A/N: I own nothing. I gain nothing from writing this. I am nothing more than a happy Hayffie shipper.
It's that time of year again. Reaping Day.
I sit on a cold stone bench in the main lobby of the Justice Building, staring down at my flask and taking an occasional swig.
"Ahem."
I look up from my drink to see a woman standing in front of me.
The first thing that goes through my head is "clown." Why? Because she is wearing a pink curly wig and enough makeup to force me to question her ethinicity. Not to mention the poofy pink dress with purple polka dots. Oh, and the gloves. But I digress.
"Can I help you, Sweetheart?" I ask, as politely as I can manage. We District citizens are always supposed to treat people from the Capital with the utmost respect and gratitude. Even today.
"Indeed you can." Ugh. Her accent is as stuck-up as her arms. "I must speak with Mayor Undersee. If you would be so kind as-"
"Why?"
She looks startled by my interruption. "Why?" she repeats, pronouncing the 'H' I seem to have forgotten.
"Why do you need to talk to the mayor?" I clarify.
She recovers with a tight smile. "Ah. Well, you see, I am Effie Trinket, District Twelve's new Escort, and-"
"What happened to the old guy?" I cut her off again. She looks startled again. This is fun.
She hesitates. "He is... unable to return to his post this year."
Translation: He's dead.
"Don't sugarcoat things for me, Sweetheart," I say, managing to get to my feet without tipping over. I knew I should've brought more whiskey...
She glares up at me. "Never mind, Mr. Abernathy. I will locate the mayor on my own."
I burp.
She gasps, and marches off with a toss of her head and the click-click-click of her heels on the concrete.
I guess she isn't completely mindless.
"Hey, hold on a minute, Sweetheart," I say, rolling my eyes. Effie doesn't stop, so I run to catch up with her. After all, it's not everyday you get to escort an Escort.
A/NN: Thank you for reading!