This year's victor was the girl from Two. It had come down to her and her district partner. Neither had hesitated to attack the other, but he'd only managed a superficial wound against her fatal blow.
Effie came back to 12 again to offer the families condolences. She asked Haymitch to accompany her, but he again declined. He suspected this year had gone no better, but again Effie made no hint that it had been anything but a success.
Haymitch commended her, Effie was good at this job, putting a smile on no matter what. "What color are you thinking for this year's Victor's ball?"
"I'm not going, Effie."
"Of course you are. If you don't go, I can't go."
"Not seeing how that would change my mind."
"Please," Effie whined.
Haymitch was not impressed.
"Fine," Effie resisted the urge to stomp her foot. "You know what that means?" He didn't. "We'll just need a victor then. It's better when the party revolves around you anyway. Which means we'll have to strategize more. I'll come down every week. I already got your phone number from the mayor, so I can call you when I have an idea."
Haymitch went pale at the thought of this much Effie in his life. "If you call me once, I will rip the phone out of the wall."
She smiled as she would to petulant child, "Very funny, Haymitch." Looking at him again, she frowned. "We'll have to do something about you as well. Your appearance can be tidied, but how will we redirect years of your image of a sloven drunk?"
Still gasping at words flowing from his escort's mouth, Haymitch muttered, "I like being a sloven drunk.'
Effie ignored him. "Your attitude is what really needs to be fixed. Perhaps we can somehow start an etiquette school here in the district so the children have some manners before I get to them."
Haymitch was tempted to say nothing at that suggestion, just to watch Effie try to bring that up to President Snow, and if by some miracle it passed, to actually see her try to teach starving children the proper way to hold their cutlery. "Slow down, princess. What it takes to win is desire and luck."
His words were sober and enlightening enough to stop Effie. Was Haymitch opening up? Sharing wisdom? She wished she had a recorder. "What do you mean?"
"12 is not a career district and it never will be, sweetheart. We only win with luck and some skill to back it up, just like all of the outlying districts. It's why we don't get a lot of victors. We're playing against a stacked hand."
Effie frowned again. "No. The games are fair. Every district has a fair chance of winning. I understand that 12 is an underdog, but all it would take is the right amount of charm to appeal to…"
She continued, but Haymitch tuned her out. Why did he bother? This capital woman would never understand the evil behind the games. And if she did…
Haymitch thought about an Effie that knew she participated in sending children to slaughter to punish the rebellion of their great-grandparents. He guessed she'd be less peppy.
Which made him somewhat determined to see it happen.
Effie had kept her promise and Haymitch got a phone call nearly daily from her. She spoke about all sorts of nonsense, always beginning the call with how her day was going and Capital gossip. Haymitch used to hang up when she bored him, but soon realized that just made her call back and talk about a bad connection. He soon just put the phone down as he drank, listening for her eventual screech of his name to pick it up again.
So rare was it that she ever said anything of importance that he almost missed a vital piece of information from her. "…I guess I'm just out of sorts today. My father died ten years ago today but because of Snow's grievance laws, my family isn't allowed to acknowledge or grieve for him in anyway."
Haymitch had been looking for another bottle but the name Snow had caught his attention. He remembered that Effie's father had once worked for him, as an escort to the districts. "Wait. What?"
Effie's breath caught, as she hadn't realized what she had said to him. He never listened to her and she had begun to use him as a sounding board for all of her problems. The idea that he did pay attention, rattled her for some reason. Especially that he caught on to the one slightly treasonous comment she made. "Um, well, I mean…"
"Spit it out, Trinket."
That angered her, which called forth words, "My father died thirteen years ago today. Snow blamed him for not putting down an uprising in one of your little districts, and Snow branded him a traitor and on his way back to us, he died in a train wreck. My family wasn't even allowed to bury him because of what Snow said about him. It took me years to polish off the tarnish he left."
After the words had flowed out, Effie's breath came short. She had never said any of this to anyone. Never spoke ill of Snow, never talked about her father's death or her quest to restore the Trinket name. Saying it out loud, she began to panic.
"Effie…" Haymitch's voice was soft and full of understanding, which only made Effie even more aware of the mistake she had made.
She wanted to hang up, never speak of this again. But that would ensure it would be forever a big deal. So instead she said, "Never mind of all that Haymitch. It's in the past now, forever forgotten. Did I tell you about my friend Milly's party last week?"
Haymitch understood the sudden topic change. It was wise actually, to have a conversation about Effie's father, who Haymitch now knew rather than suspected was killed by Snow, over an unsecure phone line was beyond foolish. He sighed, "No."
Effie then launched into a story where the major tragic event was that mayonnaise had been used rather than cream cheese in some kind of puff appetizer. It was a much safer conversation, but Haymitch didn't care. He didn't want to hear any of this. It felt like torture.
Every time he hung up the phone, he felt the desire to rip out the phone from the wall as promised. Never to hear Effie's annoying voice, leaving him to his booze and solitude, and relative peace.
Any day now, he'd do it.
When the next games came, Haymitch was dressed that day. Effie had spent the last two weeks reminding him what outfit to wear. Part of him wanted to defy her, just for the fun of it, but he dreaded what would happen the next year if he did that. She'd probably call him every hour in the weeks before the games rather than every day.
He'd dressed early, so he decided that he had time to polish off a bottle before facing the crowd. Part of him almost wished he was from a career district where Reaping Day was actually an exciting event rather than a somber one. He'd always despised those districts for not recognizing that they were just slave to the Capital with pretty chains that they seemed proud of. But it would be nice to have proud faces staring back at him rather than anxious, fearful ones.
For twenty years, he'd only seen parents dreading that their child would be picked, children dreading that their name would be called, and a community too weary to do anything but mask their anger as resignation. He wondered if he'd have time for two bottles.
The 70th Hunger Games – Effie felt like this year was the year, her year. Especially as the escort for District Two had announced his retirement following these games. That spot would be hers.
When Snow had invited her to his gardens, her heart had leapt at the invitation, as that must have meant that he saw her work on the games. He was very soft-spoken, which surprised her, as he'd always been so larger than life in her mind. But as he clipped roses, he asked, "Do you enjoy being the escort for District 12?"
Effie bit her lip. She didn't. She wanted a better district, but didn't want to appear ungrateful for her current position. "I love being involved in the games in any way."
Snow nodded. "Your father worked with the districts, didn't he? Before his passing."
The question seemingly came out of nowhere, but Effie knew that it hadn't. It had been one week since her confession to Haymitch. She repeated the standard line, "My father did, but he was a traitor. I am nothing like him."
It always hurt to say that. She had loved her father so much. Her favorite memories were his bedtime stories of game victors, watching the games with him, and his teasing of her crush on a certain District 12 victor. She blushed at that memory; she had forgotten about that until now.
Snow had noticed none of this, still clipping at roses, "What do you think of District 12?"
"It's filthy and the people have no manners."
Snow studied a rose. "Including their victor?"
"He's the worst one of all. Always drunk and useless." Effie wanted to go on, but refrained, hoping that would please Snow.
She didn't know, as his actions revealed nothing to her. He said, "Your district is getting new stylists this year." He faced her with a smile. "I picked them out myself."
She smiled back, "I'm sure they will be perfect."
It had been a short meeting, and she hoped it promised good things for her career, but the entire thing had felt threatening and left her unsettled.
But she put it out of her mind, as she walked to the square where she would pick two names, one of which would get her out of that crummy district. Then she could put this all behind her, and focus only on the pleasant things, just as she had always done.
Aboard the train with this year's annual child sacrifices, Haymitch was faced with a dilemma. He was resting on the couch and he wanted to nap, but in this position he couldn't continue drink without choking himself. It was a tricky one.
Then he thought of a solution, "Effie! Effie! Get me a straw."
She was sitting with the children at the table, so he knew she heard him. She made no sound, but he could feel the disapproval radiating off. "Get it yourself."
Haymitch tried to remember the names of the kids, to order one of them to fetch it, but they escaped him. He wondered if they would answer to boy/girl, as he had no intention of learning their names. Names made the job harder in the end.
He attempted to lift his head, but half of the drink dribbled down his chin. He laid back down and listened to Effie scold the children about table manners. He was disappointed in Effie, she'd nearly been human in that one phone conversation. Which made this vapid Effie even more irritating to deal with, because he knew under all that make-up, she wasn't that terrible.
After a while she dismissed the children. Haymitch figured she had gone with them until he heard the clicking of her heels circling the couch. They stopped.
"Honestly, Haymitch, I had thought with all of our talks, you'd be more presentable this year." Effie sat across from him, holding out a straw.
He held up his bottle, making Effie frown though she did place it in for him. He took a long sip before answering, "I was very presentable. Do you not see my fashionable clothing?" He motioned down his body. "The latest in Capitol fashions, I assure you."
"Yes, but still so plain and boring."
"You picked them out."
"You won't let me give you anything bold and daring!" Effie's voice went up an octave at her rebuttal. In an attempt to regain her footing, she smoothed out her dress and continued in her normal voice. "There's a spot opening for a new escort in District 2."
"Oh?" Haymitch took another long swallow. "And how did you learn that?"
Effie smiled, as though she had secrets, "I have my ways. And with my recent personal meeting with President Snow, I'm sure that I…"
Haymitch was sitting up in an instant, "You met with Snow? What did you talk about?"
"Nothing much. My work, our new stylists."
"That's all? Think carefully, Effie."
She bit her lip before answering softly, "He did bring up my father."
Haymitch's blood turned to ice. So his phone was tapped. Was Snow planning anything? Was Effie in danger? It didn't seem possible. Effie was Capitol to her bones, how could he threaten her?
The same way he threatened everyone. They would have to be careful.
Haymitch finished his bottle. "I seem to be empty." He shook it for emphasis. "Would you mind getting me another?"
Pain flashed across Effie's face, but Haymitch forced himself to ignore it. She stood, smoothing out her skirt again. "Get it yourself."
She stumbled as she walked away and Haymitch fetched his own drink.
The tributes were off being prepped, so Effie was attempting to come up with a game plan moving forward. As usual, Haymitch was offering no help, just drinking on the sofa. Thinking out loud, Effie said, "We have new stylists this year, which means we'll really have a chance to make an impression."
"So what? The outfits will have working headlights this year?"
"Well, perhaps they'll be dressed in gold, since you're miners."
"That's District 1. We only dig for coal."
"Well coal turns into to gold."
"No, it doesn't."
"We'll it turns into something valuable. Pearls, I guess."
Haymitch thought about correcting the idiot. But as he looked at her working so diligently at the table, he realized that he was beginning to think of her as his idiot. Where was this loyalty toward her coming from?
He drank more, hoping the feeling would go away, "Have you met them yet?"
"No. We'll probably meet them after the parade."
Haymitch nodded though Effie didn't see. She asked, "Do you think there will be any new sponsors this year?" Haymitch gave no response, so she continued, "They usually are present at the Victor's Ball, but since you decided that we wouldn't attend this year…"
Interrupting her passive aggressive soliloquy, Haymitch said, "Effie, I swear, I've never hit a woman, but…"
Without thinking, she responded, "Well, that's not true. I watched your games."
As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they were a mistake. Haymitch left the room in a rage, wondering how he could ever consider loyalty to that woman.
The escort and mentor had not spoken since that exchange. Now backstage waiting for the interviews to play out, Haymitch wished he could more easily forgive. He recognized almost immediately that these designers acted more like guards (or spies) and had no desire to incriminate himself by talking with them. The rest of the mentors were focusing on their tributes, so he had no one to talk to at the moment. Which was usually fine, but for some reason he was missing Effie's annoying chatter.
Fed up with her cold shoulder, Haymitch began to make his way to the other groups. District Four had finished their interviews, so Mags should be around at the very least. Haymitch would even settle for the pretty boy's company.
Finnick was who he spotted first. Since it was a closed area, he didn't have his usual group of girls surrounding him.
But there was one girl with him.
After a moment, Haymitch recognized her as the female tribute for Four that year. What was her name? Anna, Annie, something like that.
Finnick was laughing, while the girl (who was still being dressed as a mermaid even though the parade was over) twirled a trident. She thrust it into the mentor's face without warning, but rather than looking upset, Finnick looked pleased.
Haymitch looked closer and realized that twinkle in the young man's eye ran deeper than amusement.
"What are you doing here?"
Wrapped up in what he was watching, Haymitch hadn't heard Mags sneak up on him. He waited for her to waddle her way next to him. He pointed toward the mentor and tribute, "You worried about that?"
Mags shook her head. "Shouldn't amount to much. That nice girl will not survive the games. She sees it all as a sporting event. At her first taste of death, she'll break. And Finnick will get over her."
It was almost a cruel thing to say, but Haymitch recognized there was no room for anything less than brutal truths in the games.
The two continued to flirt, oblivious to anyone who might be watching.
Mags lowered her voice, "Have you spoken with Plutarch yet?"
Haymitch's eyebrows joined the rest of his hair. "You have?"
"I know it's not easy for you to trust, and for good reason." She placed a hand on his arm, "But hear him out, Haymitch."
That was one hell of a recommendation, as Haymitch had been dodging the Gamemaker again during these games. Even though his claim about the bird was true, Haymitch couldn't believe that anyone from the Capital could be trusted.
