Waves

Pretending to stare at the scoreboard, Effie purses her lips in consternation and turns away. Out of the corner of her eye she sees her target sponsor talk to the district Eleven victor, Seeder. Effie's finger slides across her tablet organizer, wiping the sponsor's name off the list. The sponsor is a wealthy heiress, keen on investing her money in underdogs and charity cases. With a favoritism to district Eleven, apparently.

Effie zooms in on the tablet and opens the sponsor's individual profile. She makes a few notes, turns it off, and slips it back into her neat, white leather folder. Her memory may be good, photographic in fact; it's what earned her the position as escort despite her other complications. But dealing with sponsors requires 100% accuracy. A single mistake can cost her district a lot of money. And she certainly can't count on Haymitch to remember.

She's beginning to realize she can't count on Haymitch for much of anything.

She glances up from the little table she's perched at in the back of the betting room. She casually scans the room, searching for a new target. Her tributes may be dead, but she can certainly garner valuable information about sponsors for next year's games.

While watching another sponsor talk with district Seven's handsome mentor, Effie feels someone's eyes on her. She looks up to find district Four's escort staring directly at her. The imposing woman, dressed in sea foam, walks very deliberately, very slowly towards Effie.

"Sempronia," the escort holds her hand out regally to Effie and inclines her head. Unlike Effie's brightly colored and stiffly sculpted wig, Sempronia's hair curls around her head naturally. Her dark skin, made even darker by foundation, contrasts with the blue eye shadow washed over her brows. White spray highlights the tips of Sempronia's eyelids and cheekbones like the caps of waves. Effie feels a slight pang of jealousy at the woman's obvious display of district pride. If Effie dressed as a coal mine she'd probably only end up appearing as grimy as Haymitch.

Effie takes the extended hand and nods in return, careful not to let her wig slip, "Effie Trinket."

"I know," Sempronia says, sliding into the seat across from Effie, "I also know you'll never receive that sponsorship." The escort's eyes flick subtly to the spot recently vacated by the wealthy woman.

Effie bristles at the comment and straightens her back, prepared to leave if necessary. She can't talk back to an escort of higher rank, but she can certainly leave.

Sempronia smirks benignly, "You're not going to have luck with any sponsor; not as the representative from Twelve."

Effie opens her mouth to politely disagree.

But Sempronia gets her words in first, "I've been watching you this year. You're good. Intelligent, perceptive, stubborn, and not afraid of a challenge. I suspect there's a part of you that enjoys working for Twelve." Her smile broadens.

Effie's mouth continues to hang open unattractively, like a fish.

"However, your talents are being wasted," Sempronia produces a card, seemingly from nowhere, and dangles it in the air between two fingers, "This is my invitation to the exclusive Victory party given by the top districts at the end of the games," she opens her fingers and the envelope drops to the table, "I seem to have lost it. They'll have to issue me a new one." she holds Effie's gaze for a prolonged minute and then stands and glides away from the table in one smooth movement.

Effie finally remembers to close her mouth. She sits, frozen, staring at the envelope until she notices a peacekeeper making his way towards her. Effie slaps her palm over the envelope, slides it off the table and into her lap. She flips the folder closed and leaves the room in the opposite direction.

She doesn't breathe normally again until she exists the elevator on floor twelve. Immediately she yanks the envelope out, traps the folder between her arm and her body, and starts ripping through the expensive cream paper. She pauses at the entrance to the living room. Loud, booming voices seem to be coming from behind the dividing wall. She recognizes Haymitch, but the other male voice she can't place. Somehow she can't imagine Haymitch inviting guests over, and yet...

"Ooooh, wipe out!" the mystery voice gives a low, hearty chuckle.

Another person laughs in response. It takes Effie a minute to realize the second person laughing is Haymitch. She's never heard him laugh before. Not even in old interviews. She quietly walks to the door and stands in the threshold, watching. Haymitch and the aging victor from Eleven are lounging casually on the couch with three open wine bottles resting on the coffee table.

Effie sighs and struts into the room, ready to send the second victor packing. The last thing she needs is someone encouraging Haymitch's drinking, and mentors aren't supposed to visit other districts' apartments during the games anyway.

Haymitch hears the clicking of her heels and glances her way, "Oh, great." His voice is unenthusiastic.

"I didn't realize we would be entertaining tonight," she snaps, her hand on her hip.

Haymitch raises his brow, "We?"

"Entertaining in our penthouse, a place no one except those from Twelve should be," she continues.

"You better turn around and leave yourself, then," Haymitch grins lazily. He leans back in his chair and eyes her.

"You know what I mean," Effie retorts.

Haymitch just laughs at her and refocuses his eyes on the projector screen behind her, which, before today, had been playing the feed of the games nonstop. Now all Effie can see is a whole lot of ocean and sand.

Giving up on Haymitch, Effie turns to the other victor, "I apologize, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Neither of our districts have tributes in the arena anymore," Haymitch mutters, annoyed now, "Lighten up. No one is breaking any rules."

The victor from Eleven watches Haymitch and Effie with an amused glint in his eyes. But before Effie can get her retort in, the man jumps up and extends the stump of his left arm towards her. She blinks at him in horror, having no frame of reference for such a situation.

"I should be the one apologizing," he says with a mischievous smile that lights up his entire face, "I failed to properly introduce myself. I'm Chaff."

"Effie," she says hesitantly. She reaches forward to take his left stump and shake, but he uses her distraction to pull her in towards him with his good hand and kisses her smack on the lips.

The first thing Effie's brain registers after Chaff steps away is laughter. Hysterical guffaws coming from Haymitch's direction. She glares at him. He's laughing so hard tears are threatening to spill.

Effie straightens her sleeve from where Chaff stretched it out, and deftly swipes her fingers around her mouth to clean any lipstick smudges. She tries to keep her breathing measured and even. She can't recall the typical greetings of district Eleven.

"Thank you," she says, although her voice is a little strained, "for the introduction Haymitch so rudely neglected."

Haymitch's laughter dies down to wheezing, "That's not a custom sweetheart. He simply enjoys kissing." His grin is smug and a little malicious.

Wide eyed and mouth pinched, Effie turns to Chaff for conformation of this.

"Don't worry sweetheart," Chaff places emphasis on the pet name with a teasing glance at Haymitch, "I just did what your boy over here only wishes he had the guts to do."

That shuts Haymitch's laughter up real quick.

This time Effie turns toward her mentor in shock.

Haymitch scowls at Chaff and knocks back the rest of his drink. He slumps further in his chair and stares at the screen behind her intently. She hears him mumble something about not ever wanting to kiss a Capitol.

"Well, I'd never kiss a drunk," Effie's eyes linger judgmentally on the empty bottles of alcohol, "So that settles that." she raises a hand to snap for an Avox to clear the coffee table...and perhaps bring a new bottle and fresh glass for her; after all, if you can't beat them, join them; but to her surprise no one is around to answer her demand.

"Where are the attendants?" she directs the question at Haymitch with an accusatory glare.

"I dismissed them for the rest of the evening," he says.

"I surmised that," she says, "but...why?"

"Because while Chaff being here may be perfectly legal..." Haymitch explains, "what we're watching...isn't."

"What?" Effie swivels around to face the projection screen.

"But everyone in the Capitol knows about it," Chaff adds, "except you apparently." He reaches forward and grabs a bowl of corn chips and starts snacking. The loud crunching grates on Effie's ears. She winces.

"If you're going to stay, would you sit down or move to the side?" Haymitch says, "You're in the middle of the damn screen."

Effie steps around the coffee table. She taps her shin against Haymitch's ankle repeatedly until he reluctantly takes his feet off the table to let her through. As soon as she's seated in the middle of the couch between the two victors, Haymitch defiantly puts his feet back up. Effie delicately lifts the last half empty bottle of wine and takes a sip. She settles further back into the plush couch with it, letting her butt sink far enough into the cushions so the seat properly supports her still very upright back. If she slouches in this dress, she will tear a hole in the seam for sure.

Effie feels Haymitch's eyes scrutinizing her and turns to him coolly, "Explain to me what this illegal program is. All I see is more water than I'd ever care to deal with." She takes another sip of the wine to prove she's there to stay.

Haymitch smirks at her.

"That would be the Pacific Ocean," Chaff answers cheerfully, "District Four, to be exact."

"Oh," she says, "I've heard of it, of course, but I've never actually been there. Seems terrifying."

"Calming, actually," Haymitch corrects.

"You've been there?" her tone is disbelieving.

"Once," he scowls.

She's about to ask, 'when?' but thinks better of it.

"And that," Chaff announces in a jovial voice that turns Effie's attention back to the screen: a boy grins into the camera, his face far too close to the lens, "is ten year old Finnick Odair."

All they can see is bits of him, a nose and mouth, eye and eyebrow, chin and neck, as he restlessly moves around. When he backs away towards the water, she can see that he is waving to the camera. He obviously knows he is being filmed.

"What is that strange board he is carrying?" Effie asks.

"Surfboard," Haymitch replies. He leans forward to watch the young boy run through the waves and paddle deeper into the water.

"He's the youngest, and most talented surfer out there today," Chaff booms proudly.

"And knows it," Haymitch smiles.

Effie observes silently. The two men add their own commentary to the surfing, using terms she doesn't understand. The boy does a dangerous looking spin on the crest of a wave that draws "ooh"s of admiration. Haymitch even grins again. Although the camera seems to be in a fixed position and the boy surfing is no more than a small blur on the screen, Effie is riveted. She can't help but wonder how often someone is hurt doing these stunts. When a wave crashes over the boy unexpectedly and sends him sinking into the water, she gasps and leans forward involuntarily.

"He's fine," Haymitch tells her quietly, his voice almost drowned out by Chaff's loud groans and complaints about how that was a perfect barrel and the kid lost it.

Sure enough, soon the boy's head pops back up, a tiny dot on screen, and he starts swimming back into position.

"See, his board is tied to his ankle so they can't be separated," Haymitch points out.

Effie nods, and sits back again, still unable to pull her eyes away from the screen. She feels a gentle tap at her left elbow. She glances over. Haymitch lifts his eyebrow and nods at the wine bottle. She passes it to him silently and he takes a long drink.

Meanwhile, on screen, the boy is trying to catch a second wave. This one is huge, tall, and looks intimidating. The boy ducks underneath the white foam and disappears from sight, making Effie cry out with worry. But next to her, Chaff bounces on his seat, calling out incoherent words of encouragement. He seems to recognize what is happening. Seconds before Effie is about to give the boy up for dead, he reappears out the opposite end of the wave. He smoothly rides the last, gentle crest and then drops into the water backwards.

Haymitch starts clapping. Chaff leaps from his seat and punches his fist in the air, "Now that is surfing!"

"That was nerve-wracking," Effie chides.

Chaff laughs at her.

Haymitch nudges her arm with the bottle of wine. She wraps her hand around the neck of the bottle and drinks.

"And what part of this activity is illegal, exactly?" Effie asks.

"You drinking, probably," Chaff grins, "Are you even twenty-one yet?"

"Yes, as of last fall," she says petulantly, "but that wasn't what I meant."

"Technically, the historic surfing site known as Trestles is not a part of district Four," Haymitch explains, "Surfing is forbidden since it isn't actively productive in the interest of the Capitol. The commercial value isn't considered adequate."

"But enough people watch it that they turn a blind eye to enterprising young people who sneak out of district Four in their spare time," Chaff adds.

"I had no idea..." Effie says.

"The video feed comes from a surveillance camera buried in the rocks on the beach," Haymitch says, "They have them in all the districts."

"Surfing in Four," Chaff lists, "skiing in Seven, races in Eleven, hunting in Twelve..." he flicks through the channels.

"These district people participating in this...they are going against the laws of the Capitol?" Effie asks, her throat tight.

"Yeah," Chaff shrugs.

As if it's nothing. As if... "They'll be killed!" Effie says, "Or worse, their tongues cut out...forced to work as slaves..." she clasps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in fear.

"No one cares about a few people asserting minimal independence," Chaff reassures her with an eye roll.

"If any of them act up, they get thrown in the arena anyway," Haymitch says, surly, "Them or someone they know."

"The reaping..." Effie insists, "is random!"

Chaff guffaws. Haymitch sighs.

"I select the slips of paper myself," Effie continues.

"It's cute how naive you are," Chaff teases.

"Are you saying the reapings are rigged?" Effie asks, furious.

"Sometimes they are," Haymitch admits quietly.

Effie is so emotional all she can do is sit there with her mouth gaping open and closed.

Chaff laughs at her expression, "Is she always so uptight?"

"Usually she's worse," Haymitch mutters dejectedly. He pries the wine bottle from her grip and finishes it off. She hadn't even noticed how much she'd been drinking.

"Only," she says a little too shrilly and immediately forces herself to calm her voice to prove her point, "because you bring the worst in me out." she punctuates every syllable slowly in an almost sing-song-y way only a Capitol accent could.

Haymitch smirks back at her.

"Ahhhuh," Chaff says quietly. His eyes dart between the two young people arguing, as if measuring something, "well, I think I will head back to my own floor. And let you two get on with the fun."

"Oh...no, I apologize, I didn't mean to disturb your evening," Effie launches into a polite defense by default, and belatedly realizes how ridiculous it is after her initial interruption.

"You stay, she should go," Haymitch grumbles.

Her momentary embarrassment turns to outrage, "I am a Capitol citizen. This apartment is in my city. You can't order me out. You are the interlopers here."

"You've had too much wine, you should go to bed," Haymitch tells Effie tiredly.

She scoffs, "you've had more."

"Yeah, but you're a lightweight," Haymitch argues.

"Let's all watch something else; a proper, legal program," Effie suggest brightly, wrestling the control out of Haymitch's hand.

Chaff groans. Haymitch shrugs, resigned to his night not going the way he had planned.

"There must be something we can all agree on," Effie says fairly

"The Hunger Games?" Haymitch suggests, his voice mean and taunting.

"No," Effie says, a little too quickly and a little too harshly. She takes a deep breath, "No, anything except that."

"Already lost your taste for it, have you?" Haymitch asks.

She screws up her face at him in confusion.

"You are an escort," Haymitch tilts his chin up and shakes his hair out of his face. His hands float up to his shoulders in a bad imitation of her own gestures.

"That's what you think?" Effie asks, "that…that I became an escort because I enjoy watching..." Her mouth falls open and she stares at him.

"Time for me to leave," Chaff interrupts hastily. He stands.

Effie stays seated, trying to process this new information from Haymitch. She doesn't do anything when Chaff exits the room, although the now familiar ping of the elevator closing signals that he's gone. Haymitch doesn't move either.

"If you think that way..." she says quietly, "...you must hate me."

Haymitch sighs and pushes himself to his feet, "All Capitol citizens enjoy the games. You're conditioned to."

"I'm not like that..." she protests.

"Your city, your apartment," Haymitch quotes her, "we're just the interlopers."

She takes a breath to say more but he shakes his head, sets the wine bottle heavily down on the coffee table, and shuffles off down the hall.

With the avoxes gone, Effie clears the bottles and glasses off the table herself. When she drops the bottles into the bin at the end of the buffet table, she notices a thin ticket resting on Haymitch's usual place at the table. Effie picks it up and realizes it's his ticket home. On a train scheduled to leave tomorrow. He must have made the arrangements immediately after their tributes' death for it to come so quick.

She tugs the cream envelope out of her folder and leaves the party invitation on the table at her own place setting. She's not sure why, except maybe a small part of her wants him to see it. He makes her feel so new and inexperienced and naive. Yet she's the one getting invites to exclusive parties. She's the one already making connections that could mean survival for their future tributes. She's doing something. And what is he doing? Spending all day getting drunk with friends and leaving on the first train home.

The invitation is mysteriously missing when Effie arrives for breakfast the next morning. She spent an extra hour on her beauty regimen, so perhaps Haymitch already came in and found it. As soon as she sits down to eat, Haymitch storms into the dining room, the invitation in his hands. He throws it on her plate, forcing Effie to hastily rescue it before the paper slides into runny egg yolk.

"You can't be serious," Haymitch says.

"About what?" Effie asks innocently.

"Exclusive victory party?" Haymitch says sarcastically, "For the top districts to celebrate how much better they are than the rest of us, and to decide next year's allies? And district Twelve's escort is invited?"

"Sempronia invited me," Effie says defensively, "She expects me to be there."

"I'm going with you," Haymitch decides.

"Not necessary..."

"I'm going," he repeats, "to make sure you don't do something stupid."

He locks himself in his bedroom for the next week and a half until the games finally end, only emerging for food and drink, and only when Effie isn't around. The train ticket home goes untouched. Without comment, Effie takes money from her own pocket to schedule him a new one. She's won this one though; he's staying. And he'll talk to those sponsors. She'll guarantee it.