This may be a long fic, with numerous chapters, depending on how this pilot goes. I hope you enjoy! Rated T for later chapters.
It was another night, another event. Haymitch didn't see why the Capitol liked to parade him at all their fancy parties during the Victory Tour, especially when it meant carting him out all the way to the heart of Panem itself, but he wasn't going to complain that much. There was an open bar, and all of his few friends would be there, so he would go quietly enough. Plus it was a chance to meet the new escort for District Twelve in the Games next year – the last Escort had been promoted to District Eight – and he was yet to know who the replacement was.
The party was in full swing when Haymitch finally arrived, the edges of reality already blurred by alcohol, and people all around him were greeting him merrily, clapping him on the shoulder and complimenting him on his suit. He batted them all away good-naturedly – sure, they were all idiots who supported – no, enjoyed – watching Hell on Earth but they had never really known any different. If anything, he could hate their parents for letting them grow up that way. Most of them were pleasant enough anyway, and he had not had to pay for a drink at a party yet.
The room was magnificent – the President had willingly given up his ballroom for the night for the victor's party, and anyone and everyone involved in the Hunger Games in any way was invited. There were past mentors, present stylists, prep teams, junior assistants to the Gamesmakers, caterers, esteemed guests, politicians, the list was endless. They all laughed and danced together under the high ceiling of the elaborate hall and the sound of the clinking glasses and swing band made Haymitch feel sick. All this extravagance while his people back home starved.
After walking through the throng, say hello to people here and there as they grabbed his arm or slung arms around his shoulders, he made his way to the open bar. He had scarcely been slumped on the barstool for a minute before he felt a hand clap his back.
"Didn't take you long," came a deep chuckle from behind him. "Mind if I pull up a stool?"
Haymitch grunted a reply and took a large swig of liquor. "How are you Chaff?" he asked after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
The large man sat beside him was dark-skinned, bald and grinning. His suit looked well-pressed and his tie looked as if someone else had fixed it – Chaff's shaking hands could do delicate tasks as well as Haymitch's could.
"I'm not bad. Wiggled out of mentoring the last Games so that's always a plus. Don't know why they wanted me here really," he replied and tried to get the attention of the bartender that was scuttling about, trying to please the surrounded bar.
"You're a familiar face, the crowd loves you," Haymitch said sullenly. "Especially the women."
"No need to sound so bitter!" Chaff's booming laugh startled a few of the Capitol citizens that stood near them, but as soon as they saw who it was they just grinned back at him. Chaff had been a mentor for nearly as long as Haymitch and was loved just as much by the crowds as he was, if not, more. Over the years, as Hamytich had fallen more and more into alcohol, his appeal had lessened somewhat, but Chaff remained as charming and witty as ever. The crowds could hardly tell that he, too, had turned to the bottle, but Haymitch knew all too well. Many a time had they fallen into unconsciousness with each other and woken up to a hangover from Hell. No matter how ahrd they tried, they couldn't ever get away from Hell.
As if on cue, a pair of women appeared next to them. One was tall, elegant and with purple-tinted skin, draped in what looked like just a thin veil of silk over her slender body. The other woman was short, but tried to cover this up with what looked like four-inch heels and a tall wig of green curls. Her blue eyes were piercing under her long (and probably false) eyelashes.
"Chaff!" the taller one exclaimed, pulling him in to kiss both his cheeks. "Where have you been, my love?" Her voice was high-pitched, tinkling, fake. Everything about her screamed fake, from her prune-coloured skin to the matching eyes to the enormous breasts that were barely covered by the material she was clearly trying to pull off as a dress.
Chaff laughed and took her hands into his, sounding just as fake as she did. "Oh Prya! I'm sorry, my darling, I've just been away. Have you missed me?"
Haymitch snorted as the woman fawned over him, batting away his apologies and kissing him again. It was really quite grotesque.
The woman stood next to Pryas cleared her throat delicately and Haymitch looked at her again over his glass of brandy. Short. Covered in white powder. Dress covering every inch of skin from her neck down to her wrists and dropping straight to the floor. Elaborate. Fake. It was a shame; she looked as if she might have been attractive if she hadn't been smothered by the Capitol. She caught his gaze as he looked her up and down and she raised an eyebrow. Apparently she was as impressed by him as her was her.
"Oh of course, sorry darling!" the woman Prya exclaimed, linking her arm through Chaff's and pulling forwards the other woman. "Haymitch, Chaff, this is EffieTrinket. She's hoping to get a position as an escort for the next Games, isn't that exciting?"
"Sounds thrilling," Haymitch replied dryly.
"Lovely to meet you, Chaff, Haymitch," the woman called Effie said politely, smiling at Chaff and grimacing at Haymitch. He snorted again and finished the rest of his drink.
"And what District are you hoping for, sweetheart?" he asked her unkindly. "Maybe District 4? This year's winner of Finnick Odair from there seems to have caused somewhat of a stir. Or District 1 perhaps? I hear they make some lovely bits of jewellery that you could make yourself pretty with."
Chaff cleared his throat as Haymitch's tone grew more and more poisonous. "Haymitch," he said in a warning voice as Effie's face fell.
"Actually I was hoping for 12 or 11," she said in a quiet voice. "At least to start with."
"and why would you want us?" Haymitch asked bitterly.
"Because I come from such luxury, I'd like to see where everything I have comes from, back to the very basic things such as coal. I'd like to be able to learn and appreciate it," she said, not aggressively.
Prya tutted. "Oh Effie, why would you want that? I still think you're mad for wanting the coal district; it'll just be dirty and full of tributes that stand no chance in the Games."
Haymitch banged his hand on the bar, glaring at her. "That's right," he snarled, "no chance. No chance in the Games, they're all doomed to die. Remind me some more, please, of how I have to see my children die at the hand of the Capitol every single year!"
"Haymitch, quieten down, you're getting looks," Chaff warned him, laying a hand on his wrist. "Remember, you still have something to lose in your friends."
Haymitch took a deep breath as Prya dragged Chaff away, muttering something about 'mad old dog' as he ordered another drink. "And can I get something for you, Mrs Trinket?" he asked the woman who stood, looking slightly awkwardly, next to him.
"It's 'miss'," she corrected him. "No Mister Trinket, unless you count my father, and he's dead anyway," she laughed nervously. Haymitch looked at her. Odd. She seemed a little odd. Or maybe she was just nervous. He didn't blame her – he'd be nervous if he'd been left with a drunk man he had only just met.
"That's… good to know?" he said, unsure if that was a fit reply. She gave him a shy smile and took the drink he handed her.
"So are you enjoying this party?" she asked him after taking a rather large gulp of the strong alcohol.
"I've been to better," he replied. The crowd around him had grown as people jostled to get drinks and it was getting too loud for his liking. He gestured to her to walk with him, holding out his arm. He knew how women liked to feel like they were being treated like ladies. She took it, letting her hand rest on his bare forearm, his jacket slung over his other shoulder. They walked slowly around the edge of the room, making small talk. Thus far, Haymitch liked his Effie Trinket. Sure, she was a Capitol fluffball, but there seemed to be some sort of substance to her. She liked art, literature and the science of the Earth. She liked to know how and why things worked, although, she admitted, she had never really been very good in school. In the Capitol, you don't need to know things such as physics or chemistry – that kind of thing is left up to the Districts. The things you need in the Capitol to survive are economical skills, business skills, enthusiasm for retail. But never think about politics. Haymitch could tell from the bitterness in her voice that Effie had once cared for politics, but her parents had refused to allow her anywhere near the discipline. She probably didn't realise that her parents' decision probably saved her life. Political opponents of Snow didn't last long in Panem.
As the alcohol began to leave his system, Haymitch began to notice little things about her. How her eyebrows came together slightly whenever she asked a question, the way her eyes caught the light when they widened, how she licked her lips just before she spoke. He was beginning to quite like his companion for the evening.
Just as they were making their way back to the bar, the band took up a slow song, heavy with the string bass and soft female voice. Effie stopped for a moment, looking out over the dancefloor that was now filled with couples holding on tight to one another. Haymitch saw her shoulders droop as she stood alone.
Before he knew what hew as going, he took her hand in his. "Care to dance?"
Haymitch didn't usually did. Once upon a time he did, but that was so many years ago he could barely remember. But there was something about this Effie girl. Underneath that Capitol coating, there was a real woman. And he was overcome with the want to get to know her. So a slow dance was a good enough start, right?
"Really?" she asked, her face lighting up. "I didn't think you'd be one to dance!"
"You're not the only one," he muttered under his breath as he led her onto the floor.
From what he could tell, slow dancing was easy enough. It was just holding the other person close and moving slowly on the spot. Haymitch wasn't expecting much, he was dancing with her mostly because she had looked so sad to hear such a pretty song and not have anyone to dance with. Her hand fitted perfectly with his. Their fingers linked together as Effie rested her hand on his shoulder – she was surprised at the warmth she could feel coming from his body. The feel of his hand running around her waist and pulling her closer to him almost made her jump. She wasn't expecting to feel like this - not with Haymitch Abernathy of all people. There was a warmth running through her body from where his body was touching hers, and still he was pulling her to him. Their bodies were pressed against one another, her head resting on his shoulder and his head leant against hers. They were practically strangers, but it didn't feel as if they were. She felt familiar to him, as if he had known her for years, not just hours. He felt warm with her in his arms.
The soft music eased them in a small circle where they stood, as if in a world entirely of their own.
"I'm glad I met you this evening, Miss Trinket," Haymitch whispered softly, bringing his lips close to her ear.
Effie felt his warm breath tickle her cooling skin and she suppressed a smile. She could still smell the alcohol on his breath. That's how she knew this meant nothing to him. Haymitch Abernathy was famous for his drinking, for not knowing his left from his right as soon as liquor touched his lips and for picking up Capitol women for the night. Rumour had it that he hadn't been able to settle down because his childhood sweetheart had died suddenly mere weeks after his victory, and Effie had no intention of letting herself fall into his trap.
Haymitch meant it. Sure, he had had a few flings with Capitol ladies – men gotta eat, right? – but this was different. He wanted to see Effie again. There was something about her that made him feel so at ease, so completed. And it had happened so suddenly. Maybe there was something there for them? He sure hoped so, as he held her in his arms, not wanting to let her go even after the song ended and a faster one began playing. The people around them began breaking apart and the sound swelled once more to a cheerful rumble. Haymitch hated it. And so, when she pulled away from their warm embrace, he didn't complain, but he just took her hand once more and held it. They stood for a moment in the middle of the dance floor, hand in hand, simply looking at one another. Haymitch tried to remember the way the dimming lights hit her small, curved nose, highlighting her pretty eyes. Effie tried to lock away in her mind the creases that appeared around his mouth as he smiled slightly. For that moment, no one else around them mattered.
It did not take long for their peace to be shattered. Behind Effie came a young man, around the same age as Effie, with striking black hair that was sleeked back and a sharp green suit. His gaze was hard as he saw Effie and Haymitch's hands entwined, the close proximity of their bodies and he stood still next to her for a moment, waiting to see if she would notice him on her own. She did not.
"Hello Effie," he said loudly over the music and jolly people that surrounded them.
Effie started at the sound of his voice, dropping Haymitch's hand like hot coal. "Seneca! What are you doing here? I thought you had a meeting in District One this weekend!"
"I came here to find you," he replied coolly. "But I didn't realise you had more pleasurable company."
Haymitch looked at the younger man who now had his arm placed firmly on the small of Effie's back. Already, he hated him. He looked somewhat familiar, but Haymitch couldn't quite place the face. He didn't care right now though; he belonged to Effie, clearly, and already that was enough to anger him.
"Haymitch, this is Seneca Crane," Effie said, looking flustered. "He's a junior Gamemaker, very lucky to have such an esteemed position at such a young age!"
The false tone that Haymitch was so used to from the Capitol people was creeping back into her voice. He felt uneasy suddenly, dirty, almost. Had she known that he was coming all along? Did she mean to enchant him only to fling him aside at the end of the evening just in time for the main event?
"And Seneca, this is Haymitch Abernathy, the-"
"Yes, darling, I know who he is," Seneca interrupted, throwing him an icy look. "Come on now, I have a few people I have to meet before we leave. Come along now, darling."
Haymitch felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach as he saw Seneca place a very deliberate kiss on her pale cheek that was still flushed from his touch. He stood alone on the dancefloor as Seneca Crane led Effie Trinket away through the crowd, and soon their figures had been swallowed by the throng, but not before Effie had thrown him a sad look over her shoulder – apologetic, longing.
But this couldn't be the end. He would not accept that he had merely one chance encounter with her. There had to be more to them. Crane was merely an obstacle.
Effie had been the only person who had lit the burning desire inside of him for human contact, for intimacy for decades. A chance encounter was all that it took for him to swear that he would see her again, no matter what the cost.
As Effie walked away, she felt a pang of guilt. She resented Seneca for treating her as he did – like a possession. He adored her, she knew that, but she needed more than that from him to make her still love him. Love. Did she love him? She thought she did. But if she did, why did she only think of Haymitch Abernathy's face as Seneca paraded her around the glorified figures of Panem?
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