Prompt : okay so I'm going to prompt you with a line you wrote: "She had told him once that he had a gift to strike right where it hurt." i'm sorry, i needed this ;) also sorry for adding to your ridiculously long list of prompts!

Victors Always Strike True

The words were pouring out of his mouth, more heinous with each passing second, but still Effie stood straight and took them all in stride without batting an eyelash. He thought he could stop if only she would flinch, if only she would act like something else than a human-sized Capitol doll, like another mindless drone.

"You're such a robot." he snarled, looking her up and down in her tropical-themed dress with huge multicolored flowers that looked just like real ones would. His eyes lingered on her legs, on the crossing laces of her heels that went up to her mid-calf, they darted to the jungle green wig twisted on her head, on the flowers clipped in the synthetic hair and his lips tightened into a sneer. Something twisted in his belly and he wanted to claim it was loathing and disgust but he knew better, he fucking knew better and it only increased the hatred he felt for her. "You feel nothing. You picked up these kids' names. You did this. You chose them. You brought them here to die. And you stand there and ask me to lay down on the booze? They're dead, Trinket. Another pair dead. And you just don't care at all, do you?"

After his outburst, the silence in the penthouse felt eerie. The TV screen was still on but the Games were on mute and he could see the boy from Five and the girl from Two locked in a deadly fight. And his escort stood there, with her back to the TV, not even watching the show for which so many kids died every year, acting as if it was all nothing. She had been working with him for two years and while she was better with the kids than any other escort he ever had, she was also cold. He didn't understand how she could look so bubbly and happy all the time but be so cold when she just watched two kids she had taken care of for days being killed right in front of her eyes.

If only she would just react…

"Are you done?" she asked quietly.

He wasn't.

"You killed them." he accused again. "You exchanged them against fifteen minutes on TV and a few pictures in the magazines. You killed those kids to be famous. You're shallow and disgusting and, maybe you want to be the next hit girl, but you will never succeed. You're only Twelve's escort. Twelve's escorts never do anything. We're the Districts' failure. You're a failure."

Finally, she flinched.

He was expecting pleasure at hurting her, he was expecting to rejoice at her pain, but all he felt was more self-loathing.

Her mask was back in place so fast he could have sworn he had imagined it. She clasped her hands and her lips stretched into an easy-going grin.

"Well, now that you are done insulting me, I have paperwork to fill." she declared. "Be my guest and do get drunk but don't expect me to pick you up afterwards. If you drown in a puddle of your own vomit, it won't be my problem, Haymitch."

She stormed past him or at least, she intended to. He grabbed her arm. It surprised her, she spun around and couldn't hide the flash of fear in time. He let her go immediately. He didn't enjoy seeing fear in women's eyes when they looked at him, even Capitols.

They stared at each other for the longest time, glared really. She was waiting for him to speak but he didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure there was anything to say. He took a step closer, not exactly knowing where he was going with that and, just like earlier, she refused to step back, to flinch, to do anything but standing there and looking defiant. Even when there was next to no space left between them she didn't step back, didn't walk away. He almost wanted her to.

"Stop." she ordered. It came out strangely breathless and strangled.

"Stop me." he dared, placing his hands on her waist. She wasn't as bony as he had expected, and he almost groaned when he pulled her hips against his. She didn't try to stop him even when his mouth crashed on hers. Her lips were pliant under his and, soon, she was kissing back with teeth and tongue and an eagerness that told him he hadn't been the only one thinking about it since day one. "Should have known…" he taunted against her mouth. "You've got the hots for me, sweetheart. 'Can't decide what's more pathetic : being Twelve's escort or crushing on their drunkard victor."

He hadn't particularly meant it as an insult, he was just stating a fact, but she must have thought he was mocking her from the start because she pushed him away this time and not nicely – she was strong for such a frail-looking woman and maybe he was drunker than he had thought.

"You have a gift to strike where it hurts, you know." she snapped, storming out as if she was being chased by the devil.

He didn't know why she was so surprised.

He was a victor.

Victors always strike true.