It isn't long after they started working together that he sees her without the inch-thick make-up and the lush up-do of her hair. It's only two days into the games, they lost the girl at the blood bath that happened right at the beginning. He had more than the usual amount of liquor and has passed out in his room.
Effie already knows how this works.
He'd drink himself half to death and sleep for two days. It's their third games together and (after he had given her the shock of a lifetime when he passed out and wouldn't wake up for ages) she has learned by now to make sure he won't choke on his own vomit and to leave him some water for when he wakes up. She leaves the TV on in the living room, sets it on mute and heads to her room to get ready for bed.
Taking off her make up in the evening had become a routine she cherished. It gave her time to herself and to think. She started with her eyelashes, carefully peeling the ornamented fakes from her eyes, the feathers, branches or swirls. Then she went on to swipe the colour from her cheeks, her forehead, nose and chin. Her eyes she'd leave for last, by then having distanced herself from horrors she had seen that day.
As she looks at herself in the mirror, all wiped clean from the Capitol colours, her hair tugged back, almost dazed by her thoughts, she hears a noise. Turning in her seat in front of the vanity, she already catches a glimpse of him in the mirror. "Haymitch, are you alright?" she says, surprised. He holds on to the door frame, slightly swaying. He stares at her though hazy, drunken eyes. "You're beautiful." She only comes up with an answer when he is long gone.