This is my first attempt at making Hunger Game Fanfic, so its basically an exercise in characterization. This takes place in the first book, and Haymitch/Effie is implied, but not necessarily romantically (although I'd like to think they eventually will be)
As always, I own nothing.
She hated it the most because in those few hours there was always hope.
That hope usually (for district twelve anyway) ended within the first few days. Every once and awhile it took a week. But it was always quick to die. She tried her hardest, tried to get as many sponsers as possible, but Twelve had a disadvantage of not being shiny enough. It was a poor district, the children barely feed enough (and often not even that) so they often weren't appealing to the sponsors who preferred the well-muscled careers who happily volunteered. No one volunteered in 12. It was a death sentence, and actually recognized as such.
She of course kept up appearances; the cheerful, exuberant girl who escorted the tributes. She was a good actor. Hardly anyone knew the truth. By the end of the 74th Hunger Games out of the two who did one was dead and the other was always drunk so no one would believe him anyway.
Haymitch and Effie had an arrangement. When they were alone, when it was just the two of them watching as thier tributes got slaughtered, there were no lies, no masks. She didn't have to play the happy-go-lucky princess, and he didn't have to play the charming Victor that he had to play amongst the sponsors.
She wondered if he hated these few hours as much as she did. They often sat together during these hours, the TV set not on, silent. She would sit on the couch, her heels off for once and curled beneathed her. Her make-up would be off, she would put that on closer to show time so it wasn't messed up before she had to make appearances. Her wig would sit on the arm of the chair.
Haymitch, as always, would have a bottle of something in his hand, although he didn't usually start drinking it till the last half-hour. They would just sit there trying to figure out how they were going to handle this year's tragedy.
This year there was even more hope, so she hated it even more. Because there was hope that Katniss, whose determination shone through would win. But if she did, Peeta would die. Peeta was also determined, but determined to survive long enough to make sure Katniss would be victor. Not long enough that Katniss would have to kill him.
She wasn't sure if she thought that was sweet or if she thought the boy was a complete idiot. But then the closest she had ever been to love was this crazy thing called friendship between her and Haymitch.
She hated this because she knew cheering for him would be against his wishes and cheering for Katniss to win would be promising his death. She didn't hate Katniss, so she didn't want to cheer for her death either. She hadn't cheered for any tribute since she was 14 and suddenly realized that it wasn't TV effects, that these children actually died (though she just told people she lost interest). But the hope these two installed made her want to cheer them on.
Damn them for giving her hope. She would have done better with the numbness of expected defeat.
And if anything showed how different this year was, it was that Haymitch had sat on the couch beside her instead of leaning against the bar, and in his hand was juice, which matched her own drink so she knew it wasn't alcohol. They had given Haymitch enough hope that he was trying sobriety.
This was either going to be their best year, or their worst year yet.