When she arrives at the Capitol, Effie has just enough time to drop her things off at her apartment before her meeting with Heavensbee and the other network executives. Normally she is involved with making sure things happen, analyzing the situation, figuring out the creative team's logistical needs, and coordinating the work flow of a group of people to ensure timely, efficient performance of required duties. Today, she finds herself in the role of the people she's always served, and she likes it.
She gets unanimous approval and a maximum of one week to put together her team. Heavensbee gives her a list of people to start with.
"They're all excellent," he insists.
"Thank you. I'll be sure to speak with them." Most of the people that had come to mind for camera and technical work are dead now, so the leads are more appreciated than she can say.
Outside, it is sunny and mild. The reconstruction in this sector of the city is almost complete. People are more subdued in their dress and manner, but overall it seems like they are finding a new normal that is close to the old. Effie can't blame them, really. She was much the same in the immediate aftermath of the rebellion. It has taken one week in District Twelve for her to stop wearing gloves and invest in a sleek, solid pair of flats. She doesn't think she'll completely stop dressing as she has her whole life, and she certainly thinks the denizens of the Capitol will be hard pressed to give up the colors of their previous life, but she does believe they'll begin to understand those outside their old world.
And her documentary might be just the thing to get them started on that.
That night, she dreams of bombs raining down from the sky on the first day of filming in District Twelve. When she wakes, she remembers a documentary film on the Dark Days she had seen once in school. It had ended with clips of the bombing of Thirteen and an ominous voiceover about the high price being paid for peace. Any mention of Thirteen had made her uncomfortable since, even in dreams, and even worse now.
The sky is still dark out, but she is no longer tired. She gets up, makes tea, and sits on the couch with her notes from today. She already has a good idea of who she might like to work with, but it's only fair to give everyone a chance. Someone might even surprise her.
Her phone rings, and she jumps, remembering for a moment the explosions in her dream. At this hour, she expects a wrong number or a silly prank.
"Did I wake you up?"
"Haymitch?" It must be a prank. A horrible, drunken prank.
"Evenin'."
"Are you drunk?"
"No." He sighs, his breath crackling over the line. She could swear she smells the alcohol on his breath. "I'm all out, and the geese are not inclined to hear me out tonight. So I thought, 'Who is most likely to be awake and alone at this hour?'"
"I'm flattered," she retorts, rolling her eyes. "It's lucky for you I was awake, you know."
"Sounds like the odds are in my favor."
"Don't say that." She draws her legs up to her chest, wrapping her free arm around them. "It isn't funny."
"No." He coughs and clears his throat. "So. What's keeping you up tonight?"
"Work," she says, but when he snorts, she gives up on lying. There's no point being upset with him for calling, not when he's not bothering to hide his own intentions much either. "You know."
"I thought as much."
"What about you?" She shifts, relaxing into the cushions.
"I stabbed my bedside table about an hour ago. One of my better sober nights."
She winces. "I… didn't wake up screaming."
"Looks like neither of us is doing so bad, then."
They talk for an hour, mostly about nothing, occasionally sharing one thing or another about how the nights are and how the days can be. Finally Effie's eyelids start to feel heavy again. Before they end the call, he makes her promise to bring him back some liquor.
"A little something to keep me going 'til the next train comes."
"Sure thing," she says, smiling. "Good night, Haymitch."
When she falls asleep again, she dreams of sunlight filtering through the thick leaves of a quiet forest.
He calls every night for the rest of the week, though earlier now after one time he actually woke her up. She tells him about the people she's interviewing, and he tells her about his geese.
"You should tell Plutarch about them," she says to him one night. "It sounds like they would make a great comedy show."
"You keep Heavensbee and his cameras the hell away from my geese."
She settles on her crew two days before their scheduled departure, and it's Haymitch who hears first who will be going back with her. The next day, Heavensbee irons out their tickets and general production schedule, and once that's in Effie's hands, she needs no prompting.
Every waking moment is spent double checking preparations for departure and phoning people here and in District Twelve. Coordinating an entire production is a monumental task, but the stress and intensity of her years working on the Games have prepared her for it. Finally, she is able to put her skills to good use.
"Did you get me a bottle of something?" Haymitch asks her the night before she is set to return.
"I did, and I think you'll like it."
"As long as it's good, I don't care what it is. The next supply train is scheduled to come in a few days after you get here."
"Then I am happy to be your life saver." She is, too. She is downright excited about the whole thing, more than she ever was for the Games.
After promising one more time that no one will film him or his geese, she climbs into bed and has a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, she puts on a bright, floral dress and her shoes from District Twelve, grabs her bags, and heads out to meet her team at the train station. When she gets settled in her compartment and finally has a moment to breathe, she allows herself a glance at her reflection. She's wearing considerably less make-up than the last time she made the trip, evident mostly in that her eyebrows are only lightly powdered now. She touches her cheek, tracing the stretch of new tissue that is invisible beneath the powder and foundation.
Away from the people she used to feel so at home with, even what little she has applied, which is for her own comfort rather than to follow any trend, feels like too much. The people in District Twelve wear their scars and flaws without a care in the world. Some even seem proud of them, not bothering to cover them up even when the sun beats down on everything in sight and the imperfections stand out against the sunburns and deeper tans.
Will there come a day when she isn't frightened by the stories carved onto her?
Haymitch is right: Effie has gotten used to Twelve. It has burrowed its way inside of her and taken root. It colors the way she sees things and demands she give nothing but her best in everything she does. This project, she realizes, has never been about her. It is about the people who have walked through fire and come out alive. It is about showing Panem that they were never the weaklings the Games made them out to be. The home of the Mockingjay is a bright star amid the darkness.
Heavensbee will have his show, but it is District Twelve that will shine.
And Effie will show all of Panem why she can't wait to be back.