When Effie turned 33 years old, she had thrown a gigantic, obnoxious party at one of her flamboyant friend's Capitol mansions and insisted Haymitch attend.
Oh, you just have to come, Haymitch! This one will be the best, and if you do not like it, which you won't, there will be liquor! She had chirped one morning on a caffeine high, dressed like a swirl of cotton candy and buzzing about the bar car because she had no one else to talk to. As soon as she brought up liquor, he was sold. Nothing beat that high-end Capitol whiskey Effie served at her parties. Over the years, Effie had done more for him than he cared to admit, which was why he tried to attend her birthdays when he could. He hated the Capitol, but it would only be one night and then he could return to the peace of his solitude knowing he had made Effie happy.
He had been to quite a few of her birthday parties, even ruined one by drunkenly knocking the cake over, and yet Effie still invited him to each and every party regardless. This particular bash would be exceptionally gaudy and over the top, certainly not Haymitch's taste, but nothing Effie did was ever Haymitch's taste. So naturally, by Capitol standards, it would be an absolute hit.
She had advertised and planned for months, going as far back as the previous games. He remembered they sat together in her chambers on the way to twelve while she poured over images and sketches of ugly decorations and uglier dresses and asked him his opinion on them because she wanted to know which ones not to choose.
He had gotten dressed up for her because it was her birthday and he did somewhat like her, especially on certain days when she wasn't talking to him or in the same general area as him. He had even gone so far as to try not to drink too much that day (even though it was fruitless), it was the thought that counted.
When he arrived at that gigantic Rococo style house of greed, he was immediately overwhelmed by how goddamn pink it was. Huge heart-shaped swings hung from the ceiling and featured living statues posing inside; swans were dyed pink and red in the pond out front; pink and white rose petals fell down from god knows where; and so many drunk, pastel-colored freaks in one room it was unbelievable. There was such an array of food on the tables that all Haymitch could think about was when he walked to twelve's train station earlier and watched a mother from the Seam cry over her kid who died from starvation.
That's why he never left his house, he thought.
He took a few macarons (Effie had shown them to him years ago and they stuck in his mind), tried a couple of tiny cakes. Pure sugar, Effie's favorite. He downed a champagne flute of something stiff and hot pink, flecks of edible gold and sparkles danced around in the liquid.
Effie was perched on a gilded couch in a giant pink gown, ever the spoiled princess. Tiny hearts and bows adorned her huge blonde wig, glittery gems were glued under her bottom eyelashes. She was surrounded by a group of Capitolians dressed so horribly that they made her look surprisingly normal.
He watched her pound two neon-colored shots back to back and knew to steer clear. Drunk Effie was not someone he enjoyed being around. She talked too damn much drunk, which he didn't know was possible considering how much she talked sober.
Effie and her friends laughed boisterously about something that was likely not funny at all, then turned their attention to a little girl that had walked their way with her affluent-looking mother. Haymitch talked to Cinna and Portia, the only people he knew and could tolerate, tried some more food, enjoyed as many drinks as he could.
Eventually, a young woman with jet black hair in swirls and a tight, bright red contraption of a dress smiled at him, sauntered over. She wasn't the first woman to look at him that night. Even if he was a mess of an alcoholic and a man of the districts, he was still rich as piss and a former victor. Those were two characteristics people in the Capitol revered, especially those looking to climb the ladder.
"Haymitch Abernathy?" She asked, her blue eyes glittering with excitement. An opportunity. Capitolians loved their opportunities.
He looked her up and down, which caused her to shift uncomfortably. She was attractive in the limited way a Capitol woman could be with all of that shit they wore. Sparkles shimmered throughout her dark hair, making it look like the stars back in twelve.
"Yep." He was getting drunk, he knew that much.
He could feel that familiar warmth unfurl in his core. Could feel that optimism start to creep over the dark recesses of his brain. If he got drunker and Effie found out, she'd be pissed. But whatever anger was directed at him tonight by that tight-assed woman would certainly be forgotten in his soon-to-be blacked out brain.
"You're a lot better looking in person." She said, grinning at him cat-like and taking a drink.
"Thanks, sweetheart." He mumbled, looking past her, Effie and her crew of rainbow minions were gone.
"I'm Circe."
"Like the witch?" He slurred, a corner of his mouth turned up.
She gave him a sour face, "Um, I suppose."
He nodded.
"This party is just grand, isn't it? Although, a bit childish if you ask me."
He felt a twinge of irritation, "Good thing it's not your birthday, then."
"Yes, well, it's certainly Effie's style." She retorted.
Haymitch looked down at Circe. He really didn't like people talking on Effie, and he was never sure why. Even with tributes, he made sure they apologized to her and understood to not say anything about her again. The woman was a gigantic pain in his ass, but she never meant any harm. She was a good person to everyone and a good friend to him, which made him feel rather protective.
"I like her style." He lied.
It seemed that it was Capitolian custom to talk badly about someone at their own party, so he didn't know why he was defending Effie. Guess because she'd defend him.
"Hm, well, to each their own."
"Where is the birthday girl anyways?" He asked because she seemed the type to keep tabs on Effie.
"Out on the balcony with Seneca. I think they might be going steady. Talk of the Capitol, really." She said softly, looking up at him with amusement.
Haymitch grabbed the woman's drink and downed it. He didn't exactly have a reputation of being amicable, especially to Capitolians, so he never felt the need to impress them. He breezed past her before she could say a word. Effie and Seneca were alone, leaning against the stone balcony and laughing amongst themselves. Seneca kissed her hand because Effie never allowed anyone to kiss her with makeup on. Haymitch would know this because he had drunkenly tried a few times himself. Well, she also didn't let him kiss her because she thought he was disgusting drunk, but that was a whole other thing.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart." He mumbled, swaying a little bit.
She beamed, standing and sticking her gloved hand out for him, "Oh, hi, Haymitch! Thank you for coming! How long have you been here?"
"Hour or so." He said, rolling his eyes and taking her hand. Haymitch had tried telling her what an annoying gesture that was, but she never made an effort to quit it.
"And you didn't say hello? Seneca, come say hello to Haymitch." She was slurring, only faintly. Those drinks must have caught up to her and fast.
Seneca stood and shook his hand, "Haymitch, always a pleasure."
"Eh, why kid ourselves?" Asked Haymitch, looking from his frilly cupcake to the head gamemaker that was accompanying her.
"Haymitch!" Snapped Effie, never too drunk to reprimand Haymitch.
"She start driving you insane yet, Seneca?" Asked Haymitch, pulling a drink off of a tray that a man with a god awful heart-shaped hairstyle was offering to guests.
"I'm going to cut you off." Effie warned, her eyebrows furrowed.
"Brought back ups. Loosen up, sweetheart, you're going to look 60 before you even reach 40."
"You have an issue."
"And you have questionable taste in," He regarded Seneca. "Everything."
She gasped, "You are incredibly rude, Haymitch!"
"Didn't you just break up with the last poor S.O.B.?"
She smiled tightlipped at Seneca, poorly concealing the wrath Haymitch knew was about to be unleashed upon him, "Can you excuse us for a moment?"
Haymitch looked down at her.
"He not gonna defend his girl? What type of man—"
She hit his shoulder, hard, "Oh, what in the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Ow, woman." He said, shocked more by her profanity than her proclivity toward violence. Effie was surprisingly strong, he'd been hit a couple of times on a couple of different occasions.
"What is wrong with you? Why can't I have this one thing? Why?!" She yelled, pushing him. The push made her recoil a bit and she stumbled back.
"I'm giving it to you. Just wanted to introduce myself."
"You are embarrassing me." She snapped.
"Everything embarrasses you, sweetheart."
"And you were unnecessarily cruel to him, Haymitch. And you are drunk."
"Might I remind you, you are, too."
"Yes, well, I can wrangle myself in, and you can't." She said, her voice lowering.
"You'd be this way, too, if your home did the shit they did to me to you, princess. You'd never imagine. All that food over there could feed the kids in twelve. Could feed the whole damn district. You people are fucking greedy. You'll never understand, none of you will." He was stammering, rambling drunk. Even he knew, in his drunken state, that he shouldn't have said that to her. He snatched another glass of something green off of a tray being passed around and smelled it, alcohol. He downed it in one drink.
"Why must you bring that up here? It's my birthday, for gods sake. Have some decency." She said, her lips pressing together. She was trying not to cry.
"Yeah, I'm sure this is the last one I'll be invited to." He mumbled softly.
"Of course it isn't! You will always be invited. But… learn some manners, will you? And don't try to… look, I need a life, too, Haymitch. I deserve love, too." She whispered.
He felt awful, he needed another drink.
"Come on." She snapped. He looked at her, bewildered by the short shock of pink she was. He stumbled alongside her, watched as she muttered something to Seneca. People breezed by as fast as she walked, her saying this and that and laughing and waving to all of the candy-colored freaks.
She guided him to a maze of a garden, a few stragglers regarded her, wished her a happy birthday, but it was mostly quiet. The only sounds were the muffled band coming from the open doors of the home. She sat under a private alcove, far from the crowds, and signaled that he sit there, too.
"This dress is uncomfortable." She said, as if nothing had just happened.
"All of your dresses look uncomfortable." He mumbled.
"They are."
"Good to know." He said, clearing his throat, taking a drink of the glass in his hand.
"You look very handsome."
"Yeah, well, didn't want to hear you bitch about it during the summer." He didn't like talking about the games. He liked Effie, he liked being with Effie sometimes, he didn't like the circumstances that brought them together.
"Well, you clean up well. You should do it more often." She said, powdering under her eyes.
He leaned back, the flowery vines providing a nice cushion against the wall of the alcove. He let out a breath softly. Effie always forgave him, pretended it was no big thing.
"I suppose it was a bit much." She said, closing her compact.
He craned his neck to regard her, "If it wasn't too much, it wouldn't be you, Effie. I shouldn't have said that shit."
Haymitch knew Effie couldn't help where she was born. She couldn't help what she was taught incessantly in school, made to believe by her family and friends. She was still a good person, even if she would never fully understand. She tried, she really did, much more than her peers, but she never would.
He picked at a frill on her gown, "Nice dress."
"Really?"
"No, it's awful, but you can pull it off." He said with a smile.
She shook her head, "You are just rude, Haymitch. Really."
They stayed quiet a moment.
"What are your accommodations tonight?" She finally asked, looking back up at him.
"Probably somewhere downtown. Might go back home." He said, running his tongue over his lower lip. He could taste that concoction of sweet liquors that he'd be puking out tomorrow.
She breathed out, "Stay at my apartment. No one will be there. You know you need reservations for downtown, months in advance. We don't have a lot of hotels."
That was no doubt due to the travel ban. Being a victor, Haymitch had free rein to travel, but all others didn't and no victor would ever want to travel to the Capitol on their own time, anyways. Well, except Haymitch, of course, due to the pain in his ass beside him.
"What about Seneca?" He asked.
"We don't live together and he knows you and I are friends. I won't charge you like a hotel." She said softly, pulling at a nice flower from the vine and twirling it in her gloved hands.
"Don't you want to party all night? I'm not trying to ruin your party anymore than I already have, honey."
"I'm not in my 20s anymore, Haymitch."
"Still young, girl."
"Well, I would much rather accompany you and see how far my patience can be extended."
He stayed silent. She had been planning this thing for almost a year, he wouldn't forgive himself if she felt an obligation to take him back to her place and watch him.
She whispered, "They wouldn't notice if I was gone, anyways."
"You are the pinkest and loudest thing in there, Effie, and your name is strung up in lights, 'course they would."
"Do you see anyone seeking me out?" She asked, gesturing to the garden.
"No, but you talk a lot so they probably just wanted a break." He teased, poking her side.
She rolled her eyes, "Let's go."
She had a car out front. They promptly said bye to Cinna and Portia and her two fruit basket friends that he never remembered the names of. He slipped in the back of the car with her, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar and refilled his crystalline glass.
"Leave that at my house, I know you stole that from her." She snapped.
"Yeah, yeah. Got plenty of these anyways, we go to a lot of events."
She shook her head, "You are a fiend, Haymitch. That is the only way to describe what you are."
"Touché."
Effie's apartment was a two bedroom in a brightly lit high rise near City Circle. He had been there a couple of times, but mostly so she could pick something up quickly before an event or when he was too drunk to stand. She had her living room painted a soft turquoise and had furnished the place with copious vases of flowers and colorful paintings. He sat on her green couch, put one of her cushy pink pillows under his head. Place was always nice, a little bit much, but he lived in a dark and decrepit mansion in twelve so he didn't have much room to judge. The room smelled like her, like vanilla and pear and gardenias and all the notes that made up those expensive perfumes imported from 1. It was all impeccable and screamed Effie.
He stood up and looked at the pictures on her accent table. There was a picture of them arm-in-arm, framed in a soft blue frame. She was dressed up with a huge grin on her face and he was in a suit, caught off guard with a whiskey glass in his hand, small, amused smile on his face. He couldn't even remember where that photo was taken, but it must have been a good night. She probably framed it because she liked her outfit.
He glanced at the other images of her. It was always strange stepping into her private life, remembering she really was a real person. There were some of her grinning with random people from the Capitol, kissing some guy's cheek, a picture of her as a chunky little girl with her parents. At 33, Effie looked like a carbon copy of her mother.
Haymitch turned when he heard Effie clear her throat, she was standing there with a glass of water and a sandwich.
"Ah, thanks, Effie."
She looked him up and down, "This is not for you."
He rolled his eyes and made his way to her kitchen, already knowing where it was from the few times he had come over.
"Shit, Effie, you ever grocery shop?"
She walked in with her sandwich.
"No. I eat out."
"Yeah, I can tell." He said, unpeeling a browning banana. She rolled her eyes and smeared peanut butter on bread for him, handed it to him.
"It's good to eat, it aids with hangovers. Although, you'll probably be drunk tomorrow so it wouldn't matter, anyways." She quipped, irritation written all over her face.
"Probably right." He said, taking the sandwich anyways.
"Can you unzip my dress, please? I can't reach it." She turned and he squinted to try and find the zipper in all of the frills. He handed her his sandwich.
"Goddamn, you sure there is one?"
"Yes, Haymitch, just use your hands and try to find it." He searched through the thick back of the dress, Effie growing increasingly frustrated.
He finally found the zipper and pulled it down, revealing a sliver of her tan skin under the dress, her lacy bra.
She breathed out, "Sweet Panem, that corset was suffocating me. I will be back, try not to touch anything."
Effie handed him his sandwich and he laid on her couch, let his eyes rest. She came out what felt like an eternity later, her makeup rubbed off, her wig gone to reveal dark blonde hair. It always pleasantly surprised him to see her without all of that stuff she put on, and he wished he wasn't as drunk so he could take it all in.
"Feel like I'm seein' something I shouldn't." He joked, smirking at her as she sat in her arm chair.
"Don't make a fuss, it's humiliating."
He waved her away, put his hands on his stomach, closed his eyes again. When he finally looked back over at her, she was scribbling in her planner.
"You ever take a break?"
"I must finish this or I won't be able to sleep."
He watched her write, her dark eyebrows furrowing, her full, pink lips turned down.
"You're attractive, Effie."
"Huh?" She asked, taken aback.
"You're a good looking woman, even with that stick up your ass."
She scowled at him, "Stop that."
He shrugged, "Just sayin'."
"Well, you should stop just saying things, Haymitch, for the good of Panem." She remarked, her face focused back down on whatever it is she was frantically scribbling.
"You want me to lie and say you're ugly?"
"I'd rather you not say anything, it's inappropriate. We are coworkers."
"I know you think I'm a total stud. All muscular and handsome, full head of hair."
She rolled her eyes, "Well, you certainly are… rugged."
"That why you always look like you wanna jump my bones?" He asked, laughing.
She gasped, "Hush, Haymitch!"
He sat up and ran a hand over his face.
"Sleep with me tonight." He said.
"Absolutely not."
"You've done it before."
Once, long ago. Their victors had died after being beaten to death and they weren't coping well, they never did on those days. She had stumbled into his penthouse room drunk while he was up staring at the wall, plopped herself down next to him. He remembered her curling in close, draping her arm around him and, before he could say a thing, start snoring. Once he processed what had happened, he actually laughed for the first time in a long time. He couldn't move because he didn't want to disturb her, so he fell asleep with his back up against the headboard.
She had a conniption fit the next morning and he had held it over her head ever since.
"I will never be doing that again." She said, shaking her head at the memory.
"Your loss. I'm great at cuddling. Years of doing it with a bottle."
"Do you remember where the guest room is?" She asked, looking up from her planner.
"Effie, there are only two damn rooms in this apartment. Of course I do." He said, standing. He couldn't look at her because she looked too good.
He squeezed her shoulder as he passed by, felt her own soft hand brush the top of it as acknowledgment, then made his way to the guest room. Effie's guest room wasn't abrasive like the rest of her apartment, it was all muted tones and plain walls. He looked in the corner and smirked, she kept her treadmill in here with a couple of old dresses piled on top.
He pulled his clothes off and showered, used the samples she kept in the bathroom for guests. Unfortunately, he was starting to sober up and feel that creeping sense of embarrassment and guilt for how he acted at her party. He dried up, pulled his briefs on, got in that bed that smelled like her. Laying there in the dark of her guest room, sounds of the city outside, all he could think about was how he had it so much worse for her than he cared to admit. How far deep he had dug himself over the years. She'd never want a sad drunk and he'd never want anyone else.
Haymitch heard a soft knock on the door, and there she was in her short pajamas, a sliver of her stomach revealed between her tank top and shorts, looking heartbreakingly good. She turned and gently shut the door, walked to the bed, dropped her jacket, and laid next to him.
"Come to your senses?" He asked.
"Be quiet, Haymitch." She snapped, pulling her side of the covers down and slipping in. She laid on her side, facing away from him, gently pulled his arm over her to spoon her.
"You always smell so good." He mumbled, breathing in her hair.
"I see you used my soap, and now we smell the same."
"Unfortunately."
He desperately wanted to turn her around and kiss those full lips, but he was far too sober to do anything that risky. He closed his eyes and tried to envision her in one of his least favorite dresses of hers, only to realize that exacerbated his predicament. Effie looked good in anything to him.
"I'm sorry for being a dick to you all the time." He whispered.
"It's okay." She mumbled.
"You know I love you, girl, even though you're ridiculous and grate on my damn nerves." He said.
"I know. And you're no peach, either, might I add. Sometimes I just want to-"
He turned her to him, took in her face. Prettiest woman he'd ever laid eyes on.
"What?" She asked, searching his eyes.
Don't kiss her, Haymitch. Already tortured her enough.
"You just look good." He whispered.
She softly rubbed his stubble with her cold little hand, "You do, too."
His heart was racing a million miles an hour. He didn't even know his heart could beat that quickly. He'd worry about something being wrong if he could focus on anything besides her big, pretty eyes.
"I'm too sober right now." He mumbled.
She smiled, "Good."
"I could kiss you."
She searched his eyes, "I think you should."
He shook his head, swallowed, "Turn around, girl. We are going to sleep."
"I want you to kiss me." She whispered, not making any attempt at turning.
"No. Consider it a favor, princess. You're drunk."
"I really want you to." She whispered, her hand on his bare chest, surely feeling the quickening pace.If she was anyone else, he'd be fucking her hard. But she wasn't anyone else and he'd come to realize she never was.
"Turn." He rasped, he couldn't do this to her. Not now while she wasn't sober. He regret ever saying it, because it only made it that much harder.
They stared at each other a moment too long, then she finally turned with a hmph. Probably not used to not getting her way, thought Haymitch, smiling like a fool. She backed into him purposefully.
"Quit testin' the waters, sweetheart. Too smart for all that." He said, his arms holding her now.
"I've wanted you to kiss me for a long time." He heard her whisper, lacing her fingers in his.
"I know."
She stayed silent, placed his left arm under her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra and it was absolute torture for a man.
"Tease." He said.
"Not teasing. I want you to touch me, you're the one who won't."
"Don't have to twist the knife."
She moved his arm a little higher, nearly where her nipples stood erect, "Goodnight, Haymitch."
He sighed, "Night, honey."
