Prompt: this is total crack but if you can make it work could you write something where one year Snow makes it a thing that even the victors should wear the in-fashion, capitol appropriate attire when in the city for the games (maybe to promote unity or because he feels like theyre stepping out of line and becoming too independent?) When their stylists are all ruining their lives (as usual), the gang of victors bitterly go to Effie to be like 'fine fuckin help us please' and she works her fashion magic

His Fashion Advisor

When he walked in the waiting lounge before the red carpet that always preceded the tributes Parade, Haymitch had to pause.

"That's an eyesore." he muttered.

"And now you won't complain any more about your outfit." Trinket remarked and then disappeared in the crowd without another word.

He decided he wouldn't complain anymore because, compared to what everyone else was wearing, the suit she had practically forced on him wasn't that bad. Sure, it had sequins but they were discreet, black, patterned in tiny spirals, mostly on the waistcoat, and he didn't look like a disco ball. From what he could see, none of the other victors had been that lucky. They were all clad in shiny outfits.

He didn't what to imagine how painful it would be to look at them once they walked out into the sun.

It was also hard to distinguish between mentors, Gamemakers and escorts in that room. Some of the victors had been attired with wigs too.

"Oh now, that's totally unfair!" Chaff's voice boomed. Haymitch spotted his best friend right as Eleven's victor waved him over. He and Seeder were wearing very ugly matching purple outfits with blue and gold sequins. "How come you look so good?"

He looked a lot more Capitol than usual and a lot more than he was comfortable with. The three-pieces suit was close to what he usually liked but the pants were tighter than the norm – fashionably so, Trinket had insisted – there were the sequins on the waistcoat and the flashy knot of the scarf she had forced around his neck like a tie. She had insisted her orders were clear: victors had to emulate Capitol fashion that year and he had made a fuss and criticized her choices and professed to hating everything. Now though, he was starting to see he had gotten off easy.

"Cause my escort doesn't hate me?" he shot back with a snort, snatching a glass from the tray of a passing waiter.

"Val definitely doesn't hate me and I didn't escape it." Brutus grumbled behind him, joining the discussion. Haymitch and Chaff both winced when they caught sight of his outfit – Seeder had more tact and simply flashed him a welcoming smile. The sequins fashion didn't suit Brutus' gorilla frame and the fact that his suit came in turquoise blue and bright orange wasn't helping. "Our stylist didn't listen to a word I said. Who are you with?"

Haymitch actually wasn't sure so he shrugged. "No idea. With us, stylists only show up for the Parade and the interviews." He snorted. "No real publicity for them with Twelve, I guess."

Seeder frowned. "No prep team either?"

"Trinket has a glam squad but I don't think it's a Games prep team." he hesitated. Those people were always the same three and they seemed to know her very well. She didn't trust people she just met to do her wig or her make-up. "And it's been ages since I've allowed one of those to touch me, so…"

He shrugged again.

Chaff shook his head and nudged Seeder with his elbow. "Maybe we should get an escort who doesn't hate us."

"Viola doesn't hate me." Eleven's female victor retorted. "Who's taking care of your clothes if it's not the stylist?"

Haymitch took a sip of his glass, a little ill-at-ease. He hadn't been aware the clothes stuff was a thing. "Trinket I guess."

Stylists had never worked well with Twelve. Before Trinket had come along, that year's stylist would drop a wardrobe on him – literally in his wardrobe at the penthouse – and he would pick and choose what he liked and didn't like. More often than not, he would wear his own clothes.

When she had taken over Twelve's PR, Trinket had declared his style was by far too shabby, his clothes in dire need of replacement and that she simply couldn't let him out in public wearing the equivalent of pajamas anymore. He had been really wary at first and he had fought back on principle but, as it had quickly turned out, she had a knack for picking stuff he not only liked but that he thought suited him well enough. Shabby chic, as she called it. Comfortable but classy enough for the city. He hadn't been in a habit of wearing suits before she forced them on him but he actually liked the three-pieces she chose. He usually liked the more casual clothes she picked for him every year too. He took most of them back home with him to replace the older ones.

"What about make-up?" Brutus asked, apparently shocked by the idea he didn't have to compose with a prep team.

"Don't wear make-up." he grumbled.

Chaff rolled his eyes. "We all wear make-up, buddy. Nobody's gonna let us go on TV with a shiny nose."

He sighed and took another sip. "Trinket."

Chaff lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Escorts can do that?" Brutus asked, clearly surprise. "Take over for a prep team?" His eyes searched the crowd, probably looking for his own escort. "Does she do your hair too?"

"Nobody does my hair." he scoffed, running his fingers in recently trimmed strands. He let her cut it every year before or after the Reaping depending on how drunk he was because there was no way he would allow anyone else to wave a pair of scissors so close to his face. Trinket, for all her repeated declarations of hatred and loathing, seemed to actually like his face. At least, she didn't seem to mind it when he was pounding into her.

Which he was never doing again.

Because that had been an accident.

An accident that had happened a few times but still… an unfortunate accident.

"So, let me get this…" Chaff snorted. "She does the paperwork, she does some of the mentoring, she coaches your kids for the interviews… And now you're telling she's your personal stylist and make-up artist too?" He turned to Seeder. "We've had Viola what? Four years? Time for her to get promoted, yeah? I say we put in a request for Trinket."

"You're not stealing my escort." Haymitch retorted. "Find yourself a better stylist. Maybe one who ain't colorblind."

"Val's good at fashion…" Brutus said, still fixated on that part. "You think she could fix this mess?"

He waved at himself.

Truth be told, Haymitch didn't really know Valeria and didn't really care what Two's victor was up to.

He was more worried about Eleven's sudden interest in his escort. He glared at Chaff. "She's a pain. You know she's a pain. You want a new one. A pretty thing you can fuck and toss away. Trinket ain't that kind."

"Crass, Haymitch." Seeder disapproved. She was ignored by all parties.

"The fuck and toss away kind?" Chaff mocked. "Ain't because you didn't float her boat…"

It was on the tip of his tongue to retort that he had been there and he had done that but something kept him silent. He wasn't sure what it was. He had certainly never hidden anything from Chaff before and it wasn't like it really mattered that he and Trinket had accidentally slipped a few times against a wall – or, that one glorious time, over the couch – but… He didn't feel like telling him about her and the things they had been up to.

"Here you are." Trinket suddenly materialized at his side, as if conjured by his very dirty thoughts. "They are about to call everyone out."

She greeted the victors with a nod and a smile. Her face gave nothing away but her eyes lingered a tad too long on everyone's outfit and when they met his gaze, there was a challenge in them.

He rolled his eyes but held out his arm as a concession.

Fine. He could admit she had done right by him.

It didn't cost him that much.

"Didn't realize other escorts weren't sorting their victors' wardrobes. Thought it was a new thing or something…" he finally grumbled, once they were in line, waiting for their District to be called. They were last, of course. After the army of Gamemakers and the other mentors and escorts. By the time they would step on the red carpet, the crowd would be eager for the actual Parade to start and they would be dismissed like they were every year.

She sighed. "The things I do for you that are not in the job description, Haymitch."

It was a fake sigh, he thought, designed to let him know he was being insufferable and she had the patience of a saint.

It aggravated him and amused him at the same time.

"What…" he mocked, lowering his voice enough that it wouldn't carry because Chaff, Seeder and Summercket were right in front of them. "You mean other escorts don't bend over and lift their skirts for their victors?"

Trinket pursed her lips in open disapproval, her eyes narrowed and her head tilted to the side. She was glaring daggers at him. "I never did that."

"Beg to differ." He shrugged, a smirk on his lips.

She lowered her voice too, to the point it was almost a hiss. "You bent me over and you lifted my skirt. And I thought we were not talking about it. Ever." She lifted a warning finger before he could add anything. "Mention that lapse in judgment again and I will let our stylists have a go at you. I promise you Brutus' wonderful outfit will look like art next to what you will be forced to wear."

He snorted but allowed her the victory.

It was probably wrong to be so turn on by someone threatening him though.

Yeah, Haymitch, it's probably a red flag XD I hope you liked this! Let me know!