Chapter 3: Realising

The cannon's boom signals the boy's death. He made it to day 3 and that years' games only lasted 4 days. They both continue to stare at the screen not saying a word. Haymitch eventually breaks the silence by unscrewing the bottle that was sitting at his feet and pouring out a generous amount of golden brown liquid into a glass on the table. He looks at her and back to her empty glass.

"Eff?"

She jolts back into the room from whatever thoughts were previously occupying her and turns to him him.

"Want one?" He asks weakly his eyes moving briefly towards the bottle in his hand. She normally wouldn't, opting for cocktails whenever sociably drinking but then the boy's death darted into her mind causing her to breathe unsteady and shake her head. She then stops moving and nods her head gravely. He takes that as a yes and pours her the same amount. They've been doing this for 7 years now…watching the games together in case their suspicions are false and that one of their tributes might get lucky. So far none. Not one. She picks up her glass and takes a large gulp of the alcohol. It stings her throat on the way down and she likes it: she feels like she deserves the stinging in her depressed mind. Haymitch watches her, taking slightly smaller gulps himself, and can't help feel a bit sad and impressed at watching her finish the contents of the glass in no time.

"Again." She states not taking her eyes off the glass. He finishes his own glass and fills them both back up. He figures they might as well get drunk together, he won't let her get ill though, and besides it's going to take a lot to get that axe smashing Merlow's skull to a bloody pulp out of their heads. When she almost downs that glass in one, he decides to voice his concern.

"You might wanna take it easy there darlin', this ain't cocktails on the town you're drinking here."

"I'm perfectly aware of that thank you Mr. I-know-everything-about-drink-because-I'm-an-alcoholic!" Her reply is bitter and she immediately regrets her cold reaction to his uneasiness, but she can't help feel patronized. She's not who most people think she is: she is not oblivious.

"Oww, harsh words from the Capitol lady; I think I may never get over that one." He replies sarcastically, deliberately wanting some raw emotion from her. To see her like she has seen him so many times before, broken from this whole situation.

"Stop mentioning the fact I'm from the capitol please- it really ticks me off!"

"Not proud of that monstrosity you come from now, I wonder why?" He knows he's done it with that line, he just doesn't expect a full breakdown on her part.

"NO, NOT IN THESE CIRCUMSTANCES I AM NOT!" she yells, perhaps a little louder than she meant to. She picks the bottle off the table and fills another glass. "Do YOU think I enjoy this, Haymitch! Do you SERIOUSLY think I can't see how life destroying these games are! How overly cruel and sadistic they are! How much they hurt those involved! How much they hurt you!"

He's taken aback slightly. Her delicate features contorted with the effort of shouting, her face enraged and genuine anger present in her eyes. But the most shocking part of her outburst was the fact that she mentioned his own demons personally. He questions his behavior over the years. Was the pain really visible for everyone to see? No, he decides. It most certainly is not. He's the drunk and of course no one enjoys the games, but plenty of victors are still out there smiling and having a life, as far as he's concerned people just think he's a drunken bastard.

"Well I'm over it, Sweetheart!" He shouts feebly back "I didn't know it was possible for a Capitol Princess like you to have a heart!"

His words sting her heart, puncturing it all over repeatedly. The tears start to well and she turns to him and puts her 4th glass of alcohol down. "That is a fucking lie, Haymitch!" Her swearing has grabbed his attention from his selfish self-hating thoughts and he also turns towards the center of the sofa. He's met with her angry eyes streaming with tears. They soften slightly at his eye contact and he notices that some of the capitol make-up she wears daily has started making an escape with the tears to the bottom of her face revealing streaks of peachy skin. It's then he realizes he doesn't know her at all. Not really. He's only ever seen the organized, people-pleaser who puts up with her societies idea of normality so well. He's never taken an interest in her as a person beyond the games. Never been sober enough in truth and now he feels like the world's biggest arsehole for assuming she was just like the rest: like the escorts before her.

"Effie?" He asks tentatively testing to see if she's finished being angry.

"You are not fine!" she responds a little quieter. "You are in a constant state of melancholy!"

"Well, that's not true. A lot of the time I'm in a state of complete drunken bliss." He meant it as a bit of a joke, but his face remained sad and Effie could see the pain clearer than ever. He was finally opening up a little. She exhaled loudly, her body relaxing visibly, but not breaking eye contact with him. "I've hurt too." Was all she managed to say. After a short period of silence she continues "Because of them. It was now Haymitch's turn to want answers, but he waited patiently for her to continue to be brave. "My parents… They killed them." His eyes widen at this news. Surely not, Effie's parents had to be Capitol through and through, but then again, Snow was a twisted bastard who stopped at nothing if he thought something was an inconvenience to him and his career.

"What happened?" He asks softly, quietly wondering if he should comfort her, but decides topping up her glass is a more appropriate idea. He hands her the glass she discarded earlier and she takes another large gulp and tells him her story. Of how her father had worked in politics, how he was getting close to being considered for the presidential role. He was well liked, charming and fair: everything Snow was not. And then one day he dropped just dead at his work. It was made to look like a tragedy, but not for the one it was. She tells him poison was what she suspected was the cause...poison kept by Snow. Her mother knew it wasn't an accident, not the heart attack it was made out to be, and she marched up to Snow's mansion shortly after the funeral, after she had grieved and the shock was over. Effie's voice cracks a little at the end of her last line and she unsuccessfully wipes her face on the back of her long sleeved top revealing more peach coloured skin and with it more humanity. He could tell she was beautiful behind the whole façade; he always wanted her to just to be free and natural and forget the so-called fashion trends in this God-awful place. He focuses back on her and her story knowing that the last part can't be good. She lets a staggered breath escape her before telling him that that was the last time she ever seen or heard from her mother ever again.