Prompt: I have a prompt, if you still taking them please? I love late night banter scenes between the victors, what would happen if they discovered Effie wondering around the penthouse "sans fashion"'? Thanks in advance if you do ! Love you haffie !
Night Shift
She jerked awake to an insistent hammering on her door.
For a moment, she was both confused and scared. Her heart racing in her chest, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand, spotted the red numbers and groaned. It was three thirty in the morning. And there was only one person who would have been so rude as to knock on her door at that time of night.
"Go away, Haymitch!" she snapped.
She was still furious with him. The Sixty-seventh Hunger Games had taken a dreadful start and had gone from bad to worse. The situation had been complicated enough without the abuse he had constantly been pouring on her. The last straw had been his attempt to kiss her right after calling her a stuck-up bitch to her face.
She still wasn't quite sure about their newfound habit of falling in bed – or on the nearest available surface. It had been going on for about three years now, since the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games, and she wasn't quite sure what she thought of the whole thing. She tended to consider those unfortunate encounters accidents that should never happen again – and inevitably did happen again, usually in the following twenty-four hours. It was a way to blow some steam, a way to release tension… The crux of the matter was, she trusted Haymitch. And nobody else could understand what it was to be Twelve's representative, to go to the Reaping knowing their tributes were doomed before they were even drawn, to watch, year after year, as they were fated to lose.
"Ain't Haymitch, love. Come out here."
She frowned when she recognized Chaff's voice.
Eleven's victor had no business being on their floor at this time of night and he had no business telling her to get out of bed.
She did get up, simply because she didn't like the idea of lying there with an intruder so close. She snatched her dressing gown from the foot of the bed, reached for her loose blonde hair and dropped her hand because putting on a wig would take time and she had no reason to open the door in the first place. She wandered closer, her fingers grabbing the lock, ready to turn it if he tried to come in.
It wasn't that she was afraid of Eleven's victor… But Chaff… Chaff didn't like her very much. He had found her funny in the beginning, she supposed, he had been amused by the battle of wits she and Haymitch had going. Lately though… He wasn't finding it that funny anymore. He kept hinting at the two of them having an affair and she knew he didn't approve – not that it was any of his business but Chaff tended to think of himself as Haymitch's great defender.
Victors were peculiar people. She hadn't really measured how much before she came to work for the Games. None of them was right in the head. They all had their quirks, some more annoying than others, and they were all dangerous in their particular ways.
She had pushed enough of Haymitch's buttons to know he would never hurt her, no matter how bad their fights could become. The Quell and his family were two subjects that should never ever be brought up, however, the only time she had tossed that in his face – and the only time he had ever been on the brink of snapping – the only casualties had been the glass he had thrown at the wall. He had pinned her to the bay window, true. But he hadn't hurt her. At no point had he lifted a hand to strike. He had warned her he wouldn't be responsible for his actions if she talked about that again, he had threatened a little, but he had never ever hurt her.
Even when he was drunk, he knew to respect her boundaries. The few times he had been wasted and had tried to start something and she had told him no, he hadn't insisted. She had been forced to repeat it a couple of times to make herself understood, that was true, but as soon as it had registered, he had stopped. It was a lot more than most men were willing to give, even in the Capitol.
So, she trusted Haymitch.
She didn't trust Eleven's victor and his single wandering hand.
"You should not be here, Chaff." she hissed through the wood. "Go back to your floor."
What was he even doing there in the first place? Why couldn't he go and annoy his own escort instead of disturbing her sleep?
"Oh, get off your fucking high horse, Trinket." the victor snapped. "I need help. Haymitch's in a state."
"Oh." she winced. She felt stupid for not thinking about that before. Of course, it would be about Haymitch. She had no idea what her victor had been up to that night. After their tributes' death and the fight that had followed, she had spent the whole afternoon outside, treating herself to shopping and a manicure to comfort herself. He hadn't been there when she had come back and she had gone to a party outside of the compound in an effort to avoid him. "Just dump him on his bed and let him sleep it off."
"He ain't drunk, he's high." Chaff retorted. "Come help me for fuck's sake. The kid's still new to this."
"High?" she repeated. That wasn't like Haymitch at all. And then it hit her. "The kid? Are you telling me you brought Finnick Odair into whatever…"
"So now I've got your attention?" Eleven's victor mocked.
"Let me get a wig on." she scowled.
"Sure. And put on some make-up too." Chaff taunted. "Who cares if your friend's dying in his puke. I like your priorities."
Her scowl deepened and she wrenched the door open to glare at Eleven's victor properly. Not surprisingly, his eyes roamed everywhere on her body, from her red painted toenails to her messy blond hair. The dressing gown was short and a bit too loose and she was sure he could guess at the pink lacy nightgown underneath. She felt exposed and she didn't like it.
"I swear if you utter a single word you will lose your remaining hand." she threatened.
He lifted his eyebrows in challenge. "Now, I'd like to see you try, love."
"Famous last words." she growled, pushing him aside to rush to Haymitch's bedroom.
She had expected to find her victor in bed but, clearly, that had been asking too much. He was walking around, to Finnick's obvious dismay. The sixteen year old boy Chaff and Haymitch had started dragging everywhere with them – much to her disapproval – looked absolutely lost. And, if she wasn't mistaken, he wasn't completely lucid either.
"Go back to your floor, Finnick." she ordered. "I will deal with you in the morning."
She couldn't remember at what point she had started acting like their mother.
"Effie…" Finnick winced. "I'm so sorry… I didn't know what it was… I thought they were candies, I swear. Enobaria said they were candies."
"Enobaria was messing with you, kid." Chaff sighed, walking behind her to grab Haymitch's arm and stop his aimless wandering. "He should have known better."
Effie shook her head at their stupidity. "Who took what?"
She needed to know, she needed to assess and to plan.
"Trinket…" Haymitch beamed, suddenly realizing she was in the room. Chaff had to place his stump on his chest to stop him from rushing to her.
At least, she figured, she now knew a baked Haymitch worked like a wasted Haymitch. If she was lucky, he wouldn't be high maintenance. He would be clingy. She would let him hold her until he passed out and then she would sneak out.
"Who took what?" she repeated, folding her arms over her chest and immediately dropping them when she saw three pairs of eyes falling on her cleavage. She pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side, absolutely not amused. "Somebody better answer me. Now."
Finnick took out a small plastic bag from his pocket. She snatched it away and inspected the large and squashy purple spheres that did look like strange-shaped marshmallows.
She breathed a sigh of relief. As far as recreational drugs went, those were mellow.
"I ate one." Finnick confessed. "Chaff didn't have any. Haymitch took five."
Her relief morphed into a scowl once more. Five was a lot. Not too worrisome for this particular drug but worrisome nevertheless.
"And you did not stop them because… ?" she accused Eleven's victor.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, struggling to keep Haymitch in place. Apparently, her victor still wanted to welcome her properly.
"I went to the bar to get refills." he sneered. "Next thing I know, I come back and they're eating this shit. Guess Haymitch wanted to expand his horizons. Maybe his usual distractions aren't enough anymore."
His usual distractions being alcohol and her, she supposed.
She shook her head, refusing to even enter that debate.
"Finnick, go back to your floor." she ordered once again. "You can go too, Chaff. I will deal with him."
Four's victor didn't need to be told a third time. He scampered away with a last apology.
"I'm staying." Chaff argued.
Then why did you get me out of bed?, she wanted to ask.
She chose her battle instead.
"Finnick is sixteen." she snapped. "We had this argument before. He is too young for your binge drinking and…"
"He's been through more shit than you ever will, Trinket." Eleven's victor retorted. "Cut the kid a fucking break."
"You should watch your language in front of a lady. Nobody ever told you that?" she scoffed.
"No fighting." Haymitch frowned, finally managing to shrug Chaff off to stagger in her direction. She let him wrap his arms around her. "No fighting." His weight was difficult to bear but she was practiced at it and thus she didn't have too many difficulties helping him to his bed.
Chaff was glaring but she ignored him. A couple of years ago, it would have been her Haymitch would have rejected to cling to his best friend. Things had changed. It was a petty war she and Chaff had going but there was a deep feeling on contentment in knowing Haymitch preferred her.
Her victor sat down, apparently happy to be allowed to wrap his arms around her waist and burry his face in her stomach. She sighed and brushed her fingers in his hair.
"I am angry with you." she stated, more as a reminder to herself than anything else really.
"No fighting." he mumbled again and he sounded so sad about it that she sighed again.
Damn men with stormy grey eyes, great hands and a troubled past.
Chaff was staring and she tried not to let it rile her up. Because of Haymitch's hugging, her nightgown was riding high and she didn't exactly have underwear underneath. She was still decent but she didn't like the way he was watching her. She was used to being assessed like an object – a pretty doll – but not when she looked like that.
It was far too intimate.
The only person she had allowed to see her without a wig in the last decade was Haymitch and it had taken a lot of convincing on his part.
She would never have exposed herself to Chaff this way given a choice.
"You can go now." she repeated coldly. "I will take care of him."
"Oh, yeah… No doubt you will." Chaff snorted.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped. She didn't like what was implied. She had never had sex with Haymitch when he wasn't in plain possession of his wits and she wasn't planning on starting that day.
"It means be careful." he spat. "He's my best friend. He's my brother. And you are…"
He stopped and she stood up straighter, wishing she had her wig and her heels if only so that she would feel a bit more confident, hands on her hips. "I am what?"
Chaff's jaw clenched but his gaze betrayed him.
If she was an expert at one thing, it was spotting desire in someone's gaze. Now, she didn't think Chaff wanted to sleep with her, not really, but…
"You're hot." Haymitch mumbled, taking his face away from her stomach to glare at his friend. "That's what he means. You're hot."
He tugged on her nightgown to cover more of her thighs and it was only through a miraculous reflex that she didn't end up flashing her breasts to the room. She batted his hands away and stepped back, out of reach. She wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her, now completely ill at ease.
"I fail to see the point." she commented.
"Hot women are dangerous." Chaff scowled. "That's the point. You're going to ruin him."
"Ruin him?" she laughed, more carelessly than she truly felt. "Nothing is going on between us, Chaff. Nothing at all."
His dark eyes darted to Haymitch who didn't contradict her. He was bent in two, his hands on his nape and she wondered if he was trying to fight off a nausea that was bound to take over at some point.
"You're hot, you're difficult and, as stupid as you are, you're more than able to keep up with him." Chaff enounced slowly. "It's been a long time since he found a woman who was all three, get me?"
"No." she retorted. "I do not get you. And I do not want to. Nothing is going on."
He studied her for a while and then shook his head, heading straight for the door. He paused on the threshold but he didn't look back. "You look much better when you're not dressed like a parrot, for the record. I get why he doesn't mind the small tits so much."
She flushed crimson, both furious and humiliated.
She waited until the chime of the elevator echoed through the silent penthouse and then she glared at Haymitch who missed it, too busy fighting his nausea.
"Did you discuss our… Did you discuss what we did with your friends?" she hissed.
Men talked about one-night-stands. She knew that. They talked and compared, sometimes mocked, and were usually callous about it. Women did that too, she supposed.
She had just thought Haymitch wasn't that kind.
They had so many common acquaintances…
If he talked about them to other victors, it would somehow come to another escort's attention, maybe even to a Gamemaker's. The rumors would go rampant. Her reputation would be damaged.
All the more so if he claimed her breasts were too small.
"I asked you a question!" she huffed when he didn't answer. "Did you discuss having sex with me with your friends?"
He looked up then, eyes clouded, clearly not lucid yet but making an effort to focus. "Nah."
"Then why did he say my breasts were small?" she growled.
"'Cause he likes them big?" Haymitch frowned, apparently confused. "He likes curvy. You're not curvy."
She didn't know if she should have been insulted or not by that comment.
"I am not curvy." she repeated.
Haymitch shook his head. "Don't mind. Ass to damn a saint. And legs… Love your legs… Eyes too…"
"But I am not curvy enough and you think my breasts are small." she insisted. She should have remained in bed, earlier. She should have ignored the knocking, pretended she wasn't there…
She knew she was attractive – she attracted enough people to know she was attractive – once dolled up and dressed to kill, few people could resist her… But her mother had always been so adamant she was plain and common underneath that… And it was true she sometimes padded up her bras and corsets depending on the dress she was wearing. And…
"I love your breasts." he mumbled. "Fit in my hands. Real. Capitols always have fake ones."
He made a face that told her he hated that.
Good.
The perspective of having any form of plastic surgery had always spooked her. She had been to the hospital with her mother too many times in her youth not to be spooked. She intended to live her life without ever undergoing surgery of any kind.
"But I am not curvy."
She would obsess over that now. She was a former model. A certain figure was expected of her. The only time in her life when she had been a bit chubby was when she had been thirteen and she had spent so many weeks eating nothing but soup and steamed vegetables that she never wanted to go back. She was thin. She paid a lot of attention to her diet. She exercised.
She was definitely not curvy.
"So what?" he shrugged. "You're so hot… Who fucking cares? Curvy, not curvy… I fucking want you. You're fucking hot when you're angry… So fucking hot…"
She pursed her lips but relaxed a little. "You are being awfully vulgar."
"I'm gonna throw up." he countered.
With a sigh, she hauled him up and to the bathroom – just in time.
"There is nothing hot in watching you being sick." she told him after a while, when the heaving had stopped and he was less high.
"Guess you'll have to be the hot one, then." he mumbled.
That, she decided, was fine with her.