Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.
As he grabbed the hammer, Arthur blinked. The expression on his twin's face was ugly. It was a leer, full of possession. His eyes widened as he noticed the fingers reach out, and begin to tickle down Ariadne's neck, leaning closer. Whispering in her ear.
It was a show of intimacy. A show of intimacy that Arthur wanted - and envied. Furious, he slammed the hammer head against the glass.
It barely cracked.
Swallowing, he picked up the hammer, and began to hit the glass again. As slight dents and chips began to appear, he noticed that Ariadne, accompanied by the projection, was starting to get up, and beginning to walk away.
Desperate, Arthur began to hit at the glass more slowly, hoping to crack it.
"Come on," Arthur whispered to Ariadne. "Let's go."
Swallowing, she allowed herself to be walked out of the room. She began to turn her head, to catch a glance at the other Arthur. She felt a tug on her sleeve.
"Ignore him. Come on. Something I want to show you."
She went with him, noting how impeccably dressed he was, but also at how insistently he kept his hand around her waist, pulling her close. Eventually, they reached a door.
"Open it," Arthur whispered, pulling her close and nuzzling her neck, an affectionate gesture that made her feel cold inside. "Please, open it."
As she put her hand on the door, a wave of uneasiness began to roll over her. She turned and looked at the projection, who was smirking. "Arthur-"
"I said, OPEN IT!" He shouted, his voice echoing down the corridor. "Just OPEN IT!"
Her hand trembling, she began to twist the handle. With a delighted grin, he began to push her in.
Arthur rubbed his forehead in frustration. The cracks were appearing, but still the wall was nowhere near shattered. Picking the hammer up, he took another swing at the glass. And another.
The cracks began to widen.
Heartened, he slammed the hammer into it again. A shattering noise finally confirmed what he had hoped - that the wall had broken. Determined, he began to walk through the jagged remnants, careful not to catch his skin or clothes.
He looked down at himself. The t-shirt, he thought critically, was something he would never have chosen to wear. And the jeans...Arthur couldn't even remember the last time he had bought a pair of denims.
Shrugging, he began to walk.
"Go in," Arthur said, his voice soft. Ariadne stood in the doorway, hesitantly, then gave a little cry as the projection roughly pushed her in. Blinking, she gasped when she saw what was inside.
A table. A long table. Covered with a wide variety of food, food that she had often denied herself as an adult, or, she thought guiltily and with shame, over-indulged in as a teenager. Pastries, fries, rich, fatty dishes oozing calories...these were laid out in abundance.
"What do you think?" the projection asked, his voice soft, and seductive. "I think its time you stuffed your face, like the fat nothing you are. Come on!"
She felt him push her in the back, moving her closer to the food. Before she could protest, he'd pushed her down on one of the chairs.
"There you are," he said, softly. "Now, eat. Eat, eat, eat. You know its what I expect. And you know its what Arthur expects."
Before she could move, he'd shoved her face down, into the pastries.
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