AN This is my first attempt at any sort of Hunger Games fanfiction. It's going to be Hayffie heavy with some smatterings of the children. Your reviews are always appreciated and I am going to attempt to update on a weekly schedule. I've fixed this chapter since I apparently left out the last two paragraphs.
What happened to Effie when she was in Capitol prison? To what lengths did Haymitch go to save her?
Once. Twice. Three times. The baton cracked against her once beautifully tended face, the porcelain makeup and extravagant colors long wiped away by rough hands and burning tears. It had been replaced by mottled bruises in varying shades of blue, green, and purple and the blood. There was always blood. It trickled down from her forehead, dried and began to flake away like a snake shedding her scales before it was replaced once more, aggravated by the angry hand of her captors. Sparked by her lack of speaking, lack of fighting. Below the blood and bruising, you could almost see the Capitol, aching to escape. Her haughty nose and high cheekbones, full lips, but the air of exclusivity that once surrounded her was gone. Replaced by a sense of shame, defeat, and bitter hatred. Effie Trinket was no longer Capitol. Long gone was any obligation to or love for the corrupt government that was now holding her here and attempting by any means they possessed to get her to spill secrets of the impending rebellion. If she was anything anymore, it was stubborn.
"You gonna talk?" the peacekeeper in charge spat. His messy black hair stuck up at odd angles and his hawk nose was crooked from a break that happened long ago, the man was a veteran of the peacekeeping force and personally appointed by President Snow as the head of the primary political prison's 'Information' division. Her odd grimace said more than any words could. He walked around the chair she was sitting in like a predator, baton swinging wildly at her, never actually striking her face. The man laughed at her flinching. "You're such a coward. Just give up already! Just give it up!" He sounded irate, incredibly irritated with her refusal to speak at his provocations. His prowling halted and he paused in front of her, placing his hands on the arms of her bare metal chair. The man put his lips to her ear and hissed "What do you know about Thirteen?" Effie gave him no response. His temper flared once more "What do you know about Thirteen!?" Lazarus screamed, she could feel flecks of his saliva land on her bare skin. Show no weakness. For them. Effie did not flinch away from the voice that stung her ear drums. The man grabbed a hold of the collar of the once grey uniform she wore and picked her up off of the chair before throwing her to the ground. "Tell- me- what- you- know!" Each word was punctuated by a kick to her gut, Lazarus' frustration was becoming obvious. The only sounds that left her body were unladylike grunts of pain. His fury found a stop, and with a final, frustrated kick to the stomach of the frail woman on the floor, he stormed from the room, the steel door slammed behind him.
The lower ranking peacekeepers who stood guard at the door were unapologetic in their continued observance of her struggle. It's a good day. He didn't pull a knife on me. He didn't... Effie immediately pushed the sickening thoughts from her mind, knowing that she didn't currently have the strength to deal with them now. The wall of optimism she was known for was difficult to maintain in the given circumstances, but in the optimism laid hope. He is starting to give up. Maybe he will forget about me. Effie hoped for death now, it was her only consolation. She lost count of the days she had spent in here, they blended together as she drifted in and out of consciousness. The pain was sometimes far too much for the woman who was refusing prison rations out of the stubbornness she had picked up from the headstrong people she was surrounded with in recent times. Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch. Haymitch. Fucking hell- Language, Effie! Her rigid social expectations were so deeply ingrained within her that despite the lack of an audience to overhear her thoughts and the knowledge that the only reason her manners ever existed in the capacity that they did was because of the Capitol's strict enforcement of such social constraints. The very same Capitol that she served for so long, that has set out to destroy her in search of answers she did not possess, the Capitol that has betrayed the loyalty Effie Trinket left unquestioned for so long. But the etiquette was still there, despite everything the Capitol had done to her, had taken from her, she still followed some of their most petty and controlling social standards.
Hours seemed like minutes on the concrete floor of that bare room. Effie's mind took her through her years as an escort, the first girl and boy she ever reaped. It was a privilege then. I was worshiped. "What is District 12 like? Are they savages? What's it like to be a part of the glamor? The action?" They never knew. I never knew. How can I blame them? Her tributes barely made it past the forty minute mark that first year. She and Haymitch hadn't secured a single sponsor for any of their tributes until the 72nd Hunger Games when Effie convinced an older gentleman to give a small donation to the cause. The cause, of course, being her undeniable feminine charm. He was also their last sponsor until the 74th games. Effie let her thoughts take her away to a happier time, to a time when she was ignorant and high on Capitol bullshit, not realizing that she was beginning to fall asleep.
Effie was awoken to the feeling of warmth. Her eyes flashed open, knowing that something wasn't right. The two peacekeepers from before had been instructed by Lazarus to give Effie Trinket a shower. Despite everything she had been through in this god-forsaken place, this was by far the least dignified she had ever felt in her life. Effie's mind was blank, there were no words that captured the horror she felt. The burning in her nose was worse than before, the stench make her want to gag. Old blood, sweat, semen, and piss caked her skin and clothes. It would have been in her hair, but the day she arrived they had shaved her head and burnt her wig. Ridding her of any sense of femininity, any sense of sexuality beyond that of an object.
On that first day, Lazarus told Effie that he hoped Haymitch wouldn't mind if he "Took a turn with his whore." Effie did not make a sound when Lazarus took his 'turn'. She did not make a sound when Lazarus gave his guards permission to do what they pleased with her. She did not make a sound when they did what they pleased with her. She did not make a sound through the fingers, the knives, the butts and barrels of recently fired guns even though they seared her flesh at least they cauterized the wounds left behind by their predecessors, still she did not make a sound because that would be giving them something. But they called to her anyway. "Effie, Effie we know you want it." "You gave it up so easily to the drunk and you were a real woman then." "Now you're just for us." It was worse when they didn't speak, when they just grunted and emptied themselves in or on her. It was easier to pretend that it was someone else then, and they had shamed her into believing the idea of there ever being a 'someone else' was repulsive. Dirty. Shameful. That she was unworthy of the love she had given so freely during her time as an escort. That Effie Trinket was no better than a doll, a toy used for carnal pleasures and nothing else.
By the time she had vacated her thoughts, the men were done relieving themselves. Her nose and eyes stung from the odor emitted by their urine. It had splattered everywhere, covering her torso and the concrete floor beneath of her, trickling slowly into the drain in the center of the room. "Glad to see you're awake, Miss Trinket." Lazarus sneered from the door he was leaning so casually against. His hair was coiffed and he looked polished today, much more so than the day before. "We have a big, big day today." the sick smile he wore was enough to send a shudder through Effie's battered body and the slow and predatory once over he gave her with his eyes was enough for her to try to strain against her cuffs to cover herself. "Ah ah ah." Lazarus wagged a finger at her before motioning to the men who had emptied their bladders on her earlier to pick her up. "Get her up, boys. We're going on a field trip." You will not cry. You will not show emotion. You are a wall. A wall. Think about anything else, anything else but him and this. Haymitch. Think about Haymitch and the children. They're safe. They have to be safe.