From the kink meme. Prompt was: Ariadne has decided to dress more professionally. Arthur assists, Eames comes too.
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception!
Arthur steps into the showroom with almost a flourish, Ariadne (and for some reason Eames) after him. Along one wall, elegantly tailored men's suits hang neatly on a rack. On the other, suits tailored for women. The coat hangers seem to be pillowed, notes Eames with a raised eyebrow.
"Welcome to fashion, Ariadne," says Arthur. "I'm glad you asked me to help you today. It can be tough knowing which is the right suit for you."
"Thank you," she says cheerfully. It wasn't anyone's choice but her own, but she had decided she wanted to drop her college-student look and adopt a more professional uniform while on the job. "I know you have an eye for this kind of thing."
"If you mean he's anal-retentive, then yes," Eames chuckles, ignoring Arthur's glare.
"You didn't have to come, Mr. Eames. And frankly, I don't know if I want you here."
"I'll be good, darling. Don't make me wait in the car."
"I should. I don't know what I was thinking, bringing someone with your taste-"
"Uh, hello," says Ariadne to the man who's just come out of the back room, ending the half-whispered bickering before it can get into the swing of things. "I need a few suits for my new job, and my friend says you're one of the best around."
"Ah, Mr. Curare!" exclaims the man, and comes over to shake Arthur's hand. "Yes, he is one of my best customers," he confides to Ariadne. "I will be happy to help you, Ms…?"
"Spellman," replies Ariadne, pulling out an alias she just used on an extraction. "Mary Spellman."
"Excellent, Ms. Spellman!" The man clasps her hands in his. Then he looks, witheringly, over her shoulder. "And Mr. Curare's gentleman friend… he will also be needing some assistance?"
Eames smirks. "No thank you, I like my thrift-store chic."
"Behave," commands Arthur. "No, sir, he's only here to… watch, I suppose."
"Ah, if you say so." With one last strange look, the man shrugs and leads them over to the women's rack. He removes a charcoal suit jacket from its hanger and holds it out. "What do you say to this, Ms. Spellman? It is Dolce and Gabbana."
Ariadne studies it. "I do like the lines. Now, how much would a suit like this cost?"
The man smiles as he replies "Twenty-three hundred. Of course, if you need a custom fit, it is more likely to run close to twenty-seven."
Eames lets out a low whistle.
"That's actually a fairly reasonable price for this quality," reassures Arthur, once more shooting Eames a look. "It's a good policy not to buy a suit over fifty-five, since then it's just the materials driving up the price. You don't need Super 200 merino to look good."
"Oh, okay," says Ariadne. She wishes for once that she had taken a fashion class at college, but really, buildings were ten times as interesting. "Um, sir, is it possible for me to try this on?"
"Certainly," says the man, and he leads her over to the fitting room, leaving Arthur and Eames by the rack. Arthur is frowning, but what else is new?
"Do you really pay that much?" Eames asks, pulling a little on Arthur's immaculately-tailored jacket sleeve. "Don't you think you're going a little far with the status symbols?"
"How much did this one go for?" continues Eames, running his gaze up and down Arthur in a manner that could be considered lewd in some circles. Arthur frowns harder to combat his blush.
"Thirty-five. And how much for your tweed monstrosity?"
"Three hundred," smirks Eames. "Dollars," he adds.
Eames mock-sighs and places a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I hope you're not doing it to impress me, darling. I think you look good in anything."
"In fact, I think you look absolutely best in nothing."
Ariadne steps out of the changing room to see her companions a little too close together. She clears her throat. "Uh, so, what do you think?" The salesman stands expectantly behind her.
"It looks great!" says Arthur, putting a hand on Eames's face and pushing him away. "Cobb will be floored."
"What? No, that's not why I-"
"Oh," says Eames, and his tone shuts her up.
"Don't worry about it," says Arthur. "We won't say anything." And he surreptitiously kicks Eames's ankle when the forger starts to laugh.
Wordlessly, Ariadne takes out her wallet.