Prompt : I'd like to prompt this: Effie is wearing a dress which is beyond ugly in Haymitch's opinion. So he keeps on commenting on it and making fun of it and Effie is so annoyed that she goes "Do you want me to take it off?" and Haymitch is like "Maybe.". You can throw smut or steam in it if you want to. Please do it. Ily.

Plucking The Goose

"You are all in trouble, do you hear me?" Effie hissed, impatiently tapping her foot. "You have pulled quite a lot of stunts over the years but this one? Oh, this one takes the cake. Breaking and entering. Breaking and entering in the Head Gamemaker's house. Really? Really?"

She was talking to the void.

In the holding cell in front of her, the four victors were in no state to answer her or to understand why she was ranting. The Peacekeepers would be back shortly to release them in her custody on Seneca's orders.

It had taken two hours of pleading on her part for him to agree to bury the whole thing before it could reach President Snow. It had taken a thousand apologies, a lot of cajoling and some crocodile tears.

And the four of them looked absolutely ungrateful. Only Finnick seemed to be somehow sheepish. Johanna was sprawled on the tattered couch, Chaff was staring at her with glassy eyes and Haymitch was leaning against the force field keeping them locked in the cell, arms folded in front of him.

"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?" she snapped.

"Your dress is really ugly." Haymitch slurred.

She huffed. Her dress was exquisite. All white feathers. Ever since he had laid eyes on her that evening, he had kept on repeating she looked like a goose or another less than flattering bird. Truly, she had been happy to lose sight of him at that night's party. She should have known better.

"Why in Panem did you break into Seneca's house?" she insisted.

"'Cause he's got that painting." Chaff muttered. "They say he's got that painting."

"Naked chick with a shell." Johanna added unhelpfully. "Venus or whatever. Finnick wanted to see it."

"And couldn't you ask Seneca like civilized people?" she scowled.

They all look at each other, too drunk to even understand her properly she was sure.

"Didn't think of that." Finnick mumbled, making a face. "Effie… Effie, I feel sick."

"Well, it serves you right." she declared.

"Don't puke on me!" Seven's victor exclaimed.

"Seriously…" Haymitch said, leaning further against the force field and pressing his hand on the invisible wall. "That dress…"

"You are all impossible." she muttered, shaking her head. "I don't know why I keep bothering with you. I should take a leaf out of your escorts' book and leave you to deal with your own mess. You do not appreciate my help at all."

"Sure, we do." Chaff protested. "We called you."

"'Cause the bitch's the only one who comes." Johanna mumbled. "'Cause she's puppy sick in love with Haymitch."

Apparently that thought was hilarious because Seven's victor starting snickering.

And obviously it was the moment the Peacekeepers came back in the room with papers for her to sign. She was very, very tempted to leave them there after all. Not forever, of course. But perhaps until morning.

She was nicer than that though and so she signed the papers and took responsibility for the lot of them. They were wasted, that much was clear, but they weren't in an obedient mood. Finnick kept whining that he was going to be sick, Johanna kept making snide comments and repeating she wanted another drink, Chaff's only remaining hand kept drifting to her backside right up until Haymitch shoved it away with a glare and firmly wrapped an arm she couldn't shake off around her waist – and since as long as he was holding her he seemed to behave, she stopped trying.

She managed to herd them back to the elevator with open relief.

Finnick was the first to go and all she could think was: one less on my hands.

Johanna was still ranting to herself when the elevator stopped at the seventh floor.

And Chaff kept chortling for no good reason when he got off at his floor.

Effie's only consolation was the knowledge that various victors and escorts were waiting for them on their respective floor and that there would be hell to pay.

Meanwhile, Haymitch was still holding fast to her waist.

"You might want to let me go now." she remarked. "I am not in danger of being groped any longer."

Instead of letting go, he propped his chin on her shoulder and immediately sneezed. "Fucking dress… It's the worst dress you've ever had… Fucking hideous. Look like poultry."

She rolled her eyes. "Would you like me to take it off, perhaps?"

Her voice was dripping with sarcasm but he didn't seem to notice. He chuckled into her neck. "Maybe." His teeth dug in her shoulder playfully. "Maybe I'll pluck you…"

"Drunk men are not allowed to pluck feathers off my dress, Haymitch. All the more so drunk men who are intent on making me mad." she retorted as the elevator chimed.

She escaped his arms, leaving him to follow or spend the night there.

She aggressively did not care one way or the other.