Prompt: Could you write something about the very first hayffie dance? PS. You're my favourite author

The First Dance

"Get up. Now." Trinket hissed, stomping her heeled foot once for good measure. She immediately looked around with a ridiculously guilty expression on her face – because clearly it wasn't dignified to act like a three years old throwing a tantrum – and then she glared at him as if the whole thing was his fault.

The nerves of that woman…

Haymitch slumped further on his seat, a smug smirk on his lips. He lifted his eyebrows and silently challenged her to do something about it. On the other chair, Chaff brought his glass of bourbon to his mouth and tried to hide his snickers.

Eleven's victor was finding Haymitch's new escort very entertaining.

To be fair, Haymitch was too. It had been some time since they had assigned a woman who could hold her own to Twelve. She had refused to be cowed, she had refused to be seduced, she had refused to be driven away… She was stubbornly insisting she would be staying until she got promoted. And she appeared to actually be competent. Sure, he hated her on principle alone – and even if he hadn't, her high-pitched voice, her obsession for manners and her constant nagging would have done the trick – and he had tried his hardest to get her to quit but he couldn't deny she had made his life easier during the season. She had even done the paperwork he never handed in until the last minute and always got yelled at by Head Gamemaker Torello for.

Torello, he hadn't been able to help but notice, had been enjoying every minute of his growing discomfort faced with the whirlwind that was his new escort. That was what Haymitch got for making the man's life hell, he figured. It was payback time.

How that woman could have so much energy, he didn't know.

"Nope." he said, making the p pop. He took a swing of his glass for good measure, knowing it would annoy her even further.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Mr Abernathy…"

"Told you to call me Haymitch." he cut her off, less amused. Mr Abernathy was his father and he didn't need any reminder of him.

"And I told you – repeatedly, I must add – to call me Effie. However, you insist on using my last name without a proper Miss or on one of your ridiculous demeaning pet names." she retorted."Alas, we cannot always get what we want or I can assure you I wouldn't be here, stuck with you."

Fiery. So, so very fiery… And witty too.

Unlike the insipid girls they had saddled him with before, Trinket could not only defend herself but attack too. It made for a nice change. And it also made him eager to provoke her, to push on her every button.

Chaff burst out laughing without bothering to hide it this time. "Oh, fuck, man… You're so screwed."

"Shut up." he grumbled.

Eleven's victor shook his head, still laughing.

"Language." Trinket growled, clucking her tongue at the both of them. "Truly!" Her disgust at their vocabulary was short lived though. Mainly because people were moving around them, getting ready for the official opening of the ball. She threw him a panicked look. "Haymitch, please. It is customary for a represent of each District to dance with a Games official during the ball's opening. You have to dance with me."

"Chaff's not dancing." he pointed out.

"I'm not going anywhere near Summercket." his friend snorted. "Seeder's doing it with one of the Gamemaker." Chaff's lips suddenly stretched into an evocative smile. "Could dance with you though, love. I'm sure we can work something out…"

He was openly ogling her and Haymitch rolled his eyes as Trinket flushed crimson in outrage. She didn't even bother to answer that proposition.

"Haymitch." she insisted.

"I never do that." he sighed. "They won't notice. Grab yourself a Gamemaker if you're so desperate to go on that dance floor."

"I am not expected to dance with a Gamemaker." she hissed "I am expected to dance with you."

"I'm not doing it." he shrugged.

He had obviously reached the end of her patience because she scowled. "Oh, yes, you are. Otherwise there will be no liquor to be found on the train next year. Nor in the penthouse. I will ban alcohol from Twelve's floor."

"Like you can do that…" he sneered.

"I am Twelve's escort." she replied haughtily. "I can do anything I want."

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I'm Twelve's victor." he taunted. "It trumps escort."

"I can forge your signature." she triumphed. "Can you forge mine? I do not think so. Your handwriting is positively sloppy. I will make it look like you are the one banning alcohol from the penthouse and when you scream murder, I will tell everyone you are mad. Who do you think they will believe? Innocent me or drunk you?"

The smug smile on her lips begged to be wiped away.

By a fist or by a mouth, he wasn't quite sure.

"One dance." he surrendered because he knew he wouldn't know peace until she had gotten her way. She was unbearable. He hoped she got promoted soon.

"That is all I am asking for." she sighed as if he was infuriating. "I do not intend to dance with you all night."

"Shame." Chaff snorted. "He wouldn't mind to tango. On a flat surface. You catch my drift?"

She wrinkled her nose at his friend. "You are despicable."

Eleven's victor blew her a kiss and Haymitch hauled himself out of his chair before they could actually murder each other. As entertaining as it would have been – and he was sure it would have been entertaining to watch Chaff get mauled by a woman with claws for nails – he wanted to get this over with.

Clearly, he wasn't complying fast enough for her tastes because she grabbed his wrist and urged him to the dance floor before nudging him into position, forcing his hand in hers and his other one at the small of her back.

"You know you're a control freak, yeah?" he mocked. "Don't boss me around."

She wasn't even listening.

"Now." she said, clearing her throat. "It will be a waltz. It is a bit complicated but, please, do not fret. I will simply lead. Just try to make it look like you are doing it."

He almost burst out laughing at that but when the first notes of music rose in the air, he humored her. It was painfully obvious she wasn't used to leading. It was also painfully obvious people were pointing at them. Some women were chuckling behind their feather fans.

Eleven's escort was openly laughing at them from where she was dancing with a Gamemaker.

After a few seconds, Trinket was flustered and was clearly making an effort to keep her chin high. She stumbled and he automatically tightened his grip to hold her up, causing them to miss a beat and fall out of synch with the other couples.

"This is humiliating." she muttered.

"Right?" he chuckled. "Maybe next time you'll listen when I say no."

"Oh, hush." she snapped. "Why was I expecting you to do something right for once? Do you wish me to admit it was foolish? Very well. It was foolish."

"I like you giving up." he commented. "Very fitting look on you." He abruptly took the lead back from her, not giving her a choice in what to do and how to do it. She stared at him with wide eyes as he waltzed them around the room. He tossed her a dark look. "That's what you get for assuming I don't know how to do this, Princess. I'm a Quell Victor, remember? You think I didn't have my shit fair of balls back in the days? You're an arrogant ass."

He could see her skin turn reddish in embarrassment under her make-up. It crept down her neck and to her cleavage. It made him curious about just how far down it was spreading…

"My apologies." she whispered after clearing her throat. "Although it truly does not excuse your language." The music was ending and he tightened his hold on her waist, bringing her closer to him, eradicating the space that was supposed to exist between them while dancing. She huffed and tried to wriggle free but it was difficult without causing a scandal. "This is not proper! Let go of me at once!"

"Not proper but way funnier." he snorted, trying not to notice how soft her body was and how well it fitted against his. She was difficult. He had a thing for difficult. He brought his mouth next to her ear, letting his hand roam south at the small of her back. "I could fuck that stick out of your ass, sweetheart…"

She shoved him away with a huff, clearly embarrassed by the small scene she had caused.

"Please." she scoffed, giving him a pointed once over that, he suspected, was supposed to make him feel bad. "You could not handle me."

"Wanna bet?" he smirked.

She stormed away without giving him an answer, leaving him to laugh at her retreating back in the middle of speculative whispers.

Maybe he could get used to dancing once a year after all.