First off, I'd like to apologize for the delay in updating. I've had a major case of writer's block which has been a bother to get through.
Before I begin this chapter, as always, I'd like to take a moment to thank with much gratitude XmadlyinloveX, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, PhoenixRisingOnTheMoon, effies-scrapbook, Doc95, LivMellark, American Fantasy, Alex143, xkuroxshinobix, Firing Rockets on Dragons, gabisamore, lilyafterblue, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, confusednikki24-7, Joshissmexy92, Guest, Luce hutcherson, Guest, XPsychoBabyDollX, Guest, Narcissesme, CriminalMindsChick6, HogwartsDreamer113, Guest, sportygirl23, TheHiddenTruth, HBR, FunnyPuffins1600, Fanfic Allergy, asha74, loveu5missu6, typicalRAinbow, JocyACullen, TR3Nfan, SassMonster, Josh hutcherson, ashsum, Rye, Webkenzie, June Bell, FleurSuoh, and Rippl for the ever so kind and wonderful feedback you gave for the last chapter. This story has gone over 700 reviews! I'm so honored I don't know what to say! Also, a huge thank you to those who have alerted, favorited, and blogged about this story. Seriously folks, you all are the greatest! Now, without further ado, chapter twenty five.
Disclaimer- I do not own the Hunger Games series nor the characters who are in it.
Chapter twenty five: Lingering Between Lines
With as much force as a speeding train, my slumber is shoved from my unconscious mind as the unmistakable roar of a crowd rouses me. My eyes are the first to open, my mind still cocooned in the hazy blanket of exhaustion. No light fills my cabin as I glance, heavy-lidded, towards the window. Am I imagining things? Dreaming even? Perhaps this supposed chanting is merely a dreaded machine backfiring. There is no evident sign that the sun has risen yet. And even if there were, surely I would be awake by the time we arrived at the Capitol. A groan from beside me causes my thoughts to go elsewhere.
"You damn Capitolians and your damn sense of time," the groggy voice says irritably. "Does this place ever sleep? I've got a damn hangover and this racket isn't helping it."
For the first time, I notice that I am not alone in my room or even in my bed for that matter. Beside me, hands now massaging slowly at his eyes, lays Haymitch. I watch him silently for a moment unsure if I'm thrilled that he actually did end up staying through the night, or appalled that he had the indecency to sleep in my bed without my permission or acknowledgement.
"You're here," I finally say.
His hands lower from his face and with what looks like much effort, he opens his eyes. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Princess. Wasn't planning on staying in the first place. Must've fallen asleep without realizing it. Liquor has that affect on me."
I open my mouth in reply when a knock sounds from behind the door. I stiffen at the noise, a sudden wave of dread crashing over me. My eyes dart quickly from Haymitch, who lays unmoved beside me, to the entrance not but a yard or so from my bed. If whoever stood out there were to enter without my permission, the sight of us like this would surely bring up the most unimaginable ideas and questions. My breath hitches, my mind racing as I try to formulate an excuse to Haymitch's being here. One that would ultimately obliterate any idea that we were having relations.
"Ms. Trinket?"
The voice is soft, hesitant, almost as if who ever is speaking is slightly fearful of my response. For whatever reason, the timidness from the speaker brings me relief and my body relaxes, any fear of an interloper barging in disappearing.
"This is she," I call out, hoping Haymitch has the decency to keep his mouth shut.
"I was told to inform you we will be arriving at the station within the next ten minutes. Disembarking will commence once the train has pulled to a stop." says the voice. "All occupants of the train that are participating in, or have any involvement in the Quarter Quell, are to be on the platform five minutes before the hour of six."
It takes me a minute to register the words. Arriving? Disembarking? None of it, at first, makes sense to me. Then, without really meaning to, I find myself tuning back into the cheers that rage on from the outside. Realization strikes hard. No farewell time for the tributes. No stops for fuel. The extra hours have built on themselves to create a sooner deliverance of us all to the Capitol. And by how early we, District Twelve, have arrived, I can only imagine how soon the others must have too.
"No time," I say frantically, pulling myself up off the bed despite my body's desire to stay put. "They have given us no time to prepare, to dress, to ready..."
I hurry over to the large wooden wardrobe that is opposite to my bed. Without a thought of caution, I fling open the doors, my eyes flickering from each outfit selection that has been chosen for me. Dresses, skirts, slacks. All beautiful in color and style. All perfect for someone who is not nearing their seventh month of pregnancy. The moan of despair escapes my lips before I can stop it. Already, my first day back at the Capitol has begun in disaster.
"Clothes not glamorous enough for you, Princess?" Haymitch snorts.
"They cannot expect me to wear these," I whisper yanking a slim, brightly lime colored dress from the rack before shaking it in front of Haymitch's view. "I'll burst it for sure!"
"I'd be more worried about blinding people with that then ripping it," he mutters. "Thing looks like it'd give someone an epileptic episode when you step into the sunlight; what with all those flashy things reflecting light."
"Those flashy things are called sequins, and I'll have you know they are quite a desirable choice in fashion," I reply setting the dress back on its hanger. "Not that fashion is one of your priorities."
"As far as you can get from it," he yawns. "Got more important things to handle."
I frown softly. As if drinking held any rank near to appearance. Doing my best to ignore his ignorance, my eyes scan the clothing options once more in the hopes that perhaps I missed a more suitable outfit for my current condition. I find none. Disheartened, I turn towards the foot of my bed, the two suitcases sitting neatly in front coming to my attention. The clothes I had brought from Twelve-most that had been given slight altercations courtesy of Hazelle-held no exciting nor memorable look to them, but at least they fit me more properly than the rest.
"This is why we should be given a schedule in advance," I breathe, heaving one of the suitcases onto the mattress. "That way we wouldn't be rushing at the last second."
"Shouldn't stress, Princess," says Haymitch. "It ain't gonna get you anywhere any faster."
"Well it isn't going to slow me down either," I mumble, undoing the zip on my luggage. "Stress is a motivator, and if I'm to keep up with this schedule of their's, I'm going to need it."
I don't need to look at him to know he's rolling his eyes. "Whatever curls your wig, Princess," he mumbles.
I'm silent for a moment as I search though the folds of cloth filling my bag. Haymitch truly doesn't understand how anxiety building this all is far me. Changes in the traditional reaping. No schedule before hand. I made out to look like a fool on national television. This matched with my lack of a restful sleep is a recipe for trouble. Trouble still held in place by the few fine strings of sanity I still hold.
Swallowing hard, I finally settle upon the plum dress I wore to the District Six stop on the Victory Tour. It seems to be the only one Hazelle managed to find matching fabric for when she extended the torso room. Laying on the bed carefully, I turn to see Haymitch watching me. My lips switch, threatening a frown. How he can just lay there seemingly without another care is beyond me.
"Aren't you going to go change?" I ask, slightly irritable. "We should be arriving at any moment now."
He merely shrugs, "Don't need too." He says, "I'm wearing what I am now."
I suck in a breath, "You aren't serious are you?" But I know he is. "Haymitch, we are going into public. People will know you wore that yesterday! Everyone saw it during the reaping. Not put on fresh clothes...it's-it's repulsive!"
"I don't give a muttation's ass what people think," he replies, his hands now resting behind his head. "Don't find that their opinions matter."
I can't help but sigh. There is no way that I would be able to convince him otherwise. Whether I like it or not, he was going to keep those filthy articles of clothing on his person. I give into defeat at the knowledge that there are far more important things that require dealing with than Haymitch's hygiene. Pursing my lips, I look to his gaze.
"You get great pleasure in making my life miserable don't you?"
He shrugs again. "Just like mine easier."
I bit my tongue, holding in all the vulgar language I wish to spew. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave the room now. I'd like to change in privacy, thank you."
He gets up and exits the room without another word or glance at me. I watch the door for a moment, half expecting him to pop back in and make some snide comment. He doesn't. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to relax, I go to changing into my clothes. At least one of us would be presentable for District Twelve's group.
When I'm finally dressed and out of my room, the train is already at a complete stop. To my surprise, I find Peeta, Katniss, and even Haymitch, waiting at the set of double doors in the front. My eyes fall upon the children. Faces pale with exhaustion. Dark circles of sleep underneath their lower lids. It seems that insomnia has taken more than one victim. As the doors open and the four of us step out, I can only hope that their prep teams are able to hide the evident signs of sleep deprivation.
"District Twelve I presume?"
From the far left side of where we stand, a tall woman-her skin dyed such a light shade of yellow, I can't help but be reminded of how Haymitch looks whenever he goes through alcohol withdrawal-makes her way towards us. She stops just inches away from us, her long slender fingers gripping a clipboard tightly as she proceeds to clear her throat.
"New rules have been set in place this year," she says. "No longer will the escort nor the mentor be allowed to accompany their tributes to their assigned prep teams' rooms before the chariot event. Due to the hurried reaping, many details were not distributed to the escorting heads. So, to make up for lost time, mentors and escorts must report to level fourteen for their schedules and a quick briefing on events." Her eyes flicker over to Katniss and Peeta. "As for the tributes, I will be escorting you to your stations. This is only temporary. Once the schedules are released, you will be put back into the hands of your usual escort and mentor."
Katniss and Peeta both throw me a quick glance before stepping forward towards the woman. I cannot even find the words to speak as she turns on her heels and begins to walk away, the tributes, my tributes following behind. Once they are out of sight, I turn to Haymitch, a mixture of anger and shock bubbling in me.
"Can they do that?" I say, pointing in the direction she and the children disappeared off into.
He shrugs, "Apparently they can."
We make our way to the elevator in silence. Perhaps it's better that we aren't speaking at the moment. I'm fuming with the anger at the audacity of not being permitted to escort. Even if it is just momentarily. The elevator comes quickly and we are inside and to level fourteen just a few minutes shy of ten past the hour. The doors creak open and I step out onto the marble floor.
My eyes fall upon the setting that has been placed before us. Three thick mahogany tables, two of which contain various fruit juices and small snacks. A small open bar off to the corner-which seems to catch Haymitch's attention immediately for he heads off in that direction almost instantly. A round white table with what looks like twelve thick envelopes-each adorned with a golden number, one through twelve. Before I even realize what I am doing, I'm half way to the table, my arm extended towards the letter marked with twelve. I grasp the edge of it, lifting it towards me when an overenthusiastic gasp causes me to drop it in surprise.
"Effie Trinket!"
I turn around to see a woman rushing towards me. Her hair, dyed a deep green, is teased in such a way it seems as if it, and the huge ruffly collar of her dress, are one in the same. Desmonda. I stiffen, heart beginning to pound once more. There's no where to run. No where to hide. I'm about to take on her surely crazed antics full force. Inhaling deeply, faux smile forming on my lips, I brace myself for impact.
"I saw the on the television!" she gasps, completely void of any breath. "They said you were pregnant! I assumed it was just the camera giving you a few extra pounds-"
She suddenly stops, her mouth slightly ajar as her eyes land on my stomach. As if she were acting for some part in a theater production, she stumbles back, one hand over her mouth and the other over her heart. Wide eyed, she looks from my face to my stomach and then back again as if expecting it to disappear. I bite the inside of my cheek, my stomach twisting violently.
"You...you are!" She breathes, "you really are expecting! Oh Effie..."
I force my lips to stay curled upward. "Yes, I am. Surprising isn't it? I wasn't ever anticipating on-"
"Who is he?" She whispers quickly, "the father? Oh surely you must know! Was it Pewter Elleby? No, no... It couldn't have been him. Cinna? Did you have relations with a stylist?'' Before I can open my mouth, she shakes her head, "No, no, I know you value yourself more than that but who..." Her eyes grow large and she leans in, "Was it Seneca Crane?"
"No!" I splutter out, "Not that it is any of your business anyway but I have never done anything of the sort with Pewter Elleby or Cinna and most definitely not with Seneca Crane, may he rest in peace!"
"Then who, Effie!" Desmonda begs, "I am your closest friend. Surely you'd like to tell me yourself before the media does!"
Without meaning to, I look over in the direction where Haymitch is standing. It was only for a second, a split second, and even so Desmonda seems to pick it up quicker than the life of a Capitol fad. She shakes her head violently, eyes squeezed shut so tight it looks dreadfully painful.
"No, Effie, you didn't."
She opens her eyes and looks at me. I feel the blood rise quickly to my cheeks. Like a child, I look down at my feet with embarrassment. There were several things I despised. Poor manners. Disrespect. And being judged. I didn't need to look up to know Desmonda was giving me a look of horror. To be honest, I couldn't say I really blame her either.
"Effie...you're playing a joke on me right? You didn't honestly do it with him." I lift my eyes, still too ashamed to look at her. "With Haymitch?" she hisses, "You and that...thing? Oh Effie, I don't even know you anymore!"
"It was an accident, Desmonda!" I interject, "I didn't plan for any of this. It...it just happened!"
"You let it happen!" She exclaims, "the only one in control of your body is you, Effie! I thought you'd be more civilized than that!"
"I am civilized!" I gasp, "it was a mistake!" I shake my head, the threat of tears looming near. "Why are we fighting, Desmonda? We're friends."
"I," she says coldly, "am not friends with fallen women."
The words are like a slap in the face. I swallow hard. Very hard. My eyes sting with the beginnings of tears as I try to collect myself. One does not recover quickly from being called a whore. Desmonda shows no sympathy in her expression as she reaches down and takes her envelope off of the table. Without another word, she walks off, leaving me to myself.
"No matter how much of this liquor I drink, it's not gonna be strong enough to get me where I want to be." says a voice from behind.
I turn around slowly only to come face to face with Haymitch. When our eyes meet, I see his narrow. Inhaling deeply, I try to advert my gaze. It was enough that Desmonda, my dearest friend, had heartlessly bashed me, the last thing I needed was Haymitch to do it also.
"You're crying," is all he says.
"That dreadful, dreadful woman." I whisper, my eyes flashing in the direction where Desmonda walked too.
Haymitch also looks in the direction I am, "You let a stalk of broccoli get the best of you? Cause that's what she looks like in that getup."
I wipe gently at my eyes, "Haymitch, be kind." I chide even if secretly, it feels good to hear him say those words.
Though actually getting the schedules was quick, the debriefing of this year's events takes several hours. Everyone is made to sit at the empty mahogany table according to what district they represent. Fortunately, Haymitch ends up between Desmonda and me so I am not forced to sit through an awkward silence between us. At one point even, Haymitch knocks over his drink, it's contents spilling all over Desmonda's front.
"Sorry," he grunts, "damn hand spasm."
I turn away, biting my cheek hard in an attempt not to smile. Somehow I feel his actions were not a mistake. When the meeting is finally adjourned, it's nearly time for the opening ceremonies to begin. Quickly, and yet still in an orderly fashion, we all manage to leave the room and get to the ground floor of the Remake Center just as the tributes, along with their prep teams enter.
The musk of horse and perfume fills my nostrils as I make my way along Haymitch, through the many chariots in an attempt to find either Peeta or Katniss. But through the many crowds of preps, mentors, and previous victors, it's hard to do such. Eventually Haymitch and I both stop to catch are breath. Perhaps if we wait, maybe we'll be lucky enough for one of them to find us.
I lean against a nearby column, watching as many of the stylists bring their tributes' costumes to life. Many of the outfits, like Cinna and Portia's designs last year, seem to hold either some sort of a resemblance to flame or bright light. My lips twitch into a frown at the unoriginality that these designers seem to hold. Unable to suppress a sigh, I turn to face Haymitch when a loud voice breaks through the air.
"Haymitch!"
I'm snapped from my thoughts as the muscular, one armed victor, Chaff, from District Eleven makes his way over. I look to Haymitch, a slight feeling of annoyance overcoming me when I see him actually grinning at the man who comes towards us. If I were to compare Chaff to anyone, it'd be a more rude, more drunk version of Haymitch.
"Chaff," Haymitch greets him with a nod.
Chaff does not nod back. "My escort over there," he cocks his head behind him, "keeps carrying on about your escort being impregnated by you or something? I don't know, the woman talks so fast I can barely understand her. Anyway, my question is, is she telling the truth?"
Haymitch's face is void of any emotion as he speaks. "Guess it was gonna get at sooner or later."
Chaff says nothing for a moment. Then, without warning, he bursts into a fit of rather frightening laugher. "Haymitch, you old bastard!" he slaps Haymitch so hard on the back, the sound echos. "Didn't think ya had it in you. And you!" he turns to me, "Anyone who upsets my escort is a friend of mine, dollface!" With his one hand, he reaches down and pats my stomach. "Better watch that kid, dollface. If they're anything like their old man, your liquor cabinets are gonna be empty!"
"Effie," I correct, taking a step back from him. "Yes, well, I don't think that'll be necessary."
The music begins to play and Chaff rolls his eyes, muttering angrily under his breath. "I'd better go and get on that damn chariot before Desmonda has another thing to scream about." he says to Haymitch and me. "I'll come and find you afterwards, 'Mitch. Maybe you can introduce me to that Girl on Fire of your's. And it was nice meeting ya, dollface. Keep Haymitch out of trouble for me."
"An interesting friend you have," I say to Haymitch as Chaff disappears.
"And your's aren't?" he smirks.
Deciding not to comment on that, I look towards the direction of the doors. "We should go find our seats now." I say, "they're about to go around the City Circle."
Feeling a little guilty for not wishing Katniss nor Peeta any lucky, we make our way to the stands and find our seats. The voice of Claudius Templesmith booms overhead as the chariots one by one come out. I do my best to concentrate on the tributes and their costumes but I find it most difficult. Even though this is one of the most thrilling parts during the pre-Games, I catch several people looking in my direction rather than at the Circle, whispering words I know, that are not meant as a compliment.
The chariot for District Seven passes, the leaf headdresses blowing in the wind as they speed on. For whatever reason, my heart pounds with the anxiety that this will end soon. I want to get out of here. The dreadful gawking causes my stomach to twist and knot. Quickly, I glance over to Haymitch. At least he seems oblivious to all of the gossip that is around us. I envy him for that.
Finally, Twelve's chariot makes its way onto the track. The images of Peeta and Katniss come into view with their magnificent dark uniforms ablaze with tiny embers. The crowd bursts into a unison of cheers and anyone who was previously watching me, allow me to sink from their thoughts unnoticed. The roars of the crowd are short lived though as President Snow begins to speak, his voice carrying over everything as he welcomes tributes and the audience alike.
The ceremonies finally end with a final lap of all of the chariots. As the sparkling figures on the Twelve chariot disappear, the crowds of people rise from their seats and slowly make their way out from the stands. Haymitch stands before I do and offers his hand. Grateful for this, I accept and he pulls me upright. We push through the crowds until we come to the door at the Training Center's entrance.
"We really should be going up now," I say. "The schedule says dinner is to be ready soon."
"You go on ahead." Haymitch says smirking, "I promised Chaff I'd find him."
"But Haymitch-"
"Hold your horses, Princess. I won't be that long." he grumbles, "just gotta say goodbye to Chaff first...and make fun of his ugly costume."
Before I can interject, he disappears through the door. Exhaling, I decide to just go wait by the elevator. There, if Haymitch didn't show up soon enough, I could easily find him and drag him back without such a long walk. To pass the time, I take to leaning against the wall, my eyes fixing on the clock as the minutes tick away. Finally, after a good ten minutes, he reappears, a slightly worrisome grin on his face.
"What are you so happy about?" I ask as the elevator opens and we enter.
"Not happy," he says leaning against the wall. "Amused, yes."
"I probably don't want to know, do I?"
He nods and I decide not to question any further. As we ride past the third floor, I place my hands on my stomach expecting to feel the baby move. It seems always around dinnertime that they were the most active. Strangely though, I feel nothing. It's at that moment that a realization hits me. I can feel the blood drain from my face as my heart stops.
"Haymitch!"
"What?" he mumbles.
"I haven't felt the baby!" I say frantically.
"What?" he repeats, this time concern filling his usual dull tone.
"I haven't felt kicking or squirming or anything all day!" My breathing grows rapid as my hands tremble against the fabric of my dress. "Why hasn't she moved?"
It's then, for the first time, I see a glimmer of fear in Haymitch's eyes. My world stops. Time itself seems to freeze. And the tiny body within me with it.
I know, I know. What a horrid cliffhanger. You're all probably wondering is the baby alright? Unfortunately, you'll have to wait until next chapter. But I will stress that NO! THE BABY IS NOT DEAD! NOT DEAD! I'm not that evil.
Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. It helps me fight through the Writer's Block and concentrate on writing which in turn will help you all know if Baby Abernathy is alright or not. Next chapter, MAJOR baby talk, Hayffie fluff (just think of this chapter that I just posted as a gateway to bringing Effie and Haymitch closer), and more build up to the story's chapters-o'-climaxy-fun.
Okay, so, I'm about to do some shameless promotion here but the fabulous Grace (a.k.a A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, author of Fine Line) and I have begun a Haymitch and Effie story together called Forging Iron (link to story on my profile page). It's a story about if Haymitch had been captured along with Effie and held as prisoner within the Capitol. If you love my writing style, her writing style, and/or both of our styles, we'd love for you to check it out and even drop off some feedback. Our shared account is called Fluttering Lullaby (link on my profile page). Anyway, thanks for reading! Until next time! -Jen