Drunk
"Haymitch Abernathy!" Effie bellows.
It's late at night and a stink of liquor and alcohol lingers on her lips. The victor watches her tiny figure stumble into the dining room of the train, ready to go back home after another defeat of unsuccessful mentoring.
Both are still relatively young; Haymitch being eighteen and Effie, nineteen – by what, two months? – Whatever, she's already way too old for him.
"The victor of the fiftieth annual Hunger Games!" she laughs.
She's clearly drunk. Very, incredibly, excessively drunk. He can tell by the way she stumbles into the room, knocking over chairs and giggling as she bumps into another. A bottle of fiery liquid is evident in her hand. Effie rambles to herself. Frankly he's too tired for this and rubs his eyes; thank God, he's going back home tomorrow… well, back to an empty house.
"…God, little did I know you were just a dick."
The choice of word makes Haymitch furrow his eyebrows. She said what?
"You're such an asshole, y'know that?!"
Now her words are definitely slurring and she's got his full, frustrated, yet confused attention. Her face is meek and pulls back a second once their eyes catch but she doesn't stop.
"Yeah," she says almost to reassure herself, the liquid sloshing side to side as she walks closer towards Haymitch, who's waiting impatiently on the sofa. "You, sir," she sneers, "are an awful human being."
He would argue but honestly she's right, not that he cares. Besides she's drunk, let her have her fun before she regrets it.
"Y'know, I try so hard but I just don't know anymore! I don't know, Haymitch!"
He wonders if she's actually talking to him. In sober circumstances she would never let her accent deteriorate, or even dare say a bad word about him. Regardless the fun of watching her drunk has raised a smile, but it's time to sleep. "Effie," he begins standing up in protest, "you need to–"
"Don't tell me what to do!" she shrills and Haymitch recoils at her power. "You, just, you…!" Effie searches for words but can't make anything happen and just drinks more. Haymitch takes a seat, defeated.
"I tried so hard!" Effie exclaims, "I went through grammar school, the etiquette school, look, I even have the certificate to show it!" Haymitch doesn't care or want to see it but she's scrambling through the drawers. "See?!" She exhibits the paper and he nods awkwardly. "Like nothing I do is ever enough!" she huffs, puffing a sigh and deflates next to him dramatically. She's taken a seat next to Haymitch, precariously closer than they've ever been before but she's too drunk to care about personal space. Haymitch, however, shuffles back. Her bottle of alcohol hits the table with a loud clang before being hushed by the silence; Effie lays her head against it and sulks with a deep frown and sobs like a little kid.
"I just want you to like me!" she confesses, squealing at Haymitch and bolting upright. He looks slightly terrified. "I thought we could have a lovely romance between victor and escort and it was going to be full of rainbows and sparkles and be what dreams are made of but, no, you are just," she sniffs, "MISERABLE, all the time!" She rolls her eyes at him. "And y'know, I actually do really like you, okay, not just because of your looks or the fact you won the Games, although," Effie fidgets in her seat awkwardly, "that may be one of the reasons why, BUT, I still like you as a person, even though you're snarky and mean and I wish you weren't this ridiculous asshole all the time because it is absolutely exhausting when you're that person and I have to 'figure you out', y'know?"
Effie looks confused at her own words and presses her lips to the bottle again, but Haymitch takes it away. "I think you need to go to sleep, sweetheart." It's the first time that he's ever called her that and it makes her feel warm and fuzzy.
"Will you carry me?" she asks daintily.
"No."
…Shouldn't have expected more, she realizes even in her drunken state. "Whatever," she breathes, forcing herself to stand up and wobbling. Effie snatches the bottle from the table and takes a swig walking to her room. "Au revoir," she manages to say and looks over her shoulder to see Haymitch's planned and confused expression. "It's French for goodbye," she says dully, matter-of-factly, "I learnt it in etiquette school." Effie sassily whips her head back and walks on ahead.
"By the way, you're still a dickhead."
Haymitch chuckles and she bites her lip at the succession, her heart leaping with joy but she has to keep her composure. Finally she exits the room.
He stays in the dining room for a moment, thinking about their sudden interaction. Eventually he stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets and stands up, grinning at how much fun he was going to have in the morning and from now on with this tidbit of information.
One night I absolutely could not get to sleep, so naturally I wrote some Hayffie loveliness, HAHAHA. Thank you for reading, reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!