Hayffie- AU
"Can I have another drink?" the man slumped over on the bar asks the bartender in a slurred voice. The bartender, a petite woman with hot pink hair and matching stilettos gives him a dirty look.
"No, you're too drunk already. I'm cutting you off. And get your head off of that counter, it's new and it's mahogany." She snaps at him in a high-pitched, heavily-accented voice. In his drunken stupor, he can't place the accent, but it does sound vaguely familiar.
The next night, the drunk man comes into the bar and sits himself down at the mahogany counter again. The bartender turns around and lets out a deep sigh when she sees him. He orders a drink and she prepares it behind the counter.
"So, what's your name?" she asks in a cheery attempt to make conversation.
"Haymitch." He grumbles, clearly not wanting to say anything else.
"I'm Effie. Trinket." She smiles at him. She doesn't want to talk to him, but it's part of the job as bartender. Make conversation with everyone, no matter how sleazy or drunk. She looks in a mirror and fixes her neon hair, so as not to have to speak with Haymitch again. By the time she turns around, he is already finished with his first drink. He gives her a look and she rolls her eyes and slides anther glass to him across the countertop.
The bar is called The District and it's one of those little hole-in-the-wall bars that you see crammed in the back of little alleyways. Effie, head bartender and owner, was entirely in charge of it; she micromanaged every aspect of it, from the entertainment to the drinks themselves. She did quite well for herself down here in this shack of a bar, since it was a local favorite and she had her regulars that came every night.
Haymitch seems vaguely familiar to her, but she can't place him for anything. She leans up against the countertop at the end of the bar and watches him. He speaks to no one, only nursing his drink in silence. Couples chat and kiss all around him, friends babble drunken nonsense, but he'll have none of it. He only drinks in silence.
He comes to her bar every night now, sits on the same battered barstool, and drinks the same drink until Effie takes it upon herself to cut him off. He always gets mad at her when she refuses to serve him another drink, insisting that he'll pay her six times more than the usual cost. She never caves to him, partly because she doesn't want him to pass out on the floor, and partially because she has an odd soft spot for this strange, drunken man. She can't even explain it to herself, but something about him makes her heart beat slightly louder and her cheeks get slightly flushed.
One night, she finally has enough and sets out to have a conversation with him.
"So, Haymitch," she chirps happily, "what brings you to my bar every night?" It takes him a minute to register that she's talking to him, his senses slowed thanks to the alcohol.
"Dunno. Good liquor." He mutters, clearly desiring to be alone. Effie nods, not sure what to say to this strange man. In all her years of bartending, she's never met anyone like him. Every patron she had ever had was usually happy to talk to her after some drinks and a little prompting on her part.
"Have I seen you somewhere before?" She asks him, since it's been bugging her in the back of her mind since she's seen him.
"Used to be on TV. Baseball player." Suddenly, it clicks in her head. A date had taken her to some baseball game a long time ago and she must have recognized him from then, since that was the only exposure she had ever had to baseball. Her date had been hugely into the statistics part of baseball, so she had decided to try and learn all about the players and their statistics, even though she just wanted to make out in the bleachers. She vaguely remembered memorizing a Haymitch's stats back then.
"Why'd you quit?" she asks innocently, but he acts like she asked him the most offensive question in the world. He slams his glass on the countertop and stand up to look her square in the eyes.
"That's a cruel joke, Princess. Don't act like you don't fucking know." He slurs, turns sharply and stumbles out of the bar. An awkward silence settles over the room as everyone gives Effie a strange look, almost like she did something to offend him. Confused, she takes her iPhone out of her pocket and looks up "Haymitch baseball". The results are plentiful. She clicks on the first link, which takes her to an old newspaper article from two years ago. The headline reads,
"Star Baseball Player Kills Rival: Accident, or Maniacal Plot?" Effie raises one eyebrow warily as she scrolls through the article. It basically says that Haymitch Abernathy (age 30) let go of his bat when he was swinging and it hit his rival pitcher, Moss Lee (age 26), in the head, killing him on contact. The article says that Haymitch claimed innocence, but it insinuates that he did it on purpose. He went to court and was cleared of all charges, but his name was forever soiled and he retired early.
Effie's eyes grow wide as she finished the article, not sure what to think.