Inception? No, that was another lifetime. {Indie RP blog for Inception's Arthur. Permanent Semi-Hiatus. Highly Selective. Formerly itsbeenalongnight.} Background Credit: Shattering Inside by Amr Eishamy
He’d stayed in the Maldives for some time, long enough to check off each fact on the Wikipedia page and collect enough tourist snapshots of his own, but he was gone again before he could experience monsoon season in full. Too many expats, and besides, he hated the feeling of the thin moisture barrier that formed on his skin after too long in the tropical sun or how it made cotton bunch and wrinkle as he moved.
He tried farther north. Then south. Remote, geographically or culturally or technologically, it didn’t matter. It rarely does.
In a numbered flat where his neighbors think he’s a computer programmer, there’s a knock on his door. Clearing the flour from his hands with a wet towel, he checks the peephole, and sighs. After a minute, he undoes the chain and the bolt, and twists the knob, revealing a woman.
“You’re trying too hard.” She says, brushing past him into his living space.
“I take it they booked you in economy.” He shuts the door, not bothering to re-lock it. Everyone he wanted to keep out was summarized in the woman leaning against his kitchen counter.
“No, business.” She gestures to his phone, and the unplugged cord that dangled uselessly to the wall behind it. “But if that were plugged in, I’d be at home with a bottle of wine right now.”
“You people tend to call around dinner time,” he replies dryly, and returns to the ball of dough he’d been working with, covering it with the towel. “What’s the occasion?”
“You’re not going to offer me a drink?” Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Fine. A job. It’s always a job.”
“I can’t have been your first choice.” He can’t have been on the list at all. He’s good, make no mistake, but the type of work they typically needed him for was the type of work he’d relied on Dom to do. He turns, reaching for a bottle of wine, uncorking it.
“You weren’t.”
“Then why send anyone at all?”
“Don’t get it in your head that you’re important or anything.” She’s watching him pour with clear interest. “As I understand it, our higher ups asked for a fresh set of eyes, unbiased and with a clear head.”
Arthur sets an empty glass on the counter, then picks up his half-filled one for a sip. “I have contemporaries.”
“Have you kept in touch with those contemporaries?”
No. He’d made a mental note about her use of “a clear mind.” He contemplates for a moment, then turns and starts to pour another glass. “What sort of job?”
“I can only take a yes or no, the rest you’d have to be briefed on in house.” They knew that wasn’t his sort of stint. He passes her the glass, surprised to see her expression turned grave. “But it’s an important one. One you’d be sympathetic to, in particular.”
“Oh? Before or after I went off the grid?”
She meets his eye and down half the glass. “Before.”
Oh.
~
Two weeks later, after four hours filling forms and awaiting clearance, he sits in a windowless gray room at a mass-manufactured gray table on a molded plastic chair. Another agent had placed a thick folder on the table in front of him, then left him to his own devices.
Stamped on the head was the standard project title and case number, the names of the agent overseeing the project, all of which were blacked out on his copy. The only thing he could see, handwritten neatly on the bottom line, was the words Subject 4.
Inside, all the demographics of Subject 4 crystalize. Male. Grew up in an enclosed microcosm of a small town suburban. Old enough to have experienced the dot com bubble burst without knowing what that was, young enough to have reaped the decay of the housing crisis and only barely understood why. Medical records to indicate an unhappy household during the critical ages of 9-14.Juvenile record to indicate that the lessons learned during those ages was cemented by 15-17. An addendum of underpaid teachers vouching for and supporting the teen all along. A record of his exemplary career post high school, one that abruptly ends in his betrayal and revelation that he’d been recruited to a fanatical cause.
Arthur closes the file.
“You want me to try to identify fanaticism in a fanatic’s dream.”
self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you. self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists. self care is the fear in your enemies eyes
In my dream, I built a funeral pyre.
For myself, you understand.
I thought I had suffered enough.
I thought this was the end of my body: fire
seemed the right end for hunger;
they were the same thing.
Louise Glück, from “Inferno,” Poems 1962-2012
(via lifeinpoetry)
I love this character. I love the movie. And maybe one day I will return to it.
But for now, it is time to put it away.
Arthur is a character whose ambiguity gave him complexity. I understood that, love that, from the beginning. He was like me, and I bore his flaws as well. Prideful, fierce, petty, unable to bear correction, fear of exposing self. Using ambiguity as protection.
His problem, however, was a lack of solidity. His nature is fluid, is ephemeral. He lacked solid plot because plot would weigh him own. Sink him back into reality. And that’s okay, good for bits and pieces, but bad for a full narrative. He works best in the background, not quite in focus. And as fun as that is to write, it isn’t what I’m writing anymore.
So I’m going to let him go for awhile. Let him travel, explore. Get in trouble, find old friends, make new friends, possibly get caught in the act or slip through their fingers.
For now.
And for those of you who knew on this blog, and on through-dreams-i-wander, thank you. In more than one way, this character led me to meet you, and in more than one way, meeting you helped me grow up and get where I am now.
Thank you.
I’ll not delete this blog. I’ll leave it be for now. You can find me on Bones (imadoctornotablog). I’ll be around. It’s just time to close this chapter.
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