After the parade, Effie corralled them all into the penthouse for dinner. The costumes had been tacky, and though she tried to find some redeeming quality in the coal miner's uniforms, they were bland and boring and certainly forgettable. Despite her efforts, not a single sponsor had been convinced to support them.
The children went to their rooms to wash up for dinner. Before Effie could ask an Avox to do it, Haymitch had already plucked the corkscrew from the table setting and popped open the bottle of wine.
"Ah. A wonderful idea," she said, choosing two clean glasses. She placed them on the table before him, expecting him to pour courteously, but instead he snatched up the glasses, dirtying them with fingerprints, and poured quickly, letting the red liquid slosh in his glass to more than half full. When he poured her own, she swiftly instructed him where to stop.
"Thank you," she said nicely, swirling the liquid. She cleared her throat after one tart—yet satisfying—sip and spoke. "I think we've gotten of on the wrong foot, you and I. I would like to agree to be civil towards one another. Could we manage that?" she asked.
He just nodded, taking a gulp.
Effie was beginning to get the idea that Haymitch could be compliant with almost anything if he had alcohol in hand.
"Wonderful. I'd like my earring back, if you don't mind."
He smirked over the rim of his glass and was nearly about to speak when the children joined them again.
After dinner and after the children were sent to bed, she perched herself on the sofa, clipboard in hand, scribbling furiously at names of sponsors she needed to contact, and others that had already turned her down. She huffed, brushing a pink curl over one shoulder. This was hopeless.
"What's got your knickers in a twist?" Haymitch called from the hallway, making her jump.
She spun over one shoulder, a hand to her chest. "Oh! You frightened me! I thought you were sleeping."
He seemed to find that funny, and flounced out into the sitting room, a bottle of clear liquid in hand. She noticed his jacket and vest had been removed, leaving him in a wrinkled button down and his trousers. He was bare-foot, of course. But then, so was she. The tall, grape colored heels she'd donned that day were abandoned neatly nearby.
He stood over the back of the couch, peering over her shoulder.
"What are you doing?" he asked, gesturing to the clipboard in her lap.
"Preparing the schedule for tomorrow. And…" She sighed. "Trying to work a tactic to get sponsors."
He snorted. "There ain't no sponsors for Twelve. Ever. We're a lost cause, Peaches." He shuffled around the sofa slowly.
"Perhaps," she said dejectedly, "But I intend on putting forth all the effort I can…to help them in every way I can." She set her pencil down when Haymitch sat on the opposite end of the couch. She finally let herself deflate, letting out a heavy breath. "Hanna is so frightened. It makes me…upset for her."
"So you're acting on self-interest, then?" Haymitch nearly snarled.
She glanced at him. "What an awful thing to say."
He shrugged, taking a swig from his bottle.
"Why do you drink so much?" she asked, her tone almost scathing. Why had he come out here to bother her anyways?
He pointed at the high-heels at the end of the lounge. "Why do you wear such stupid shoes?"
"They aren't stupid. They're fashionable," she defended, completely missing his point.
He snorted and lifted his feet to the coffee table between them.
Silence settled for a few more moments before she spoke. "I remember your games."
He didn't respond.
"It was the first year I was able to attend parties by myself, to drink. And I thought you were very good, of course." She had meant it to be a compliment, but it came out hackneyed and unweighted.
She cleared her throat, glancing back down at her clipboard and worrying herself with her work once more. Within the half-hour, she was drowsy and rose from her seat. Haymitch had already fallen asleep, slouching along the length of the sofa.
Tentatively, she rounded the table and reached for his shoulder. When she shook him awake, he sprang up with a shout, sloshing his bottle and slashing at her with one open hand. He caught her arm in a vice grip, forcing her to the floor.
"Its me, its me!" she squeaked, putting one arm over her face in defense. When she peeked up at him, his face was close, his eyes dark as gunmetal.
After a few seconds, he seemed to come to himself, though the storm behind his eyes didn't leave.
Wordlessly, he released her and stepped over her. He shuffled noisily to his room, leaving her there, bent on the floor without an answer or explanation.
-O-O-O-
The next morning, she was left alone mostly. Haymitch, Hanna, and Kale had gone off to train, leaving her free to talk with sponsors. She was entertaining a group of attractive young men, not above flirting, when a familiar face caught her eye.
His jet black hair had been swept back in a different style, and his beard was small and neatly clipped around his chin. But his green eyes were no less stunning than when they'd been sixteen, young, and heedless. He floated over to her, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.
"Effie, gorgeous as always," he said.
She smiled kindly. "Wonderful to see you again, Seneca."
The men around her filtered away, leaving them alone at the center of the crowded room.
"Your tributes seem very promising," he said, an attempt at a compliment. "At least, the boy does. He's strong. The girl…the girl is very…skittish. I had the privilege of watching them this morning."
Effie blinked at the word 'privilege.' She was beginning to grow tired of that word.
"Yes, Kale is quite strong. Charming as well," she said, swirling the liquid in her glass.
But Seneca laughed. "You don't have to convince me that I should support them, Effie darling. It would be my pleasure to do so."
"Oh," she said. "You would?"
"Absolutely. As a favor to an old flame."
She wasn't sure if she should've been offended by his comment, but she didn't show it.
"I could promise that the payments be bit a larger if you would agree to dinner with me," he offered coyly.
She laughed, flashing a smile. She glanced around the room filled with people, hoping that no one had overheard. "Now Seneca, what kind of woman do you take me for?"
"We were wonderful together," he said.
"Yes, we were. Fifteen years ago." She was trying to be as polite as possible. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I simply must be off. They'll be returning from training soon, and you know this evening is very important. Caesar will not be kept waiting. Ta ta, Seneca."
She hustled away, moving as quickly as she could in her heels. In the elevator, Haymitch was ushering the children inside, and before she could hold herself together, she snapped.
"Upstairs to shower, both of you," she said more forcefully than she might've liked, pressing the button for the penthouse. "And you, not a spot of drink for you this evening. And honestly, wear a clean shirt."
Haymitch only looked amused. Kale and Hanna gawked. Finally, she collected herself and sighed. "Forgive me. That was very rude of me. I only want us to be on time for the interviews. We've got a big evening ahead of us, and we want to impress."
She turned to face the doors, composing herself for the long evening ahead.
-O-O-O-
The tributes conducted themselves as well as could be expected for the interviews; Effie had had so little time to prep them. She insisted they rest for the final day of training, sending them off to bed early.
Haymitch had left, presumably off to a bar or some other seedy establishment for the evening. She put an Avox in charge of watching the children and ventured out on her own with Ella Heavensbee.
She returned with her worries drowned in brightly colored cocktails, quite calm and relaxed after the events of the day. She had discussed Seneca's assertion with Ella, and Haymitch's complete lack of propriety. Still, she had not reached a decision. Was it ethical to revisit silly teenage memories at the expense of the children? Just to get them medicine, food, or water?
Before the elevator doors closed, before it had time to whisk up to the penthouse, a grimy hand pressed between them, forcing them back open. Haymitch stumbled inside, wet with liquid down his front and boots untied.
He smirked up at her. "Oh, hello there, doll."
She scoffed impudently, turning her face away. "You're quite a sight," she said, disgusted.
The elevator closed and chimed, rising. It scaled the floors slowly. Too slowly for Effie's liking.
"I could say the same about you. Your dress looks like vomit," he snarled.
He face snapped in his direction. "At least I don't smell like it."
He leaned closer, smiling stupidly. "Ooh. What happened to your manners, honey?" Before she could wrench away he had her pressed against the glass wall of the elevator, breathing hot against her cheek. She turned her face away.
"Perhaps someone needs to boss you around for a change," he whispered.
He was off of her as soon as her hand clapped against his face. The sound hung heavy in the small space of the elevator.
"You filthy…!" she began, edging past him once the doors opened. She stood between them, barring his exit. "You filthy…louse!" she exploded, a better insult lost on her lips. She marched off furiously to her bedroom, leaving him laughing and stumbling behind her.