"If you've got somethin' to say, why don't you go ahead and spit it out?"

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"If you've got somethin' to say, why don't you go ahead and spit it out?"
( He's trying to figure out if the stuff's drinkable or not. )
"What d'you want now?"
"--- What on earth are you talking about?"
( She's not hungover... Honest. )
→ Open to Effie roleplayers!!
"What the hell are you screeching on about now?"
( She's only smiling because your pathetic attempts at a tough, uncaring facade are nothing but amusing.
--- Don't mistake that smile for fondness. )
She's in the large dining area, gazing miserably down at the tray in front of her while she pokes at unappetising lumps of 'food' with her fork. There's a light grumbling from her empty stomach, but she can't bring herself to sample the pathetic excuse for a portion that's been dumped messily onto her plate by the hateful rebel serving staff. She knows it's likely they don't expect her to try the food -- they're just waiting for the Capitol queen to throw a diva tantrum and make a fool of herself in a public setting -- but Effie won't let these uncivilised barbarians wear her down in such a way. It's with the grace of a true queen that she hesitantly lifts the fork, teeth daring to nibble off a small taste of -- whatever sorry excuse for food it is that sits on her fork.
"-- I don't suppose these people have ever heard of seasoning."
He's trying desperately to hide the aggressive red mark that's been left on his skin from a mouth far too eager, unhappy fingers reaching to tug at the collar of his shirt in the hopes of hiding any signs of the previous night's activities. The last thing he needs is anyone catching a glimpse of a woman's violent attempts at marking her territory -- he's not a man who appreciates being 'claimed', especially when he has no intentions of straying to begin with.