open | prompt five | ENDINGS

[wrens]

prompt five | E N D I N G S dressing-room style. start your own thread. tag others. wash, rinse, repeat. open to all.

 

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Adrian | rule 63!Ariadne | Inception

[construire]

[ The job's over. Over and done with, and Cobb can go home, and they'll watch to see what Fischer does, and he can go back to Paris and back to school until he graduates.

It's over. There's no reason for him to linger behind in Los Angeles, but he's looking at the flights back to Paris and frowning. He can see which one will take him there the fastest, which ones are the cheapest (not that money is a problem anymore, or not as much of one), but he's not moving from his seat in one of the airport's cafes.

It's done. It's over. But it's changed him. ]

[fibonacci]

[ For Arthur, there'd been the option of staying, of foregoing another flight out of Los Angeles and staying put for a while. But that would have required an invitation from Cobb, an invitation that he'd never thought to extend and that Arthur wouldn't dare ask after.

So for her, it's Madrid first and then Lisbon and then, if things pan out, a brief stint in Mumbai. Arthur considers each of them as she waits on line at the counter for her order, perfectly oval nails (unpainted, she's feeling modest) peeling back page after page of her little black notebook.

When she finally returns to the seat across Adrian, a wafting pall of steam separates the two of them, obscuring her expression. She pushes his drink across the table towards him with the tips of her fingers, the gesture delicate and yet somehow also resolute. A small cup filled with coffee as black as pitch. ]

You're going to be late, [ she points out, knowing full well he has no intention of getting the flight to Paris that is, according to all the lists, now boarding. ]

[construire]

[ Adrian simply shrugs, taking his coffee and ignoring the slight burn from his finger accidentally sliding past the sleeve. He ignores the burn as he takes a sip, too, eyes flickering back over to the boarding signs. ]

Yeah, I guess so.

[ But of course he's not making any move to leave. ]

What about you? Shouldn't you be [ with Cobb? ] headed out?

[fibonacci]

[ Arthur watches him for a moment and then tics her head to one side. It's not a shrug, but an approximation of one, as she raises her own coffee (dark and sweet) to her lips. When she sets it down again there's a red stain on the porcelain lip. A perfect half moon the color of her lipstick. ]

I've a meeting at four o'clock in Terminal B. [ A pause and Arthur adds dryly: ] Apparently nothing says 'clandestine meeting' like a frequent flyer lounge. [ Not her first choice and her tone makes that obvious. But there were some concessions she was occasionally willing to make.

Some. ]

[construire]

[ He is, at least, subtle when he glances at her lips to see if they look different now. Polished and put-together, that's Arthur, and while he sometimes feels like maybe he should put in a little more effort with his own appearance, he's also just fine with watching other people who've put forth that effort. ]

A meeting? [ His head tilts, coffee momentarily forgotten. ] Anything interesting?

[ 'Anything you might need me for' isn't implied, but it's hoped, even if he might deny it. ]