I do not own any part of When Harry Met Sally nor The Hunger Games franchise and these characters and plot ideas are merely borrowed for my personal fandom enjoyment. Thank you for your consideration ^_~

West Virginia, 1977

Effie Trinket's bright yellow car cruises slowly past the rows of identical student housing, in search of the promised meeting place. "Here we are, Building Twelve," she says brightly, stopping along the curb. 'Right on time,' she glances at her watch, taking a moment to smooth a stray curl back in place and re-apply her lipstick while scanning the crowded sidewalk for her friend May, who is supposed to be introducing her to her boyf—There they are. Passionately making out in full view of… well, everyone. Effie shakes her head, pulling up and idling right beside them, though they can't be bothered to notice—or even come up for air, apparently.

She tries to avert her eyes and give her friend a moment, feeling a vague sense of embarrassment to have been watching, though she's not sure who it's for. It's not that Effie has any moral scruples about a couple enjoying each other, she just feels she shouldn't have to watch. Especially when this prolonged 'goodbye' of theirs is cutting into her travel time. The whole thing smacks of ill manners.

"Ahem." Effie's rolled down both windows, hoping to get their attention. "A-HEM!" Still no luck. "Oh for crying out loud," she mutters. Laying a manicured hand on the horn she leans forward and 'accidentally' taps it. "Whoopsie," she smiles sweetly out the window as the two lovebirds are startled out of their embrace, finally.

"Effieeee!" May runs over to Effie's side of the car and attempts to give her a hug through the driver's side window. "So glad to see you! Oh! Did you hear I actually got a B on Professor Snow's final? And I owe it all to you!"

"Congratulations! You earned it, studying so hard like you did." "Aww, Effie, you're too kind! Listen, thank you sooooo much for giving him a ride. You're a lifesaver!"

"Not at all," Effie notices the young man shifting on his heels from the corner of her eye, "Though I would prefer to be formally introduced before driving all the way to New York with him."

"You heard the lady, Mitch! Get your rude butt over here already!" The man in question lazily raises a hand in acknowledgment and saunters around at a leisurely pace, hands in his coat pockets. The first thought that crosses Effie's mind, once she gets a good look at him, is that she hopes he smells better than his slovenly appearance implies he would.

"What's that? You miss my nude butt already? I miss yours already too, Sweetheart." Somehow those hands have gone instantaneously from inside his pockets to snaking halfway around May the second he reaches her, with a lusty gaze replacing the churlish grin he'd worn moments before. He draws her in for another kiss, completely disregarding Effie waiting in the running car not a foot away from them. BEEP!

May blushes, breaking away. "Sorry… He's–hehehe! Mitch, cut it out!– uh, a bad influence," she giggles through her boyfriend's blatant groping, pointing at him with her thumb.

"I hadn't noticed," Effie replies calmly, pretending to lean her cheek on her hand—her elbow remains propped delicately against the horn.

"So uh, right. Introductions! This is my friend and study buddy from Latin, Effie Trinket. Effie, meet my boyfriend, Haymitch Abernathy." May gestures to each in turn.

"Pleasure," Effie reaches out to shake his hand. "Yeah. You too. Nice nails," he gives the ends of her fingers a halfhearted handshake.

"Oh! Shoot!" May suddenly jumps, "I have to go finish packing! Margie's supposed to pick me up for the trip back home in an hour." She looks a little saddened as she glances back at Mitch, throwing her arms behind his neck, "I wuv you Mitchypoo." Effie feels the urge to roll her eyes at this, but that would be rude and she hates–no, she abhors rude gestures.

"I love you more, Maysiebear!" "I'm going to miss you!" "I'll miss you more!" They continue mumbling sweet nothings, leaning in closer and closer until their lips meet. Thankfully for Effie, the kiss is quick enough that she doesn't have to use the horn again.

"I'll call you when I get there." "No, call me from the road, promise?" "I'll call you before!" "Bye! Thanks again Effie! Drive safe!" May blows kisses at Haymitch as she leaves.

"Take care May," she waves goodbye to her departing friend, then turns to Haymitch with a bit of a sigh, "Well, we've got a lot of miles to cover, shall we?"

"Sounds good. What do I do with this?" he holds up his duffel bag.

"There should be room in the trunk. And I meant to ask if you'd rather take the first shift driving?"

"Nah, you go ahead, you're already sitting there. I'll just put this in…" he lifts open the trunk to find it's practically overflowing with matching pink suitcases, "...uh, somewhere else." SLAM! "Sorry. Don't know my own strength, I guess," that smirky grin of his does nothing to appease her for nearly giving her a heart attack. He gets in the front passenger's seat.

"You can put it in the back, then, since you obviously didn't find room in the trunk." Haymitch chucks his bag to the seat behind him.

"Do you mind?! I sure hope you didn't squish my hatbox!"

"Sorry. I didn't see any—wait you have a hatbox? People actually still have hatboxes?"

"What, that's amusing to you? How else would you keep your hats from getting ruined?"

"I dunno, I… guess I don't know anybody with nice enough hats? It's just…" He chuckles under his breath a bit, adding in a high, affected voice, "Oooh, what do you think of my new… chapeau, daaahling? And I bought the most chaaahming little hatbox to go with it…" he catches the look on her face, "Never mind. By the way, your hatbox is not squished, it's in the seat behind you with some other junk. There's nothing in the other seat except my bag."

Haymitch looks forward, crossing his arms and settling into his seat. 'Well, this is turning out to be a disaster already.' He's wondering if she plans on staying mad at him for the rest of the trip, when he realizes the car hasn't even left the curb yet. Wasn't she in a hurry? "Uh… are you going to drive, or? Look, I didn't mean anything, I kid around a lot… I'm sorry."

"Just waiting for you to fasten your seat belt." He looks at her incredulously. She's serious. "I never wear them." "Safety first," she trills.

"I hate seat belts, they choke me. I'm not wearing this thing." "I'm not going anywhere until you do." CLICK. "Thank you." She starts the car and off they go.

They've not even made it to the highway before Haymitch starts feeling hungry—or maybe it's boredom? Not that it matters to him. He struggles to reach his bag while he's still buckled, but he doesn't dare risk messing with Effie on the seat belt issue.

"I have this all figured out. It's a seven hour trip, which means I can drive this shift for three and a half hours, then we break for food, then you drive us the rest of the way. Or if that sounds like too long a stretch, as it does to me, we can go with four shifts of one hour and forty-five minutes each, with a break after your first shift and—Are you listening?"

"Yes!" Haymitch finally manages to grab a sandwich bag of something. Grapes, he notices, turning back around to face forward in his seat. "I mean, yes. Uh… the second one." He pops a grape in his mouth.

"Very good. We'll switch in about one hour and…" she pauses to calculate, "thirty minutes, give or take an exit. I have several stops already marked on the map where we can switch."

"Pffff!" Haymitch tries to spit a grape seed out the window, forgetting that Effie had rolled it up when they started out. The glare she aims his way upon seeing the blob of spit clinging to her window was so intense he would swear it could melt glass.

"Have you any manners? At all?" "Sorry, you're right, I should have offered you one first." "I'm not talking about–"
"Relax. It was a joke. Remember, I do that sometimes? Sheesh, lighten up!" He cranks down the window as fast as he can. "There we go. Heh. All better. So you want one?"

"No thank you. I don't like eating anything that requires me to spit part of it back out."

"Of course you don't. More for me then, Princess."

The silence is punctuated with the occasional spit, which aggravates Effie a little more each time until she can no longer keep her disgust from showing on her face. Haymitch wisely decides he's had enough grapes. "So," he begins, trying to think of a way to break up the tense atmosphere. "We've got seven hours to kill here. How 'bout we get to know each other?"

Effie seems a bit surprised. "What would you like to know?" "I don't care. Tell me the story of your life or something."

"The story of my life? That wouldn't even get us out of Morgantown. Nothing's happened to me yet worth talking about." "Well, tell me why you're going to New York then?" "I'm going back home." "Wait. You're saying you left New York to go to school in West Virginia?" It comes out a bit more snarky than he intended.

"I thought I could use a break from the city. A chance to do some things on my own, for myself. The school offered me a scholarship anyway," Haymitch isn't sure whether she's trying to justify it to him or to herself.

"So why go back home then?" Effie takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts, "It works out better for me. I'm going back to pursue my dream of becoming a professional event coordinator."

"A 'professional event coordinator?' So you're going back to New York to become a professional party… thrower?" "In a manner of speaking, I suppose. Though there's a lot more to the industry than just parties—it's meetings, conventions–"

"There's an 'industry' dedicated to partying? Sign me the hell up!" "Such language! Is that really necessary?" she admonishes, not waiting for his reaction—which is lucky for him as he's snickering to himself at the whole thing—"And to answer your question, it's not 'partying,' it's planning and managing large-scale events such as corporate functions, meetings and conventions, some people do weddings… It is a professional industry with its own certification and everything."

"Uh-huh. So what happens when this party manager thing fails? Got someplace else you wanna run to?" The question catches her completely off-guard.

"I beg your pardon!" She says, with all the indignity she can muster. 'Does this jerk have any inkling of how insulting that comment was just now?'

"What? I'm not trying to ruffle any feathers here, but you've got to be prepared for the worst to happen because it inevitably, always will. And if you're not ready for it, reality will crush the dreams out of you like the insect guts that you wipe off the bottom of your shoe, so you've gotta be ready for these things," he says casually.

For a moment all Effie can do is try not to stare at him and keep her eyes on the road, because she can't believe this perfect stranger is sitting there comparing her to squashed bug guts, and being so matter-of-fact about her dreams ending in failure.

"Well, I don't plan on failing," is her brusque reply. "Not everyone sees the world through morose-colored lenses as you must. I happen to believe in the power of positive thinking."

"Uh, first of all it's 'mo-rohSS', not 'mo-rohZZe' and it's also not a color. And yes, I happen to believe in the power of my negative thinking, my dark side, whereas you're probably one of those impossibly cheerful people who loves horses and rainbows and dots her 'i's with little hearts." He pauses and takes a small flask out of his coat. "I'll take your silence as a yes. Look. Wanna know why I never see dog movies?"

"…What's a dog movie?" "Like that Benji movie from a couple years ago." Effie hesitates, "… Why?"

"Don't have to, I already know the plot. I have never watched a movie about a dog, because the dog always dies, end of story, it's already spoiled." "That's–"

"When I start a relationship, I come up with a list of possible reasons my new girlfriend might want to dump me so I can make up my defense ahead of time. When I get a new book, I read the last page first so if I drop dead before I finish it, I'll know how it ends. That, Princess, is a dark side. I embrace mine because I know that life's not going to hold any punches, and I'll be ready when the shit hits—"

Effie's mouth is hanging open. "Sorry. When the poopie hits the fan, I'll be ready."

"And in the meantime, you'll never be anything but miserable, waiting for something bad to happen instead of making something good happen."

She looks rather smug at her statement, and Haymitch doesn't care to think of anything to rebut it, so he decides to change the subject. "How much longer 'til my shift?"

"Um… an hour." "Still? Feels like I've been in here forever already. Well sh-…oot." He unscrews the lid of the little bottle and raises a toast, "Here's to your dark side, Princess."

"Is that alcohol?" She turns to face him for a second this time, and her look shoots daggers. "Whiskey. I think. Not even enough for a buzz. It'll be out of my system already by the time I have to drive, if that's what you're worried about." She's still scowling, so he can assume that wasn't what she's worried about. "Come on, loosen your corset, have a drink! …Oh, are you one of those religious people… like with the underwear, the thing with the snakes… or something?"

She ignores his stupid questions. "I pride myself on being a good citizen. I've never gotten even a ticket." "You don't say." He rolls his eyes when he's sure she's not glancing his way.

"So you'll understand why I'd rather not end up in jail for having booze open in this vehicle! You will not have that out in my car, nor will you ever bring alcohol—or drugs, since you seem like the type, you don't have any drugs on you do you?" "No!" "—In my car, without my permission ever again, or I will drop you off and leave you at the first stop. Are we clear?" "Crystal." He mock-salutes her, and puts the flask away in his bag. It looks like it's going to be a long ride.