Prompt: Could you do a fix where Effie is at a friends party or something and she gets more drunk than intended and because she's staying at the penthouse, someone calls haymitch to come and get her because she's absolutely out of it

A Friendly Gathering

Poker night wasn't usually taking place at the penthouse for the good reason that his friends always ended up complaining about Haymitch's escort – either because she was commenting on how much they were drinking or because she had joined the game and was fleecing them – but that night Effie was out by herself, off to whatever party her model friends were throwing, and Haymitch had offered Twelve's floor for the night since not everyone was lucky enough to be escort-free. The Games had been dragging for days and everyone was starting to get a little edgy about it.

"Nobody can tell Mags about this." Finnick warned, watching Blight pull the pile of chips toward him with a mournful expression.

"Don't worry, kiddo." Seven's mentor laughed. "Your secret's safe with us."

"How do you suck so much at poker?"Haymitch snorted, dealing new cards.

He wasn't being particularly lucky that night, not like Blight who was on a winning streak, but he had a decent pile of chips and a ridiculous looking silver bracelet with snowflakes he would sell at the Hob for an absurdly low price – something someone had gifted Finnick with, apparently.

"Lucky for you Trinket's not here." Chaff agreed with a snort of his own, taking a sip of his whiskey. "She'd have you down to your underwear by now." Eleven's victor paused and then shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips and his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "Not that you would mind that too much, right?"

Haymitch gritted his teeth and took a sip of his own drink even though the ice had long melt and made the whiskey barely palatable – he made a point of being sober as long as possible when they were playing for money. Finnick, little shit that he was, only grinned that wolfish grin of his in answer, wriggling his eyebrows in a telling way.

He was about to remind everyone that this was a serious game and that they should all focus and stop talking nonsense when the phone started ringing in the living-room.

For a long second, nobody moved.

Eventually Haymitch let out a groan. "Now, you've done it. That woman's got antennas, I swear. Say her name and she appears." Still, he stood up and placed his glass over his cards. "No cheating."

It could only be Effie. There weren't so many people who called the penthouse. Mostly, it was either hosts or journalists trying to set up interviews or Gamemakers with special requests or instructions, but all of that would fall under Twelve's escort's supervision and, since this was the Capitol, whatever standard operator was in charge of dispatching calls within the Center was probably aware his escort had left the building. It might have been another mentor, but most of the people who would call him and who were out of the Games at this point were already there, so it left only Effie.

"Yeah." he said, almost as soon as he picked up, waiting for the inevitable reminder that it wasn't how you answered a phone. He wasn't expecting the long string of giggles at the other end of the line. Several different giggles. It made him frown. "Who's there?"

He hoped it wasn't wayward fans who had somehow gotten a hold on the penthouse's number. It had happened before. Some people in the Capitol were crazy when it came to victors. The hype had died down in his case but if Finnick's admirers had learned he was spending the night on Twelve's floor…

"Is this Haymitch?" a woman whose voice he really didn't recognize asked.

"Who's asking?" he retorted.

He had meant to be curt but it triggered more giggles and whispered conversations on the other side.

"My name is Calliope." the woman said.

"I'm sorry for you." he mocked. More high-pitched giggles as well as a few murmured words about how rude and couth and so funny because he really was like on TV. "Look, lady, I don't know how you got this number…"

But he was going to call the Games Headquarters' Peacekeepers station as soon as he had hung up and signal this because…

"Effie gave it to me." Calliope informed him. "She is… Ah… Shall we say… Indisposed?"

He frowned. "What's wrong with her?"

Not that he was worried. Not really. Not at all. He didn't care about her. Not one bit. So what if they were sleeping together sometimes… Of course, a few years earlier, it had been the kind of things they had had no control over, accidents that happened as the result of a too heated fight… Now it was more… Well, it was more every time the fancy struck them and the other was in a mood to humor them but…

He didn't care about her and he wasn't worried.

"She's torched!" another woman screamed in the phone.

He wasn't sure how many of them there were but they all laughed as if it was the best joke and he had to take the phone away from his ear. They sounded like a gaggle of geese.

He thought he heard his escort's voice in the distance muttering about how they shouldn't tell him that but they were making such a racket he couldn't be sure. The concept of Effie being drunk outside of the penthouse was a foreign one. When they were out at parties, she was always the sober one. She refused to drink when he was drinking so one of them would be able to represent Twelve properly – whatever that meant – and he had long suspected she wasn't in a habit to actually get drunk in public. She had gotten drunk with him a few memorable times on long bitter nights after their tributes had died but always in the privacy of the penthouse.

"What do you want me to do about it?" he grumbled, not quite at ease with the thought of a drunk Effie out there where anything could happen to her. He found he didn't like the thought of her defenseless, mainly because she never was. She was always so fierce and… Yeah, dangerous when she wanted to be – maybe not like a victor would be but she had her own set of weapons – that the idea of her being vulnerable… "Just put her back in the car and send it over."

Surely, she wasn't that drunk that she couldn't make it to the Headquarters' main doors? She would have to do a small walk of shame in front of the people who always massed in front of the Center in hope of glimpsing a victor but that was her problem. From the main doors it was pretty straightforward: cross the lobby, get in an elevator and up to the last floor. He was pretty sure a Peacekeeper would help her if she wasn't able to do it by herself – they did it often enough for him.

"I do not think there is a car." Calliope answered. "This is a private gathering and… Well, I suppose she wanted to be incognito. She does not remember how she came over. Minty thinks she drove."

He didn't know what he wanted to be more puzzled about: that there was a woman called 'Minty' or that Effie could drive. He had never seen her behind a wheel before but, now that he thought about it, he figured that it wasn't impossible she owned a car. Probably pink and monstrous.

"Don't let her drive." he demanded immediately because he didn't trust those geese to have enough presence of mind to stop her from killing herself.

"Of course not." Calliope huffed. "Who do you take us for? We are all very, very drunk, not stupid."

He forced himself to keep his mouth shut, mainly because the safety of his escort seemed to be in that woman's hands. He glanced at the clock, lifting his eyebrows when he realized it really wasn't that late by Capitol standards. It was barely past eleven, for most people the night was barely starting.

"Can I talk to her?" he requested, rubbing his forehead.

"Hey, buddy, what's going on?" Chaff asked, his good arm propped on the living-room's doorframe.

He rolled his eyes, as much at the question as at the furious whispered conversation on the other end of the line. "Effie's wasted and she didn't take a driver."

Chaff's eyebrows shot up and he let out a low whistle. "Didn't think she had it in her." His friend pushed himself off the doorframe to walk to the liquor cart. He fixed them two drinks. "Does that mean we get the penthouse for the whole night?"

He shrugged his ignorance.

"She does not want to talk to you." Calliope finally declared after a couple of seconds.

"What?" he scoffed.

"She says you will make fun of her." the woman explained and she sounded as annoyed with this as Haymitch himself felt. "She is being very silly. She insisted we called you."

A tipsy Effie was a very funny Effie but a drunk Effie usually ended up being an upset Effie, he had learned that lesson in the last six years of working together. If she was really thrashed enough that she needed help getting back to the penthouse, he was ready to bet she wasn't fun to be around right then.

"Fine." he grumbled. "Give me your address, I will send a car over."

Which meant he would need to request a car first. It had been years since he had been forced to do that, before Effie had taken over his last escort and had made his life much easier by handling all that stuff.

"I do not give my address to just anyone."Calliope huffed. "I am quite famous, I will have you know."

He was getting fed up now. Why had Effie asked them to call him at all? She didn't want to talk to him, they didn't want to tell him where they were…

"Alright, then let her sleep it off on your couch." he snapped.

"Are you insane? It is alpaca wool and she claims she is feeling sick!" He was certain the woman was wrinkling her nose. "Odelie already made a mess of my bathroom."

"What kind of party are you having, lady?" he snorted. "Sounds fun."

"Party?" Chaff repeated with open interest, crossing the short distance to hand him his drink before retreating to grab his own. "How many women?"

"Who is that?" Calliope asked.

"It's just Chaff." he muttered. "Look, here's the thing, I don't really care about your whatever couch." Who even had a woolen couch? "Either I send a car to pick her up or she sleeps at your place. That's all I've got to offer."

"I do not want to stay." He heard Effie whine. Not that anyone seemed to listen to her, there were a lot of whispers again. "Please, tell him I feel horrible and I need him to rescue me."

Haymitch couldn't help it. He snorted. "Rescue you, Princess? Must be really bad."

"Who else is there with you apart from Chaff?" Calliope asked, suddenly sounding a lot sweeter.

"What's it to you?" he frowned, suspicious.

"What's the matter?" Chaff asked, taking a generous sip of whiskey. Realizing he had yet to touch his, Haymitch swallowed some, hoping it might help him stay calm because those Capitol women were really starting to irritate him. Eleven's victor seemed irritated too, probably because the poker game had been on hold for more than ten minutes. "Look, if she's that wasted and we need to go get her, let's go. Maybe it's a fun party. Finnick's tired of losing anyway."

Calliope had clearly not lost a word of this because…

"Finnick Odair?" she screeched, so loud Haymitch winced and took the phone away from his ear again, unfortunately too late not to hear the ridiculous guffaws.

"Thanks for that." he scorned in his best friend's direction.

Eleven's victor didn't seem chastised at all. He downed his drink and placed it on a nearby table before snatching the phone from Haymitch's hand, waving his stump in a way that probably meant Twelve's victor was supposed to watch and learn. "Hello, love." Haymitch rolled his eyes because he could almost hear the giggles rising again. "Yeah, it's Chaff. You've got to excuse my friend, he's got no manners. Now… How many of you? Models, you say?" Chaff was turning on the charm alright and Haymitch finished his drink, watching but not learning. He had seen his friend pull that act for years. Chaff was nodding very seriously at whatever Calliope was saying. "Of course." Suddenly, he covered the speaker with his hand and raised his voice. "Kid, what do you think about going to a party full of wasted models?"

It wasn't long before Finnick and Blight left the dinning-room to join them, probably very curious about what the holdup was about.

"Sure." Finnick shrugged with a carelessness that didn't really suit a seventeen year-old boy when it was about drunk models who would probably only be too happy to let him sleep with them. Then again, Finnick probably had his shares of Capitols to contend with as it was.

"Blight, you're in?" Chaff asked.

Blight seemed amused but shook his head. "No, man. If my wife learns about it, I'm dead."

Haymitch sincerely doubted that because as far as he knew, Blight had never given anyone cause to doubt his faithfulness but he understood perfectly why he wanted to avoid the trouble.

"Alright." Chaff said, speaking in the phone again. "Finnick is on board. So… Let me note that down…" He wedged the phone between his ear and his shoulder and clicked his fingers until Finnick tossed a notepad over. It belonged to Effie and Haymitch doubted she would appreciate the fact that Eleven's victor had scribbled over her color-coded schedule but it was her fault for putting them in this mess in the first place. "See you in a bit."

Haymitch wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he was reduced to the rank of being anyone while the magic prospect of having Finnick Odair over opened every door.

It took a little while to request a car and settle the poker's debts but they were in front of Calliope's apartment within the hour. She didn't live that far from Effie's and he really didn't get why none of those women could just walk her back…

At least until one of them opened the door, so obviously tipsy it was almost funny.

Four women jumped on them as soon as the first one had ushered them in and they were all very clearly well into their drinks – not quite drunk though, so he didn't feel really guilty to abandon them to Chaff's and Finnick's flirtation to push deeper in the apartment. He wasn't interested in a round of introductions.

He found Effie sitting on a plushy pink armchair – and vaguely wondered if that too was made of the precious alpaca wool – looking pale under her make-up. There were beads of perspiration on her forehead and her eyes were glassy.

It hadn't really been a party – not in the sense the Capitol used the word. Calliope had said gathering earlier and he supposed it had been closer to that. There were bottles of vodka as well as various fruit juices to go with, two bottles of liquor were empty, but, there were also photo albums scattered around the mostly untouched trays of food. He glimpsed what looked like a younger Effie on one of the pictures. It had been a private setting, which was probably why she had let herself get drunk.

The gaze his escort shot up at him was both chastised and pleading.

"Odelie made a mess of the bathroom and she passed out." she informed him very defensively. "I did not."

"And you want a medal?" he retorted.

She pouted, her blue eyes filling with tears. "Don't shout at me, please. I feel terrible and I didn't do it on purpose. Vodka is the devil."

Most of the words were slurred together and he sighed at how pathetic she looked. He didn't think she would last long before throwing up everything she had drunk that night. "Alright. Fine. Ain't my job to shout at you anyway. Come on, let's go home."

He hadn't meant to say it like that because the penthouse definitely wasn't home but… Well, the penthouse was theirs, he guessed, and…

He was about to correct himself when he noticed how perky she had become at the word despite how close to puking she seemed to be. He wasn't sure why it stopped him but it did, even if he pretended it was the gaggle dragging his friends back to the living-room at that exact moment.

"Oh, you found Effie. Good." one of the women said – the one who had opened the door. She had a forest green wig styled in curls on top of her head. He supposed that was Calliope. "Would you care for a drink?"

A quick glance was enough to confirm all of them were models, indeed. They might have been wearing too much make-up and parrot clothes but they all had the body that went along with strutting down a catwalk. And they were all clearly interested in entertaining victors, no matter the Districts. He had never seen any of them before though and most really famous models were amongst the sponsors.

He figured they weren't that famous but thirsty for it enough that they would go for Eleven or Twelve if they couldn't get Four. An easy lay, he and Chaff hardly ever passed on.

Although, he supposed in his case it had been a while since…

"Weren't you picking me up?" Effie frowned, eyeing the other victors with open confusion. "Why did you bring them?"

"They wanted to party with us." another woman answered, pouring Finnick some champagne. He wondered if that one was Minty. They all looked ridiculous enough to be called Minty.

One with a purple wig clearly had her eyes on Chaff and his friend was not oblivious. He didn't give it half an hour before Eleven's victor had secured the catch. As for Finnick… He didn't seem to mind Maybe-Mindy. Which left two tipsy women battling their fake eyelashes at him.

"Oh…" Effie breathed out slowly. "But I want to go home."

"Let Haymitch have a glass first, darling." Calliope dismissed with a radiant smile. "What do you drink, Haymitch? I have a little of everything. Anything you want."

He eyed her up and down, a little tempted. Long legs, breasts that didn't look full of plastic, slender neck… She was gorgeous.

Less than Effie though.

He wasn't sure where the thought had come from and he chased it away. He wasn't going to start comparing all women to his escort. He wasn't. Simply because they would all come short.

"But I don't feel well and he came for me." Effie argued petulantly. Her blue eyes were wide and sad when they met his. "You said you were coming for me."

"I came. Stop being difficult." he scolded, outstretching a hand to help her to her feet. "We're going."

"So soon?" Calliope pouted. "But you just got here… It is a little rude to not stay for at least one drink."

"I ain't a particularly polite person, sweetheart." he snorted, seeking Chaff's gaze. His friend was very busy charming Purple-Wig though so he turned to Finnick. "You're coming back with us or staying?"

"Minty wants to show me some pictures." Finnick shook his head with a small genuine smile. "I'm good."

"Alright." he accepted with a shrug. "I'm gonna send the car back once we're at the Center so you don't get stranded. Should help with the walk of shame in the morning."

If either of them understood the taunt, they didn't let on and, with a disappointed roll of his eyes, he wrapped an arm around Effie's waist and helped her back to the car. She looked even worse standing up than she did sitting. She couldn't take two steps without stumbling on her heels.

It wasn't better once in the car. She curled up on the seat and, after some grumbling on his part, cushioned her head on his lap. She closed her eyes tight and gripped the fabric of his pants even tighter. He figured she was fighting really hard against the nausea.

He sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb drawing silly comforting patterns on her skin. He wasn't really aware of what he was doing, truth be told.

"I did not know who else to call." she confessed at some point, not sounding really coherent.

He just hoped she would last the car trip before being sick.

"It's alright." he muttered.

"I ruined your night." she insisted.

"We were playing poker and I was losing all my money anyway." he lied.

"Oh." she hummed. "It is not so bad, then."

"Nah, sweetheart." he snorted, brushing his knuckles all the way up to her neck and back to her shoulder, studying her familiar features, the weight of her head light on his thigh. "It ain't so bad at all…"