Prompt: I have a prompt for you. :) Could you write more about Effie's crush on Haymitch when she was a teenager? Like imagining a relationship with him and becoming famous with the help of him? Pleaseee

I'm baaaaack!

A Bet For The Quell

"Mother hates him." Effie told her grandfather in a pained voice, as they crossed the street and she caught sight of one of the huge screens that were almost everywhere in the city, displaying a live feed from the arena. "She says no one in the family should bet on the underdog, that it is undignified. She is supporting Nya."

The girl from One was one of the crowd's favorite and the twelve year old girl thought it was rather easy to simply support the favorite. There was a challenge in supporting the underdog, she mused. All the more so if the underdog was sixteen, handsome and smart… The fact that he came from Twelve was a minor setback in her educated opinion.

"I wish you wouldn't get so involved." Timotheo sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder to not lose her in crowd.

"It is the Quarter Quell, Grandfather!" she exclaimed, almost in dismay. "You are supposed to get involved! Don't you have a favorite?"

Her mother's clipped comments that he didn't make enough of an effort to be interested by the Games came back to her but Effie dismissed it just like she had done every other time. She tended to stop listening when Elindra disparaged her grandfather. She disapproved of him and his behavior, Effie knew, and Lyssandra had distanced herself from him because of that, but it would take a lot more to convince Effie not to love him as much as she did.

She didn't care if Timotheo wasn't wearing the latest fashionable suit or if he was unaware of the latest gossips. He taught her the violin and took her for outings where she didn't have to be the perfect lady at all times and he was probably the only person who didn't speak to her like she was dumb. He was the only one who hadn't laughed when she had expressed an interest in architecture. Her father had judged it a ridiculous dream because she would never have the mental abilities and her mother had decided it was a waste of time to even think about it. Her grandfather had bought her books about ancient ruins and beautiful houses, full of pretty pictures on glossy papers.

"Forty-seven kids sentenced to death, I don't have a favorite no." he replied, almost harsh, and she frowned, slowing down her pace. He must have noticed the comment had troubled her because his face softened and he squeezed her shoulder. "Your favorite is my favorite, my little princess. What does your mother know about anything? If you like that boy, he must have something."

The conversation back on track, she beamed, choosing to forget about that odd remark. She was good at forgetting things she didn't like.

"Haymitch." she smiled. "Haymitch Abernathy. That's his name. He will win. I am sure he will, Grandfather."

"Which District is he from again?" he asked as they neared Main Square. The crowd was thicker there, people were partying, watching the giant screens and the betting boards. "Seven?"

"No, Grandfather." She clicked her tongue, disappointed by his lack of attention. Although she must admit that it was hard to keep track that year with the double of tributes in every District. "Haymitch is from Twelve."

"Twelve?" he repeated with a frown. "That's an unusual choice."

"Hence why Mother disapproves." she sighed dramatically.

Her grandfather shot her an amused glance at her theatrics and bought them two hot cacaos from a stall. They had to look hard for a bench to sit on but they eventually found one with a good view of one of the screens. The tributes from Six were setting up an ambush for the Careers. How exciting!

"I hope they kill Nya." she said between two sips of her chocolate, out of spite for her mother's choice.

"Don't say that." Timotheo chided her with a serious frown. "They are people, Euphemia."

"They are tributes." she corrected with a small frown of her own. "It is just a game, Grandfather." He opened his mouth and then closed it again, sorrow washing his face for a moment. Her frown deepened, she sensed that she had disappointed him somehow but she didn't understand what she had done wrong. Granted she hadn't been watching her tongue like she would have had if her mother had been around and she maybe hadn't been the perfect little lady she ought to be in public but Timotheo had never truly cared about that before. "I apologize." she said with her best contrite expression, automatically straightening her back because slouching never bestowed a lady.

"No, it's me who apologize." He shook his head. "Drink your cocoa."

She did. With tiny little sips and with her lips pursed to make sure it wouldn't leave a chocolate mustache. They watched the feed in silence and she squealed in delight when they showed Haymitch and Maysilee hiking through the arena. At some point, Haymitch paused to nudge Maysilee with his elbow, nodding at the surrounding greenery.

"What's the fucking point of making everything so damn beautiful?" he asked her. The arena was indeed beautiful that year and deadly.

"His language isn't stellar." Timotheo commented with more amusement than disapprobation.

"He is from Twelve." she reminded him. "Concessions have to be made. But he is handsome, is he not?"

"So you never trust anything beautiful again." Maysilee shrugged.

"The odds aren't exactly in his favor, are they?" he warned gently, as the feed jumped back to Six's tributes. "Be careful not to get your heart broken, my little princess."

"He will win." she argued. She didn't know where the certainty came from but she knew Haymitch would come back a victor. "He is so clever and smart and strong and… He will be the Quell's victor and then… then…" Then she would meet him and it would be love at first sight. All those movies and books singing love she adored and her mother despised… It would all come true. He would fall in love with her and he would not think she was dumb or not as pretty as Lyssa… He would not even look at Lyssa because he would be too taken with her… It would be perfect. "Then…"

She blushed and her Grandfather's lips stretched into an lenient smile.

"Your Haymitch seems like a nice boy." he granted. "I hope he wins."

Her grin burst forth, unrestrained and almost manic – Elindra would have had a fit if she had seen her.

"I know he will!" she said.

And once he had, she would know no rest until she had met him and made him fall madly in love with her.

She swore it.