Valira's cabin in the train - if it could be called so, it was practically a palace: gilded doorknobs, golden bedposts and velvet curtains - was sickeningly hot. Effie pressed a cold cloth to her mother's head as blood soaked the tissue she pressed to her lips. When Valira pulled it away and shoved Effie's arm off, sitting up with the help of her daughter, her dry lips were stained with flecks of blood.
"Do you need anything?" Effie asked the lethargic woman as she cleaned the blood from her lips and disposed of anything even close to contamination. "You could see the doctor here, maybe he can help..." She croaked, her voice stripped of enthusiastic chirps, it was honest and broken.
"They'll only tell me the same thing. Frankly, I don't want to hear it. They're wrong. This is certainly my last Quell, but it's not my last Games." Valira responded gruffly, sipping some water and sighing heavily. Whatever was wrong with the woman was terminal, incurable. She was grinding slowly towards her demise, the only thing keeping her on her feet was her determination to see another Hunger Games. "Effie, dear, put me to sleep then see to the tributes, would you?"
Effie nodded, taking a syringe from a briefcase beside the bed. She did what the doctors had taught her and sterilised her mother's neck, before jamming the metal into it and pressing down on the plunger. She didn't let her hands shake, though it hurt her inside to do this. She hated it, watching her mother go limp in a matter of seconds and wondering if she'd ever wake again. Effie pulled away and sat on what could only be described as a throne on the other end of the cabin, head in her hands, suppressing her sobs.
Upon leaving a minute or so later, she walked right into a brawny chest, hissing at the tribute to distance himself from the door and slamming it behind her. "Get away from there! How dare you eavesdrop!" She scolded, grabbing Haymitch's shoulders and trying to push him away.
Overcome by a rush of sympathy for Effie - he'd watched his father die slowly, though it was no where near as agonising - Haymitch didn't shove her away, he took her hands gently, removing them from his shoulders. "Hey, I didn't mean to! Would you get a hold of yourself?" He hissed, though with less venom that usual. He wasn't melting for her, he almost felt as though Valira deserved what was happening to her, but he could be less of a brute for this reason, he supposed. "Anyway, it's pretty damn obvious that your mom's dying." He said, shaking his head and walking toward the back of the train.
"She's not dying!" Said Effie, delicate fingertips scrunched up into a laughable attempt at fists. She stood stiff, shaking with anger. Like everything else, she took a breath and let her emotions still. "Where are you going?" She reprimanded unintentionally. Of course, she didn't care, unless he was off to deface some valuable part of the train. Stomping after him, the short girl caught up as he sat himself down on a couch, unceremoniously swinging his feet to sit there too so he could lie down and dirty the whole thing.
"She's coughing blood, of course she's dying." Haymitch sighed, rolling his eyes at her naivety. "She's doing a pretty good job of hiding it in the public eye. The parents of the kids you've killed would have a field day with that." He said harshly, sighing when he felt no pleasure from hurting her. He'd be just as bad as the Capitol if that was how he found his fun.
"I don't kill them." Effie whispered, never having been able to have a real conversation with a tribute before now. "It reminds us of what we've-"
"Don't give me that bullshit, sweetheart. I don't wanna hear it. Now, why are you still here? That's not me telling you to go away, it's a question." Haymitch said, not wanting to admit that he'd always wondered what made Snow's sadistic escorts tick.
"I'm keeping an eye on you." Effie said, lips pursed. Her skirt stuck out uncomfortably as she perched herself on a dark mahogany chair, running her long nails along the varnished arms with a feather-light touch.
Haymitch replied by raising his eyebrow. "You think I'd do something to upset you and your prissy Capitol friends now? They're my only chance of survival now, sadly. You don't need to watch me, sweetheart. I'm no cause for concern." He smirked, watching her squirm.
"You like your pet names, don't you, Haymitch?" Effie drawled, picking at her nails and trying to remain calm. She was a little surprised at how well spoken he was for someone so... District. Although he didn't have a proper accent, he wasn't churning out curses and slang at her every second, though she had shuddered a little when he'd used coarse language toward her.
"'Guess I do, sweetheart." He shrugged, face turning somber. His brief time of picking fun at her was over, intrusive thoughts of his family breaking into his mind; his mother losing her grip on sanity, his little brother scared and starving, his girl crying and screaming. Effie was quick to notice his sudden change and stood.
"I recommend that you sleep." She said, ready for a harsh rebuttal. Effie relaxed her muscles, unclenching her fists and sighing. "You could win this, you know? You have charisma, this whole rugged-handsome look... It could be appealing to some. You're strong. If you want to see them again, I suggest you listen to me. I'll be the one deciding who gets the sponsors." The trainee escort chirped, leaving the room with a very quick stride, heels clicking as the train fell through the fields, pushing Haymitch closer to his possible demise.