rhivolution | (no subject)

- I need to figure out my response to WisCon's official EMoon bigot debacle response. Sadly, RL is getting in the way.

- Today I have to go do MORE banking business (e.g. Go To The Motherfucking Bank Like An Adult). Attempted bank transfer from the US failed, and there is no good reason why it would have failed, and my US bank says it's a problem on the UK (Barclays) end, and Barclays says there is nothing wrong. Yeah.

- But then I get to do some networking with a friend of

ladyvivien's, and I may get to visit Film City Glasgow, which is the fancy media quarter in Govan. Win.

- Also, very tempted by Festivids, as that will be a post-Overambitious Dissertation work and will keep me in the editing frame of mind.

- A snippet from the Ariadne gen fic, behind the cut. I get the feeling my take on her is vastly different than the rest of Inception fandom's. So be it.

...Ariadne bets herself that it’ll be three months until she gets the phone call. She’s not sure if she’ll turn it down or not, by then, but in the meantime, reality beckons.

Well, not in Los Angeles, which is deadly boring to anyone with an artistic mind who’s not a cinematographer. Ariadne realises this as soon as she’s in a cab on the way to a boutique hotel near Brentwood (on Saito’s dime, naturellement, all part of the contract), staring at the buildings that pass. She’ll go to the Getty and then get the hell out of there, maybe drive up the coast to San Francisco, Big Sur...

She’s free to be alone for a while, and while it’s lonely, it’s a relief to not be immersed in them anymore. In Cobb’s secrets and pain, the one-upmanship between Eames and Arthur, Yusuf’s alienation. But even so, that night in (Scandinavian-inspired, and somehow they make this not like IKEA) bed, she can’t dream.

Maybe it’s better that way, for then she won’t dream of them.