A/N: Okay, so I really wanted to try my hand at doing a oneshot collection based on requests, so...here we go! Send me pairings, prompts, genres, restrictions (tenses, POVs, etc.)—anything. And get fun with them. Just because I don't ship something doesn't mean I won't write it; I really want to use this to experiment and push myself. So send requests in reviews or PMs or whatever. :D
Disclaimer: Not mine.
title; men like gods
for; a sweet madness
pairing; seneca/glimmer
prompt; all that glitters is not gold
word count; 527
Seneca Crane is beautiful.
Their eyes lock across the room at one of many parties thrown in her honor during the Victory Tour, emerald green and ice blue, and Glimmer feels an involuntary shiver run down her spine. She can't quite remember the last time she met a man quite so attractive; with his angular features and immaculately-kept beard, she thinks maybe he could give her a run for her money.
Then again, maybe not.
His eyes are colder than hers, calculating; he's brilliant, she knows, always coming up with new twists and surprises for every arena. Some reports have gone as far as to claim that he's the best Head Gamemaker of the century. He knows exactly how to put on a good show and this fascinates her; she fancies herself a bit of an actress as of late.
"Seneca Crane, Glimmer? Really?" She turns to see her friend Saffra standing behind her, holding two flutes of something pink and bubbly.
She accepts the glass with a smile. "I don't know what you're talking about," she answers innocently, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. She doesn't keep secrets from Saffra, not exactly, but being caught staring at someone? Pathetic. They're supposed to be the ones staring at her.
"I've heard he has really high standards," Saffra confides, "so don't—y'know, don't get disappointed if…"
Glimmer rolls her eyes. "As if I couldn't get him," she says confidently, and Saffra just laughs and toasts her to it.
He asks her for a dance later that night and she accepts gracefully, shooting a smirk at Saffra over her shoulder. They twirl on the dance floor, moving as one, and Glimmer smiles to herself, relishing her victory. She ignores the voice in the back of her head whispering disappointedly that this was too easy as he leans his head in toward hers. The proximity makes her feel slightly uncomfortable, and she tries to avoid breathing in the scent of rum on his breath.
"I helped you out in the arena, you know," he whispers, tracing the curve of her jawline with his finger. She tries not to shudder. "The mutts never came for you. It would've just been such a shame…" His voice is oily slick and expectant, like he anticipates some compensation for saving her life without her knowledge. Her stomach turns at the thought of what he wants from her—what they all ever want—but she forces herself to remain pleasant.
She gives him her most winning smile. "Thank you so much," she says with as much warmth as she can muster, "I really appreciate it," and then politely excuses herself to find Saffra. She avoids him for the rest of the party.
When she goes back to her room to receive her placement for the night, printed on a thick sheet of cream-colored paper reeking of roses, she feels sick to her stomach.
Seneca Crane is not beautiful or intelligent or cunning. He is sick, ruthless, a Capitol man through and through. She thinks he's pathetic for doing this to her—for having to do this to her.
She goes to his room anyway.
A/N: I guess it's bad form or whatever to double-A/N, but anyway, props to swinging from mars for once again reading over my stuff and dealing with all of my questions. And Jess: there's a lot of fish in the sea, but you're the only one I want. (; Happy birthday!