Happy 2017, hayffie fandom.
This was inspired by the first fifteen minutes of A Talented Mr. Ripley.
Chapter 1
A quiet snore rippled through the dimly lit room. On a sofa, sprawled a man in his early forties, an empty bottled clutched tightly to his chest.
A sliver of the afternoon sun filtered through the cracks of the window but oblivious to the setting of the moon and the rising of the sun, he slept on never realising that he had wasted half the day away.
Not that he cared about such trivialities.
The attitude was reflected in the state of his house. Empty bottles littered the floor. Some of the furniture was covered in a thin layer of dust. In a corner of the house, there was a clutter of an assortment of contraptions and items. Amongst those was an old camera with its lens cracked and a listening device.
He was startled awake from the kick to his foot and fumbled with the knife he kept stashed below the cushion, a pitiful attempt to defend himself against the intruder. His breathing had quickened and his eyes were wide, darting around him to take in his surroundings.
"Sloppy," Chaff snickered. "You used to be better."
He growled low under his breath and dropped the knife now that he knew there was no threat. Haymitch forced himself up and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms.
"We used to be better," he mumbled.
There had been a time when they were at the top of their game and that he would never have allowed Chaff to sneak up on him but those days were long gone. Time was just whittling by for him. He thought he would miss the action, the adrenaline rush and the excitement but he didn't quite mine his days lately. True, his skills were going to waste but –
There were things better left buried.
"Rent was due two days ago. I've settled it. Didn't come home yesterday, did you?"
It was not unusual for Chaff to spend the night away. He enjoyed his strings of one night stands as much as he enjoyed his drinks. Haymitch had no problem with that since it meant he had the house to himself for the most part.
"Clean yourself up, man," Chaff instructed instead of answering his question. "We've got a meeting with - let me correct myself -" he grinned, "you've got a meeting – a potential client."
"Client?" Haymitch asked with a frown. "We don't take clients. Not since…"
"Yeah, that's what I straight up told 'em but they insisted on meeting you."
"I ain't interested," Haymitch waved it away, leaning forward to grab a bottle from the floor. "Bet it's something boring – cheating spouses, gotta be the worst of the lot."
"Won't know till you meet them," Chaff chuckled. "They came together so cheating spouse is out of the scenario. You should be interested anyway. It's the Trinkets."
His brows crinkled. The name sounded strangely familiar to him. City people, he supposed, someone famous. That line of thought proved to be correct when Chaff grunted impatiently at him.
"Come on, man. Trinket means money. They're loaded with it. Lysandra Trinket… Ring any bell? She was a model."
"Right," Haymitch nodded distractedly, remembering a time long gone when his mother had uttered that name while they were watching a television show together.
"The pension we're getting is all well and good, my friend, but we're wasting it on this dump and a failing practice. I don't know about you, buddy, but at some point in my life, I want to be able to use that money and maybe move outta this town, use it for something other than rent and – "
"If you just stop paying for the drinks of some random women who wandered into this town and visit the brothel a little less, you'd have – "
"Hey," Chaff chuckled but the warning was clear in his voice.
Haymitch backed off. They all have their vices and Chaff had never lectured him about drinking too much… Probably because he drank too much just as well.
Chaff rubbed his face with his good hand. "They heard about how you found Iris Everdeen."
"That was a long time ago," Haymitch scowled. "Who went 'round talking 'bout that? The boy?"
"It was in the local papers," Chaff pointed out. "Anyone could have stumbled on it without your kids opening their mouths. Point is – the Trinkets want to meet you. I say give it a go and see what they've got to say. Primrose is doing a fine job chatting 'em up to buy you time so I suggest you clean up and head out."
XxX
Mellark's Bakery was a short five minutes' walk away from his house. As he neared, the sweet fragrance of freshly baked pastries wafted over to him. Haymitch took comfort at the probability that even if this meeting was going to be a waste of his time – and it would be – he would still get fed.
Before he entered, Haymitch peered through the glass window to have a look. Chaff was right. The pair of them stood out like a sore thumb.
At the same time, he also understood Chaff's comment about associating the Trinkets with money. They fit the perfect stereotype of the rich and snobbish, the woman most of all with the small, perfectly trimmed poodle on her lap, the hair that was styled to perfection and heavily sprayed, the pair of gold heels that Haymitch was quite sure she had a hard time walking in given the rough, uneven streets in the town and the air of superiority that Haymitch gleaned off her. The man was wearing a fine tailored suit with cuffs that glittered distractedly from the reflection of the overhead lights in the bakery and was drinking slowly from his cup of tea.
He supposed Chaff was right, once again. The woman did look a little familiar but Haymitch had never paid much attention to the entertainment industry to recall if she was indeed a former model.
With an irritated grunt that Chaff had pulled him out of the house for this, Haymitch pushed the door open. The bell jingled to signal his arrival.
At the sight of him, Prim's eyes lighted up.
"Oh, he's here," Prim informed the couple.
Haymitch approached them and nodded his thanks at Prim. The Trinkets rose as one to greet him only to blink in surprise when he dropped on to the seat across from them, effectively ignoring the man's outstretched hand.
"Take a seat," Haymitch gestured and chuckled, "no need to remain standing for my sake."
Acting against his potential clients' expectations of him during the first meeting was something he enjoyed. It unnerved and unsettled them, and Haymitch found them to be more vulnerable and forthcoming in that state. Defensive clients made his job difficult.
The woman, Lysandra Trinket, huffed indignantly before abruptly turning to confront her husband.
"Are you absolutely certain this is a good idea, Stefan? I am beginning to have doubts. He hardly has an office! A meeting in a bakery… Honestly."
"Be quiet now, Lysandra," Stefan Trinket chided quietly but firmly. "We talked about this and he might be our only chance yet."
Haymitch took this all in with amusement.
Their urgent whispers were broken when Prim came over to their table with three cinnamon rolls for Haymitch along with a cup of black coffee.
"Thanks, kid," he muttered.
"You're welcome," Prim smiled before asking if the Trinkets would like a refill.
Haymitch liked the kid. There was no pretentious air about her just like Katniss. Prim was sweet and kind, and sometimes he thought, too generous for this cutthroat world.
"Chaff told me you wanted to see me?" Haymitch addressed them. "I'm assuming there's something important or you'd just be wastin' my time here."
"Truly, that is not the way to speak to your clients," the woman frowned. "Now, before we proceed, it is only appropriate to introduce ourselves. I'm Lysandra Trinket and this is my husband, Stefan. We are here with a request of utmost importance."
"I'm sure," Haymitch mumbled.
"I hope you realised that under normal circumstances, you will not be our first choice," she went on.
That intrigued him. Whatever her request would be, he was sure there would be others more capable than him where she came from.
"But?" Haymitch prompted.
"I have to admit, your social status – or lack thereof lately – makes you perfect for the job. You also have a commendable success rate."
"What's the job exactly...?"
"It's our daughter," Stefan spoke up. "Euphemia… She hasn't been around for a while now…"
"Euphemia is our youngest as I'm sure you know," Lysandra added.
He did not. The Trinkets might have a famous family legacy but he was not aware of them much.
"By far, she is the most stubborn of my three children. As Stefan mentioned, she has not been home in years, always going on and on about looking for something. Her desire to not be associated with being "Lysandra Trinket's daughter" is getting quite tiring. Your job is to locate her and persuade her to come home. I have had enough and it ends now."
His brows shot up in surprise at the request, which he had to admit, was the first of its kind. He snorted in laughter.
Behind the counter where Peeta and Katniss were pretending not to be too interested in the meeting, they paused and gave a curious glance in their direction.
"Is something amusing you, Mr. Abernathy? Our situation is dire. You found those girls' mother. She was missing for months from what I read."
"Bet you didn't read the article properly, yeah? Iris spaced out and couldn't cope. Lost her way quite literally one day and never made it home. She was missing. I searched for her, I found her and I brought her home to her kids. I did no persuading. Your daughter on the other hand… She sure as hell doesn't sound like she's missing."
"It is the same difference," Lysandra argued.
If she was this way with her children, then Haymitch was not surprised her daughter decided to take off.
"You locate their whereabouts and you talk to them about coming home. There is nothing different than what I am asking of you. Our daughter is missing, Mr. Abernathy."
"Not truly," Stefan muttered softly.
"You said she's missing, your husband doesn't seem to think so. I don't think she's missing. Probably had enough of you and decided to go her own way," Haymitch said. "Give her a break."
"Mr. Abernathy," Stefan leaned forward. "It is a matter of technicality but what is true is that our family misses her, including me. She is my daughter. I want her found and I persuaded my wife to seek you out. We can engage someone else, that is not an issue but this is a delicate matter. My daughter will not appreciate the attention that it will bring if I were to engage …. You used to have a PI firm."
"That's the operative word here, yeah? Used to."
"You have the necessary skills. Skills never leave you, Mr. Abernathy, they never abandon you. It will always be here," Stefan tapped his temple. "You can help us find our daughter."
"What my husband is not saying is that you are a has-been Mr. Abernathy," Lysandra added and ignored the look Stefan sent her way. "Nobody will be paying attention to you. We do not need to alert the entire City that the situation is so fraught we have been forced to engage someone to help us. Can you imagine the headlines in the papers and social media? It will be a PR nightmare."
"You ever tried asking her nicely to… come home for a visit?"
"Before we came here, we sent Seneca Crane to bring her home. He is a dear friend of my daughter but it did not have the desired outcome."
"Yes," Stefan nodded in agreement. "We believe now that sending Seneca or anyone that my daughter knows will only spook and drive her further away. She thinks we are manipulating her in that sense and it creates a larger rift."
"You sent someone after her to her location which means she's not missing," Haymitch stared pointedly at Lysandra. "You know where she is."
"We did back then. We knew where she was but now, we only have the faintest idea of where she might be," Stefan admitted. "She has been careful to keep that information to herself. It was our fault. Like I've said, asking Seneca for that favour only pushed her further away from our reach."
"How much further?" Haymitch asked, curious.
"We believe she's in Asia."
"Asia..." he breathed out. "You're kidding me."
Haven't written a hayffie multi-chapter for months and I've had this in my drive for a few weeks now, debating back & forth about posting it. I know it is/will be set in a different continent so I hope you'll still give it a chance!