13Sorry I've taken so long updating…no real excuse…and I'm sorry I wrote "mobile" in the last chapter. I should've put "cell phone", I know. Well, here you go. Enjoy and review! I do not own Inception.
Ariadne remembered the way to the old printing warehouse by heart. She arrived at the outside doors at exactly the same time as a very familiar, black-haired young man in a three-piece suit and brown trench coat. Arthur's gentle honey eyes lit up when he saw her, and a slow smile crept across his handsome face.
His deep voice was soft when he said simply "Hello."
"Hi, Arthur," Ariadne grinned as she pulled him into a hug. She had missed him, there was no denying it.
Arthur was shocked at the hug – a handshake would have been more his usual style – but having Ariadne pressed up against his chest was hardly something he'd complain about. Cautiously, he wrapped his arms about her waist and returned the embrace. He held on longer that he should have done, and his face turned crimson when he realized she had been subtly trying to pull away from him for at least twenty seconds. He released her to see confusion dancing across her facial features. There was a moment of silence.
"Uh…should we go inside?" he asked awkwardly.
"Yes," she said quickly, walking straight past him to the doorway. His eyes followed her.
"It's open," he said.
True to his word, the door of the warehouse opened with ease, and Ariadne entered the workplace to see just why it had been unlocked.
A woman who looked to be around her mid-twenties sat primly on the edge of a lawn chair in the middle of the floor. She stood when Ariadne and Arthur strode into the space. She about Arthur's height, perfectly slim with curves befit for a model and blatant beauty: Her heart-shaped face sported delicate features perfectly defined with expensive-looking make-up. Her round, baby-doll eyes were a clear shade of sky blue and her platinum blonde hair was scraped back into a tight bun at the back of her head, not a strand out of place. She wore a striking white blazer with a matching pencil skirt, a sharp black blouse beneath. On her feet, at the end of her long ladderless stocking-clad legs, were a pair of neat black heels. There was not a single scuff or stain or crease on her appearance. Even the clear varnish on her fingernails was flawless. She smiled at Ariadne, but it didn't reach her eyes. Ariadne didn't know what to think, but she smiled politely.
"Ariadne, this is Beatrice Evans, our employer," Arthur led the introduction, "Miss Evans, this is Ariadne, our architect."
"Oh, call me Beatrice, Arthur dear," Beatrice giggled, eyes on Arthur as she shook hands with Ariadne, "Ariadne…"
"Hope," Ariadne said, assuming Beatrice was asking for her surname.
"No, I was just saying. Ariadne…that's a very unusual first name," Ariadne readily opened her mouth to explain its origins, but Beatrice cut her off, "Well, I say unusual. I don't mean to be rude, but it's rather ridiculous."
Feeling the sting of anger and embarrassment, Ariadne reopened her mouth. This time it was Arthur who cut her off.
"It's not ridiculous at all," he said shortly, "It's Greek. There's a lot of history behind it, actually. It's derived from the ancient myth of Thesius and the Minotaur."
Beatrice looked surprised. "Oh…well, if you say so, Arthur dear."
Here followed a long pause. Arthur glanced concernedly at Ariadne, and she smiled reassuringly back at him. Then a slow smirk crept across Beatrice's lovely face.
"I like that you feel the need to stick up for little Ariadne, Arthur. It's so sweet," she closed the distance between herself and the point man with one long-legged stride, and Ariadne had to swerve sharply out of the way, "It's interesting that you know so much about Greek mythology. I always knew you were smart…" she ran a long spidery finger down Arthur's chest. Ariadne raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
Arthur turned beetroot and he took a hasty step backwards, "Yeah, well, you need to be for this job," he said quickly. He threw a sideways glance at Ariadne, who looked vaguely amused. Disappointment wafted across Beatrice's face, but was quickly replaced by a look of determination.
"What else do you know, Arthur?" she teased, taking another, smaller, step towards him.
Thankfully, the difficult moment was interrupted by the clang of the warehouse door opening and shutting. In came the familiar chemist and forger, both of whom Ariadne was pleased to see. She grinned and skipped away from Arthur and Beatrice, who stood awkwardly and watched as Eames stretched out his arms to embrace Ariadne in a hearty bear hug.
"Good to see you again, sweet cheeks," the British man grinned.
"Is it?" Ariadne challenged.
"It is," Yusuf replied with a kindly smile.
"And not to forget you, Arthur, my darling!" Eames called sarcastically, "You cannot begin to imagine how unbearable life without your company has been."
Arthur rolled his eyes and shifted in irritation. Beatrice seemed bewildered. Obviously unaccustomed to banter and disarray, unlike me, Ariadne concluded.
Yusuf approached Beatrice, "You must be our employer. I'm Yusuf, the chemist, and this is our forger Mr. Eames." He extended a hand towards her.
Beatrice regarded his hand with clear distaste and announced, "My name is Beatrice Evans, and I don't shake hands with chemists."
Yusuf was upset and confused. He withdrew his hand.
"Why not?" he enquired.
"You spend all day messing around with nasty chemicals," Beatrice shrugged, "You're absolutely covered in germs. You're dirty."
Ariadne's mouth fell open in disgust at this insult. She caught Arthur's eye to see him with the same expression. Beatrice stepped around the hurt chemist and held out her hand for Eames to shake, but Eames shook his head. His face was blank.
"My name is Daniel Eames, and I don't shake hands with you," he said simply.
Beatrice was taken aback. She couldn't remember the last time someone had spoken to her like that.
"Well, I never–" she started indignantly.
"Shall we view the mark?" Arthur said loudly all of a sudden.
There was a loaded pause before Beatrice reluctantly confirmed, "Yes, we shall."
The team positioned themselves in a cluster of chairs – Beatrice laying a hankie down before she sat – while Arthur fiddled with the projector. He nodded at Beatrice, who proclaimed "Peeps, meet your mark," and an image appeared on the white screen before them. In a split second, Ariadne absorbed the face in front of her.
It was as if she'd been doused with arctic water. Her head swam, and the bile rose up her throat.
Notice I gave Ariadne a surname: Hope. D'you think that's okay – "Ariadne Hope"? I just thought she needed a one syllable surname because her first name is long, and Hope is quite nice. What do think of Beatrice? She was fun to write, what with being evil and all…