In District Five, dissent crackles like alternating current; in District Eleven, it jumps from the crown of one apple tree to the next. She was too clever to die. He was just too damn stubborn and tenacious to know how. And their escort apparently has Very Important Reasons for keeping them locked up in their Capitol apartment, none of which, it seems, can be revealed.
The combined effect of these simple components is as follows: Foxface (she never liked her real name anyway) and Thresh have too much time on their hands.
"Help me practice." Her almost-hazel eyes have hat hollow, cold look he's seen all too frequently onscreen. I'll do what I have to, it whispers. Pragmatism trumps fear.
Thresh looks at her, uncomprehending. "For what?"
"Snow sells us. Our bodies. I have three siblings at home and I want to be good at this. You'll help me, won't you? For Linnea."
Part of him wonders: how does she even know his camera-detesting sister's name?- and part of him thinks that this is massively fucked up. On the other hand, she looks so delicate in that green wrap dress hugging her frame, and he can't help but wonder what it would be like to touch her. The unnaturally colored Capitol women spook him- he's noticed the way they leer at his muscular chest. Whereas Foxface is… Foxface. Thresh knows her, even if he'll never understand her. So he shrugs. "Fine."
She smiles, a sly, devious expression. "Take off your shirt."

Several minutes later, Thresh lies spread-eagled on his bed, his limbs tied to the bedposts. He gives the strip of sheet an experimental tug, but the knots hold fast.
Foxface kneels above him, inexplicably still clothed. He's pretty sure that that wasn't part of her original proposal, but it's hard to think when she starts talking so quickly, throwing in terms from long-dead languages (and he knows she wouldn't be able to tell if half of those terms were just made up), let alone argue back when she decides what she wants.
"Lights off." Responding to her command, the room goes dark. It grows only marginally darker when her bony hands tie a blindfold over his face.
Even back home, when night held none but the usual unpleasantries, Thresh was never fond of the dark. Posessed of worse-than-usual night vision, he'd blunder into low-hanging branches that scraped his face. (The younger children needed the night-vision goggles more than he did, anyway.)
Her fingertips sweep over his shoulders. "I'm not going to hurt you, Thresh."
Just as his muscles start to untense, she pinches him. Her nails are sharp, and he fails to suppress a hiss of pain. "Thought you said you weren't going to hurt me."
"I lied." Movement. "Now, what do I need to do first…"
Thresh squeezes his eyes shut. What do you think you're doing, he wants to say. So you can outthink me- does that make you happy? Well, he won't give her the satisfaction of a response, no matter how involuntary. He steels himself, detatching his consciousness from his body-
Nothing. Maybe she just wants to see how long he'll take to get bored. Thresh allows his guard to slip.
Slim fingers rest on the bulge in his underwear. Thresh makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, instinctively trying to move his hips away.
Foxface chuckles. "You're ticklish."
"Am not." Realization thuds into him. He may be a head taller than her and significantly broader, but in this moment the scrawny, calculating girl holds all the power, and he knows that she knows it. "You done yet?"
Foxface feigns innocence. "I've only just started. Now, let's see- or not, in your case." She makes a calculating sound, and her hands move- lower, easing his last piece of clothing off-
"What-"
"Ssh. This is for practice, remember?"
- then in circles, tapping and rubbing by turns, never quite moving to where he really wants them to go- or doesn't want them to?- no, does, definitely does. "You're not there yet." His voice sounds guttural, low, almost unrecognizable.
"There as in here? Perhaps if I try-"
"Nnn- yes. Yeah." It feels like she's tormenting him, although not deliberately. Thresh can picture her studying him, as if he's a logic puzzle, an equation to be rearranged and worked out: what happens if I do this?It's his last semi-coherent thought for several minutes, and the room's silent except for his own low grunts.
Afterwards, floating in a blissful, faraway haze, he half-hears her feet padding on the carpet, the sound of the faucet running as she washes her hands.
"Well." The lights click back on; Thresh squints against the brightness. A few red tendrils have strayed from Foxface's updo, curling across her face, and she tucks them back before reaching forward to unbind his limbs. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Shrugging, Thresh looks away, hiding a small smile. It was actually pretty good, but he's not sure he wants to give her the satisfaction of letting her know. A response drifts into his head. "Next time I'm tying you up."
Foxface chuckles. "Oh, sure."
Even so, she'll probably still be able to catch him off guard.