Intertwined Destines, a hunger games fanfic

Intertwined Destines:

(Dedicated to Wemmabby for her canon towards Hayffie)

Their meeting had been an accident.

But most people would call it destiny.

She never was supposed to never meet the seam eyed boy, never supposed to fall in love with him.

He never was supposed to meet the pinked haired girl, never supposed to fall in love with her.

It happened anyway.

Accident or destiny? You deicide.

She had stumbled into a room after wandering around the train that's destination was directly for the Capitol. She was told specifically ordered not to explore around, and despite her yearning for rules and manners it had happened anyway.

She had stumbled into a room.

District Twelve's tribute room.

"I really don't think youshould be back here, princess," he spat the word you, emphasizing it. Haymitch knew what he was going to say; your kind, but he decided that if he was going to die, it wouldn't be from the hands of this spoiled, rotten-to-the-core Capitol girl.

She had been accustomed to the Capitol style and obviously the accent with her cheery, drawled words. He could just tell from the sparkly eyeliner that she was a slave to the pigments of the Capitol's fashion. She had long, straight blonde hair with wisps of pink streaks at the bottom. Like dip dye. Her eyeliner stretched out to her cheeks in swirls of pink and green. Her lips had been painted a neutral pink color and a tightly hugging dress captured her figure. If it wasn't for the rose frills decorated overwhelmingly on the hem of the dress, she might've actually passed for somewhat normal.

She scoffed, placing her hands on her hips her blue eyes narrowing. "And who are you to tell me what to do? What are you going to do if I don't obey your orders? Kill me?"

He felt his hand curl into a fist at his side. Killing her would just be a relief not to hear her irritating, high pitched voice anymore but he managed to keep his anger contained. The last thing he needed was to die sooner than intended and by someone who was instigating him to do so. "Maybe."

She snorted, applying a layer of makeup to her face. "Your Haymitch Abernathy, aren't you? District twelve's clown." It wasn't a question.

"Oh sweetheart, you are the last person who should be calling me clown." Her cheeks tainted a rosy color, and this time it wasn't from the layers of makeup piled on her face.

"For your information this is an eccentric look from the Capitol, although I know you don't appreciate proper etiquettes from your...attire."

He scowled, scorned and patronized by her higher attitude. Who did this girl think she was? "And who are you exactly? Some Capitol fan girl who wants an autograph from yours truly?"

"In your dreams." Then with those three words she walked confidently out of the room, leaving the door half open.

Now, he gave an irritated huff as he looked around; Haymitch could tell just by looking at the teenage, stubborn girl that was practically breathing in the air that smelt like honey and chocolate and expensive wines, as opposed to garbage and cigarette ash and rotting things- that these people were not his style. This Capitol girl was rich and classy; all their clothes shimmering with gold, and pointed boots. She practically screamed I'm above you.

If only she didn't look incredibly distracting in that dress.

It wasn't like he intentionally noticed. Despite what everyone else thought he was just a teenage boy, living on hormones, and scared out of his wits for what he would have to do in the weeks to come.

And he had hormones. Boy, did he have hormones.

Normally, he detested the sight of the Capitol style. It made them look silly and ridiculous, but on this girl- it looked...good.

Sweet Jesus, did she even know how good the dress looked on her?

By her witty attitude it was most likely that she did know and was surely using it to torture him. He couldn't focus on anything else, just kept reprimanding himself that she was from the Capitol and her personality was the worst thing that he ever had dealt with in his life. No, not the worst. This was the worst. The agonizingly slow wait to be delivered to the Capitol, then in a few weeks into the arena. He had contemplated on killing himself, but they never left him alone. The only sharp item they allowed him to have was a spike on one of his designer jackets and killing himself that way would be so slow that he would feel everything. He had abandoned the idea and accepted his fate. So no, this naive Capitol girl wasn't the worst thing that happened to him, though she was the most annoying.

He sighed, giving in. If she was going to parade around the train that was driving towards the Capitol he might as well get to know her. At least, that's what his brain was telling him to do. He walked out of the room, but he still remained stony. "What's your name?"

She tossed her hair over her exposed shoulder, staring at him like he was a bug that she wanted to squish with a single step of her high heels. It made him feel subconscious and angry all at the same time and it wasn't a nice mix, especially with all the emotions that were already previously drowning him. "What makes you think I'll tell you my name to a tribute?"

Screw trying to be nice.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Look sweetheart, I was just trying to be polite-"

"Is that what you call polite from where you come from?" Her voice was like honey and chimes at the same time as she stared out the window of the train earnestly, the sun just beginning to set behind the clouds in the distant. He rolled his eyes, but didn't pursue the matter. She wanted a good fashioned argument, and maybe she was used to getting what she wanted back where she lived, but that didn't mean he was going to. She needed a harsh dose of medicine called reality.

His mouth fell open half ajar, but she cut him off. "Effie. My names Effie."

On any other person, the name would be ludicrous to them. On this girl the name fit; It suited her.

"And I guess you already know who I am." She let out a giggle that resembled bell chimes, prodding him in the shoulder with a painted, polished fingernail. He tries to contain a blush at her touch. Sure, there were a few girls in District Twelve who fancied him, but they were clingy and brainless like controlled zombies. This was different. He was being touched by a girl who looked like a Goddess.

"I saw your interview." She watched his interview? His heart leapt, and he isn't entirely positive why, although he has a pretty big clue. "You really are rude." A sharp, flicker of anger flashes through him but it dispatches when he sees amusement glimmering in her icy, blue eyes.

"So, Haymitch. What do you think of the games? Having one hundred percent more competitors than usual."

"I don't see how that'll make much difference. They'll still be as one hundred percent stupid as usual. So, I figure my odds will be roughly the same."

He shrugged. "All I said was the truth."

She-Effie considers this for a moment. "I suppose so. You're sixteen, right? You have a decent chance at winning, especially with that attitude."

"Maybe. Maybe not." He pauses, studying the blonde, teenage girl in front of him. "Why do you care?"

Her cheeks color for a moment, but she composes herself quickly. So abrupt that Haymitch isn't certain that she even blushed in the first place. "It's my job to know. I'm an intern for District Twelve's escort. Well, not necessarily an intern, more of an observer."

"You want to be an escort for District Twelve?" She could surely do better than District Twelve. It was the poorest, most ghastly District out of the variety of others. Effie appeased towards manners and richness, that was impeccable to him. So why not do something more appealing to her lifestyle like District One or Two?

Effie frowns at his incredulous reaction, almost reading his mind. "I've always leaned towards District Twelve." She was now sitting on the couch next to the window, the bright sunlight casting illuminant shadows across her tan skin tone. He remained standing, running a hand through his dark, slightly curled hair.

"And why is that?"

"I guess I have a thing for underdogs." She winked playfully at him before exiting the room.

If it wasn't for Maysilee who had gotten his attention moments later, he was pretty sure he would still be staring at the wall; completely dumbstruck.

Effie doesn't see Haymitch around that much and that disappoints her. He was handsome, young, strong and something of a looker with his curly dark hair and Seam eyes that are bright and dangerous.

Danger. That was something that Effie had never experienced before- not before Haymitch anyway. He's completely infuriating with his improperness and lack of hygiene. It makes her go crazy. Like the one time she had bumped into him in the hallway and his two shirt buttons were lacking, showing off his bare chest.

It took everything for her not to button them for her. Most girls would be interested in doing the unbuttoning, while Effie was the opposite. Not that she minded getting a look of his chest, it's just that everything should be neat and proper and...she was turning into a neat freak, wasn't she?

She let out a huff, washing her makeup off, and ripping off her curly pink wig. The first time she had met Haymitch she wasn't wearing it and the second time she was. Effie couldn't decide which look he enjoyed better. Wig or no wig? Her teeth grit together. Does it really matter? He's most probably going die and-

The thought ragged her breath. She had only met him twice and they had barely exchanged any meaningful words- half of their conversation was tense. It was ridiculous. She shouldn't care.

But she did.

She let the cool water stroke her bare skin as she splashed it over her cheeks, scrubbing the eyeliner away. She grabbed the hairbrush from the side and began to brush furiously, trying to shove those irrelevant thoughts about Haymitch away once and for all.

Her hair frizzed at the edges and she could pass for a girl living in a district without her makeup and hair done.

A few weeks prior, the thought revolted her. Now, it sounded appealing.

What was that grey eyed boy doing to her?

She snatched the towel from the side of the sink drying her face before slipping off her dress, corset and heels and pulling on baggy clothes with a t-shirt. Effie never let anyone see her like this- the thought was too embarrassing to surpass. She tied her hair into a messy bun, prepared to fall asleep.

She opened the door to the bathroom, then stepped into her present bedroom placing her clothes neatly into the laundry bin.

"I always thought you were OCD," a voice chastised from inside her room. Effie jolted, dropping her clothes on the floor. "Now I think this proves it."

She scowled, brushing at her strands of hair -that had rebelliously fallen out of her bun- frantically. Of course he did have to show up when all her hair and makeup were cleansed from her face.

"What are you doing in here?" She snapped, as she whirled around to see him casually sitting on her bed.

He ignored her, his eyes lighting up at her appearance. "You know, without the Capitol look you might actually pass for normal."

She wasn't sure to be insulted or to take that as a compliment.

Effie placed her hands on her hips defiantly. "You still didn't answer my question; why are you here, Haymitch?"

"You weren't at dinner," he exclaimed. "I was...worried."

She snorted. Effie had a good reason for not going to dinner and the answer had eight letters and started with an 'M'. Maysilee. She hadn't gone because she really didn't want to watch Haymitch and Maysilee send each other goo-goo eyes the entire time and finish each other's sentences. They were close, that was apparent.

She had never really experienced jealousy. Every single man who she wanted was smitten with her. Except this one. What was she doing different? Coming on too strong? Coming on too small?

Or maybe it was him that was different.

"And why were you worried? You have Maysilee," she sneered the words out of her mouth before she could stop herself; shocked.

The expression on his face was completely oblivious, then it got hard- and angry. "What? Are you jealous or something, Capitol girl? That is so fucked up. Us two? Maysilee and me? We're going to die in a week. Excuse me for talking to her. She's my friend- and maybe it's something more, but you won't have to worry about it in a few days because we'll be dead." He got to his feet, storming past her, his jaw set and his eyes steely.

She blinked back tears as she door slammed. For once in her life, she was wrong. Haymitch was right. She had no reason to be envious of the relationship between them.

So one question remained.

What was wrong with her?

They don't talk for four days. And if they do pass each other 'accidently,' Haymitch scowls and Effie stares down at the floor.

It's like they don't exist to one another.

There's three days left until Haymitch is shipped away to the arena. Shipped away from her.

Effie had always viewed the games as just a TV show.

Now it's different.

"The wait is torture, isn't it?" Maysilee said, taking a seat next to him. "I just wished they didn't give us an exact date for the games. That way, I wouldn't be counting down the days, hours, minutes, and even seconds." She pauses.

"Time is the enemy, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Haymitch says numbly, chucking a rock over the edge of the roof. "It is. Now, come on. Let's go back inside. I don't want to think about it until I have to."

She nodded curtly, brushing a straight dirty blonde strand of hair over her shoulder. Her dark blue eyes look stormy. He can just tell that she's been thinking about the Quarter Quell as much as he was. They walk back together from the roof and he resists the urge to take her hand in his. She's been his source of comfort over the last few days, and he can't deny the attraction towards her.

He holds the door open for her and she just scoffs playfully at his actions before stepping inside. Haymitch takes one last lingering look at the roof before sighing and closing the door behind him.

He doesn't notice the rock that he threw over the edge fly back onto the roof.

It's time. He doesn't know where the time went, because it was either a minute ago that he was sitting down devouring all the Capitol food that made his mouth water or a century ago. Now, he was just standing there. Waiting. Waiting for the minute to be up, waiting for his death.

Maysilee was correct. Time was the enemy in this scenario.

He was handed a thick, black jacket by his rude designer, ordering him to put it on. "You have five minutes until you go up into the tube. You will not do anything else except wait, understand?"

He didn't respond. He couldn't. The numbness was overbearing his senses. He knew subconsciously that he had to shake off the nerves and the jitters beforehand. He couldn't afford to lose his head, that is if he wanted a decent chance at surviving this.

Suddenly his attention was averted as the doors opened. His designer stood dumbfounded as the girl approached him. "Miss, y-you're not supposed to be back here."

She winked suggestively at him, "I have friends in high places. This will only take a moment. Will you excuse us?"

He looked like he wanted to protest, but obliged enough.

"Effie?" Haymitch stammered, sliding off the chair that he had been seated on. "What are you doing here?"

"It's not that I think you're going to die," she began. "But I don't like owing people anything. And in this case, it's an argument that I must resolve." All he could do was nod- part was from the scare of the Hunger Games and part from the girl who was standing in front of me.

Her attire hadn't really changed except her wig was off, and her dip dye on her natural blonde hair was frizzed and faded. She looked like she had gotten ready in a rush, just pink lipstick and her curled eyelashes spread across her cheeks.

And that pink dress with the roses was on too, wrapped around with a glittering green sash.

"I came to apologize for the way I acted in previous nights." She stopped, like she was remembering something. "And to wish you good luck." Somehow he wasn't as shell shocked about the games as he was before. Seeing Effie made it feel normal. And he knew that there was nothing normal about being sent into an arena where you're forced to kill or be killed.

"It's okay, I accept your apology. Although I'm not really sure what we fought about anyway."

She gave him a tentative smile at his words, then frowned. "You look scared. Are you?"

He curtly nods. There's no point in denying it now. "Don't be," she continued. "You'll win." She's firmer as she speaks the last part, more certain. "I know you will."

"Maybe."

They stood in an awkward silence for a few seconds and the timer says ten seconds. Ten seconds until he's going to go into the arena.

TEN.

NINE. Her words are rushed, knowing that there isn't much time left. "I wanted to give you something, too. For good luck."

EIGHT.

SEVEN.

SIX.

FOUR.

THREE.

TWO.

His eyebrows furrowed together. There was nothing in her hands and if she gives him her sash- well, he wouldn't wear it, despite the sincere situation. "What?"

She rose up, wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his lips.

ONE.

It was a brief kiss, but urgent and meaningful. Like their emotions were mirroring in the kiss, telling each other what they were feeling without using words. Pain. Fear. Anxiety. Longing. Comfort. Everything wrapped up into one.

She pulled back and opened her eyes just as Haymitch's designer came into the room.

"Good luck."

"I can't possibly loose now," he commented softly, planting a kiss on her forehead.