightening in defiance. Arthur caught the smile before it touched his lips.

“How much does she know?” Arthur asked Dom, tearing his curious gaze from her wide brown eyes.

Dom shrugged, a shadow of a grin on his face. “Not much.”

“You should tell her more than what you told me when I first went it,” Arthur warned.

“She’ll manage. She might even handle it much better than you did.”

“You guys know I’m right here, right?” the girl interjected sarcastically. “I’m not invisible or anything?”

Arthur stared down at her again. “This isn’t a game,” he blurted out more sharply than he intended. “This is business, and if we fail—”

“Arthur,” Dom interrupted. His steely eyes rooted Arthur in his spot. “Hook her up.”

Arthur clenched his jaw and glared at Dom.

“She’s good,” Dom said more softly. “She’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

Arthur started up the Pasiv device, watching from the corner of his eye the young architect lower herself on one of the lawn chairs so hopelessly out of place in this sunless warehouse. Arthur came in between Dom and the girl. Dom relaxed in the chair and let Arthur insert the IV into his arm, as he’d done hundreds of times before.

The girl looked apprehensive, and it was no secret to Arthur that she was trying her hardest to keep her breathing normal. Arthur crouched down next to the girl and appraised her again. She was dressed in jeans and a red jumper, but contrary to her childish image, her resolve was stronger than steel.

“I’m Ariadne, by the way,” she said suddenly. She turned to him, eyes sparkling with anxiety and excitement. “What’s your name?”

Arthur was surprised at her boldness. “Arthur.”

She nodded at the needle in his hand. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Arthur almost scoffed but settled for smiling wryly at her. “I could do this in my sleep.”

“Is that a joke, or are you actually being serious?” she wondered as he prepared the IV.

Arthur located a vein and inserted the needle with the precision of a surgeon. He caught the slight tensing of her muscles and the very visible wince on her face.

“Just relax,” he said soothingly, “and remember that it’s only a dream.”

She half grinned at him. “Thanks for…the…warning…” she murmured as the sedatives entered her bloodstream and sleep overcame her.

Arthur set the time and watched the red LED timer display count down from 5:00. He glanced at Dom and then at the architect named Ariadne. He felt something strange when he looked at her, like a small squeeze in his throat.

Five minutes went by all too quickly.

Arthur didn’t realize he had been staring at the architect for the whole duration of the five minutes until he saw her eyelashes flutter open. He saw her expression of distress, and he knew immediately that the dream did not end well.

“You okay?” he asked unbidden.

She started at his voice. “What?”

“It’s never just a dream, is it?” Cobb asked, sitting up in his chair. “And a face full of glass hurts like hell, doesn't it? While we're in it, it's real.”

“That's why the military developed dream sharing—a training program where soldiers could strangle, stab and shoot each other, then wake up,” Arthur added, closely watching the architect from the corner of his eye. She was frazzled, bewildered, and excited.

“Let's go another five minutes—“ Dom started before Ariadne interrupted.

“We were only asleep for five minutes? We talked for an hour at least…”

“Five minutes in the real world gives you an hour in the dream,” Arthur approximated, walking over to them and setting up the Pasiv device again.

Dom sat back. “Let's see how much trouble you can cause in five minutes.”

Arthur stared briefly at the architect before he pressed the button. He watched them fall into a sedated sleep and wondered, How much trouble? She was scared and slightly traumatized by how ever the dream ended for her, but she jumped back into it quickly. He would bet that she could cause a lot more trouble than either of them could imagine.

He walked over to the small table where he was arranging his papers on the target, Robert Fischer, but his eyes kept straying to Ariadne.

Was it a coincidence that the girl had such a prophetic name? He couldn’t help but wonder whether she would be able to find her way out of Mal’s labyrinth, this time with Dom and himself following her.

Whatever purpose she would serve, she had never previously figured into his calculations. His mind told him she would be a liability, but the rest of him—whatever was left of him besides his mind—felt otherwise.

Out of habit, Arthur threw his die and breathed out to see that it landed on the correct face. But whatever control he previously had on this situation—the unlikely bargain with Saito, the near impossible job of incepting Fischer—he felt it slipping away.

He glanced at Ariadne again, watching her eyelashes fluttering rapidly in whatever dream she was in.

She was the final wildcard, and Arthur hoped that she would bring them more luck than misfortune.

…

END CHAPTER

← Chapter 2

Table of Contents

Woo~

callispi — Sat, 25 Dec 2010 01:44:52 GMT

Happy Holidays :)

Thicker Than Water (Animorphs, ka_verse prompt #95)

callispi — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 17:45:00 GMT

Title: Thicker Than Water
Author: callispi
Prompt: Set 3, #95 Polish
Fandom & Character(s): Animorphs, Jake & Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 509

Notes: Because I'm a perv. :)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Jake muttered.

Rachel stared up at him through hooded eyes and smiled lazily, like the cat that swallowed the bird. “It’s an art, dear cuz. And who knows?” Rachel closed her eyes and stretched out on her pillow, arching her back. “This could be practice for Cassie.”

Jake’s eyes flickered to his cousin’s—he had to admit—flawless face, taking in the gentle curve of her mocking pink lips. She enjoyed this, blackmailing him into submission and then mercilessly teasing him during the act. He felt embarrassed, and yet, he gave his word that he would do anything, just as long as she didn’t tell his mom about what happened yesterday.

He thought he knew the boundaries of his cousin’s sadistic nature, but this was beyond comprehension.

“Hurry up, Jake. My mom is going to be home soon with Jordan and Sarah.” Rachel’s eyes glittered maliciously. She crooked her finger to draw him to the bed. “And you wouldn’t want them to catch you doing this, would you?”

Jake blanched. The prospect was terrifying. If that happened, he would never be able to live it down. Word would spread like a wildfire throughout the whole school, and Tom would pummel him for giving up so easily to his cousin. But what she demanded of him…

“Come on, Rachel. Give me a break,” Jake pleaded one last time. “I’ve never done this before. You’ll just get pissed if I screw up. I’ll do anything else.”

Rachel’s brows rose. “Well no one asked you to play basketball in the gym while I was on the balance beam. And no one asked you to throw the ball at me while I was about to do a flip.”

“It was an accident!” Jake said hotly.

Rachel shrugged, indicating to her sprained right arm, set in a split and elevated by a sling.

Knowing she would not yield, Jake rummaged through a small chest and, lips set in a resolute line, pulled out a small glass object by its rounded plastic head. He moved to the foot of the bed. Rachel wriggled her toes in excitement.

“That’s it. Smoothly,” Rachel murmured, back propped on the pillows. “No need to rush. It’s messier that way.”

Jake glared at her, face flushed with humiliation and annoyance. “If it were your left arm, I would never do this.”

Rachel grinned. “I know. But where would the fun be in that?”

Jake clenched his jaw to stay silent. He knew complaining would earn him more taunting. All he could do was make the strong, steady strokes that she liked. So immersed was he in his task that he didn’t notice the sound of the car pulling up in the driveway. Within a minute, the door to Rachel’s room slammed opened. Jake shot up and found himself staring at the shocked faces of Jordan and Sarah, the rounded plastic cap in his hand incriminating him on the spot.

“Jake?” Jordan said after an unbearably awkward silence. “What are you doing painting Rachel’s toenails?”

Relief (Animorphs, ka_verse prompt #79)

callispi — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 18:27:52 GMT

Title: Relief
Author: callispi
Prompt: Set 3, #79 Obedient
Fandom & Character(s): Animorphs, Jake
Rating: G
Word Count: 248

Jake knew he gave the direct order, but in the end he reneged on his own word. Morphing for self-motivated reasons, whether they were for pleasure or for curiosity, was dangerous. One could lose control of the morph, one could be careless and surpass the two-hour time limit, or, even worse, one could be seen by a passing Controller. That was a risk none of them could afford.

But as Jake felt the fur start growing all over his shrinking body, all he cared about was the cool feeling of relief that overpowered the twinge of guilt. Within seconds, the dog's sunny, happy mind slowly colored his own gloomy one, breaking apart the stone-heavy sense of duty, anger, and responsibility like a gentle wave washing away a crumbling sandcastle. For now, he wouldn't have to order his friends and family to a very possible death and a certain night of nightmares. No longer was he the great general of a ragtag band of teenagers, who were the Earth's last bulwark against total invasion. Instead, Jake wanted to play fetch.

He sniffed his way into the house and found Tom. Instead of the suspicion and guilt that Jake normally felt upon seeing his brother, the dog was elated to find someone would would play with him. After nudging and whimpering, Jake finally got Tom to give in and toss the ball with a "Fetch, boy."

Jake happily chased after the ball, content for now to obey instead of lead.

[Inception] The Cast of the Die, Table of Contents

callispi — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 22:54:04 GMT

The Cast of the Die

They first met, ironically, at a casino. Arthur was offered the world, and he was to be the god of it. Perhaps this is a risk worth taking.
(Inception: A/A, D/M, slight D/Art)

Table of Contents

Part 1 ~ Playing the Game

Part 2 ~ Raising the Stakes

Part 3 ~ Wildcard

[Inception] The Cast of the Die, Chapter 2

callispi — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 22:21:44 GMT

Title: The Cast of the Die
Part: 2/5
Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne, Dom/Mal
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The movie.

Summary: They first met, ironically, at a casino. Arthur was offered the world, and he was to be the god of it. Perhaps this is a risk worth taking.

Author's Note: I know that this story is A/A but that it hasn't featured Ariadne yet. As a quick note, Ariadne will come into the story for the next three chapters, and the bulk of Arthur's narrative will focus on their blossoming relationship. :) In the meantime, I thought Mal's relationship with Dom was something that didn't get enough treatment... especially Mal's and Arthur's relationship. After all, Arthur did tell Ariadne that Mal was lovely. ;)

The Cast of the Die

By Callisto Callispi

Chapter 2: Raising the Stakes

…

His first experience going into the dream world was something he would never, ever forget.

He had been nervous when Dom and Mal hooked him up to the devices that pumped those sedatives into his blood. Before he fell asleep, flashes of Dom's lessons about kicks and the dreamscape fluttered through his mind. He wanted to be as prepared as possible before going into such a foreign environment, but no amount of training could have prepared him for entering his own subconscious.

He stood in the middle of the restaurant of the Four Seasons hotel. It looked exactly the same as it had before—dimly lit and elegant. He blinked, and he wondered whether or not he had dreamed up Dom and Mal. Was he really connected to tubes of sedatives?

"You have no imagination at all," Dom's dry voice said from behind him. "The restaurant, of all places? Why not a ski resort in Aspen? Or a shore house in the Caribbean?"

Arthur stiffened slightly and turned. "If you wanted to go to exotic places, why didn't we enter your dream instead?"

A soft, feminine laugh chastened them both. "Arthur, don't mind Dom. I think this is a perfectly good place to start off. It's familiar and warm."

Mal walked up behind her husband with a small smile on her face. She looked stunning in her black cocktail dress. Dom placed his arm around her shoulder, holding her close to him.

Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other, secretly relieved that Mal accompanied them. She had a gentleness about her that put everyone at ease, and Arthur needed as much calm as he could get. He never believed that entering dreams was possible and that there was a common meeting "space"—he supposed he could call it—that joined them together. A common space that Dom, the architect, constructed.

"So this is it?" asked Arthur, voice skeptical but with an undercurrent of curiosity. "Nothing but a reflection of life?"

Dom and Mal exchanged glances. Dom was smiling as if he were the cat that swallowed the bird.

"Hardly," Dom replied after a while, nodding his head to indicate something behind Arthur.

Arthur heard the crash before he saw it. He whipped around and widened his eyes, horrified to find that the ground behind him was crumbling and the walls were collapsing to the ground. It was a dark and stormy night, and the sky seemed to shatter in thunderous booms. The clouds and the winds and the lightning approached them like a vengeful phantom, intent on engulfing and destroying them.

Arthur quickly backtracked, panic and fear seizing his body. He stumbled over the overturned chairs as he turned to run. The ground trembled underneath his feet as if the face of the earth were splitting open. For one insane moment, he thought that this was the true apocalypse.

He felt someone grab his arm and pull him toward the door. He spun around and gazed wildly into Mal's large eyes.

"Come! Hurry!"

He allowed her to lead him to the door with Dom trailing slightly behind.

They ran through a number of hallways, escaping the screams of the people left behind in the restaurant. Arthur had half a mind to turn back to help them, but Mal held onto his arm tightly.

They soon entered a hotel room and slammed the door behind them.

At first, the silence following the slamming of the door was deafening. Arthur's body shook like a frail leaf succumbing to a chill autumn wind. He abruptly sat down on the edge of a bed, trying to force open his shaking fists.

Dom barked out a small laugh.

"You aught to be ashamed of yourself, Dom," Mal admonished, her lips tightly drawn in a frown. "This is his first time. You couldn't just make a purple sun rise in the west?"

"Aw, Mal, what's the fun in that?" Dom clapped Arthur on the shoulder, causing the latter to jump. The sudden physical contact jarred him and pumped little shocks of adrenaline through his bloodstream. He looked up and glared at Dom.

"It's an inversion of the dream," Dom said, blatantly ignoring Arthur's indignant look. "Lesson one: the architect is the person building the dream, and therefore he can unbuild it as well."

Mal scoffed at the crude explanation, though Arthur managed to get his breathing back to normal pace. Dom left his side and opened the door slightly. He peered out through the crack and turned to them. "So far, so good. Quiet. The restless natives haven't found us yet."

Arthur looked up and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "'Restless natives'?"

"Your subconscious," Mal said gently, kneeling in front of him and placing her hands on his. "What happened out there, the storm and the earthquake… They weren't yours. They were the result of Dom's interference with the architecture of the dream. Your subconscious will slowly realize that it's dreaming, that there is an intruder. It will try to…oust the intruder."

Arthur's eyes widened as he shot a look at Dom, who shrugged helplessly as he gently shut the door, leaving it slightly open to prepare for their escape. "It happens, sooner or later. The trick is to make it later than sooner."

Arthur stood up and paced the room slightly, head spinning. This was too much to absorb. What had he gotten himself into? He couldn't do this again. This was a nightmare!

The shouts from downstairs got louder. Dom glanced out into the hallway again.

Mal took pity on him. "It's better the second time around, I promise." She cast a sidelong glance at Dom. "Dom really isn't the best mentor. We should have warned you."

Dom sidled up next to him. "It's better to plunge into the deep end headfirst. Anyway, we have to go now or things are going to get really—"

BAM!

It all happened in a single instant, but the impact of this one moment induced far-reaching ripples that forever altered the fabric of their lives and those connected to them.

The shot exploded from the door, and Mal stiffened. Blood sprayed out from her lovely rose-petal lips, splattering Dom's crisp white shirt and face. She slowly crumbled to the ground, head lolling like a broken doll's, the spark of light extinguished from her glassy eyes.

"MAL!" Dom cried, his disbelief and anguish thick in his voice.

The man who shot Mal from behind spotted them, but Arthur kicked him unconscious in his head before he could shoot again. The shouts from the hallway got louder and more raucous. Arthur shot a look back into the room, seeing Dom kneeling beside Mal's lifeless body.

"Let's go, Dom!" Arthur yelled, his voice sharp with shock. "We've got to get out of here. They're going after you next!"

Dom looked up, and for a split second, Arthur saw the lost look in his eyes that would haunt him for years to come. A premonition of the nightmare that would never end for the rest of Dom's life. But Dom, a professional, quickly regained his composure. He stood and ran out the door, Arthur trailing behind him.

"We need the kick," Dom said breathlessly. "Come on."

They ran up endless flights of stairs. The atmosphere shifted around them slightly, and their pursuers were trailing further and further behind. At one point, the staircase broke off straight down the middle and shifted, successfully separating them from their pursuers. It was one of the maze mechanisms that the architect put in place.

They ended up on the roof of the hotel, up what seemed like thousands of feet in the air. The storm still raged on, and bolts of lightning ripped the sky in millions of different places. Arthur wanted to tell Dom to ease up a bit, but somehow he knew that Dom wasn't in a right state of mind. He was letting his emotions get a hold of him, which manifested in the apocalyptic turbulence of a grief-stricken soul. After all, they weren't just in Arthur's subconscious; Dom's also made up the fabric of this nightmare.

"We've got to jump!" Dom yelled over the thunder, rain splattering his face.

Arthur already knew. It was the only strong enough kick since no one was going to dunk them in water on the other side. It didn't mean he liked the idea.

He held his breath and ran to the edge of the building. He saw Dom somewhere in his peripheral vision, but all he could think was, I want to get out of this dream.

Arthur jumped at the edge, feeling his stomach where his heart should be. He squeezed his eyes shut and yelled in terror.

When he opened them again, he was in Dom's sun-warmed home.

…

Arthur spent the the days following his first entrance into the dream in a trance-like stupor. He would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, in his bed, and wonder whether or not he was still dreaming.

He was scared, that was for sure; but even worse, he was curious. He often wondered what the boundaries were between reality and dream. Some part of his mind reasoned that there was no clear line between the two places, and Arthur found himself inexplicably drawn to a world where anything seemed possible.

But sometimes, he never wanted to go back.

Dom was right—Arthur didn't have much imagination. It wasn't because of the practical nature of his work or anything. It was just him. It was his psychology. Perhaps that was why his mind always wandered back to that first dream, to something that had happened, something that he had seen: Mal's body stiffening in death, her crimson blood spraying from her lips. The image played over and over again in his head. It was the exact same scene with no embellishments, which made it more real.

Death was the ultimate kick, but that didn't mean he would ever resort to it, if he could help it. After all, death and life were inexplicably connected with no clear boundaries…just like dream and reality. Even if a person died in a dream, that person still died in some way or another. Was there ever a moment between dreaming and reality that the person had ever entered the realm of the dead even for the briefest second? Did they escape death? Were they all gods in this simple way?

Mal visited him a week after his first "dreamwalk". When Arthur opened the door and saw her face, he couldn't help but think of that one moment that haunted his nightmares, when the spark of life in her was suddenly extinguished by a smoking bullet.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said as she entered his apartment. She sat down after he gestured toward the black leather couches. Like its owner, the apartment was clean-cut with the simplistic elegance of black-and-white decor.

Arthur shrugged. "I'm absorbing the shock. I apologize if I've worried you by not keeping in contact. It's a bit much for me to handle, but I am getting along."

Mal smiled warmly. "Yes, I know you are. You have steel in you. I think Dom saw it immediately. He entered your dreams before he met you at the casino, did he tell you?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, but I think I knew already."

They sat in tense silence. Questions shot at a rapid-fire pace in Arthur's head, and he knew that this was going to be one of the few, if not only, chances that he would have to get answers.

"Does he enter your dreams?" Arthur asked finally.

Mal paused before answering. "Yes, and I his."

"Do you not keep secrets from each other, then?"

Mal smiled slightly. "We all have secrets, Arthur. But they aren't the secrets that you're thinking of. True secrets are feelings and desires—things that exist deep within your subconscious, so abstract that you can't describe them with words. They are secrets of the soul—something that can only be felt. Love is one, but only just one of the many."

Arthur remained silent.

"He's curious, you know," Mal said unexpectedly, leaning back into the couch. "He wants to know more, feel more."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, though he had a suspicion he was starting to understand. He too saw the glimmer in Dom's eyes. Ambition, perhaps. Or an obsession.

"He wants to go in more deeply. Petty data and concrete information has been reduced to child's play for him. They are too easy to extract, too simplistic. He is an artist. He wants to know more, to feel more. He wants to understand the human soul." Mal's voice, though calm, rang hollowly in Arthur's ears, and he knew that Dom had trapped Mal in his obsession as well.

"Why do you play the game, Mal?" he asked quietly.

She stared at him, and for the first time, he saw vulnerability etched on her face. It made him pity her, fear for her. "Because I want to know too, Arthur," she whispered. "I want to know the boundaries between reality and dream, whether or not they exist. Because, in all honesty, I don't think there are such things."

"You died, Mal, in that dream," Arthur said quietly. "But you're here now, alive. Isn't that proof of a boundary, of a separation? Don't seek to overcome it. I don't think you will be able to come back."

Mal smiled sadly at him and stood, and Arthur followed suit. "Always so practical. Dom chose you well." She walked to the door. "If you don't want to come back to us, it's all right. We understand. But if you do choose to come back, bring a totem with you."

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he opened the door to show Mal out. "A totem?"

"It's an object, something unique and special only to you. Something that no one can ever replicate perfectly in a dream. That way, you will always know whether or not you're in reality or in a dream."

Arthur watched her closely. "Do you have one?"

"Of course," Mal replied flippantly with a wink. She walked down the hallway and turned to him before getting on the elevator. "But you will never know what it is."

In many ways, that was the last time Arthur ever saw the real Mal, not just the shell of her former self.

…

Arthur constantly told himself that he wouldn't go back, that the risks of this operation far outweighed the benefits.

He did some background research on Dominic Cobb. He was a researcher at Oxford University, specializing in psychology and sleep studies. It was there that he first met with a professor named Miles, Mal's father. Information about his research following the date of his transfer to the Sorbonne was hazy at best. It would seem that he didn't do anything significant in Paris—he stopped publishing papers and giving lectures to students and his fellow scholars. But Arthur knew better. Dom had entered the dream, and he was establishing a reputation for himself in the corporate world as a stealth weapon—someone who could discreetly blow the cover on the greatest corporate secrets.

If he were anyone else, Dom would have caved in or died under the constant pressure and scrutiny of corporate moguls who wanted to use him just as much as they wanted to destroy him. Dom had a cool head and strong will. He was also very, very good at what he did.

Like an addict slowly spinning down a spiral of no return, Arthur returned two months following his first entrance into the dream against his strongest objections. His mind told him to fold, but his heart yearned to take the risk, to see the dream world again and master it through careful analysis. It seemed he would see this game through until the end, no matter how high the stakes.

But this time, he carried some insurance. He had made his totem the night before he decided on going back. It was a weighted red die, something that he had made himself so that no matter how he tossed it, it would land on just one number. The odds that he would show the die to someone was slim, and the odds that someone who had seen it would be able to duplicate its weight exactly was even slimmer.

He was welcomed back by Dom. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Dom's eyes were shrunken and hollow, with a terrible wisdom clouding his irises. As if he had aged fifty years within a span of a day. Arthur hardly ever saw Mal, and she never accompanied them to do their jobs. When Arthur did see her again, it was after a year on the job, when he was slowly starting to understand the mechanics of entering dreams and the process of extraction. He saw her after a particularly difficult assignment, where he had to seek refuge in the Cobb household after his apartment had been ransacked by rival corporate spies.

It was past midnight. He found Mal sitting alone on the living room couch in the dark, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Her eyes were empty, staring off into space, not acknowledging his presence. She acted as if he didn't exist. Or rather, she acted as if she herself did not exist.

"Mal?" he whispered.

She slowly turned to him, gazing at him with her big, round eyes. She blinked slowly a few times, perhaps debating whether or not he was real, and turned away.

Arthur left her without saying anything further. He felt as if he were being choked—he couldn't breathe or say anything, though he wanted to. All he could see in his mind were her glassy eyes, the beautiful yet lifeless eyes of a porcelain doll. She had shattered underneath, and her real self was gone.

When he heard of Mal's suicide and the death note that implicated Dom, he felt that somewhere deep in his heart he knew this day would come. Dom explained in a rush what happened before fleeing the country, giving him the barest of details and whitest of lies. Dom didn't give him enough credit. Yes, he knew how to analyze data and dig up the dirtiest secrets of a client or target—but he also knew how to organize and arrange the myriad of puzzle pieces he gathered to form a coherent picture.

But for Dom's sake, he feigned concerned ignorance and offered distant companionship on his lonely descent into his self-made hell.

In his own way, Arthur cared deeply for both Mal and Dom, but he was also very afraid. He was jumping into a current without knowing how to swim. All he could do was keep tossing his die and hope that he wouldn't get sucked under the water.

…

END CHAPTER

← Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 3 →

Table of Contents

[Inception] The Cast of the Die, Chapter 1

callispi — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 06:06:32 GMT

Title: The Cast of the Die
Part: 1/5
Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne, gentle Arthur/Dom
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Not many yet, but there will be a lot further along the story.

Summary: They first met, ironically, at a casino. Arthur was offered the world, and he was to be the god of it. Perhaps this is a risk worth taking.

Author's Note: I watched Inception last week and was blown away by the scale and depth of the movie. One of the most disappointing factors, I think, was the lack of character development. Arthur is one of my favorite characters, and I thought it such a shame that his background wasn't explained at all. We never know how or why he joined forces, and anything of his life before and after the movie.

This fic is an attempt to explain his story and his psychology during the movie. This the first installment in a like four- to five-part story sketching the significant developments within Arthur's life during his time with Dom and the others.

Ariadne will appear later on in the story of course, though there will be hints of Dom/Arthur. ;)

Disclaimers: I do not own Inception. I'm just borrowing the characters while Chris Nolan is sleeping.

The Cast of the Die

By Callisto Callispi

Chapter 1: Playing the Game

…

Iacta alea est

(The die has been cast)

- Suetonius, Vita Divi Iuli (The Life of the Deified Julius)

…

They first met, ironically, at a casino.

Arthur had an assignment, to do some digging for a client on a potential business partner. He wasn't too sure of the relationship between the client and the target, but Arthur didn't mind. He worked on a strictly a no-questions, know-nothing basis, which suited him better (he thought) than it suited anyone else.

He trailed the man unobtrusively along the rows of slot machines, ignoring the cries of delight and dismay. He unconsciously caught the eyes of a few attractive young women with fur wraps and long legs, but his focus remained solely on his job. He even partook in a few rounds of Blackjack and one hand at Poker at adjacent tables to remain inconspicuous. He lost at both and quickly left the table. His mind was too concentrated on his target to properly reason through the odds of the game, but Arthur could not help but reinforce his dislike for gambling, no matter how high the stakes. He hated losing, but even more so, he hated losing when he couldn't choose the stakes.

The target once again relocated this time to the Craps table, and as sure as a shadow, Arthur followed. Chants and cheering suddenly broke out from the table. The dice had passed to the hands of a man in a pinstripe suit, and he immediately threw a seven. The crowd behind him, who had gathered around to see how long his streak would last, cheered again.

Arthur watched the game with only the slightest bit of interest, keeping his target within his peripheral view.

Suddenly, the man with the lucky streak looked up and caught his eye. The movement was so fluid and sudden that Arthur knew immediately that it was deliberate. He started to move away from the man's line of sight, but the bodies behind him blocked his way.

"You look bored," the man called out in a jovial voice.

At least a dozen pairs of eyes turned to appraise Arthur. He kept his impassive mask firmly on his face, the mask he wore when facing clients and the barrel of a gun.

The man spread his hands, indicating to the table with its elaborate array of dice and betting lines and numbers. "You're the only one who isn't concentrating on the game. Do you even know the rules?"

The crowd around them chuckled good humoredly.

Arthur smirked faintly. "Craps is inherently a game of luck, not skill."

The man quirked a smile back at him. "I take it you don't believe in luck."

Arthur shrugged. "I believe that analysis and skill overweigh luck any day."

"Then this is the first time you've ever been in a casino!" a portly, slightly drunken man slurred. The table erupted in laughter, and the Craps game resumed, though the man who first addressed Arthur stood from the table.

Arthur cast a sidelong glance to where his target had been, dismayed to find him disappeared and his cover more or less blown. It would be doubly difficult to trail him now that his face was called to attention. He started to trail his target again, angry that some drunk on a high streak disrupted his work. As he squeezed his way from the table, he found himself face to face with the man who called him out.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "If you're here to lecture me about Craps and luck, I should tell you now that I must decline."

The man grinned, though the smile did not reach his eyes. His eyes were cold and calculating, and Arthur suddenly felt goosebumps trailing down his arms.

"I'm not here to lecture you on anything. I'm here to make a proposal."

Arthur paused slightly before answering. "I have no interest in any proposal. Now, if you will excuse me…"

The man grabbed his arm firmly as Arthur passed. The grip was not strong enough to be a threatening gesture, but Arthur snapped into a defensive mode, wringing his arm from his grasp and backing away. His movements caught the attention of some people in the casino, but he didn't care. He had felt something akin to panic in that grip—something he had felt very rarely.

"Calm down," the man said quietly, starting at him from under his brows. He purposefully glanced around at the people staring at them and nodded toward the bar. Arthur got the point. He cleared his throat and straightened his suit jacket, trying to calm himself, and making his way to the bar with the man.

"Dominic Cobb," said the man, slipping into a booth after ordering them a bottle of expensive scotch. "You can call me Dom."

Arthur sat down stiffly. "Mr. Cobb. I don't know why you called me here, but I have work left to do tonight—"

"Yeah, I know. A Donovan Guarini employed your services to dig up whatever dirt you can find on Justin Holloway, his prospective business partner."

The drinks arrived, but Arthur remained frozen in his seat.

The man called Dominic poured Arthur and himself some scotch. Dominic raised his glass in a mock toast and drank down all of the contents in his glass alone. Afterward, he looked at Arthur slyly. "True to your word and reputation, you are in the process of digging up everything about him. His marriage, his business, his contacts, his scandals…"

"How do you know this?" asked Arthur in a low, trained voice.

Automatically he poured Dominic more scotch. The ice clinked in the glass, glinting like crystals in liquid gold. Dominic in return slid the untouched glass over to Arthur with a devilish smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"You told me."

Arthur blinked. "I've never met you before in my life."

Dominic's smile grew wider. "You have. You just don't remember."

Arthur sat, speechless and unable to move. Never had he ever blown his cover this badly before, and what scared him more was that he didn't even know how he had done it. He had taken the utmost care in concealing his identity and his business. Only the uppermost tier of the rich and powerful knew of his name, and even amongst that crowd, only a handful knew how to contact him for his services. Who was this Dominic Cobb? He didn't look particularly wealthy, though his eyes were as ruthless and…haunted…as some of the most powerful men he had ever met.

Some giggling woman and her escort slipped into the chairs beside him, snapping him out of his trance. He shook his head slightly and sipped on the scotch. He peered at Dominic over his glass, feeling a vague sense of déjà vu, as if he had met him before a long time ago. "Who are you?" he asked finally.

The man hooked his hands behind his head. A gesture meant to calm him. Arthur relaxed about a hair.

"You don't like gambling, do you, Arthur?"

The remark caught him off guard, but Arthur quickly regained his composure. "It depends on the situation."

Dominic snorted and took a sip of his scotch. "You don't take risks, I know, unless you've assessed them. You analyze. You calculate. You do things that people think are risky but are in reality fully within your control. You only do something when you know you will win."

"What is your point?" Arthur growled, finally feeling his patience wear thin. He hated mind games in which he had no control. This Dominic Cobb wanted something from him, and Arthur was impatient to find out what.

As if reading his thoughts, Dominic leaned in closely, his glacial eyes glimmering with amusement. "What if I tell you that I'm going to hire you to do the ultimate digging? To extract secrets that are so secret, so deeply inlaid within peoples' souls that they are embedded in their subconscious mind?"

Arthur remained silent.

"Of course, the risks are huge," said Dominic, leaning back again, appraising him coolly. "And in order for the extraction to proceed, I need a…let's say, a reliable point man. Someone who knows how to evaluate the risks, the possibilities, do the preliminary screening to minimize the dangers of going into a person's head."

Arthur did not know what overcame him, but he suddenly barked out an uncharacteristic laugh. "Entering someone's dreams… I've heard rumors of lucid dreaming taken beyond…" This time, Arthur leaned in closer and faced Dominic, staring him right in the eyes. "But it's nothing but a myth."

To Arthur's surprise, Dominic did not negate nor affirm his statement. Instead, he replied, "The greatest thing in the world is an idea, Arthur. It must be self-conceived for it to be true." He stood and handed him a business card. "Call me when you're tired of this juvenile game of chase. I have something better to offer you than computers and surface-level data written on easily forged paper."

Arthur did not accept the card, but heaven help him, his hand itched to take it. "And what is it that you can offer me?"

Dominic smirked, sliding the card toward Arthur on the table. "The world, Arthur. The world, and you as its god."

Dominic left with a final swig of his scotch. Arthur remained seated, brows furrowed in thought and frustration. His mind functioned at a burning page of a thousand miles per hour, assessing the risks over the benefits. A point man? For the ultimate digging? Sounded dangerous. The red flags were waving all over his mind, blaring out for him to forget what Dominic said, to forget Dominic himself.

But weren't some risks worth taking?

Arthur slipped the business card into his pocket, and taking a last drink of his scotch, he left the casino.

…

END CHAPTER

Chapter 2 →

Table of Contents

New Icons Community

callispi — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 23:19:32 GMT

I've opened a new icons community, pour_rever.

It'll be a random collection of icons, though for some reason, I have made about 27 icons featuring characters from Ever After. I'm still a novice, so I've been experimenting with many styles. I'm also a quasi-beginner at Photoshop CS, so I'm in the process of learning.

All I can say to those semi fluent in Photoshop is: selective coloring is a bitch.

Check out my icons!! :) Whee! And if you have any requests, let me know. I will make a shiny icon batch for you.

random sampling of icons

Be sure to credit pour_rever if you use any. And drop me a comment. I love comments. :)

100quills set table: The Malfoys

callispi — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 04:12:56 GMT

A rather romantic prompts table from quill_it. The Malfoys.

001.	Doubt.	002.	Magical.	003.	Tomorrow.	004.	Blank.	005.	Destiny.
006.	Picture.	007.	Gentle.	008.	Wrong.	009.	Circle.	010.	Breakfast.
011.	Ice.	012.	Wonder.	013.	Balcony.	014.	Honor.	015.	Shaken.
016.	Regal.	017.	Now.	018.	Child.	019.	Stone.	020.	Clarity.
021.	Weeks.	022.	Purple.	023.	Freedom.	024.	Dark.	025.	Too Much.
026.	Friends.	027.	Hers.	028.	Journey.	029.	Quarrel.	030.	Regret.
031.	Forgiveness.	032.	Naked.	033.	Transparent.	034.	Ancient.	035.	Severe.
036.	Cemetery.	037.	Risk.	038.	Knots.	039.	Warmth.	040.	Promises.
041.	Race.	042.	Hero.	043.	Natural.	044.	Silence.	045.	Who?
046.	Tears.	047.	Chocolate.	048.	Parents.	049.	If.	050.	Ribbon.

Fame (Animorphs, ka_verse prompt #29)

callispi — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 06:01:31 GMT

Title: Fame
Author: callispi
Prompt: Set 3, #29 Superstar
Fandom & Character(s): Animorphs, Jake
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000

When Jake got off the bus in front of school, he could immediately tell that something was different. Perhaps it was the sudden decrease in the volume of hallway chatter when he entered. Or perhaps it was the way heads covertly turned in his direction. Girls who had never glanced before at him turned to their friends and whispered as they walked past him.

Jake pretended not to notice a thing as he turned the dial of his locker. He was good at keeping a straight face, and his mother had verbally pounded into his reflexes a straight yet easy composure. But, unlike Tom, he’d always been very aware of what was going on around him—not to the degree of Marco (that guy had a social radar installed in his brain or something)—but enough for him to avoid too much attention. Jake did not like being the center of attention, and the painfully obvious fact that he was made him feel like an exotic animal on display.

“Yo, Jake!”

Jake finally managed to wrench his locker open and tossed his tattered history book in before slamming it shut. Marco approached him and slapped him hard on the back.

“I can’t believe you did it. I mean, I still kind of don’t, but man this may the smartest thing you’ve ever done!”

Jake looked at Marco, torn between annoyance and curiosity. “What are you talking about, Marco?”

Marco smirked, nudging him in the belly with his elbow. Jake punched him on the shoulder. Marco was not fazed. “Don’t play stupid, man. I know you’ve had it against Connor for a long time after he fouled you during tryouts. But I never knew you’d run against him for class president!”

Jake blinked, letting the words sink in. Connor was a basketball player, the only one in their grade who not only made the team but also managed to get a varsity letter. Jake didn’t mind him initially, but he had later thrown the jackass against the wall when he called Rachel a number of nasty names after she bluntly told him that she would never let some meathead loser buy her lunch. Connor was tall, but Jake was bigger. The two hated each other since.

“Marco, I didn’t sign up to run,” Jake finally said.

Marco paused. “Shut up.”

“No, really, I didn’t sign up.”

Marco peered closely at Jake’s stony face. He blew out a low whistle. “Well, I guess you’re more popular than you thought. More than I thought too,” Marco added.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Thanks, best friend,” he said dryly, walking to class. “But I wonder who nominated me.”

Marco shrugged next to him. “Beats me. You know, you’re going to be a thousand times more popular with the chicks if you are president. Connor is the man and all, but no one would vote for him over you except for the jocks. And maybe a few of the cheerleaders.”

They entered the classroom and took their seats. Jake sat behind Marco and pondered the possibility of being class president.

Marco craned his neck back. “All up to you whether you want it or not, big Jake.” He smirked slightly and then turned around as soon as the teacher walked in.

For the duration of the class, Jake could only think about the pending elections. Jake knew to trust Marco’s instincts, especially on things like this. If Marco said he was going to win, it was enough of a guarantee for him to stake money. But Jake also noted his sudden change in Marco’s tone when he figured out that Jake had not purposely chosen to run. Marco knew that Jake did not seek glory, and Jake himself wondered whether he would accept it.

That night, Jake dreamt of the stars. He was soaring through space, and he saw colors far beyond the infrared and the ultraviolet range that his eyes in reality would never have been able to discern. His body, formless yet substantive, tingled with an energy as of yet undefined by Earth’s physicists. The universe was alive and pulsing with color, and he was embedded within it. He felt all life and heard the music of time, each passing second vibrating in the fabric of space like the strike of a piano key.

Then, Jake saw what he was meant to see. A shattered spacecraft and the listless bodies of the dead floated in emptiness. The young commander of the fleet wept in death. Jake felt his grief and his desperate worry for his family, who would never know that he died. Would anyone remember? Would anyone know?

Jake remembered, and Jake knew because they had fought for him. They would always remain with him, tucked away in the deepest part of his memories, and Jake would honor them when he was tested in the days to come.

When Jake went to school the next morning, he withdrew himself from the election at the start of his lunch period. Jake entered the cafeteria and headed over to the table where he and Marco usually ate together.

“So you’re not running?” Marco asked, right before biting into his burger.

Jake shrugged, opening his bagged lunch. “It’s not my time,” he said without thinking.

Marco raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jake furrowed his brows. “I don’t really know.” He took out his sandwich. “I guess it doesn’t feel right.”

“It doesn’t hurt to have a bit of face time, you know,” Marco remarked, dipping his dry cafeteria fry in ketchup. “And you’d do an okay job, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Jake shrugged again. “I don’t know. I guess I have better things to do with my time. And you know me—I’m not really interested in stuff like that.”

Marco snorted. “You’ll never become famous.”

Jake laughed. “I’d prefer it that way.”

Deep inside, though, Jake felt his time would come. And when it did, he would see it through.

7 Deadly Sins Challenge Prompts!

callispi — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 05:58:58 GMT

Theme A: Seven Deadly Sins

1. Gluttony
2. Envy
3. Sloth
4. Lust
5. Greed
6. Wrath/Anger
7. Pride/Vanity.

This table was long overdue. I've finally posted this up, and I will begin writing as soon as I have time. Yay!

K.A.verse Drabbles Prompt Table - Jake

callispi — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 05:41:32 GMT

001.	Jewelry	002.	Brand	003.	Angst	004.	Fairy Tale	005.	Novel
006.	Peck	007.	Bluejay	008.	Glamour	009.	Joke	010.	Class
011.	Urge	012.	Betrayal	013.	Alcohol	014.	Marble	015.	Silver
016.	Phone Number	017.	Cerulean	018.	Cat	019.	Hail	020.	Break
021.	Diamond	022.	Smile	023.	Twilight	024.	Electric	025.	Blind
026.	Siren	027.	Sanctuary	028.	Sand	029.	Superstar	030.	Flirt
031.	Eagle	032.	Yesterday	033.	Ghost	034.	Frozen	035.	Bath
036.	Butterfly	037.	Knife	038.	Baseball	039.	Hat	040.	Peace
041.	Iris	042.	You	043.	Best	044.	Gravel	045.	Circle
046.	Tempest	047.	Screech	048.	Firefly	049.	Boom	050.	In My Bunk
051.	Funeral	052.	Trick	053.	King	054.	Chase	055.	Plot
056.	Another	057.	Doctor	058.	Welcome	059.	Pickup	060.	Thinking
061.	Why?	062.	Waiting	063.	Spoon	064.	Honor	065.	Crime
066.	Hurt	067.	Chokehold	068.	Cool	069.	Tongue-tied	070.	Dye
071.	What?	072.	Doll	073.	Melt	074.	Beyond	075.	Diary
076.	Nervous	077.	Swoon	078.	Go Bad	079.	Obedient	080.	Little Girl
081.	Surrender	082.	Miss	083.	Resist	084.	Tired	085.	Perilous
086.	Dry	087.	Excited	088.	Similar	089.	Gorgeous	090.	Wet
091.	Stripes	092.	Cheek	093.	Perfume	094.	Flask	095.	Polish
096.	Sticky	097.	Decline	098.	Wire	099.	Milk	100.	Farewell

What can I say? I love Jake. =)

First Line of 20 Stories

callispi — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 22:52:20 GMT

This is a meme that I swiped from hieispike that really surprised me. I have random spurts of inspiration that lead me to start writing stories, most of which I've never posted online. I don't want to post multi-chaptered stories that I'll take years and years to finish (except for those I've already posted), especially since I have such little free time these days.

I cheated a bit and didn't really include the last twenty -- I've written a lot during the interim, but most don't go past one or two pages. The lines I've posted are from stories that are (mostly) finished.

20. Kaylee was thirteen years old when she heard an orchestra play for the first time. (Until Then, Firefly: Kaleigh, posted here)

19. Seated in the chair with her arms around her knees, she stared at the little figurines. (Say Something, Firefly: River, posted here)

18. It wasn’t as if Draco Malfoy took that much pride in who he really was. (To the Moon We'll Crawl, Harry Potter: Draco, unposted)

17. When the world is turned upside down by change, it's difficult to press forward. (Paths to Perdition, Harry Potter: Draco/Hermione, posted here)

16. Hermione stopped when she felt the gentle chill brush past her face, and for the first time in the two years that she walked the forested path to work, she observed the small grove. (Untitled, Draco/Hermione, unposted)

15, The sun faded below the horizon only fifteen minutes before, but it was already dark. (Written in the Ashes, Harry Potter: Draco/Hermione, posted here)

14. Draco Malfoy leans heavily against the crumbling building, breathing in the stench of blood and gas. (White Sand Castles, Harry Potter: Draco/Hermione, unposted)

13: Nothing remains the same no matter however many millions of prayers are whispered during the night. (Angels in the Stone, Draco/Hermione, unposted)

12: “just breathe,” she whispered in his ear, pulling him up from the icy blackness that tried so desperately to swallow him up, screams and all. (Just Breathe, Harry Potter: Draco/Hermione, unposted)

11. When they brought in Draco Malfoy, no one could correspond the bloody pulp of a face as his. (The Babylon Project, Harry Potter: Draco/Hermione, unposted)

10. They were all dead here -- humans, beasts, and youkai alike. (Oft in the Stilly Night, Inuyasha: Sesshoumaru/Kagome, unposted)

11. It smelled as if it would snow. (Stuck in the Middle, Harry Potter: Blaise/Hermione, unposted)

10. Rei stumbled through a dark cavern, guided only by the soft glow of candlelight. (Canto Alla Vita, Sailor Moon: Senshi/Shitennou, unposted)

9. The tip of the candle flame wavered. (Falling Rain, Yu-Gi-Oh: Kaiba, posted here)

8. Baronness Rodmilla de Ghent, once illustrious and honored, washed the royal linens with her bare hands. (Reflections of the Fallen, Ever After: Rodmilla, unposted)

7. Even a Malfoy, no matter how vile, did not deserve to be alone on Christmas Eve. (Star, Harry Potter: Draco/Hermione, posted here)

6. The Tower spiraled up like a child’s plaything in a world of giants. (The Day the Music Died, Dark Tower: Roland, posted here)

5. The black shore glittered with shards of pearls and a few tears. (Open Wind, Harry Potter: Lucius/Narcissa, posted here)

4. When was it that I first saw you? (Leap of Faith, Harry Potter: Draco/Hermione, posted here)

3. She did not know who she was. (Bride, Harry Potter: Draco/Hermione, posted here)

2. “Jean!” Laure screamed as their arrows struck his back. (Before Hogwarts, Before Kingdoms, Harry Potter: Salazar/Rowena, posted here)

1. Dead whispers sighed the mournful song. (Castle of Dreams, Harry Potter: Draco/Hermione, posted here)

Patterns? Not so much, I think? I try to use hooks that really interest readers. First sentences really set the mood of the story... I'm not too fond of #9 or #11. The sentences seem way too general; I feel they can be the opening for any story.

7spells Challenge Prompt

callispi — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 03:45:24 GMT

7spells HP Fanfiction Challenge
Author: callispi
Character/Pairing: Hermione

1. if you wanted honesty

2. the sea

3. the ballroom at midnight

4. anachronism

5. glass moon

6. as near as snow

7. sleepwalk

Progress: 0/7

For 7spells, fics based around our lovely Hermione Granger.

EDITED 10/28/09
I'm sorry if this is not updated as quickly as I like... I've been suffering under the yoke of essays and midterms as of late, and updates will most likely be erratic (and by that I mean tending toward Thanksgiving and winter breaks).

Thanks for your patience!

Until Then (Firefly, joss100 prompt #3)

callispi — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 08:16:26 GMT

Title: Until Then
Author: callispi
Rating: G
Character(s): Kaylee
Prompt: Set 2, #3: Daydreams
Word Count: 608
Summary: Kaylee dreams patiently.

Kaylee was thirteen years old when she heard an orchestra play for the first time.

An Alliance transport ship had docked a few miles south of Pa’s workshop because of engine troubles, and she had followed Pa to talk to the ship’s captain.

Kaylee’s eyes widened when she saw him. He was young, for a captain. His hair gleamed auburn in the sunlight, and his face was good-looking. He wore a suit so clean and stiff that it looked like it was starched for days. When he saw them, he nodded, all formal-like.

“We had passed by Hera when the asteroid struck and the engines took a turn for the worst. I decided to dock here, just in case there would be further trouble.”

Pa inspected the ship and shook his head. They would need new parts, he said. It would take a few days at the very least to retrieve and install 'em.

“At least you stopped here,” Kaylee piped in when the captain grimaced. “Pa’s the best mechanic on this moon, and I’m sure the folks here would treat you and your crew real nice.”

The captain glanced at Kaylee. Her heart leaped.

As the days passed, Kaylee worked on the ship in hopes that she would catch the captain's attention. He never looked at her again, but she kept her face and nails clean, just in case.

On the third day, the ship's passengers began to wander out to explore the moon. Around noon, after lunch, some of them gathered around a grassy field with violins and violas and other instruments that Kaylee had never seen.

Kaylee didn’t know what to expect. The sounds that she liked best were the deep purrs of a smoothly oiled engine and the clang of metal.

But as soon as the orchestra started playing, Kaylee forgot to breathe.

Each note streamed through the air in gentle hums. The violins reached pitches so shrill that her ears tingled. The air suddenly sweetened, like someone opened a bottle of perfume. Of course, it wasn’t a real orchestra like the fancy ones they had on the core planets, but for Kaylee, it was enough to make her forget about rewiring the core compressor.

After a while, Pa called over to her.

“What’re you doing there with your mouth agapin’ like a fish, girl? There's work to be done.”

Kaylee turned to him and murmured, “The music, Pa. It’s just so pretty.”

Pa snorted. “You ain’t no fancy lady, Kaylee, so don’t go gettin’ uppity on me.”

Kaylee worked hard, and after five more days, she and Pa watched the ship blast off into space from the workshop roof.

Pa was cheerful all throughout dinner. He had gotten paid more than he thought he would, and Mama was good-humoredly trying to get him to buy her a new dress.

Kaylee left to her attic room after cleaning the dishes and locked the door behind her. Instead of the bare, half-lit bulb on her ceiling, she saw a floating chandelier of glittering crystal. She was wearing a frilly pink dress with skirts so wide that when people passed her by, they said, “Pardon me, ma’am” like she was a real proper lady. Quietly, she hummed the song that the orchestra had played so often and twirled around, placing her arms on the shoulders of an imaginary dance partner.

Kaylee was determined to listen to music like that again some day. And when she did, she would have a nice dress, and a man like the captain would stop when he saw her and offer her a dance.

But until then, Kaylee would just dream.

K.A.Verse Drabbles is OPEN

callispi — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 23:30:04 GMT

I'm so excited!

I've decided to finally open my own comm, ka_verse. It's a drabble-based community with a pre-determined set of prompts. It's very similar to other drabble communities in format, but my comm has a slightly different set of rules and completely different fandom.

I hope that if any of you are Animorphs (or Remnants or Everworld) fans, you'll join the community and participate! While I don't expect the community to skyrocket in popularity, I do hope at least a few people will join and start posting drabbles. If this happens, at least there will be some watchers, hopefully.

Wish me luck!

7 Deadly Sins Challenge Prompts!

callispi — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 05:35:31 GMT

I recently got the notification from the mod at 7_sins_virtues that I got my request for my pairing, Draco/Hermione (of course). The seven deadly sins are my prompts, and I will respond to each prompt with a fic. I'm very excited about this challenge! It gives me a spurt of inspiration to write something to get the creative juices flowing again.

I'll have a table up soon to link my fics and keep track of what I've written. =)

Say Something (Firefly, joss100 prompt #63)

callispi — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 09:10:00 GMT

Title: Say Something
Author: callispi
Rating: G
Character(s): River
Prompt: Set 2, #63: Silence
Word Count: 323
Summary: All she hears is silence.

Seated in the chair with her arms around her knees, she stared at the little figurines. They were lifelessly sentient, painted with brown and green. Relics of the earth-that-was.

“Say something,” she muttered, peering at them with the soundless intensity of a thousand suns.

“River, what are you doing?” a voice came from the doorway.

River noted the presence, processed it to be a non-threat, and immediately dismissed the question. She kept staring at the figurines. They stared back at her silently.

“River, why did you leave your room? I was looking all over for –”

“They’re not speaking anymore, and it hurts my ears,” River explained, not taking her eyes off the molded plastic.

He walked in slowly, as if she were a skittish animal about to lash out.

“River, let’s go back to your room. You need some sleep,” he said soothingly. He was next to her, with his hands on her shoulders. River barely felt them. She just wanted him to be quiet, and she wanted them to talk again.

After a while – River didn’t bother counting the minutes – he squeezed her shoulder and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

River blinked, and slowly, the consoles of the bridge materialized. River turned her gaze toward Simon and cocked her head.

“I knew the dosages weren’t strong enough. After Miranda, you improved so much. I just thought we could ease up with the meds a bit.”

River felt the guilt pulsate around him, like a heartbeat.

She could hear his heartbeat, she thought sadly, but she couldn’t hear them talk.

River unhooked her arms from around her knees. She stood up, the pads of her feet meeting the cold, steel floor.

“They’ll never speak again,” River whispered, grazing her fingers over the two dinosaurs.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “They never have, River.”

River followed him to her room, not bothering to tell him he was wrong.

Joss100 Challenge Prompts

callispi — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 00:42:52 GMT

I've recently signed up at joss100 because, well, I'm CRAZY for Firefly and waaaay too ambitious. These will all be Firefly fics, centering around the Firefly crew. Ratings will go from G to NC-17, so please check the headers for each fic. Length will be from 100 - 1000 words. Normally, the word count on my fics is pretty prodigious, so cutting down this much will be a challenge indeed.

Keep checking back for story postings and updates!

001. Dreams	002. Nightmares	003. Daydreams	004. Emotion	005. Hot
006. Cold	007. Lust	008. Hate	009. Love	010. Anger
011. Jealousy	012. The Start	013. The End	014. The Past	015. The Future
016. Current	017. Illness	018. Health	019. Fight	020. Still
021. Lonely	022. Hunger	023. Vampire	024. Day	025. Night
026. Dark	027. Light	028. Shadow	029. Space	030. Coffin
031. Parent	032. Child	033. Blood	034. Rebirth	035. Life
036. Death	037. Resurrection	038. Dawn	039. Dusk	040. Midnight
041. Watch	042. Monsters	043. Time	044. Seasons	045. Want
046. Need	047. Vengence	048. Direction	049. First Love	050. Weapons
051. Destruction	052. Apocolypse	053. Faded	054. Colorless	055. Colorful
056. Black	057. White	058. Sunshine	059. Puppet	060. Birthday
061. Music	062. Sound	063. Silence	064. Ocean	065. Vast
066. Empty	067. Choices	068. Lost	069. Found	070. Full
071. Fall	072. Myth	073. Secret	074. Truth	075. Lie
076. Terror	077. Betrayal	078. Loyalty	079. Lover	080. Enemy
081. Book	082. Nature	083. Eternal	084. Serenity	085. Gold
086. Silver	087. Hero	088. Villian	089. Soul	090. Food
091.Visions	092. Earth	093. Regret	094. Chains	095. Red
096. Sky	097. Water	098.Nurture	099. Writer's Choice	100. Writer's Choice