WHO: Orpah Miscanthus [D5] WHAT: Sponsorship by any means necessary. WHEN: Night 5 WHERE: Some bar somewhere in the Capitol. STATUS: Complete WARNINGS: Heavily implied prostitution. Yup.
“Come on baby. You gonna give me nothing?” Orpah, with her elbows on the table rests her head on one hand at just the right angle, pouting mischievously. Legs crossed at the ankle, dress just short enough, the outfit is uncomfortable and the drinks are expensive.
The Capitolite is young and stupid, a minor celebrity, and he isn’t interested in the D5 tribute. She knows he isn’t. Why would he be, after all, because she isn't going home with him tonight and that's really all he wants. Orpah is. He sinks another drink in one laboured swallow, wincing, and Orpah is blank in the eyes, pout almost drilled onto her face. “Orpah, I don’t want to talk about your girl.”
The girl sighs. “But I do wanna talk.” Her other hand moves to her untouched wine glass, one finger circling the rim as she stares down at the table. The bar is quiet enough for them both to talk, but she’s better at listening. This is new. It’s clumsy. She’s not used to sponsorship, thinking of what she has to do to get money and supplies and to not let the little one down, but she is used to drinking in bars with stupid people and she will capitalise because she has to. He’s still not interested. What a surprise.
He changes the subject quickly, shaking his head as he moves to order another drink. “Let’s talk about after the games. There’s a gala. You’re attending with me. I’ll get you a dress. You want another pretty dress, right?” Orpah frowns and shakes her head, but the look on his face at the change suddenly makes her feel sick in the stomach and she looks up at last, alert. Panicking.
She needs to grab his attention.
In one fluid movement she stands, crossing around the table between them to perch on her companion’s lap. Legs crossed over one another she seems taller now and looks downwards, head still at that quirked angle. “I make you happy, right?” She giggles. It is as fake as can be but he doesn’t know that, and he smiles and averts his eyes and she has him.
She leans in, mouth grazing his ear as his back straightens, stiffening up with tension in his seat. He shifts a little. “She’s pretty,” Orpah murmurs softly.” You’ll like her. …It’d be a waste for her to go out that way.”
She pauses for just a second, just enough for it to count. Then, ever so deliberately, the girl, the victor, the mentor, she presses the softest, most gentle kiss against his temple. “You wanna make me happy? Just this once?”
He moves to stand. She drops her feet delicately back to the floor, arms hooked around his neck.
“Let’s get out of here.” He growls into her ear. “Then we talk. …Damn.”
Orpah swallows down the bile as he puts an arm around her and nuzzles into him as they leave, out of the bar and into a waiting car. Now he’s interested.
She doesn’t even hate herself for it. Not when it’s for her little Flux.