a/n: so, i noticed Elizabeth Banks didn't ad-lib our favorite wood into any scenes this time around. i decided to rectify that. this tiny piece explores effie sitting in her little confinement room right before we first see her on screen. so, semi spoilers? but not really.
It really was a terribly dull place they were keeping her. Keeping her, as if she needed to be kept – as if she were some disobedient, untamable wild thing like that Haymitch Abernathy – now there was someone who needed to be kept –
-and if she'd heard right – she heard lots of whispers, because in general, most people thought her glitter and sparkles meant she was vapid, but Effie Trinket was actually quite intelligent and quite capable of picking up on intrigue – at least, she was now, or else she'd be dead instead of safe (well, sort of safe) inside the dungeon-like bowels of District thirteen – anyway, if she'd heard right, that filthy old Haymitch was being detoxed in some windowless little chamber somewhat like hers.
She almost felt sorry for him. Having all of your white liquor taken away and subjected to these colorless steel walls must be absolutely dreadful – but she didn't spare too much heart for Haymitch, she was too busy primly deciding whether or not she was going to give into these uptight rebels and help them dress Katniss – it was nothing against that haughty Miss Everdeen, of course, Effie just thought that maybe, like herself, Katniss was tired of being ordered about and told to smile while she performed all sorts of nasty deeds.
Maybe Katniss Everdeen, like Effie Trinket, just wanted to go home and not think about everything that was sordid and – well, everything that resulted in the loss of nice glossy wigs or delectable meals.
Effie Trinket sighed aloud and leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm – they had her wasting away in here, deprived of anything novel, while they tried to get her to join them – she wasn't so much against them as she was grappling with the loss of everything she'd known – she wished they'd let her put a little bit of make-up on, or perhaps spruce up the place a bit, so she wouldn't feel so melancholy.
She looked around, turning her nose up at the empty walls of her bunk – at the dull sheets, the pattern-less pillowcase, the uninviting furniture, and the altogether dankness of the entire room –
"No décor at all," Effie sniffed to herself, looking around with mild bitterness, "and no wonder they're underground – for shame; not a lick of mahogany in the whole damn district."
The door of her bunk creaked open, and there they came again, to persuade her to dress their mockingjay.
c'mon! you can't go 2 for 4 on the mahogany!
-alexandra
story #227