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Effie Trinket was an enormously talented individual. She knew this as she had been tested vigorously as a child. She tested highly in virtually every area, although her numerical reasoning was merely above average and her musical abilties were poor, but it was her emotional intelligence that was off the scale. They'd had to adjust her medications when those results came through to try and numb those parts of her that picked up on things that she wasn't supposed to notice. That worked for a while, until she learnt to stop taking drugs they forced on all the kids that lived in the group homes.
She had come to rely on her emotional senses to guide her through the mindfield that was working on the Hunger Games. Her body seemed to know what reaction to give even when her mind was frozen in the horrors it encountered. Today, as she made her way towards the two glass bowls in the centre of the stage she was relying on her body to give the appropriate reaction as she surveyed the crowd before her.
She'd never left the Capitol before, and the images she'd seen on the television screen were no comparison for the real thing. The colours were so different, everything was so washed out and tired looking, pale tones that greyed round the edges.
She could only imagine how she looked to these people in her green outfit. Ridiculous of course, but that was the point of wearing it, her armour to prevent the world she lived in from seeing the real her. But now standing there before them she felt almost disrespectful. These people were so poor that even from a distance she could see how gaunt their children were, how haggard their grandparents were. And she stood there glittering in the sunlight, a gaudy bauble, draped in wealth and colour that these people could only dream of. Come to lead their children to their deaths.
Draw a breath, keep smiling, say the words that she'd memorised.
The film had started to play, so she was just standing there. Some of the children in the front rows had started to cry, the anticipation of their first reaping overwhelming them. This was going to play badly on screen, making District 12 look weak. It was going to be nigh on impossible to get sponsors. A new escort, and the stunt she'd pulled by dressing Haymitch up were going to ensure that they were on screen, but the coverage was going to be ridicule rather than respect. She needed to wrest some control back before things got out of hand.
"Well, wasn't that just fantastic," she called, her voice being amplified by the earpiece she wore. "Now it's time to see who gets the honour of representing District 12 in the 63rd Hunger Games." There, that did it, calling it an honour had united them in hatred of the games. Now there was an energy that could feasibly passed off as enthusiasm by the commentators rather than a worn down air of defeat.
"Ladies first." This was it, the moment in which she was going to condemn some poor girl to death. She had no doubt that whomever she chose was more than likely going to end up dead. The inner districts were allowed to train their kids despite the official line that training was banned. The tributes who volunteered from those districts were both lethal and charming, able to gain sponsors with as much ease as they could kill the poor children from the outer districts. There would be no crying children in the front rows in the inner districts, there was no chance of a twelve year old being selected to steal the glory from the volunteers. Although by the end of the games at least five of the volunteers would be dead regardless.
There was no tremor in her hands as she opened the little envelope, no break in her smile, but she could feel her heart racing in chest and bile rising in her throat. "Miriam Lockett."
An eerie hush ran through the crowd and she could feel the rush of emotion that swept through the square, a dizzying hit of both relief and sheer terror. The crowd began to part from the middle, not a young one then. A skinny girl with olive skin and dark hair made her way up onto the stage, although that could have described most of the girls in the district. This one was quivering with fear, but was biting her lip hard to stop the tears.
Effie took her hand to help her up onto the stage and the girl flinched when she touched her. Effie had more than enough experience at flinching when people touched her, but to have that reaction played back at her made her feel disgusting. She let go of the girl as soon as she was standing on the stage.
"And now for the boys." Another envelope in her hands, she was amazed they were still steady. "Davis Matthews." This time the crowd parted nearer the front, although not in the very front few rows. A woman screamed. That would definitely be edited out. The boy was in tears by the time he reached the stage. When Effie offered him her hand he clung to it and refused to let go even when she led him to the middle of the stage.
"District 12, lets hear it for your tributes, Miriam Lockett and Davis Matthews." She didn't try and touch the girl again, but she did give Davis' hand a squeeze to try and halt his tears for this key shot. This is the one that would be replayed over and over in the run up to the games. She beckoned Haymitch over from where he was slumped on the edge of stage. A team shot with her and Haymitch in matching outfits was definitely going to sell District 12. The crowd was angry and resentful, but they were clapping and that was all that mattered for the shot.
Haymitch sauntered over to them, glaring at her as he did. She used her free hand to grab him and pull him into the shot. His glare darkened into something dangerous for a second, and then turned into a wry grin. He brought his face in close to hers and she had to remind herself that she was on camera and not back away.
"And lets hear it for our new escort, Effie Trinket." His voice was picked up by her microphone and amplified for the cameras.
She shook her head slightly to try and dissuade him from whatever mad idea he had but it was already too late, his lips were descending on hers. She registered the taste of whisky and coffee and the smell of lavender soap before the contact was gone.
His kiss had been brief and chaste, but she still felt the panic of an unwelcome touch swell up through her. The options were outrage or resignation, but outrage was the only one which would sell a story here.
"Haymitch! Manners!" Manners? Oh well, it would work well enough, they would definitely be a talking point in the coverage. If they could keep this up there would definitely be some sponsors to ease the children's time in the games and hopefully raise 12's profile. Any positive attention she could garner for this starving district would surely be worth something.
He just laughed at her as she led them inside so the children could say their goodbyes.