I always thought that Effie was secretly way more smart and caring than the books made her out to be. In fact, I imagine her secretly hating the games and her job as an escort. Like, maybe Snow and the government picks certain Capitol citizens and makes them work a certain job for the Games. Could you please write a one-shot where Haymitch finds out that Effie hates her job and the Games, wishes for a rebellion, and only dresses and acts like she does so she doesnt get in trouble with Snow?
All We Have
"Stop that." she ordered again, dragging him through the swirling crowd gathered on the Capitol Square, busy watching their precious Games on the big screens. "Stop right now, Haymitch."
He could tell she was frightened but he didn't know by what, nor did he really cared. He was so drunk every worry seemed to fade away in the background and looked more like a joke than an actual concern.
"Why?" he laughed, struggling to get rid of the surprisingly firm grip she had on his arm. "Don't they want to know the truth, sweetheart? All these people…" He caught a random shoulder in the crowd and found himself faced with a dyed blue skin man with fake eyelashes. How utterly ridiculous. "I hate you." The man opened his eyes so wide, the eyelashes fluttered up and down and up and down and Haymitch laughed again, it was so ridiculous.
"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry, sir." He barely listened to Effie's apologizing on his behalf, he was laughing too hard. Only when she pulled on his arm again, dragging him far from the Square into less crowded streets, did he notice the tension in her.
"I hate them all." Haymitch said again. He thought it was kind enough of him not to include her in that. "I loathe them all, I want…"
"Shut up." she hissed, her nails digging painfully into his skin. "Shut the bloody hell up."
It was the language rather than the pain that made him actually fall silent. She never spoke like that. She had a stroke every time he said 'damn'. It was so shocking and so unexpected he let her steer him through streets and alleys until he understood she wasn't taking him back to the penthouse. They stopped in front of an anonymous building, she forced him into an elevator and then into an apartment and unto a couch. She towered over him, then, as angry as he had ever seen her, and she pointed a furious finger at his chest.
"I'm getting you coffee, focus on sobering up because you're not getting anywhere in public until you're in control of what comes out of your mouth." she said, slamming her purse on the small table in front of the couch. She disappeared in another room he assumed to be the kitchen, leaving him dumbfounded, slightly dizzy and utterly confused.
"Where are we?" he asked, when she came back with a mug full of coffee. The buzz of the liquor had died down. "Whose apartment is this? Your boyfriend?" He sneered the last part like it was an impossible notion. It was cruel, perhaps, but he felt like being cruel that day. His tributes were dead, again, but the girl had lasted two days and he had let himself hope. He couldn't do anything without sponsors, though, and she hadn't been interesting enough.
"Mine, obviously." She sighed. She looked calmer, sadder – like she always did when they lost a tribute.
Haymitch frowned and looked around again, sipping the scalding black coffee. "Did you just move in or something?" It didn't look at all like what he expected. The wall were painted in a light brown shade, it was sparsely but sensibly furnished… No over the top eccentricities, no glaring colors… "Seems a bit dull for your tastes."
"What would you know of my tastes, Haymitch?" It was even more bitter than his coffee.
"They're usually bad." he snorted.
"Right." She sounded hurt, now, which made him feel bad. She was infuriating most of the time but she had never tried to hurt him on purpose. Unlike him. "Look, Haymitch, I know you're… frustrated by what happened, I am too, but you can't go and say things like that in public."
"Why do you care?" he mumbled, slumping back against the couch.
She seemed to ponder the question for a few seconds before sitting down on the chair closest to him. "I don't have to tell you what happen to people who aren't… admirers, shall we say, of the Capitol." She wriggled her hands in her laps nervously. "Do you think you can go out in the streets and tell every Capitol citizen you hate them without any consequences?"
"Are you afraid for me, sweetheart?" he smirked.
"The world does not revolve around you, Haymitch." she snapped. "You're a victor. They won't touch you. They will punish you through other people."
He chuckled darkly and finished his coffee in three long mouthful. It wasn't booze but it was something to drink. "Been there, done that. No one left, now. They can't do anything to me." He carefully didn't let himself think about his family or his girlfriend.
"Good for you." she said. "I have a family and I'd rather keep it that way if it's all the same to you."
"What are you on about, now?" he rubbed his forehead. Her coffee, the lack of liquor, the topic and her voice were giving him a headache. "Your family is nothing to me. They're safe."
She sighed. "It's very simple, Haymitch. I've been telling you for years but you never listen. You're District Twelve victor, I'm District Twelve escort, your behavior reflects on me."
Something cold twisted his guts. He felt sober all of sudden. "What are you saying?"
There was that bitterness again in her voice. "I would have thought you could understand on your own. Do I have to spell it for you?"
Where were the smiles? The silly small talk about manners and fashion? The bundle of cheerful hope she always was? The naivety with which she always talked about her precious little Capitol? "Effie?" He was worried suddenly. Had they threatened her because of the way he acted?
"I am responsible for you." She said harshly. "It is my job to make sure you don't embarrass the Capitol. When you go and tell publicly that you hate the Capitol, I fail at my job. There will be consequences. For me."
He rolled his eyes, feeling relieved. "What, you're worried about your promotion? You will be Twelve's escort a year longer, what's the big deal? You should have made sure I couldn't get out of the penthouse. Your job, sweetheart. You chose it, you deal with it."
"Oh, I chose it, did I?" she huffed. "For someone who acts as if he knows everything, you're a very ignorant man, Haymitch. You're sober enough now, you can find your way back to the Training Center on your own. Do try not to insult any citizen on the way."
She got up and went into the kitchen, leaving him behind. He heard the banging of cupboard doors and the clanging of pots. He rose from the couch and tested his balance warily but she was right – like she annoyingly often was – and he had sobered up. He dithered between leaving and forgetting this odd out of character Effie or following her into the kitchen to discover what that was about. In the end, curiosity was the strongest and he leaned against her kitchen door, watching her hovering over her stove, throwing things in a pot. Effie cooking. That was… a catastrophe in the making. "Are you trying to burn down the house, sweetheart?"
"Why are you still here?" She dimmed the fire and turned to face him, arms folded across her chest.
"What do you mean I'm ignorant?" he grumbled.
"Never mind." Her face softened a little. "I just wish… Stop treating me like the enemy, please. I am not your enemy."
"You're Capitol." he spat.
"Yes, I'm Capitol." She lifted her chin proudly. "And contrary to what you seem to believe this isn't an insult. The Capitol doesn't mean Snow." She lowered her voice. "Do you think the Capitol is a freer place than the Districts? Do you really think that? Because let me tell you, tyranny knows no bounds, Haymitch."
He sneered, thinking back to the tributes he had just lost. "Yes, I'm sure you're exhausted with all that parading around in high heels you do."
"Perhaps I wouldn't be if it had been my choice to parade around in high heels." she hissed. "Perhaps I'm tired of smiling all day long and looking happy when all I want to do is scream." She turned her back on him and went to look through the window. "I really need you to leave, now."
Was she crying? He could hear the tears in her voice. He didn't like to see her upset, he never did like it, it tugged at something in his chest he liked to pretend was dead. He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch really but he didn't quite dare. He stood behind her and watched the street below. "What the hell is going on, here?" he asked as calmly as he could. This wasn't normal behavior for Effie and it alarmed him.
"I'm tired." she whispered. "And I'm afraid of being tired because that's when you make a mistake. I've seen it before with other escorts. But I'm tired, Haymitch."
Was she having a nervous breakdown? Because he wasn't the one to go to for nervous breakdowns. He had had his share of them. "Well, the Games are over for us this year. Go have a lie down. Relax."
"The Games are never over." she sighed, propping an arm against the window and leaning her forehead against it. "You should know that."
"Stop being bloody cryptic." he growled. "What's wrong? What's all this talk about choices?"
He had a bad feeling about this. He wouldn't like it, he knew.
She glanced back at him thoughtfully and then shrugged – again, something she never did because it was rude or whatever. "In the Districts, they put your names on pieces of paper and pick one out at random." She turned back to the window and closed her eyes. "Reapings in the Capitol aren't that fair. You said something to someone you think you can trust because you don't know yet that you can trust no one, and you're on their list. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."
"Effie, do you…" He was terrified of what she was implying, because…
"I said to my boyfriend it wasn't fair to send twelve years old to face seventeen years old in the arena. The next day I was brought in for questioning." she droned on. "I played dumb, they put it on a sentimental whim on my part, but I was on their list and I was good-looking. They made me an escort, simple as that. They don't care about what you think or what you want, they want you to play the part so you play the part or you endure the consequences. I have parents, I have a sister." Her voice turned pleading. "I thought you would understand, I thought we could be friends. I tried so hard to be your friend, Haymitch…"
His hands hovered in the air for a few seconds before he found the strength to place them on her shoulder. "I…" He was sorry but sorry wouldn't cut it. "I had no idea."
"I know." She wiped the tears off her cheeks. "No one does. And when you do, you can't say anything because you don't know who is in the same position you are. Victors hate on escorts but, really… I know more than one who is in the Games because of something they said or because of the way they look. Not all of them chose to be here. If you think I love taking care of children just to see them die two weeks later, you're wrong."
"They're going to punish you for what I did today." A wave of disgust rose in his chest, he felt her small quivers under his hands. She was afraid. "I will talk to someone. I will tell them you did your best to stop me." It wouldn't do any good, he knew that. "I won't let them hurt your family." He hated being back in that position. Not having loved ones was a relief most days because it meant he didn't have to fear for them and now… Now the assurance that no one would be hurt because of him had disappeared. Effie would be hurt. And he had never wished to see her hurt. "What do you think they will do? What have they done up until now?" Because let's face it, he had done plenty to annoy the Capitol in his years as a victor and Effie had been with him for some time now.
She shook his head. "It's the first time you've done something that bad, just a warning hopefully. It will be alright." She hugged herself. "It will be. Don't do that again, please."
"If you had told me that before…" He knew it wasn't really fair but he wouldn't have endangered anyone with his antics if he had known.
"I couldn't." She was still quivering so he ran his hands up and down her arms in a desperate attempt at comfort. "I shouldn't even tell you that now. Trust no one, I never quite learned that."
"I'm on your side." he said, because it sounded important somehow, and then he winced. "What else should I do? Or not do."
She turned around to face him and his hands fell back to his side. "I'm not asking you to stop drinking. We're ridiculous, they laugh at us, that's good."
"Because that makes us unthreatening." he deduced.
She nodded. "So don't go screaming your hate for us, Capitols, and it should be alright."
She looked so frail, he wanted to comfort her but didn't know how. He cupped her cheeks in his hands carefully, trying to wipe the smudges of make-up her tears had left with his thumb. "I don't hate you. I've never hated you." He gave up on the make-up because he was just making it worse, but he didn't let go of her face at once because it was like seeing a new Effie and he thought he could understand that one better. She was the same but different. "I can't hate someone who looks like a clown." he smirked.
She took the joke for what it was and smiled a little but it didn't reach her eyes. "I hate that." she confessed. "The outfits are so tight I can't breathe or sit or do anything most of the time, the wigs make me feel like my head is slowly roasting, don't get me started on the nails because they look like claws and I'm always worried I will stab myself with them and this…" she waved at her face "…itches all the time. I don't understand why people would do that willingly."
He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. Effie being forced to be an escort was one thing but Effie not liking her… Effiness appearance was something else altogether. He wondered what she looked like under all that crap. "Take it off." Did he imagine her blush? It was hard to tell with all that white powder caking her face.
"You are aware of course that asking that of a lady is highly improper?" she asked.
"Do you actually care about propriety?" He didn't know what was true and what was an act anymore.
"To a certain length." she replied honestly, but she was already taking pins out.
He didn't know what he was expecting when she removed the wig but he wasn't disappointed by the mass of strawberry blond curls that fell on her shoulders. He couldn't help but capture a strand and roll it between his fingers, amazed at how soft it was. Her wigs were always so stiff with hairspray… She tousled her hair, obviously relieved to be rid of the awful purple wig. It was a crime to hide those curls under that monstrosity. He couldn't help but run his fingers through the curling strands "Liking my real hair, I see." she teased, touching his wrist softly.
"Take the make-up off." It was weird how he had always considered Effie like a sort of kinder Capitol citizen until then but had never thought of her as a human being. She was sort of surreal to him. Just Effie. She existed in correlation with the Games and that was it. She wasn't… real. Obviously, he had noticed she was an attractive woman but it was hard for him to see the appeal of someone who looked like a baked cake except at that precise moment in time… Her hair made it hard to focus on something else but that slightly ridiculous realization that she was indeed human. She was a pawn just like he was a pawn. She was a prisoner just like he was a prisoner. And it changed everything. "I want to see you."
She lead him to her bathroom. It took fifteen minutes and at least five different items to remove the make-up. He spent them sitting on the edge of her bathtub, watching her work diligently. When she was done, her skin was reddish from all the scrubbing and she looked a little self-conscious as she turned to face him but she met his eyes all the same, proud and defiant.
She had said she was good-looking but good-looking wasn't cutting it. She was beautiful. Her eyes were so blue… He had never noticed how blue because of the make-up around them and of those fake eyelashes. Why would they cover a face so beautiful with various paints?
"Are you already regretting the make-up?" she said, probably because he had been silent for too long.
"You're stunning." His voice was rough and deeper than usual. She blushed and ducked her head before looking back at the mirror above the sink.
"Do you ever forget who you are?" she asked, wistfully staring at her reflection. "Sometimes, I don't know anymore."
He stood up slowly and stood behind her, to see her face in the mirror. "I think… I think you're a survivor." That was the highest compliment he could make, really, and she seemed to understand because she smiled and it reached her eyes this time.
"I don't remember how long it's been since someone saw me looking like that, like myself." She was talking to his reflection but she turned her head slightly to look at him next. "Would you unzip the dress, please?"
His fingers were itching to touch but he stayed still. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Not particularly." She was back to talking to his reflection in the mirror, she reached behind her for his hand and placed it on her waist. "But no one has ever looked at me like you're doing right now. Men usually like me better with the wig and the make-up."
"Well, that prove my point about Capitol people being stupid, then, princess." He took a step closer, feeling a little like a moth hovering over a flame, he knew he was going to crash and burn but he also knew there was no escaping that fate. The hand on her waist dug a little at her flesh when he gathered her hair in his other hand to swipe it over her shoulder. He pressed a kiss on the back of her neck almost reverently.
The quiver was a good kind of quiver this time and he smiled against her skin, letting his mouth trail down her neck to the small zip hidden behind the fabric of her dress.
"You can't call me princess." She was out of breath and it only made him smile wider. "I don't look the part anymore." His hand moved to her stomach and he kissed the juncture between her neck and her shoulder, before nibbling on it softly. She moaned and pressed back against him, tilting her head to give him better access, and it was hard for him not to tear the dress off her right then.
"You never looked more the part as far as I'm concerned." he mumbled against her neck. She turned around in his arms and pulled at his shirt. Their lips crashed against each other and for a few minutes he forgot breathing was a necessary thing. "I hate what they do to you." he said between two kiss. "I hate what they do to all of us."
His fingers were struggling with the zipper but hers did a quick job of his shirt's buttons. "Things will change. One day." She got rid of the shirt and his hands stilled on her back. He wasn't self-conscious about his scars but when she retraced the one on his stomach with the tip of her fingers, he couldn't help the shiver that ran through his body. "It has to." she vowed before kissing the other scar on his shoulder. "No more pain. No more Games."
"That's… highly optimistic." He kissed her but that kiss was slower, less hungry, more… gentle. "I hope you're right." He finally managed to tug the zipper down. "I really do."
"Hope is all we have." she whispers breathlessly in his ear, a few minutes later, after he had managed to get rid of the dress that clang to her body like a second skin. "It's all we have…"
"Not true." he denied, leaning back to look at her in the eyes because he wanted her to know how serious he was despite how cheesy it was going to sound. "We have each other, now."