"Miller Flatbrook. Previously held the place of youngest victor before Finnick. Excellent actor."
"He doesn't look like much."
"That's what the careers thought before he stabbed them in the back. Literally. He killed them in their sleep with an axe...
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The lights reflected off of the woman's sparkly, green hair as she indifferently pulled the colorful dress over her head. She was a regular client of his: another lonely capital inhabitant who wanted a piece of a victor. Oddly enough, he never got her name. Well, he may have, but he never took the time to remember any of their names.
Miller laid back on the bed that felt every bit like it belonged to a casino hotel, and pushed the fleeting thoughts out of his mind.
"Amazing service as always, Miller."
She stalked across the room to the side of the bed he was on. When she bent over and ran her oddly frigid hands through his hair, he ignored his natural instinct to pull away and instead leaned into the intrusive touch. If there was one thing he remembered about her, it was her cold hands. He wasn't sure if it was a Capital thing or if it was just her.
Her other hand swept down over his exposed hip, giving him goosebumps. Not at all the good kind, but it wasn't as if she would be able to tell the difference.
"I would stay longer if I could. Alas, I have other matters to attend to. Your payment is on the dresser. I'll make sure President Snow knows how well you treated me," she complimented, flashing him a gold laced smile, which she must have deemed attractive. In return, he gave the practiced, coy grin she was expecting.
Clients loved the whole submissive act. And that was all it was: an act. He just flashed them his Capital winning smile, or give some timid glances here and there, maybe make himself blush.... It is surprisingly easy to force himself to blush. Nevertheless, it all has the same result: the inhabitants of the Capital will believe almost anything he says.
Her walk was cocky as she left the room. Miller chalked that confidence up to being able to "dominate" a victor. Once he heard the door close, he moved the blanket from his waist and stood up. He scrounged the room for his boxers, and found them under the bed.
Hopefully by the time he got dressed, Finnick would be able to go back to district 7 with him, but only if he didn't have more than one customers that night. Unlike the other victor, Miller wasn't allowed to be requested more than once a night. Snow, the old pervert, thought it would ruin his innocent, boy next door persona.
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Miller watched himself in the mirror as he attempted to retie his tie. In spite of his practice, he still managed to make a complete mess of it. The blond man closed his eyes and released a sigh of irritation, clenching and unclenching his hands around the necktie repeatedly to calm himself. The more he tried, the more agitated he became. After his games, it only got worse. What might have been simple frustration back then, could lead to a full on panic attack now. He needed to cool down, before he overreacted to not being able to tie a damn tie. It has happened for simpler things. The muffled sound of knocks on the door penetrated the air, followed by the sound of it sliding open.
