[ His walk back to the brownstone he shared with Freddie and Sharon ends up mostly uneventful. The moon above still shone an eerie crimson, the odd shuffle-walk of Hosts echoing off the walls of alleys. But, he doesn't catch a single glimpse of his reflection the entire way. There are moments, of course, where he feels the shift of it in the shadows; it doesn't make an appearance and seems quieter in a way it hadn't before.
And while he doesn't think it's over, exactly, he does feel lighter than he has in some time.
So, he had turned down Kalmiya's worried request for him to stick close by–his emotions had already been a jumble and even if he believed she'd be sturdy enough to lean on, he'd needed space to clear his head. To review how everything had gone down and sort through it all. In the quiet of the apartment, it's easy to do just that, the mental exercise of categorizing how he felt back into the boxes they belonged in. At some point, he drops off to sleep, the past few weeks all catching up at once.
What he failed to account for, of course, is that he hasn't had a dose of Somnacin in nearly two months. Plenty of time for his body to flush the aftereffects; natural dreams creep back in, something he hasn't experienced in years.
It means he isn't ready for the distorted memory of the Proclus job to dredge itself up, the embrace of sleep giving way to the image of a hallway, wood stained in a rich, dark color, the lines along the walls imitating the dividers found on shoji screens. Overhead, the lights give off a gold-yellow glow, the glass and metal shaped like traditional Japanese lanterns. All the lighting is turned down low–shadowy, intimate.
He passes a side table with a jade vase containing a single arch of an orchid stem in it and hooks two fingers into the carved handhold on the sliding door to his room. Once he steps in, the lights slowly flare on, stopping at a dim but see-able brightness. Crossing the room, he steps out onto the small balcony, hands tightly curled around the railing as he stares sightlessly into the churning water below, reviewing how the rest of the job would go. Cobb should be rappelling down the side of the building already, where he'll head in through the kitchens to make his way back up to the dining room with the safe.
Behind him, he hears the softest click of a heel on the lacquered floor and before he has a chance to turn, a lotion-soft hand curves over his mouth.
"Dear Arthur, it's such a shame to meet you like this," Mal purrs by his ear, the cold muzzle of her gun nestled at the small of his back. Turning slightly, he can see her out of the corner of his eye; her reddish-brown curls are perfect, the blue of her eyes is empty, malevolent. She gives him a knife thin smile and nudges him forward with the gun. When he looks down, the rail has disappeared, the sharp toes of his dress shoes jutting over the edge of the balcony floor. His pulse spikes when he sees the jagged rocks below that make up the shoreline, the crash of night-blackened waves against them.
"About ten stories, I think," she comments, peeking over the ledge. "Do give Dom my regards, won't you?"
Her query is whispered, pressed to his cheek like a goodbye kiss before she lets him go, his footing giving way and the wind rushing past his face. Momentum has him turning and his last view is Mal, darkly beautiful as he falls and falls and–
–jerks awake, a cold sweat covering every inch of him. Throwing the blankets off, he presses his face into his hands and curls in on himself, the hammer of his pulse making him tremble all over. Without even meaning to, he tugs on the corded familiarity of his tether with Kalmiya, the solid warmth of it keeping him from falling to pieces. ]
post-mirrorselves | cracks a bottle over your inbox
And while he doesn't think it's over, exactly, he does feel lighter than he has in some time.
So, he had turned down Kalmiya's worried request for him to stick close by–his emotions had already been a jumble and even if he believed she'd be sturdy enough to lean on, he'd needed space to clear his head. To review how everything had gone down and sort through it all. In the quiet of the apartment, it's easy to do just that, the mental exercise of categorizing how he felt back into the boxes they belonged in. At some point, he drops off to sleep, the past few weeks all catching up at once.
What he failed to account for, of course, is that he hasn't had a dose of Somnacin in nearly two months. Plenty of time for his body to flush the aftereffects; natural dreams creep back in, something he hasn't experienced in years.
It means he isn't ready for the distorted memory of the Proclus job to dredge itself up, the embrace of sleep giving way to the image of a hallway, wood stained in a rich, dark color, the lines along the walls imitating the dividers found on shoji screens. Overhead, the lights give off a gold-yellow glow, the glass and metal shaped like traditional Japanese lanterns. All the lighting is turned down low–shadowy, intimate.
He passes a side table with a jade vase containing a single arch of an orchid stem in it and hooks two fingers into the carved handhold on the sliding door to his room. Once he steps in, the lights slowly flare on, stopping at a dim but see-able brightness. Crossing the room, he steps out onto the small balcony, hands tightly curled around the railing as he stares sightlessly into the churning water below, reviewing how the rest of the job would go. Cobb should be rappelling down the side of the building already, where he'll head in through the kitchens to make his way back up to the dining room with the safe.
Behind him, he hears the softest click of a heel on the lacquered floor and before he has a chance to turn, a lotion-soft hand curves over his mouth.
"Dear Arthur, it's such a shame to meet you like this," Mal purrs by his ear, the cold muzzle of her gun nestled at the small of his back. Turning slightly, he can see her out of the corner of his eye; her reddish-brown curls are perfect, the blue of her eyes is empty, malevolent. She gives him a knife thin smile and nudges him forward with the gun. When he looks down, the rail has disappeared, the sharp toes of his dress shoes jutting over the edge of the balcony floor. His pulse spikes when he sees the jagged rocks below that make up the shoreline, the crash of night-blackened waves against them.
"About ten stories, I think," she comments, peeking over the ledge. "Do give Dom my regards, won't you?"
Her query is whispered, pressed to his cheek like a goodbye kiss before she lets him go, his footing giving way and the wind rushing past his face. Momentum has him turning and his last view is Mal, darkly beautiful as he falls and falls and–
–jerks awake, a cold sweat covering every inch of him. Throwing the blankets off, he presses his face into his hands and curls in on himself, the hammer of his pulse making him tremble all over. Without even meaning to, he tugs on the corded familiarity of his tether with Kalmiya, the solid warmth of it keeping him from falling to pieces. ]