prompt : My idea is this, Effie, she leaves his modeling folder in the penthouse when Haymitch, Chaff and Finnick (amid a binge) finds her and see her photos from when she was young. How about my idea?

No Accounting For Taste

"You had stupid ideas over the years but this one takes the cake." Finnick hissed from the doorstep of Effie's room.

Haymitch dismissed the kid's warnings, too drunk and too focused on his mission to care. Chaff only barked a laugh.

"You're afraid of a tiny thing like Trinket, boy?" Eleven's victor taunted.

"Yes." Finnick replied, folding his arms. "Because I'm a sensible person and she's going to murder you."

Haymitch glanced at the mess Chaff was making of her dresser and concluded that the chances of that happening were actually high. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to care. She had brought it down upon herself.

"Where did she put them?" he grumbled. He kneeled next to the bed to check underneath but no bottles of liquor greeted him there.

She had hidden every damn bottle of alcohol in the penthouse after their hundredth argument of the year and if his first reaction had been to go one floor down and gorge on Chaff's liquor cart, the victors had soon decided that her behavior was unacceptable and that the liquor ought to be rescued from her evil clutches – well, he and Chaff had decided after a shared bottle of whiskey, Finnick had been trying to keep them away from her room ever since.

"Why don't you just ask the Avoxes for more bottles?" Four's victor suggested, not without logic.

"No." Chaff shook his head very seriously. "We need to rescue the liquor. We don't abandon liquor."

"We're honor bound." Haymitch added. He knew he was ridiculous but he couldn't help it. The whiskey had taken hold of his brain.

"Oh, nice…" Chaff whistled, holding out a lacy piece of…

"Put that back." Haymitch snapped. He stood up too quickly, the dizziness almost made him throw up right then and there on her pink carpet. Still, he snatched the panties from Chaff's hand, shoved them in the drawer and shut it, almost catching his friend's fingers in the process. "Not that one."

Even in his drunken state, he knew there were limits not to cross.

And there were things he didn't want Chaff's dirty hand to paw at.

"If you think she's not going to see you went through that, you're wrong." Finnick sighed. "She is not only going to murder you, she will dismember you."

"Oh, shut up." Haymitch rolled his eyes. "She took my liquor."

He almost tripped over the amount of fabric spilling from the dresser when he stumbled to the wardrobe – she would kill them for that alone: he was sure the belts, the blouses and the silk nightgowns scattered all around were supposed to be handled with care. Chaff had moved to the dressing table and was very busy opening the dozen of bottles she kept there to sniff at them.

"She likes her shit." Eleven's victor commented with a snort. "That stuff reeks."

He was holding a bottle of perfume. Haymitch chose not to share his opinion on the matter, he liked her perfume better than he did most of the other Capitol's women. It was heavy but it wasn't disgusting like some of the most popular sweetest artificial fragrances were.

The wardrobe was disappointing.

He tossed a few dresses on the bed but he didn't manage to unearth the missing bottles. He rummaged through the numerous pairs of shoes, throwing some of them out of the wardrobe without any more results.

"What's that?" Chaff asked suddenly, showing them a rectangular shaped glittery pink folder.

"Put that back in place." Finnick requested with a wince, glancing at the corridor to check that Effie wasn't coming.

However, Chaff had already opened it. He burst out laughing as soon as he saw the first picture on glossy paper. Haymitch could barely glimpse it but the familiar glaring pink dress was enough for him to guess Effie was the subject.

"That woman is narcissist, alright..." Eleven's victor chuckled. "You reckon she looks at her own pictures every night before bed?"

"That's her modeling portfolio." Finnick rolled his eyes. "It's probably for work."

"Yeah?" Chaff snorted, flipping through the pages. He stopped on one in particular. "She should do more of that kind of work. There's worse to look at."

Four's victor walked closer, obviously curious despite his fears of being caught. His eyebrows shot up and he cocked his head appreciatively.

Haymitch didn't like their reactions. He stopped his search in the wardrobe to grab the folder and have a look for himself. He almost had a heart attack. The picture was in no way indecent – Trinket would never do anything improper – but it was certainly provocative. The smoky make-up, the outfit, even the short black bob wig trimmed with silver drops, her challenging attitude… It was sexy. Very sexy.

He licked his lips, closed the folder and held it protectively against his chest, far from Chaff's grabby hand.

"I think she watered down the alcohol." he said. That was a sad thought. "It's not in there."

Finnick heaved a long-suffering sight. "Which means you're going to get skinned alive for nothing."

"You're dying to say I told you so, aren't you?" Chaff mocked him.

The boy grinned like the cat who caught the canary. "I told you so."

Haymitch surveyed the mess they had made of the room and even his drunk brain could see that the youngest victor wasn't wrong. As soon as Effie was back, they were dead.

"Let's get out of here." he mumbled.

Finnick glanced at the folder he had never put down but didn't comment on it. Chaff, on the other hand, let out one of his loud laugh and clapped him on the shoulder with his stump.

The two other victors didn't linger in the penthouse, not very enthusiastic at the idea of facing Effie's wrath.

Haymitch passed the time studying the rest of the folder. The pictures – and the woman – were pretty, some were downright beautiful. His favorite were the oldest ones on which Effie was a lot younger and looked a lot more innocent than she did nowadays. Those pictures were simpler, classier, the fashion less extravagant, and she was truly stunning. There were a bunch of pictures like the one Chaff had found but Haymitch didn't stop on them, it wasn't the point.

When the elevator chimed, he winced, knowing he was in for a screaming match.

She was obviously still angry because she didn't even check the living-room. The tell-tale tap of her high heels went directly to her room. Then there was a pause during which Haymitch held his breath and mentally counted to three.

"Haymitch Abernathy!" she yelled. Her voice was so high he was sure they could hear her two floors down.

He heard her coming from afar, the heels almost made it sound as if she was about to charge. She burst in the living-room with a scowl on her face and daggers in her eyes.

"I hope for your sake you have a very good explanation." she hissed.

He blinked, still too inebriated to find an answer to that.

"You're beautiful." was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

It made her pause but not for long. Her eyes narrowed to angry slits.

"If you think petty compliments are going to save you from…" Then she glimpsed the glittering pink folder and rushed to snatch it away from him. "Have you any idea how much something like that costs? Never mind rifling through my belongings, if you damaged this…"

"I just looked." he said defensively.

She huffed and flipped through the folder. It was obvious she didn't trust his word and that irritated him – although he did destroy her room so he supposed she was entitled to a bit of mistrust.

"You are cleaning my room." she snapped. "Right now. Seriously, Haymitch, I know a monkey would have more manners than you do but what kind of man thinks it's alright to go through a lady's drawers?"

"You're no lady." he grumbled. "Ladies don't steal honest people's liquor."

"No, they don't." Effie agreed. "But since you are not a particularly honest person, my reputation is safe." She glared at him, her hands on her hips in a fashion that was probably meant to be intimidating. "Bedroom. Now."

That made him smirk. "Why, Princess… So eager…"

"Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Haymitch." she scoffed. "Nothing of that sort is happening anytime soon."

"Hold your horses…" He rolled his eyes and pushed himself out of the armchair, less steadily than he would have liked. "You stole my booze."

She was unperturbed as she watched his slow advance on her. "And you destroyed my room."

"You stole my booze." he repeated.

"And you spilled whiskey all over my brand new dress on purpose because I compared your house to a pigsty." she sighed. "And I compared your house to a pigsty because you insulted my sense of fashion in choosing your clothes this year. If you want to get back to the bottom of the argument, I am afraid it started seven years ago when I became your escort and you were so determined to make me quit."

"If only you would quit…" he muttered, stepping close enough to her to count her fake feather eyelashes. "My life would be a lot easier."

"Would it?" she challenged.

That was a difficult problem he had given up on solving years ago.

He leaned forward, brushed his lips against hers but she turned her head away, wrinkling her nose, a hand firmly pressed on his chest to keep him at bay.

"You reek of whiskey." she protested. "And I am furious. You destroyed my room, creased all of my dresses, tossed my shoes around and you stole my modeling folder."

"Very pretty pictures." he nodded. "A shame you look like a clown now."

"And yet you tried to kiss me less than two seconds ago." she pointed out – not unjustly.

"No accounting for tastes." he shrugged.

She shook her head at him, turned on her heels and headed back to her room – probably to clean. Still, her muttering to herself made him smirk.

"No accounting for tastes, indeed." she grated through her teeth. "Insufferable man."