Hello! Here's an upload, it's... Sad but kind of funny I guess, I don't really know. Effie my baby:( please leave your requests in the reviews as I need to write more! Enjoy!:) Sadness, but squeaky clean. The penthouse occupants were void of any conversation, as they all looked around with pining expressions on their faces, as if begging each other to talk. Haymitch sighed as he sipped more of his drink, deliberately dodging any eye contact with the others. "Oh for goodness sake!" Effie Trinket came in like a hurricane, swooping through the room towards the District 12 team. Shooting a disapproving glance automatically at the glass in Haymitch's hand, she turned to address the entire cluster. "I know the tributes' are training at the minute, but can you all at least show some enthusiasm!" Effie was bewildered at their hopelessness. True, the two she had reaped that year showed little promise; with being only young. 12 and 13 to be exact. Effie could have sworn they got younger each year, and it tore her up inside. Haymitch merely shrugged. "So what, Princess? They're going to die in that arena anyway," The room was silent, as the inevitable truth was spoken. Solemn sadness could be seen in Effie's eyes at his words. Portia and Cinna glanced at each other automatically. "Hmph! Well, I say we give them the best shot. As I know," 'blatant lie' thought Effie to herself, "- that one of the child- tributes, will come out this year!" Effie said encouragingly. "Effs..." Portia started. It happened every year. Effie filled herself with false hope and every time it had came crashing down on her. And with every year came every fresh set of saltwater tears, furthermore, Portia would wake up with Effie in her bed, curled up beside her laying on a sodden pillow; looking as fresh faced as a teenager and pretty as a peach. On more than one occasion had Portia found herself staring at Effie as she slept. Not in a lover's way, as they never slept together sexually- but Portia knew the comfort she could provide to her long-time best friend; on the rare occasions she let her feelings show. Effie was amazing at concealing her true feelings, it was saddening to see someone like her breakdown. "What ever you say, Princess..." Haymitch sighed. "Please don't call me that Haymitch, you know I hate it so," Effie pleaded. Quite frankly, she was sick of the patronising pet name. Haymitch just smirked and shook his head. Growling with anger, Effie needed to do what she came in her for; to convince Haymitch to actually work for sponsors this year. She hated it when the tributes died. She also hated it when she was made to call them tributes instead of children; after all that's what they were. "Haymitch, can I speak to you in private please? Perhaps in your room?" Effie said desperately. She would beg if need be. "Didn't know you were so eager to get me into bed, need to let off some tension, Princess?" Haymitch mocked. Portia could be heard snickering in the background. "Haymitch! It's business, now please!" Effie briskly walked out of the main living room and into Haymitch's room on the other side of the hall, Haymitch, grudgingly stumbling at her heels. As he entered his make-shift bedroom, he saw Effie glance around in obvious disgust. Laughing to himself, he set his drink down by the bed, and sat on his duvet. His face supporting an expression of hatred towards the pink woman, who was currently fluttering around his room. Before he could ask what the matter was, he heard her mutter words to herself. Catching some hear and there, Haymitch concluded they were mostly about the state of his room. His thoughts were confirmed when she finally started her lecture at him. "Haymitch for Panem's sake! Why can't you look after your bedroom like a normal person!" She sighed, breathless. "Because we have avoxes for that, Princess." He replied. "Well evidently, they aren't doing a very good job!" She hissed. Haymitch threw his arms in the air, surrendering. "Fine, you do what you want, I don't care." Sneering at him, Effie started to arrange his room to meet her standards. At first, Haymitch paid her no heed- the faster she got her chores out of the way, the faster he could get whatever she wanted sorted, thus quickly getting another drink. However, desire lurched out of nowhere the moment she bent over in that tight, tight dress. The material around her derrière stretching, and the hem of the clothing hitching further up her creamy, smooth thighs. Haymitch gulped. Never before had he felt this hot that quickly. Pulling at his shirt collar, he watched as Effie reached over once more to straighten up his bed, her breats spilling out from her corset. Never before had he felt so helpless as she reached to plump the cushions on all fours on his bed. Haymitch felt himself grow heavy as she watched her, huffing and puffing as her wig shuffled slightly. "So Haymitch as I was saying," she breathed, her face slightly red, but seemingly happy upon completing her housework. Haymitch snapped out of his daze. "Hmm?..." The image of her legs crawling over his bed sheet was permanently in his mind. Never before had he been jealous of furniture, but here we are. "Earlier? About the tributes? I was thinking we should- well you should- actually try to gain some sponsors this year." Effie stated. Looking over towards his dresser she mumbled, to herself more that Haymitch, "this needs a wipe down with a cloth," "Well maybe you should widen your sleeping habits, Princess. Limiting it to just Seneca Crane isn't a very good strategy." He smirked as she shot him a glare, entering his bathroom she filled a jug with water and grabbed a flannel from his drawer. "I'm NOT sleeping with Seneca!" Effie said, channeling her anger into the vicious scrubs she was now giving the table, in an effort to clean it. Her breasts bounced with every move and Haymitch was hypnotised by them. Longing for them against his chest as he touched her. The heaviness below was almost unbearable; he had to get her out before he did something stupid like jump her. Or even worse, kiss her. "Sure you're not sweetheart. Of course, Caesar Flickerman wouldn't say other wise," Haymitch chuckled. "But where you go pretty much every night is your business. Not mine," he shrugged. "Can you just- drop it. Please," Effie voice sounded cracked, not as she was about the cry but as she seemed tired of the arguments. Haymitch raised his glass. "Of course, Princess," It was absent of talk for a moment as Haymitch tried to control hisself. Meanwhile, the squeaky sound of cleanliness was coming from Effie as she smiled to herself in the shiny, mirrored wood. "So, Haymitch- about the trib-" "Drop it, Trinket." Haymitch said harshly. "Have you seen that Finnick guy from 4? We have no chance. Not now not ever." His words were harsh; but they were the truth. They were just kids from 12. Nothing more, and never would be. Effie couldn't help a defeated look spread across her face and her eyes fill with sadness. She sighed slowly, "alright, and please, try to keep your room tidy from now on?" She asked, hopefully. Haymitch laughed. "Not if you keep coming in to clean it," he winked at her as her facial features frowned. "Whatever do you mean?" She asked. "Oh, nothing. But maybe if you're going to act like a maid, you should wear something more suitable than a tight dress," Haymitch suggested. Effie gasped and blushed. Her eyes widening; she tried to compose herself. "I'm sorry, I'm still not quite sure what you're suggesting..." Effie was cut short by Haymitch backing her against the wall. "Just forget these tributes, Effie," Effie was shocked he used her name. "They aren't coming back," he said soberly. Effie flushed at his proximity and felt her eyes well up with small tears. "I know," she whispered. "I was just trying to help," she smiled sadly. Making sure not to let his body get the better of him, he kept his pelvis away from her. Looking into her eyes, Haymitch could tell she genuinely meant her words. It was probably this factor that persuaded him to give her painted face a light peek on the cheek. She gasped and turned to see Haymitch walking back towards his drink. With a heavy heart she muttered to herself; "Maybe next year,"