prompt: effie knows that haymitch has a thing for brunettes so she considers dying her hair, but haymitch stops her and tells her that he does actually like brunettes but they don't compare to her and that he really loves her blond hair
Friendly Opinion
Effie sipped her champagne slowly, aware that she needed to stop now before she became downright tipsy. Haymitch had been steadily knocking down glass after glass and, if he was yet to show any sign of drunkenness, she wasn't ready to risk both of them being intoxicated at once.
She crossed her legs deliberately slowly – for the benefit of the sponsor who had been eyeing her for half an hour – wishing those stools were less tricky to maneuver. She could have moved over to a table though, she was sure finding someone she knew at that party wouldn't have been hard… The club was buzzing with too loud music, it was the latest place to be and she usually enjoyed it well enough, but that night it was packed with potential sponsors and Games' teams on the hunt for money.
Sitting at the bar alone, looking available and a little bored, had seemed like a safe bet. She had caught the attention of a few men and women but, truth be told, people were more interested in chatting her up than offering their money.
Her eyes toured the building, passing over the crowded dance floor with its pink and green blinking neon lights to check the first floor's walkways. Haymitch was still where he had been standing for the last hour, as far from the speakers as he could physically get. Chaff had deserted him though. He was staring at something – or rather, as she quickly discovered, someone – and she followed his gaze to where Alina Grave was making a quick but efficient job of recruiting sponsoring offers.
Eight's victor had come back to mentoring a couple of years earlier and Effie still wished that this particular District would rotate mentors more often.
She looked back at Haymitch to find him still staring and she pouted, taking another sip of her champagne. She studied Alina from afar. She could see the appeal, in truth. She was around Haymitch's age, in her mid-thirties or so, and she looked very good. She was attractive, very attractive, and the tight dresses Eight's stylists always had her wearing were definitely working for her. Her stomach wasn't as flat as one could have wished, true, but that was what you got for giving birth, Effie figured. All in all, she could have been tempted so she completely understood Haymitch's apparent fascination for the woman. Alina certainly had the spirits he liked in women.
Plus, they had had some sort of affair she didn't quite know the specifics of.
She was beautiful.
However, Effie was too.
The only thing Alina had going that Effie didn't – aside for the very small matter of the two them coming from the same world when she belonged to a place Haymitch hated – was the hair color. She had noticed before. And she had pieced it together from the various comments he and his ridiculous best friend had made over the years.
He liked dark-haired girls.
And Effie was very much a blonde.
He was adamant he hated the wigs and loved her hair but it left her puzzled. How could he love her hair if she was blond and he was into brunettes? She wasn't fond of her natural hair to begin with. Her mother would have had it dyed permanently in her teenage years if it had been left to her and, for once, that was probably something Effie could have agreed on. Her hair was awful. Unpractical wild curls of an insipid color.
She liked wigs because it allowed her to switch hairstyles and hair colors every few days without any damages but she did liked dying her head a vibrant pink or purple sometimes. Never when Haymitch was in the city though. He would have made fun of her and it would have probably been one of those times when he was crueler than she wanted to deal with.
He didn't like pink or purple.
He liked dark hair.
He was always eager to have his way with her when she had dark colored wigs on and he never asked her to remove those. He was particularly fond of the black one trimmed with gemstones cut into a short bob that made her look impish.
He liked dark hair.
And she didn't have dark hair.
And he didn't like her keeping her wigs when they were having sex.
She couldn't help but draw a parallel as to why he was staring at another woman with dark hair he had slept with in the past.
She pondered the question as she fished a cigarette out of her clutch and wedged it between her green painted lips – a dark shade that went very well with the crimson wig tied into a puffy side bun, if she did say so herself. She didn't have time to look for her lighter. The sponsor who had been eyeing her lit it for her before she even reached for her purse again.
He remarked it was a shame for a lovely creature like her to be sitting alone.
She countered that the bar was where the most interesting people were, case in point.
And just like that the flirting was on. She smiled and laughed and said every right thing she needed to say, everything he wanted to hear.
He was old and wealthy and he had actually pledged himself to Twelve once over three years earlier – because, she suspected, he had a soft spot for her – but they never had any opportunities to use his money because their tributes had died too soon. She didn't actually secure a sponsor offer but he promised to think about it if she promised to think about having dinner with him. It was a proposition she wouldn't run past Haymitch, knowing full well what he would have had to say about it. As for taking it now… She would think about that later.
Her cigarette had long been crushed in the ashtray the bartender had pushed in front of her with a worried look for his gleaming counter and she searched for another one as soon as the sponsor was gone.
"You keep saying you're quitting."
Her lips stretched into a smile and she gave Haymitch a small shrug as he commandeered the stool the sponsor had just vacated.
"I am a stress smoker." she claimed.
"Must be stressed all the time, then." he snorted, lifting his voice a little to be heard over the music. He gestured the bartender over, ordering a whiskey and a margarita. She was a little impressed he knew what sort of drinks she wanted without her having to specify. "Old Vinian's eyes were glued to your boobs, sweetheart. Careful. You don't want to give him a stroke or something."
"He might sponsor us." she informed him.
"Yeah, and pigs might grow wings and start to fly tomorrow." he mocked, grabbing his glass and pushing hers closer to her.
"At least, I made some contacts." she sighed, wishing the music wasn't so loud. It was perfectly alright for a fun evening out but it wasn't at all practical for the planning they needed to do to chase after sponsors. "Who did you secure?"
It was a gibe more than anything and he didn't even pretend not to get the joke. He hadn't gone out of his way to talk to sponsors, that went without saying.
"Deana still wants a piece of my ass." he commented, nodding to a woman who was far too old to be wriggling on the dance floor the way she was doing. "That counts or what?"
"Unnecessarily crude." she chided him, wincing a little. "I do not need that visual, Haymitch."
"Jealous, are you?" he taunted.
She was unfortunately unable to answer that because of her untimely sipping of her margarita. They drank for a few minutes, foregoing conversation. He kept checking his watch every thirty seconds.
She bore it as long as she could. "You are being rude. One does not make a lady feel like they are bored or not worth their time. If you have plans with someone else, simply apologize and be on your way."
He lifted his eyebrows, irritation flashing on his face. "Just wondering how long it's gonna take you to finish that drink so we can leave. That's my plan."
"Oh." she said, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "We cannot leave yet. Everyone else is still trying to find sponsors…"
"We're never getting sponsors and our kids are never making it out even if we do." he spat, somber.
"You do not know that." she retorted, annoyed by his constant pessimism.
"Nineteen years of experience say I do." he deadpanned, downing the rest of his drink. "Look, stay or go, I don't care. Keep the car. I'll walk back."
He was gone before she could even blink. She was slower in getting up – because her dress was short and unpractical although very pretty, and her clutch wouldn't close properly – and thus she only caught up with him at the end of the street.
She didn't want to call out to him like a fishmonger so she had no choice but to walk fast – almost at a run – which was never easy on towering heels. She had all the troubles in the world looking dignified.
"I hope you know I never run after men." she huffed once she was standing next to him.
She suspected he had slowed down his pace so she could actually catch up.
"And I had to be the exception." he grumbled. "You couldn't annoy someone else."
He didn't protest when she looped her arm under his, which told her he wasn't really mad, just a bit drunk and probably frustrated. Their tributes' odds didn't look good if the first couple of days of training were anything to go by.
"You will miss me when I get promoted and you know it." she teased with a bright smile.
That promotion she had kept talking about since the very first year, the one that would never happen. As they were both aware.
She was too good at her job, too good at handling him. He had been going through an escort a year before she had walked in, either harassing them into quitting or sleeping with them and then acting like a jerk. He had been impossible, a real pain for the Head Gamemaker, and Twelve's paperwork had never been done on time. Then, she had been hired and everything had changed. He was still impossible but she had her tricks to make him behave a little more properly. He was still a pain but he tended to annoy her and not the Gamemakers because he found it funnier. As for Twelve's paperwork, it had long become her responsibility. She did most of his job in addition to hers, this way they were up to spar and everyone was happy. She was too good. They would never promote her and risk going back to the wreck Twelve had been before.
When Haymitch was furious with her – or the world – he liked tossing that in her face. But sometimes, he humored her.
"Picked your next District already?" he chuckled. "'Cause I heard Three's retiring soon…"
"I was thinking about Eight actually." she countered. "Their team seemed to be doing really well tonight."
She guided them deeper in the city, through smaller pedestrian streets that would hopefully cut the walking time in half. What a ridiculous idea to walk when they had car with a driver at their disposal. Her shoes would kill her long before they reached the Center. They were masterpieces. They weren't meant to be walked in.
"Maybe." he shrugged. "Didn't pay attention."
She pouted at the obvious lie. "Alina looks lovely."
"Subtle." he snorted, as they were reaching Main Square. He steered them toward streets that paralleled the square – so they wouldn't get caught in the middle of a crowd who would request autographs and pictures, she presumed.
"For someone who was not paying attention you looked at her a great deal." she huffed. "That is all I am saying."
And that was plenty already.
"So what? You spied on me the whole night?" he scowled, hurrying his pace and forcing her to lengthen her steps to keep up. The City Circle was in sight and she would be relieved once they would reach the Games' compound, her feet hurt.
"I happened to notice you were staring at her a lot." she deflected. "I checked that you were not getting drunk, I was not spying."
"Kind of falls into my definition of spying." he muttered.
"Well, then. I will happily buy you a new dictionary." she retorted. "You do not need to answer me since it is clearly a sensitive topic. I shall never ask about Alina Grave again."
"Good." he snapped. "'Cause that's none of your fucking business, Trinket."
"No need to be rude." she hissed.
She had trouble keeping up with his strides so she unlocked their arms and went at her own pace. He walked on for a minute or so and then stopped, hands buried in his pockets, waiting for her. He offered his arm again once she reached him, not once looking at her. She took it without a word, happy to notice he slowed his steps to accommodate her.
"The sponsor she was talking to was handsy." he muttered once they reached the middle of the City Circle and the Training Center was looming ahead. "She could have broken that guy's wrist, sure, but she's got a family… I've got no one they can punish for punching a Capitol. She's my friend. I was looking out for her, that's all. Not that it's any of your business."
She relaxed a little but kept her features schooled into detachment. "I said I would never ask again."
"Yeah, well… You didn't ask, I offered." he scoffed.
"She is very attractive, though." she hummed.
He rolled his eyes. "We're not doing this."
"Doing what?" she asked, sounding every bit as puzzled as she wasn't.
"Comparing." he spat. "That's bullshit, Effie. I ain't going to feed your ego."
She eyed him from under her fake eyelashes, trying to read him. "My ego does not require feeding."
"Finally, we can agree on something." he taunted. "Warn Caesar. He can probably squeeze us into the morning special."
It was lucky for him they reached the Center just at that moment. There was a group of people at the doors, like always, and, for a moment, she lost herself in the necessary act of waving, smiling, and signing.
Haymitch was in the lobby well before she managed to make her escape. She barely had time to slid between the closing doors of the elevator or he would have gone up without her.
"You could have waited." she rebuked.
"Thought your ego would need an empty elevator, sweetheart…" he mocked. "It's so big."
She narrowed her eyes at him, lips pursed, and tilted her head to the side, giving a pass to the crude joke he was obviously expecting. She patted her wig instead, keeping her gaze riveted to the flashing numbers that indicated the floors.
At eight, she cleared her throat.
"May I ask your opinion on something?" she inquired.
"Sure." he shrugged.
"Without you making fun of me?" she insisted.
His smirk should have been outlawed. It was far too sexy for something so smug and disrespectful.
"Now, I'm curious." he confessed. "Shoot, Princess."
She rolled her eyes. "I was simply considering a new hairstyle earlier but I cannot for the life of me decide if it is a good idea or not."
"Hairstyle?" He made a face. "You mean your real hair?"
"Yes." she nodded. "I was thinking…"
"No pink." he almost begged. "And don't cut it. Not that I care. Or have an opinion." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed and uncomfortable with the conversation. "'Cause I don't."
It was lucky she was such a good actress because keeping herself from grinning was difficult.
"I was thinking about becoming a brunette." she declared.
If possible, he winced even more. "What for?"
"Why not?" she replied cheerfully. "You do like dark-haired women, don't you? Wouldn't you like it better if…"
"We don't do that kind of stuff." he cut her off, just as the elevator chimed to signal they had reached the penthouse. "I ain't shaving for you. You don't need to dye your hair for me."
"It would not be for you." she answered flatly. "I am asking for your opinion as a friend. I have had the same boring hairstyle since forever and…"
"What's wrong with it?" he grumbled. "I like your hair."
"But it is blond and you like brunettes." she breathed out with frustration. "Shouldn't you…"
"It looks reddish with the right light." he mumbled. "And it's real. I don't like fake anything." He rolled his eyes. "I like your hair."
He looked upset at the thought that she would destroy it with black dye so she helplessly lifted her hands and then dropped them. "Alright then. I simply wanted your opinion. As a friend."
"Well, that's my opinion." he scowled.
"Good." she nodded, pushing the button that would open the doors that had long closed, given their hesitancy to step out, and then gesturing in the vague direction of her room. "I will go to bed."
"Yeah. Good." he acknowledged, not looking at her. "I'm gonna hit the liquor cart."
She was neither surprised nor alright with that but she didn't try to stop him.
She was too busy running to her room, fighting off as smile.