Jan. 2nd, 2012

chesstotem: (working)
The only thing more cathartic than drawing, in Ariadne's experience, was shooting at things. And after the week she'd had, she needed to shoot some things.

She'd gone into this assignment, bright-eyed and ready to bring down the bad guys. They'd assembled her identity, using her own background in design to get her an in with their cooperative witness, Miles.

But Ariadne hadn't counted on enjoying the dream sharing as much as she had - not after three years of being repulsed by the very idea of it. Nor had she counted on liking the team - Cobb, charismatic but broken; Eames, oozing charm from every pore; Yusuf, a bit absent-minded but genuinely kind; Arthur, always in control but barely concealing something wild and dark.

And now she'd just found out her job wasn't done. Her assignment was going to continue - Cobb and the others, they'd realized, weren't the kingpins they had originally thought. Ariadne was a little relieved, but now they were expecting her to keep her cover, try to get as much information from them as she could. For how long, she didn't know.

The thought made her nervous. So she did the only thing that could help relieve some of her tension - she went to the shooting range. She was intent on the paper target in front of her, putting bullet holes right in the center of the chest.
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