Евгений Войнов (tritankista) wrote in lj_live,
Евгений Войнов

a little bit of magic, inception

a little bit of magic.

“It seems we do not share a love for literature, Mr. Eames. Can you not appreciate a desire to, how do you say, have a finger in a pie of something you feel passionate about?”
inception: gen, pg, ~1400 words. for the prompt "the team have to incept jk rowling to write an 8th harry potter book". i know, this is kind of the most on crack i've been probably since i wrote apocalypse chuck. but it wouldn't leave me alone, i didn't really have a choice. also i know, i know, i spend way too much time talking about eames, i should get a room.


It’s been six months, but the Fischer job seems like yesterday when Cobb gets a call from Saito.

Are you interested in another job, Mr. Cobb?


He accepts, if only because there is a strange emptiness without his team these days.



Arthur sounds sceptical on the phone, but then, Arthur always sounds sceptical and the call ends with him on board, Cobb even thinks he hears what could be something approaching enthusiasm in the point man’s see you Tuesday.


Eames remains the same, broad-shouldered and swaggering as he arrives at the warehouse. Ariadne gets a kiss on the temple, his hand spread across her forehead to spill her hair back over her skull. She is already tired, bent over pencil sketches, and Arthur rolls his eyes at Eames’s audacity.

“As inappropriate as ever, aren’t you.”

“You’re still here, Arthur? I thought everyone would have mutually agreed to fire you by now.” Eames plasters on a smile, completely insincere, waits for Arthur’s comeback.

“You’re going to make another joke about how boring I am? You should think about getting some new material.”

The smile folds into a laugh with teeth, and he claps Arthur on the shoulder before settling himself on a lawn chair.


Saito arrives with his usual elegance and formality, with Yusuf not far behind.



Ariadne’s touches have made their way into the warehouse, a coffee machine and two old couches rest in a corner, the big whiteboards at their edges. They congregate there (though they will soon learn not to let Eames get a spot on a couch or he will sit and fidget, inattentive), and Cobb clears his throat once everyone sits down.

“So Saito? Just how do you propose to get this book made once the idea is in place?”

“Do not worry, Mr. Cobb, I bought the copyright.”

Of course he did.

Ariadne fights a smile and leans into Arthur’s ear. “Clearly it seemed neater.”

In response, Arthur threads his fingers and bends over his lap to watch them flex, hides the grin he can’t keep off his face.

“Can I just point out that no one has bothered to mention to me why we’re on this job?” Eames directs his gaze at Saito, eyebrow raised.

“I am expanding my interests.”

“Your money-making interests.”

“It seems we do not share a love for literature, Mr. Eames. Can you not appreciate a desire to, how do you say, have a finger in a pie of something you feel passionate about?”

He concedes defeat, and they continue brainstorming; Arthur rolls up his sleeves.


 “I guess first things first – we get access to Rowling.”

“I can organise a meeting.”

“And how are we going to plant the idea?”

“We could pose as Hogwarts students?”

“Arthur has to be in Ravenclaw.”

“Shut up, Eames.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. If we can pose as characters to give Rowling inspiration on the second layer, then on the first we can-”

“Eames could forge someone to put the idea of starting another book in general into her mind?

Then we put her to sleep and the characters from the book will help to inspire her for the actual idea?”

Cobb nods, scribbling on the board. “I think this might work.”


They’re certain Eames can forge a convincing Daniel Radcliffe, but it means he hogs the warehouse’s only computer, spending hours on YouTube for research. At least, that’s his excuse – along with the time Arthur saw him spelling it ‘JK Rolling’, he caught Eames watching videos of talking dogs and playing online poker.





Over the next week, the warehouse slowly becomes inundated – there are books piled on every surface. Arthur labels all the inside covers of his copies in a bid to stop Eames from stealing them and claiming them as his own so he doesn’t have to buy any (this, of course, is to no avail).



Ariadne flicks through The Philosophers Stone and draws as clearly as she can – her job made easier by the castle already being a maze, though she seems oddly unsettled.


A few days later, they figure out why.

“Am I the only person who paid attention to the fact that we’re essentially doing this just because Saito wants to read it?”

Eames throws a loose arm around her shoulders, stops her eyebrows knitting together. “Don’t worry yourself, love. If Saito wants to pay us a lot of money to create him some new night-time reading then we should let him, don’t you think?”

Ariadne looks unconvinced, but goes back to her table and clucks her tongue at the mess of models spread in front of her anyway.



Everyone gets sick of Eames chanting spells at them as they walk past, Arthur even tells him I’ll Avada Kedavra you if you’re not careful and while it doesn’t shut him up, it actually stops Eames from commenting as snidely towards him as usual.



They get stuck on the second layer – no one can think of a plot line (I’m a forger, not a novelist and Arthur has to agree, how long would it take an editor to fix what Eames would put in a book?), and the night is late before they put it to Saito; his idea, his problem. Ariadne breathes evenly, collapsed against Arthur’s shoulder, a plate of cold toast balanced precariously on her knees.






It seems sudden when they realise they’re ready, and then they’re on a plane to London.


Saito has bought out a bar for the evening, and after a glass of wine Rowling is asleep on one of the leather couches and hooked up to the PASIV. Yusuf settles back, pulls out The Half-Blood Prince, and glares when Eames laughs at him. “What? I have to finish the series now I’ve started! Just go to sleep, for god’s sake,” leaning forward, he presses the button just as Eames goes to flip him off.


When they next find themselves they’re sitting in the car outside the house Ariadne has created, and it feels strangely like a bad cop movie. Cobb and Saito sit in the front, binoculars to their eyes, the others crowded into the back behind tinted windows.

Eames pulls out a compact mirror, and suddenly they’re looking at Daniel Radcliffe. He jumps out, salutes them then shuts the door and heads across the road.

They watch him disappear inside, and then they wait.


Half an hour later, Eames signals them from the window, and they join him inside. Rowling is asleep in an armchair, and Arthur sets up the PASIV on the coffee table; nimble fingers pull the lines out and they settle themselves on the other chairs in the room.

Arthur presses the button, and they all drop into sleep.

In a dark Hogwarts bathroom, there is a snigger, and Arthur immediately gives Eames a withering glare. “You’re dressed this way too you know.”

“Well yes, love, but the difference is I’m not the one who likes like a complete wanker.”

“You look fine, Arthur, don’t listen to him,” Ariadne reaches up and adjusts Arthur’s tie, patting his chest on the way down. “We have work to do, Eames, do you mind?” Her eyes are smiling but the line of her mouth is hard, and Eames has always listened to her, so he doesn’t press it.

Arthur curves toward her as he walks past. “Thank you.”


They get to work, finding Rowling to carry out Saito’s plan (with a few additions from Eames, who cited his need to use his imagination for once), each of them talking to her in turn, planting seeds and letting them take.


Then Arthur presses a button on his detonator, and they ride the kick back to a dimly lit bar on a busy London street.

“What page are you up to then, Yusuf?”

“A hundred and forty-three. Did it work?”

“Looks like we’re going to have to wait and see.”

Everyone falls back into their previous positions just as Rowling stirs, and she starts.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Mr. Saito, did I doze off? How awful of me, you must have ordered us too many glasses of wine.”

Saito smiles, “My apologies, Ms. Rowling, I shall not do it again. Now where were we – discussing your plans for future projects?”




There is a box arrives at the door of the warehouse one day, a few months after the job, and when Arthur opens it he can’t stop a laugh escaping him. Twelve copies of the newest Harry Potter books, and the note on top reads:

To give to your families, my good friends. Thank you for all your help – Saito.





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