Because they know what I've been hidin' [closed]

[fusshionable]

Who| Porrim and Nick
What| having a Talk about the state of things now that they're not legally allowed to bone
Where| One of the blind spots in the city
When| after Cyrus's broadcast
Warnings/Notes| language, discussion of sex



It really does figure, that the minute Porrim manages to find someone who's both good at sex and nice to look at, who gives her just as much shit as she dishes out without being a baby about it, and who goes along with her pseudo-mysterious bullshit without trying to poke holes in her mystique, someone goes and makes the whole thing illegal.

In truth, she's more annoyed than she is worried. The worst that could happen here is that she loses her job, and considering the fact that Stephen Reagan somehow still has his job, she's pretty sure she's okay. But she also recognizes that she should probably be sensible about this, considering her brand-spanking-new alignment with the burgeoning Tribute rebellion. She needs to be careful, or it'll be more than just her tongue on the line. So she sucks it up, and leaves Nick a handwritten note in his suite, telling him to meet her at the Capitol's art museum.

She waits for him on the steps, dressed in black pants and a soft black sweater, hair in a ponytail, round, black glasses over her eyes. Her heart is heavy; she hates to have to do this when things are just getting good. But it has to be this way.

Comments

[fusshionable]

She catches that--she's sharp, she's got excellent hearing, and he's not subtle in the least--but she pretends not to. She's not interested in this turning into petty bickering. "Better pencil it in, then," she says airly, slowing down so that he can catch up.

"Of course we are," comes her next reply, like it's a no-brainer. She can't exactly explain why they're meeting here until they get to the blind spot itself, so he'll just have to wait until then. She takes her time, pausing every now and then, pretending to admire an absolutely massive painting of President Snow that has a room all to itself, and it's a few minutes until they arrive at the archway that she's learned is a safe place to talk.

Casually, she leans against the wall inside of it, glancing around to make sure they're alone before beckoning Nick closer. "Here. Now we can talk," she says lightly. "No cameras, no mics."

[streetsmarts]

Maybe if he were a less suspicious person, Nick would take this at face value and assume they really are just here to look at paintings and shit. It's obviously more than that, but probably not to anyone but him and her. She's clever, he'll grant her that much, but he's still rolling his eyes exaggeratedly as he follows her.

"Of course we are." He mimics under his breath, his brattiness a very deliberate move on his part. He doesn't bother to look or act interested in anything, because it isn't the part he needs to play. He glances blandly around at everything until she catches his attention with a beckon and holds it with her words.

His brows lift upward in surprise but his face shifts into a skeptical look very quickly. "Yeah? Say something naughty then." She brought him here, she can be the sacrificial lamb.

[fusshionable]

He's really such a brat, and it baffles her that someone can be so childish and yet so very good in the sack. She should be more surprised by the way he decides to test her statement, but she's also aware that if she doesn't comply, it's her word as a Capitolite that he's relying on. So Porrim lets herself comply without a fuss, lets her mouth twist into a smirk and her eyes go a little dark.

"If it weren't for the fact that anyone could walk past, I'd fuck you right up against this archway, Cyrus Reagan be damned." Her expression clears, but there's still a sort of smugness around her lips. "Naughty enough for you?"

[streetsmarts]

The two traits have never been mutually exclusive, though truly Nick doesn't think he's childish at all. He's just rolling with all the tricks and tangles she's trying to put him through, because not only is she a woman but she's one of those women. It wouldn't be right if she weren't trying to fuck him over from the dick up, of course.

He doesn't expect her to be quite so, what's the word, frank. We'll go with frank. He doesn't expect it and he leans away, brows raised and lips pressed together like they're school kids and she just said a dirty word.

"Nah." He says, as noncommittally as possible. "Naughty enough would be actually doing it, but you don't play to lose do you, Princess?" He quirks an eyebrow, forcing something a little more icy in his demeanor so he doesn't weaken at the faint prospect of sex. "Fact is, what you want and what you can do aren't one and the same in that gilded cage of yours, right? So you're going to tell me in the best words possible that we're stopping whatever the hell we're doing and I'mmmm. Well. I'm gonna get over it real fast, trust me." Callous? Yes. Sincere? Not as much as he'd like to be. "So tell me, am I on the money here?"

[fusshionable]

Her expression shifts, subtly at first--to a hard sort of sternness, playing at annoyed by the way he's calling her out. But by the time he's done talking, she can't help but let a little of her hurt show through. She's not expecting him to be a step ahead of her already. And she's mad at herself for not expecting that. So she purses her lips.

"You're not wrong," she agrees quietly. And now she's going to look like an idiot if she says what she'd originally intended to: that she's game to try and find a way to work this out, if he is. That she's enjoyed their time together, brief as it's been, enjoyed it enough to want more despite it being very much illicit. But his assertion that he's going to get over it fast hurts, too, and her shoulders drop back defensively.

"I didn't think you'd be so quick to get over me," she goes on. "But if it's that easy for you, then it won't be hard for me, either." She turns her head, pretending that she's watching for interlopers, but really she just needs an excuse to gather herself, to keep from looking weak. To pretend that she hasn't gotten attached.

[streetsmarts]

It's a selfish little method of self-preservation, but Nick barely realises he's doing it to stop himself from getting hurt. Their relationship had a power imbalance from the start, he's always been ready for her to get bored or belittle him some way. Now it's different, now it's like she cares or something and it makes him feel weird the way she seems invested in protect his feelings.

He hates it. It makes him feel small and powerless and the only control he has is the control to end this before she gets a chance to. He doesn't know he's dooming himself out of something more with his terrible attitude, he just thinks he's cutting his losses.

"Yeah, well. It is what it is, isn't it?" He's starting to hear himself, and he sounds like a dick, but it's hard to stop at this point. "I'm just saying, if you're trying to let me down easy, don't bother. We'll just fuck people who won't get us arrested." And still be friends? Should he say that? No.. No... That sounds stupid.

[fusshionable]

It was stupid of her, to develop any sort of attachment toward him in the first place, knowing even before it was officially against the rules that they shouldn't be doing what they did. And now, admitting to herself that she'd let feelings get involved is making the whole thing worse, because while he's not exactly what she'd call boyfriend material, he's exciting and wrong for her in all the right ways, and now he's being yanked away from her at exactly the wrong time.

And what's worse, he's being a dick about it, too. Part of her doesn't want to believe him, wants to think that this is just an act, but she also knows that he can be cruel, truly cruel, she's seen his Arena footage, and maybe this is just like that, only instead of a gun aimed at her heart, he's spitting harsh words.

"Guess so," she shoots back, tone clipped. She has to close herself off, has to detach before this gets messy. Draws attention. "I get your message. Loud and clear." Porrim levels her gaze back on him, letting a chill seep into her voice and expression. "Have fun fucking whoever, I guess."

[streetsmarts]

It probably comes too easily to him. He feels like he's lashing out too readily, he knows he's being an asshole. He's not sure he'd act any better if she weren't Capitol, but he knows he wouldn't care so much if she weren't special on some level. He doesn't want this, he isn't doing this because he wants it. He's doing it because it's the easy way out, the best way to leave with most of his dignity in tact.

Holding steady through this kind of shit, however, is way too easy. It's too easy to detach and tell himself he doesn't care, but he knows it will come around and bite him on the ass soon. It's why he shouldn't take the bait she's leaving in her tone and her words. He should just let her go and let them both be done with it, but he can't help prodding.

"Are you mad or something?" RIP Nick, your life was a joke.

[fusshionable]

That was completely the wrong thing to say, that much is evident in the way Porrim's eyes narrow at him like a lioness about to pounce. "Why would I be mad," she snips, "over you? That implies that I give a shit." Of course, that's a lie because she absolutely does give a shit, but she's not giving Nick the satisfaction of hearing it said aloud.

Really, she's the most annoyed about the fact that she'd been trying to be nice. That she'd been about to offer to work this through and he completely shat on her efforts. That's what she gets for being considerate, apparently. She won't make that mistake again.

Her gaze flickers away from him now in disinterest or maybe distaste. She's on autopilot now, pissed to the point where she's not even trying to be dismissive anymore, it's just happening. "I need to go. You should stick around. If you're lucky you might be able to pick up a date on your way out."