Prompt: Here we go with a new prompt from me XD I leave it up to you why but Haymitch paints Effie's nails and it's a mix out of a crack but also a huge bonding moment. Could be pre 74th games already. Pretty please 3

Playing With Nail Polish

The lull between when someone won the Games and their crowning was the most boring part of the season. Victors and escorts had to be on hand but had often nothing to do but wait to be called.

Haymitch's eyes slowly drifted from the penthouse's bay windows to the couch. He took a sip of his fourth whisky, watching his escort study two small identical bottles of nail polish. Trinket must clearly be as bored as he was because she had broken out her manicure set a good hour ago and he was pretty sure there were shops or salons for that sort of things – or whatever it was called. Her nails were now a bright crimson with golden specks and, apparently, her toe nails were to be blue.

Assuming she ever managed to pick a bottle.

There was something fascinating to watching her do those sort of things: her nails, checking her make-up, styling her wigs… It was all in the ways she did it: the slight crease between her eyebrows visible beneath the make-up, the white front teeth digging into the plump bottom lip, the way she seemed to hold her breath as if the fate of the world depended on her being perfect… It was strangely endearing.

He waited until she had finally placed down one of the bottles and had the little brush right over her big toe's nail to drop on the other end of the couch, rocking her. She almost spilled the nail polish. Almost. She managed to take the brush back at the last moment and avoid the skin. It was disappointing.

She looked up at him with her lips pursed and her blue eyes glaring daggers from behind her fake eyelashes. She batted the spider-like eyelashes a lot but, then again, given how many gemstones there were on it, they must have weighted a ton.

"Can't you be careful?" she attacked.

"Sorry, Princess." he smirked, not sorry at all. "Hope I didn't ruin all that hard work."

"It is hard work." she huffed, placing the brush back in the bottle. She was eyeing him distrustfully, clearly not trusting him not to try to sabotage her manicure again.

"Sure." he drawled out, lifting his eyebrows in open mockery. "Must be hard work to pick blue from blue."

He toasted her with his glass and she pursed her lips harder, clearly not impressed. "Those are two different shades of blue, Haymitch."

He glanced at the bottles. "Hate to break it to you, Trinket, but they're both blue."

She sighed and shook her head in disappointment. "One is sapphire and the other is Persian blue."

He didn't even know how to answer that.

"Pretentious much?" he taunted. He placed his glass of whiskey on the armrest and scooted closer to her to steal the bottle of nail polish. He snatched the one she had discarded too and held them out, inspecting them in the sunlight. The labels were different. The color was the same. "There's no fucking difference."

"Language." she chided automatically. After five years as her escort, she probably knew better than to expect him to watch his mouth. It was a testimony to the importance she gave to manners that she still bothered to correct him. "The difference is more obvious on the nails. You will see. I will use the lighter one to draw some spirals."

Spirals.

Who even looked at other people's toes?

"I can't wait." he deadpanned, dropping the bottles to take his glass back.

He was treated to another sigh.

"You know…" she commented, rearranging the cotton between her toes – that too he had trouble understanding: why stuck cotton balls there? "I completely understand your lack of interest for fashion but you could at least respect the fact that it takes skills."

"Skills." he snorted into his glass.

"Yes." she scowled. "Skills. You would not even be able to do the basics."

She upturned her nose as she said it, as if it was a great flaw of character on his part.

He rolled his eyes. "It's nail painting. How hard can it be?"

"You would be surprised." she retorted, shaking the bottle before unscrewing it again. "I bet you could not do it without making a mess."

It had clearly been said as a gibe but he snatched the bottle from her again. "You bet? And what are you prepared to bet exactly?"

He was bored and she had caught his attention. He was sure she was being dramatic yet again. How hard could it be to put nail polish on toe nails.

He finished his glass as she considered him, her head tilted to the side. She was clearly dubious, probably not sure she wanted to go through with this. She was peculiar about her manicures.

"What do you want?" she asked eventually.

He thought it over, not quite sure what he ought to choose. The obvious seemed to be asking for something particularly salacious. Not that she would ever say no if he simply asked for it. She might be rigid about rules and etiquette and what not but in bed she was game for everything and anything.

Except…

"I do a good job, you take your wig and your make-up off." he challenged.

That was the only thing she had ever refused him. If he tugged on her wig, she always made a scene. Never mind letting him see her without make-up. It wasn't done or whatever.

He wanted to see beneath the Capitol mask.

He was curious.

"Haymitch." she winced.

"Come on, sweetheart…" He nudged her foot. "There's an inch of you I haven't licked yet? You really think that's worse?"

Her pout obviously meant she did but she must have been pretty confident he would lose because she eventually patted her pink wig self-consciously. "Well. I suppose that is an acceptable request. What if I win?"

He shrugged. "What do you want?"

She didn't waste a second and he figured she had been mulling on that for a while. "Dinner at Alesko. Your treat."

Alesko was allegedly the best restaurant in the city but it was also expansive and a little too romantic for his taste. It sounded a little too much like a date.

"You're asking for a lot." he remarked.

"So are you." she replied calmly.

He knew it was a big deal for her to show herself without artifice but… Still.

"Fine." he granted after a few seconds. Live dangerously, right? It only gave him more incentives to do this right. "But you're telling me what to do. Not fair if I lose 'cause you didn't explain properly."

"Alright." she agreed.

Her instructions were short and to the point but it wasn't really that difficult anyway. He focused on painting her nails, making sure not to put any nail polish on her skin. Somehow, he was sure that would have counted as a fail.

He was starting to understand why she looked so focused when she did that.

It was a strangely peaceful activity too.

All in all, when he clasped the bottle of nail polish closed, he was proud of his handy work.

"Not bad at all." she granted, surprise clear in her voice.

She wriggled her toes and he smirked.

For a second at least. "It goes without saying this ain't leaving the room, yeah?"

Because he would never hear the end of it if Chaff learned about that.

"Of course." she dismissed, not looking so pleased. Mainly because she had lost the bet.

"I won." he stated needlessly. "Pay up, Trinket."

She averted her eyes, swallowing hard. She started putting everything away, a cheer in her voice that sounded awfully fake. "Are you quite sure that it is what you want? I am sure we could think of much more satisfying activities than…"

"I'm really sure." he cut her off.

"But I am… I told you times and times again I…" she stammered, ill at ease. "I really need the wig and the make-up to look good. At least let me make arrangements with a salon to dye my hair first. It…"

"Fuck no." he scoffed. "That's the point, Trinket. I want to see what you look like." He rolled his eyes. "And, come on, coy isn't your style. You don't need shit to look good."

She looked down, hands clasped on her lap. "I am flattered you think so but…"

"A bet's a bet, sweetheart." he pointed out even though he probably would have never held his end of the bargain if the roles had been reversed.

She breathed out slowly and licked her lips. "If you ever mock me outside of this room, I will tell everyone you like to play with nail polish, are we clear?"

"Ah, see…" he chuckled, standing up to refill his glass. "Now that's more like you. Bitchy."

"Only you would say that as a compliment." she sighed. "Wait here."

He accepted that with a wave of his hand and added ice to his whiskey. Because he felt in a magnanimous mood, he fixed her one of those tequila cocktails she liked and left it on the coffee table for her to find before coming to stand at the bay windows.

It took her far much longer than he had thought it would. He even thought she had left the penthouse without him noticing. He had finished his glass and was toying with the idea of raiding the kitchen to find a snack when she reappeared.

And every thought of eating fled his mind.

Well.

Eating food anyway.

She was blond but there were reddish hues when the light directly hit the strands. Her hair barely reached her shoulders, it was curly. Wild curls that made his mouth water with the urge to run his fingers through them. And her face… Without the make-up, she looked younger and more tired. More fragile.

She was…

"Gorgeous." he whispered, the word passing his lips without his consent.

"Please." she scoffed, looking everywhere but at him. "Do not lie to spare my feelings. I am perfectly aware of what I look like without artifices."

It hadn't occurred to him that she was really insecure about her bare face or her hair. He had thought it was mostly an act. Vanity.

"You're fucking gorgeous." he insisted, caving to the irrepressible desire to touch.

He wasn't sure she believed him.

It was alright.

He would convince her.