"Who the hell are you?" he asks as the stench of liquor and stale sweat fills my nostrils.
"I'm District Twelve's new escort; Euphrasie Amelia Trinket," I reply holding out my hand, hoping he doesn't take it, he doesn't. His hands aren't noticeably filthy but I can tell it's been a while since he washed, but even with this I must maintain good manners.
"And Effie, why are you here?" I frown at his shortening of my name but I know that to argue is pointless. Instead I remind him that it is customary for mentors to meet a new escort before the reaping. Even I don't know the exact reason behind this but he should've remembered. I notice the small pile of unopened letters sitting on hs coffee table.
"Well then Effie, I've met you, you're free to go." I wince ever so slightly as he emphasises my name, but I leave before I faint from the stench. I'm somewhat surprised by his behavior but I don't really know what I expected.
7 years later
"Wake up, it's going to be a big, big, big day!" I say; rather loudly and high-pitched to annoy him, as I throw a glass of water over Haymitch's head.
"Its early," he groans as I open the curtains and the window. It's hot, the air would be next to unbreathable in any other house, but in Haymitch's house with the combination of the heat and the stench its suprising he hasn't died yet.
"Its noon," I reply as I throw another glass of water over his head, this time purely for the fun of watching him splutter, "get up, you've got two hours before the reaping, do not be late," say as I turn and leave, keeping the door open to let some air into the house. Normally I would stay and make sure he got ready but today I would rather not. Instead I decide to wait in the Justice Building.
Haymitch is, as I expected, late foe the reaping and I start to regret leaving. He staggers onto the stage in the middle of the mayor's speech. he's been drinking, a lot. Late and drunk, brilliant. These thought's only just cross my mind before he tries to hug me. I just about managed to push him away, trying to ignore the tiny flutter in my stomach. I barely notice when the mayor introduces me, I walk to the podium and give my usual speech about how much of an honour it is to be there. I've given it so many times I can repeat it without even thinking. I cross to the girls reaping ball and pull out a slip of paper. Dread washes over me as I smooth it out and read the name. All I can hear is silence and my heart drops as a figure emerges from the back of the square. The girl is Twelve but she looks much younger, not a single person looks relived that it's not them. Every single face in the square registers shock and horror. someone shouts from further forward and a group of girls part as another figure emerges, an older girl whom I can only presume is her sister.
"I volunteer," she gasps, "I volunteer as tribute." I myself am not quite sure what the system is, after years at Twelve I've forgotten and I begin to mumble something but the mayor let's her come forward. the younger girl starts screaming and is taken of by an older boy.
"Well bravo," I say cheerfully as she climbs the steps, "that's the spirit of the games! What's your name?"
"Well I bet my buttons that was your sister." I say cheerfully, no one applauds Katniss, instead they all touch the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and hold it out to her. I feel her move slightly and I hear a faint sniff. Haymitch staggers over to 'congratulate' her and begins hollering how much he likes her. I begin to worry as he begins shouting at the cameras but I have to stifle a laugh when he falls of the stage.
I decide it's time to choose the boy tribute, I walk over to the boy's reaping ball; keeping one hand on my wig. I read out the name, Peeta Mellark and he begins to walk towards the stage, attempting to remain emotionless but I can see the dread on his eyes, it's a look I have become acquainted with over the years, in Haymitch before the reaping, and in the face of every tribute whose name I call out.
I begin to feel a little bored when the mayor reads out the Treaty of Treason, which I'm sure every citizen of Panem has heard enough times to know it by heart. I barely notice when he finishes and tells the tributes to shake hands. There is some tension between them but that's not uncommon, they both know they probably won't come out of the Games alive, and if they do they won't be the same. My thoughts turn to Haymitch as the national anthem plays and we leave the stage, what would he be like if he hadn't been reaped. I can't help but feel a little guilty for pulling out the names, I know it's not entirely my fault but I'm not sure if the people of Twelve feel the same way.
The girl whose name I pulled out walks past me with her mother. Her red rimmed eyes are facing the floor and her mother looks straight ahead, face void of emotion. she doesn't send me an accusing glance like they usually do and I'm surprised, after all I almost sent her Twelve year old to be brutally murdered on national television, I wouldn't have been surprised if she slapped me. I would if I was her.
I brush these thoughts away as I sit down and wait for the tributes, only looking up to send the Everdeens an apologetic glance.
