AN: This is the second installment of my series that began with Blue Ribbon. I suppose you could read this without reading the first one. Details from that will only come into play later, but this starts right where Blue Ribbon left off, with Effie meeting Haymitch in District 12 for the first time. I believe I had written in that one that Effie was twenty-six-which, if both Haymitch and Effie were sixteen at the time of the 50th Hunger Games, would make it the 60th Games. But I'd really like to include Chaff, Finnick, and Johanna in this one so I'd like to spring forward a bit, and we'll just pretend I ended with the start of the 65th Games, making them both thirty-one. Not that any of this is terribly important.

Read on, and I hope you enjoy.

-O-O-O-

The 65th Hunger Games

-O-O-O-

The first thing that aggravated her about him was the way he was so heavy handed with everything, scraping through the ice bucket nosily—with his fingers—while she attempted conversation with their new tributes. The bottles on the bar clanked and jittered under his filthy, hairy hands as he mixed a drink for himself—certainly not his first for the day and not the last.

He plopped into the chair beside her, bringing with him the stench of liquor and sweat that had clouded him at his doorstep hours before when she first met him. And still he wasn't finished with his noise. He picked up a magazine, flipping through it so raucously that she had to flinch at the thought that he might rip one of the glossy pages. Eventually, he grew bored and tossed it aside, now tapping his boot against the floor repetitively, swirling the ice in his glass.

Eventually she grew so frustrated with their lack of words and his incessant noise that she gave up completely, smiling politely and retiring to her cabin.

At dinner, it was the way he scraped his teeth over his fork, if he used a fork at all.

Observing the children, she found that their etiquette wasn't much better. Perhaps it was the norm in District 12 to have horrific table manners.

Politely, she set down her soup spoon and cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should all review about what proper table manners are in the Capitol, yes? After all, these next few days will be very important to you, and you'll want to impress others. Now, Hanna," she said, addressing the girl. "You're using the wrong spoon for your lamb stew. It's this one. It's all very easy to remember, you see. Because you use the silverware on the outside first and work you way inward, understand?"

She felt Abernathy's grey eyes weighing heavily on her.

"And Kale, your napkin is folded wrong." She lifted her own napkin from her lap to show him, and was nearly about to explain when Haymitch snatched up his own napkin from his knee and tossed it onto his plate.

He excused himself from the table—or rather, didn't—and stomped to the door of the car, disappearing wordlessly.

Effie cleared her throat again. "Well…" She looked up at her tributes, both staring back at her with frightened, sullen faces. Kale even looked to be a bit offended. They couldn't care less about her spiel on manners. She huffed, folding her napkin back into her lap. "Forgive Haymitch," she asked quietly. "I do apologize for his behavior."

She bent her head over her soup once more, taking tiny, dainty bites. She noticed Hannah was attempting to do the same.

In her room that evening, she'd shed a few tears as she tugged the pins from her wig, only for what a brute Haymitch had been, how he'd embarrassed her. How awful it was that she'd been stuck with this District and this…man, if he could be called such. She could only think of the laughingstock she would become to her peers, to the Capitol. After all, everything about the Games was so public. It would be sooner rather than later that they would get to see Haymitch drunkenly stumbling over himself as she tried to hold the whole act together. It hadn't even been 24 hours yet, and Effie was already dreading the next two weeks.

-O-O-O-

At breakfast, he stumbled in, falling over his own bare feet and sporting ratty, worn pajamas that weren't any cleaner than the outfit he'd worn the day before. Honestly. Didn't he have the decency to dress himself—how ever sloppily—before presenting himself?

Effie tried not to sigh over her toast.

He tried to assert some advice to Kale and Hanna, but Effie was sure they couldn't possibly retain any of his slurred, muffled words. She suggested they wash up before their arrival to the Capitol, and the two filed out of the car.

"Honestly," she began. "Its not even nine in the morning, and you're already soused. Is this going to be any everyday occurrence?"

She was being rude, but at this moment, it was necessary.

"Is the pitch of your voice that obnoxious every time you speak?" he shot back, bringing a hand to his head.

She scoffed. "Well I never…"

He waved her off, slouching deep into his chair.

"At least put on something clean before we arrive. You do have clean clothes don't you?" She hadn't meant to sound so patronizing, like he was a filthy animal, but when he dug one finger into the jam on the table, she thought twice.

"Of course, I do, Princess," he said, licking his finger clean and leaning forward to take another swipe. But she snatched the jar out of his reach.

She held it reverently between her hands, as if rescuing the poor jar of orange marmalade from his sticky fingers had been a noble deed. She glared down at him, daring him to make one more rude, crude, or socially unacceptable gesture. He didn't.

Instead, he threw her icy glare right back at her.

He leaned forward on the table, wrinkling the tablecloth with his elbows. "Look, Queenie. You're new to this game, so let me fill you in on how it works. We don't make the kids feel special, and we damn sure don't make them feel like this is some sort of privilege. If I need to remind you, Twelve never wins. So we bring 'em in, let them know their odds, and let 'em loose to be slaughtered . That's what everyone wants to see anyways, right?" He smiled mockingly. He reached over to pat her lace-covered hand.

"Mr. Abernathy, I assure you that I most certainly am not new at this game, as you call it. I've had my training in the Academy, and I graduated with the top of my class, I'll have you know. Furthermore, the Games are indeed a privilege…to be able to enjoy…"

Haymitch cut her off, waving a hand unsteadily.

"One, if you graduated with the top of your class, what the hell are you doing working with District 12?" he said, making her lips pout and her eyebrow arch. "And number two…have you ever participated in a Reaping?" he asked.

"Well of course I have…"

"No. Have you ever," he spoke slowly, "had your name drawn? Entered, even?"

"Of course not," she answered, clinging more tightly to the jar still in her hands where the glass was growing slick against her palms.

"Then, you wouldn't really know what the Games are like, would you?" he said darkly. He held her gaze for several more moments before standing. He snatched up an apple from the bowl at the center of the table. "I suggest," he said, waving it towards her, "that you stick to your parties, your clothes, and your…" He gestured to her bright orange wig. "…stupid hair. Stay completely out of my way and out of my business, and we'll get along just fine, got it Princess?"

He sunk his teeth into the fruit, spraying her with a few droplets of the juice before stalking out of the car the way the children had exited.

-O-O-O-

The children were taken in with their prep teams to be bathed, plucked, and perfected. This left Haymitch and Effie to natter with the other escorts, mentors, and sponsors. Effie was not above lying, making up sweet stories about Hanna's curious and friendly disposition, how she'd glowed in delight upon seeing the Capitol's brightly colored buildings and streets. Really, nothing about Hanna let on that she was anything other than an afraid little girl. But anything to help the cause, Effie would do.

She'd met up with two of her good friends. Olivia, the District 4 escort, and Lucilia, who acted as an executive in the Training Center, organizing and readying the apartments before the tributes arrived. The two were twins, and nearly exactly identical. Effie could only just tell Olivia apart because of the time they'd spent together in the Academy.

"And then Ella and I…" she was saying, her hands gesturing before her until Haymitch bumped his way into their circle, already holding a squatty glass of amber liquid.

"Good God, there's three of you," he said unkindly, smiling.

"Two," Olivia prissed, poising a hand on her hip.

"Effie comes as a bonus," Lucilia teased, and Effie laughed until Haymitch interjected lowly, "How unfortunate."

Effie pursed her painted lips. "Is something the matter, Haymitch?" she asked politely, though in an attempt to shoo him away.

"Not anymore," he said, hoisting his glass proudly. "I've got the privilege of Capitol liquor, haven't I?" he said, smirking at her. "There aren't many entertaining people to talk to around here. At least until Chaff or the morphlings arrive." He chuckled to himself at his own joke, but the ladies stared at him unchangingly.

"Well…" he said, letting out a breath of bourbon. "Don't you three just look like…" He gestured to Olivia and Lucilia's matching feathered outfits. "Chickens ready for plucking…or something that sounds like it."

Olivia gasped, but Lucilia snickered behind her hand. Effie gawked and grabbed for his elbow, steering the drunkard away from her friends.

She jeered up at him. "Didn't we agree that we would stay out of each other's way?"

He reached up, teetering close to her, his malodorous breath filling her nostrils. "You lost an earring."

She clutched her right earlobe.

"And yes, we did. I just found this on the floor." He held up the bright green gemstone earring, twisting it between his fingers. When she reached for it, he snatched his hand away.

"But on second thought," he said, tucking it into the pocket of his trousers. "You were right, of course. We should stay away from each other."

"You give that back," she demanded. She nearly stamped her foot, making Haymitch chuckle.

He shrugged indifferently. "Make me," he said childishly, bringing his glass to his lips before sauntering away into the crowd of mentors.

She steamed, her face growing hot as she watched his back. Olivia and Lucilia appeared at her flanks, and finally she let herself bubble over. "Oh, that…brute!" she huffed, turning to Olivia.

Lucilia hummed, gazing after him. "He's not so horrible, really."

"He's dreadful!"

"Poor Effie," Olivia sighed dramatically, patting the giant flower on her friend's shoulder.