Archive of Our Own

I never trust a narcissist, but they love me

So I play ‘em like a violin

And I make it look, oh, so easy

Effie learned from a very young age how to make the world work to her advantage.

Her mother started putting her in pageants when she was five, which was where Effie got her first taste of fame. The big, sparkly dresses were her favourite part, she loved twirling and watching the skirt fan out around her. Her mother hired a man to pin wigs into her head and she would pinch her every time she complained about them hurting. Her scalp soon grew accustomed to the feeling. By age seven she was being laced into a corset and walking on heels. She learned how to not touch her face for fear of ruining her makeup. Effie learned how to smile for cameras, how to play piano for talent, and how to answer the judges’ questions.

And perhaps most importantly, she was still a child when she learned the effect she could have on men.

Judging panels of the Junior Capitol Pageants were always filled with old men who had wiry gray hair. But they still loved Effie. They loved it when she smiled and giggled, they loved her bouncy pink curls, and when she paid special attention to them.

She learned that if she hugged them or sat in their laps after the show, they were more likely to vote for her the next time.

Her mother never said a word against this behaviour.

By the time Effie was ten, she had already accumulated an impressive collective of ribbons, trophies, pageant titles, and crowns. She tried not to hold it over the head of her sister, who had never been as successful in the pageant circuit as she was. Lavinia was simply a slower learner. She had never accrued the talent for making the world work in her favour the way that Effie had.

Mother often went at Lavinia for her lack of success, and in spite of her sister’s pleading eyes, Effie never said a word. Success and good manners were the only way to stay in their mother’s good graces, and Effie was certainly not going to throw away all her hard work for her sister’s sake.  

Life was a game, and it was hardly her fault that her sister was bad at playing.

After one of these particular tirades, Lavinia collapsed on a settee with a sigh, the sound of their mother’s heels retreating echoed from the marble hallway. The sound of the older woman’s biting insults still echoed around the sitting room.

“Would it truly kill you to interject, just once?” her sister huffed.

Effie shrugged innocently. She was curled up the window seats, flipping through one of her mother’s many fashion magazines. “I don’t see how anything I could have said would have helped.”

Her sister sighed again and looked back at the tv. It was summer, which meant games season. The windows of the house were open and the warm air wafted in as Effie lazily perused her magazine. Mandatory viewing meant the sitting room screen was always playing the Hunger Games, currently on a low volume.

“Who do you think will win?” her sister asked casually, their previous conversation forgotten.

“Haymitch.” Effie replied without thinking.

“Ew, truly?”

She shrugged. “He’s a good fighter. He killed those careers like he was an action movie hero.”

Lavinia made a gagging noise, irritating her in a way that only a little sister could. “You just think he’s handsome.”

“I do not.” Effie whined.

“You do so.”

“Do not!”

“Do so!” Lavinia said, with a maniacal grin and a singsong voice. “Effie has a crush on the dirty Twelve boy, Effie has a crush on the dirty Twelve boy…”

“You’re speaking nonsense, Vini.” she said haughtily. “Besides, you think the boy from Four is cute.”

“Yes, but he’s from Four, he’s not a savage.”

Effie looked up at the screen. Haymitch was standing at the edge of the cliff, bouncing a rock off of what must have been the edge of the arena. He was handsome. He had a little smile on his face as the rock bounced back and he caught it easily in one fist. He was the handsomest district person she had ever seen, she didn’t care if he was a savage.

“If he wins I’m going to try and meet him.” she declared self-assuredly.

“What? How?”

“Well I am still Miss Junior Golden Apple from last year,” she said. There was a shiny crown on a mantal somewhere in the house to prove it. “Perhaps I’ll be invited to the closing ceremonies!”

They both turn their head back towards the screen with mild interest as someone screams. Haymitch drops his rock and goes running. It’s the Twelve girl he’d allied with before she walked away. The two young girls watch with impassive faces as she loses. Haymitch holds her hand the whole time, and Effie thinks that’s very gentlemanly.

Certainly not savage behaviour, she thinks.

The cannon goes off, and the two girls return to what they were doing before. Lavinia pacing the room out of boredom, Effie flipping through her magazine.

“I bet he would fall in love with me if he saw me,” she declares aloud. Her sister only snorts in the most unladylike manner. No wonder she never won anything.

“He would not.”

“He would so.”

“He’s so much older than you, Effie.”

“Mr. Ammon from the judging panel says I’m the most mature young lady he’s ever known.” she said proudly.

Lavinia only rolls her eyes at that. Effie suspects that she’s just jealous. They both momentarily turn their attention back to the screen. Haymitch seems fairly distraught about the Twelve girl losing, which hardly makes any sense because it means he’s one step closer to winning. Effie can’t remember the girl’s name. Although, she remembered not liking her dress in the interviews.

“Perhaps he’s in love with her.” Lavinia posits.

Effie rolls her eyes at how stupid her little sister could be.

I bet I would make him fall in love with me, she thinks. But she keeps that thought to herself. Her sister would only ramble on about how you can’t make people love you, and that true love has to happen naturally, and other immature nonsense.

But Effie knew better. She had been making people fall in love with her all her life, and her ten year old self had been certain she would be able to do it to Haymitch Abernathy.

‘Cause for every lie I tell them, they tell me three

This is how the world works

Now all he thinks about is me

“You know what I think, Miss Trinket?” President Snow asked. “I think you shall do very well with us.”

“Thank you, sir.” she smiled.

At the bright and starry age of twenty-two, Effie found herself sitting on the brocaded fabric of the President’s office sofa. Escorts for the Hunger Games were primarily hired through the Games Office, hand-selected from an audition room of hundreds by the Gamemakers themselves. She had been able to get into that room thanks to her working not only as a model, but as the primary muse of respect runway designer, Cassius Gallopetal, since she was sixteen.

Not only was she Cassius’ muse, but he loved her. He designed for her, put her in all of his runway shows, gave her fame and money. He had been her first kiss and had even planned the most romantic gesture on her seventeenth birthday to ask her to be his girlfriend. He was the only man she’d ever been with, the only man who truly cared about her.

And now she was sitting in the most important office in the whole world, with the most important man in the whole world, doing the final Escort interview all thanks to the fact that Cassius had seen something in her all those years ago.

To say Effie was overjoyed would be an understatement.

“You have a very pretty face, Miss Trinket.” President Snow said, looking her up and down with a kind smile.

She responded with a perfect smile of her own, perfectly toeing the line between modesty and accepting the compliment. Just like she had done with so many judges panels, interviews, and designers before.

“Thank you.”

For a minute he just looked her over, silence stretching throughout the room. 

Effie wasn’t quite sure what to expect. A few questions perhaps? A more casual discussion of her aspirations and dreams? 

She had no idea. 

But when the President did speak, it wasn’t at all what she expected. 

“Could you stand up for me?” He leaned back in his chair and gestured vaguely with his right hand. “Give me a twirl…”

Effie blinked.

“I… Now?”

“Just a quick spin…” he drawls.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” she said, forcing herself to regain her air of confidence.

Effie stood up from the sofa and smoothed down the front of her dress. She walked around the polished coffee table and stood in the open area of the room. The President was looking at her expectantly, waiting. He offered no further instructions, so Effie held out her arms delicately and gave a small spin like she often did for fashion designers, teetering on her tall heels.

She chuckled softly when she was done, happy with the pleased look on the President's face. 

“Very good.”

He looked up and down once more, she could feel his gaze pass over her, prickling on her skin. Effie waited dutifully for him to tell her to sit back down.

“Pull your dress up.”

She felt her heart stop. 

Her false eyelashes fluttered as she looked around to the walls of the room. Beautiful paintings, marble bursts, and hand painted wallpaper.

But President Snow’s gaze stayed steady and his expression oddly gentle.

“I’m sorry, I, um—”

He raised a hand and Effie fell silent. “Do you know what an escort’s job is, Miss Trinket?”

Did he truly want an answer or was it rhetorical? Silence filled the room so Effie assumed it was the former.

“Schedules, itinerary, coordination, interviews, the reaping—”

“Yes, yes, all of that.” He waved off her memorization of the job parameters. “But the true essence of an escort’s job?” She stayed silent and waited for her answer. Stock still, like she was one of the marble busts. “To make sure everyone is having a pleasant time. Sponsors, Games Executives, Victors, even Tributes… Pay attention to them, take care of their needs, make sure they go to bed at the end of the day with a smile on their faces.”

His smile didn’t feel so kind anymore. Not at all like the smile she had seen in portraits and on the news for her entire life.

“So… lift your skirt up, Miss Trinket.”

The office felt deafeningly quiet.

She wished his secretary would interrupt them. Wished the fire alarms would go off. Anyone, anything to stop this from happening. Her cheeks hurt from forcing a smile. She blinked rapidly and focused a spot just over his shoulder as her fingers delicately raised the hem of her dress.

She knew better than to shake and cry.

Knew better than to show any sign of weakness.

“Higher.” Snow commanded. His breathing was getting heavier. Her stomach lurched and she wondered what he would say if she puked on his carpet.

But she doesn’t.

She just pulls her skirt higher. Just past the top of her stockings. She could feel the cold air of the office on her thighs. He could see her garters.

“Higher.”

If only the earth could just open up right then and swallow her whole. The mixture of silence and his breathing was ringing in her ears. But there was nothing she could do.

Effie lifted her skirt higher.

The full expanse of her thighs were exposed. Her tight skirt bunch up around her hips. The pink ruffles of her little bloomer shorts. The shiny clip of her garter. She didn’t dare meet his gaze.

For a long while nothing happened.

There was just silence. His heavy breathing. The air on her thighs. Effie could hear people talking outside the office doors. She wished they would stop this. Did they know what was going on behind the tightly closed door? Her throat burned as she forcefully held back a sob.

It felt like an eternity before he spoke again.

“That’s fine, Miss Trinket.” She pulled her skirt down and exhaled shakily, doing her best to recover with a little bit of grace. “Quite fine,” he said smoothly. “Sit down.”

She tentatively returned to her spot on the sofa, wondering if he could hear the way her heart was beating against her chest.

It was hardly the first time something like this has happened to her. One doesn’t work in modeling for six years and not come out the other end with a few stories. Designers who linger a little too long on her hips. Casting agents who ask her to spin one last time. It was all perfectly normal and ultimately harmless.

But President Snow was their leader. The righteous father of their nation, the only one with the strength to maintain peace and prosperity decade after decade…

She would have never expected something like this from him.

“You are very lovely to look at.” he said, his voice soft and his tone perfectly even.

Effie swallowed hard.

“Thank you.”

“Yes, I think you’ll do quite well with District Four.”

She perked up. “District Four, sir?”

“Yes, I think so.” he nodded. “Miss Brightbreeze has become rather… tired, as of late. It is unlikely her contract will be renewed. We need someone bright and fresh at the helm as District Four’s escort, and I think you’re just what we need.” He smiled and tilted his head. “A breath of fresh air.”

It’s all she’s ever wanted. Her first year as an escort in a career district. She would be rich and famous beyond her wildest imaginings. And Effie had a very active imagination.

She accepted his compliments with the best gracious smile she could muster. They exchanged a few more words of polite small talk before Effie was dismissed. But a stray fear nagged at the back of her mind. She knew, of course, that President Snow would never hurt her. But if he was going to entrust her with District Four, she needed to be sure her reputation wouldn’t be ruined by any slips of the tongue.

“President Snow?” She paused by the door, her hands clasped firmly in front of her. “You won’t mention this to anyone… I mean, the tabloids… a-and it would just sound…”

“Of course not, Miss Trinket.” he smiled, politely saving her from saying anything unsavory aloud. “We take care of our own in the Capitol, do we not?”

She swallowed and smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“Anything that happens in this room…” He gestured to the four walls. “Our little secret, yes?”

“Yes.” she replied with a nod. “Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you, Miss Trinket. The Games Office will be in touch.”

Effie left the President’s Office in a daze, her mind racing to try and understand what had just transpired. Cassius had a car waiting to pick her up. She doesn’t recall any of the drive back to the studio. Cassius needs her for a fitting.  

“How did it go, my darling?” he calls, not looking up from his work when she enters. There are various people milling around. Interns, junior designers, models who were less important than her.

“Cassius?” she said, her voice catching.

“Mhm?”

He finally looks up and sees the expression on her face. She doesn’t know what she’s emoting, but it’s enough to make him dismiss everyone. Then they’re in the big open studio room, alone.

“Something… strange happened.” she said, uncharacteristically shaky and quiet. “With President Snow.”

“Oh?” he asked, approaching her tentatively.

“I mean,” she cleared her throat. “Nothing happened, but…”

“Actually, Effie darling,” he cut her off. “It’s probably better if you don’t tell me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Just don’t tell me.” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “Don’t tell anyone actually, while we’re on the subject.”

Her stomach sank as her second worst fear of the day was realized. “You don’t want to know?”

“It’s just best, my darling.” He approached and placed two hands on her shoulders. It was supposed to be comforting but his hands were cold. “You understand why, don’t you?”

She nodded and forced what felt like the hundredth smile that day.

Effie understood. In fact, she understood perfectly. She was a quick learner. Smarter than people often gave her credit for, but she liked it that way. This was how the world worked. Nobody was ever going to protect her. Nobody was ever going to love her beyond their own self-preservation. Nobody could ever be truly trusted.

That was just nature. The way of the world.

The only person who truly had her best interest at heart was herself, and it wasn’t a lesson she was ever going to let go of easily.

I can feel the flames on my skin

Crimson red paint on my lips

If a man talks shit, then I owe him nothing

When Effie arrived at the Games Office for the signing of the escort contracts she was greeted by a swarming crowd, barely held back by the barricades, and the lightning flashes of cameras.

The signing of the escorts was, like everything to do with the Hunger Games, made into an event far beyond simply signing contracts. People wanted to know who the group of girls would be every year. Would their favourite be replaced? Would a fan favourite be promoted up a district? What were the girls wearing? Did they come alone or with a plus-one?

With the Hunger Games, no detail of the proceedings was insignificant enough to go without a mass of media coverage.

Effie smiled as her driver opened the car door. She went through the well-practiced move of holding her clutch to her chest, elegantly sliding out of the car, removing her sunglasses, and tilting for the cameras. She heard the sound and felt the light of hundreds of cameras all going off at once.

Perfect, she thought to herself with a confident smile.

As she walked towards the front door of the building photographers begged for one last pose. Interviewers demanded to know what district she was signing for. Fans yelled at her; how beautiful she was, to please sign their books, to pose for a picture, to marry them.

She was a shiny new toy in the world of escorting. Beloved teenage model turned beloved games escort. It was the perfect career move. Every designer in the city wanted her to model for them. Every little girl wanted to look like her. Every man and woman wanted to love her.

For all intents and purposes, Effie Trinket was on top of the world.

When she arrived at the door she turned back on her heels and blew a kiss to the crowd. People absolutely lost their mind, fans, reporters, photographers alike. She smiled to herself as she walked through the Games Office doors.

Life certainly didn’t get better than this.

“Effie!”

A cluster of girls, a few established escorts and a few new faces, waved her over. She easily joined them, kissing the air next to their cheeks and silently evaluating their outfits.

“Don’t tell me that was you they were screaming over just now.” asked Priscilla, one of the older escorts. She was famous for her artistic eyeliner, but no amount of liquid black could hide the fine lines that were starting to crop up around her eyes.

The woman was old news as far as Effie was concerned.

“I’m afraid it was.” she said, smiling a perfectly modest smile. “They do like to cause a terrible fuss wherever I go.”

Pricilla pursed her lips like she had sucked on something sour. Some of the girls politely hid their smirks behind their hands or gloved hands.

“You look so lovely, Effie.” Fausta fawned.

Fausta Fairway and her had come up in rather the same circles. They had participated in many of the same childhood pageants, shared governesses, and piano teachers. Their careers had diverged slightly in later years, with Effie modeling and Fausta acting, but she was glad to see a familiar face in the escort pool.

“Thank you, darling.” Effie smiled.

“I adore your ensemble.” another girl trilled.

“Custom?” Fausta asked.

“An archive piece, actually.” she beamed. “Lucia hardly ever lets anyone into the vault, but Felix convinced her specially for me.”

That sent the group of girls in a tizzy. Effie graciously held court as they bombarded her with questions about how Felix had managed such an incredible feat. All Effie could say was that a girl should never reveal her secrets, but that perhaps even the most powerful editor-in-chief in the city couldn’t help but hold a small soft spot for the beloved Effie Trinket.

Priscilla was the only one who remained unimpressed. Perhaps bitterness was just something she couldn’t help at her age.

“Your Cassius couldn’t do it?” the older escort asked with a biting tone.

“No,” Effie replied, maintaining her smile. “And he’s hardly my Cassius.”

They had broken off their relationship only a few weeks ago, but it had taken less than a few days for him to say horrible things about her in the press and then be spotted at the club with a newer, much younger model.

During the breakup Cassius had cited her immaturity as being the reason. He’d told her she lacked ‘seriousness’, that she was too naïve and dumb for him. All of which made Effie feel a bit cheated. Like he had changed the rules of the game on her halfway through. After all, they had started dating when she was seventeen.

Wasn’t all that kind of the point?

He had loved her cloying, wide-eyed, childish nature. He had loved when she gasped in amazement at his big-boy job, when she blushed at his stories of sexual conquest, and when she’d blinked up at him and told him she’d never given a blowjob before.

Until one day, he just didn’t.

“Oh no? I am sorry to hear.” Priscilla said without even attempting to sound like she meant it. “He seemed so devoted to you. I rather thought he’d tow you around on a leash until you were both dead.”

Effie forced herself to smile and keep her head held high.

“We broke off weeks ago.” she replied. “I do wonder how you missed it? I couldn’t even look at a magazine without being reminded of it.”

Priscilla elected to ignore her question.

“Well… I do hope you can still manage without him.” she pouted with false sympathy. “I mean, he did so much for you. You might find things… overwhelming on your own.”

Effie resisted the urge to jam one of her shiny acrylics in the woman’s eye.

“I think I’ll manage perfectly fine, thank you.”

Any other attempt at conversation, be that from the other girls or Pricilla were cut off by the entrance of Theodora, the head of the escort division. She was a frightenedly tall woman, with shiny bronze skin and beautiful gold wigs which reached so tall they were often in danger of brushing the chandeliers.

“Girls! Girls!” she called to the room, waving her glowing screen of her planner to get their attention. “If you could please follow me, the photographers are setting up. We will begin signing in a moment.”

The room began to buzz and move. Escorts, Gamemakers, organizers, esteemed guests, young girls who had clawed their way into someone’s plus-one and were eagerly hoping to be selected next year. The general crowd began to funnel to the reception area to find their seats while the escorts were corralled to a small platform at the front.

The stage was a small platform, draped in the Panem blue and gold, illuminated by some of the best lighting that money could buy. There was a long glass table, with twelve seats, twelve name tags. Miss Theodora stood to the side with twelve contracts in hands.

Effie and Fausta were seated at the end of the table. As the two new girls, they were the main event.

The buzz of polite chatter filled the room, allowing for Fausta to lean over and whisper in her ear. Neither of them cared about the camera’s going off. Fausta was smart enough to hide her lips behind her delicately gloved hand.

“You must ignore Priscilla. She’s simply upset because she knows they won’t re-sign her next year.”

They both cast a glance towards the older woman.

Effie almost felt bad. She was so sad and old looking. At the age of thirty-three, she had long since aged out of the position in Effie’s opinion. She had been stuck at District Ten for nearly her whole career too. Everyone had thought she had been destined to be a shining star of the escorts when she had started. But now she was nothing. Old and forgotten about.

You almost had to wonder what the woman had done wrong.

What flaws must she be hiding under all that hairspray and eyeliner to cause such a miserable life?

“Consider her quite forgotten,” Effie whispered. “Anyway, I’d much rather focus on the horribly outdated handbag that she’s brought with her.”

The large and rather ugly handbag she had with her was perhaps the most fitting symbol of her sad career.

The girls exchanged a look before collapsing into polite giggles behind their hands.

A hush fell over the room as the signing began. Press cameras clicked as each girl’s name was read off along with their district. The first ten contracts were signed with little fuss, as they were all re-signs.

Effie smiled graciously as her contract was placed in front of her. Lights flashed as her pen hovered over the line. Her stomach dropped out of her when the district number listed next to her name caught her eye.

“Is something wrong, Miss Trinket?” Miss Theodora asked in a pointed whisper.

The whole room was waiting.

Effie glanced up and scanned the assembled crowd. Sitting directly in front of her in the third row, whispering in the ear of the Head Gamemaker, was Cassius.

Their eyes met and a haunting smile spread across his idiotic face.

She swallowed hard, glanced down at her contract, and then up at Miss Theodora with a smile.

“No. Nothing at all.”

She signed her neat and loopy autograph at the bottom of the page and Miss Theodora collected the contact back into her pile.

“Miss Euphemia Trinket.” she announced. “District Twelve.”

The usual round of polite applause followed. Effie smiled graciously and tilted her head for the cameras in that perfect way that she had been trained to do since childhood.

It took every ounce of her willpower and media training to not let any emotion slip through the cracks.

Especially when Fausta signed for District Four.

After the ceremony Effie was obliged to stay for the reception, but she avoided her ex-boyfriend like he was the carrier of some district plague. She stayed on Fausta’s arm for most of the afternoon, burying her bubbling anger and resentment underneath a prim mask of smiles and social graces.

Effie was fetching herself a drink from one of the tables when one of the Gamemaker’s stopped her.

Mr. Keenvale was an old Gamemaker, well respected, with an immaculately styled gray moustache which had been gracing Capitol screens since before Effie was born.

“It is lovely to see you again, Miss Trinket.”

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her green lace glove.

“You as well, sir.” she smiled.

“I was very fond of you in the auditions. In fact,” He did that funny thing old men did where they leaned in like they were telling you a secret. “I voted for your placement in District Four.”

“Well, thank you.” she said. “I would have liked to serve District Four.”

Effie wondered how many of the Gamemakers Cassius had had to sway to vote her into Twelve at the last minute. Was it not enough that he had shattered her heart, talked about her to the press, and moved on from their relationship in less than a long-weekend? He had to try and ruin her career too? She refused to let him.

She didn’t care if they made her escort of the radiation forest rats. She was going to be the best escort District Twelve had ever clapped eyes on. They would have to promote her.

She would do anything.

Effie was about to excuse herself and walk away, when the old Gamemaker enclosed his sweaty hand around her arm and leaned in close. Not in the way he had done moments ago that had playfully reminded her of her grandfather.

This was different.

She could smell his lunch on his breath.

“Should you be interested in signing with a more popular district next year, you’re more than welcome to stop by my office.” he told her in a low voice. “I’m sure I could be… persuaded to sway the board in your favour.”

She blinked and forced her smile not to falter. Never show any weakness. Never leave them an opening. She just wished he would let go of her arm.

“That’s very generous of you, sir. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Miss Trinket.” He threw her a wink as he pulled away. “Anytime.”

Effie briefly considered the idea of that old man’s penis in her mouth. His sweaty hands on her body. His gross canapé breath in her ear.

She would do anything for a promotion.

Anything but that.

They say I did something bad

Then why’s it feel so good?

Most fun I ever had

And I’d do it over and over and over again if I could

The first year Effie works for District Twelve Haymitch he is positively unbearable. He’s perpetually rude, always late, usually drunk, and he seems to despise everything about his position as a Mentor.

That first year, when she’s fresh faced and starry-eyed, she can’t understand why he resents such a wonderful and glamourous position. As the years pass, he becomes a little easier to understand. If it wasn’t so undignified Effie might have joined him in his alcoholism.

But even as her resentment for him is slowly replaced with understanding, his resentment of her stays strong.

Nothing she does is every right to him.

During her first game season he laughs when she bursts into tears as their tributes die in the bloodbath. She doesn’t know where the reaction came from. She’s watched the Hunger Games all her life and never cried when someone lost. So why was it different now?

When she acts cheerful he glares at her like she’s the one who is personally killing children. Perhaps he genuinely thinks she’s at fault, which is ridiculous in its own right. He thinks her clothes are ugly, thinks her accent is annoying, and seems to find her entire presence generally repulsive.

Sometimes Effie wonders why her ten-year-old self ever had a crush on him.

But they’re forced to spend a lot of time together, and Effie is certainly no quitter. Eventually, he becomes used to her, even if it is just slightly. He is tolerant of her presence at the very least.

The 65^th Hunger Games end for District Twelve in the bloodbath, as has been the pattern since Effie started. She finishes her paperwork early and drops it off at the Games Office. Then she returned to the Tribute Center Penthouse. She spent the drive there in the back of the private car, brainstorming new ways to rephrase their usual PR lines for end-of-season interviews.

There were only so many words in the dictionary to talk about ‘holding out for the spunk of outer districts’. Nobody truly paid attention to their little interview anyway. It was just air-time filler while everyone waited for the winning district interviews. But she liked to do a good job anyway.

When she arrived back at the penthouse she found Haymitch laying across the main sofa, a drink balanced on his stomach. Mandatory viewing of the games was playing on the television but he had it muted.

“Shoes off the sofa, please!” she trilled as she breezed into the room, removing her gloves and dropping her purse in an empty chair.

He muttered something which sounded suspiciously like ‘bossy bitch’ but Effie elected to ignore that.

She watched the screen as Finnick Odair, the tribute from District Four and current frontrunner, caught one of the District Eight tributes in one of his net traps.

“He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” she remarked casually.

Haymitch looked at her like she had grown an extra head.

“He’s just a kid,” he snarled. “Don’t be gross, Trinket.”

She rolled her eyes. He could be so very sensitive at times. Plenty of men much older than she was now had drooled over her when she was fourteen and you didn’t see her making a fuss.

“I wasn’t being gross,” she snipped back. “I wouldn’t sleep with him, I was just making an observation.”

“Capitols…” he grumbled, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re all sick in the fuckin’ head. Do they fill you all up with pervert juice when you’re born or does that come later?”

She ignored him once more in favour of looking at the screen, but quickly averted her gaze and Finnick began stabbing the Eight boy over and over again. The overkill made her stomach turn. She went to the drink cart and fixed herself a small glass of something in order to avoid watching the bloody scene.

“If you hate it, why do you do this job?”

Haymitch’s question, seemingly out of nowhere, stopped her in her tracks. Only momentarily. She picked up her drink and collapsed in one of the armchairs, since he was very rudely taking up the sofa.

“I don’t hate it.”

The cannon fired and she returned her gaze to the screen. Finnick stood triumphant, the wind sweeping his hair in a perfect, camera-ready fashion. No doubt the Gamemakers were clapping each other on the back somewhere.

“Kinda seems like you hate it,”

“Will you stop saying that?” she snapped, before quickly replacing her sour expression with a conscious smile. “I love the Hunger Games. This is the greatest time of the year for our beloved nation.”

He smirked at her well-rehearsed words and took another sip. “Spare me the fuckin’ spiel, sweetheart.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

She always scolded him for his ridiculous nicknames. He always ignored her.

They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the muted tv. The only sound was the slight buzz of the city which even the most expensive soundproof glass could not contain.

“You never watch the kills.” Haymitch said quietly, once again out of nowhere. It was barely the afternoon, how was it possible that he was this drunk?

“I’m sorry?”

“The kills. The gory shit. The bloodbath.” he said, gesturing towards the screen. “You always look away. Or pretend like you’re doing something else.”

How was it possible that a man who could barely stand upright half the time had noticed her most subtle trick? Maybe he was more perceptive than she had originally given him credit for. Or maybe he was bluffing.

“Of course I watch.”

“Fuckin’ bullshit.” he snorted. “You always look away. Or you stare at the Panem logo at the bottom of the screen and unfocus your eyes. I’ve seen it.”

Not bluffing then.

Effie wished she could deny it. 

It hadn’t always been this way. She remembered vividly all of the Games from her childhood, but when she was little it had all seemed less horrific. She had never looked away then. She didn’t even remember ever registering the blood. 

Now, all she ever saw was the blood.

She didn’t know how she could ever have missed it. Torn limbs, gouged eyes, axes in the face, knives in backs. Her first year, the first girl she’d ever reaped, got her throat slashed in the bloodbath. Effie remembered how the blood had come gushing out of her neck. How she had clutched her throat, gallons of red life seeping between her tiny fingers.

She had only been thirteen.

Her response to Haymitch’s accusation was only a non-committal shrug and a sip of her drink.

He seemed satisfied with that. Maybe her admitting to it was all he’d wanted. But then, much later in the evening, he came at her with another question.

They were much drunker, and had just finished having sex against one of the penthouse windows. She’d given him the best head of his life before letting him finish on her corseted chest. Haymitch was lying in languish on the fuzzy carpet, a blanket barely covering his modesty. Effie wrapped one of the spare blankets around her and fetched her cigarette pack from her purse.

“Why do you do this job?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

She waited until her cigarette was between her teeth and lit before answering. “Fame, I suppose.” she shrugged. “Money.”

“That’s a pretty shit reason.”

“Yes, well…” she sat on the window ledge and exhaled. “Everybody’s a critic.”

“Easy to be a critic when you send kids to their death every year.”

If his words pierced her, she didn’t dare to let it show on her face. “You think I’m a bad person.” she whispered.

It was less a question and more a statement.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I do.”

“Then why are you having sex with me?”

“I dunno.” Haymitch shrugged. His eyes looked lost. “You’re hot… You’re here.”

Effie took another drag of her cigarette and pretended that was the reason her throat burned. “High praise.” she deadpanned.

“You know me. I’m a fuckin’ compliment machine.”

They lapsed into thick silence. Effie looked out the window at the glowing nightlife. Hundreds of cars and people roaming the streets. Snorting expensive drugs off of women who didn’t know they were prostitutes yet. Celebrating games season.

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“What wouldn’t?”

She turned back to face him. “If I quit. It wouldn’t make a difference, not in the slightest. It would just be another woman in my place, picking names, signing the death certificates.”

“I know,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to come running with your fuckin’ resume. It still makes you a part of the whole circus.”

If he was trying to make her feel bad or guilty, he wasn’t succeeding. Effie finished her cigarette and extinguished it in his drink before she marched off to her room and retired to a perfectly restful night of sleep.

Maybe she should have felt bad. A person better than her, one with more of a conscience, would have. But having a conscience was a luxury Effie had given up a long time ago.

Just after her first year on the job, actually.

It was all just a game. Didn’t he understand that? She either played or face being trampled at the bottom.

Kill or be killed.

Perhaps the most glaringly wrong part about it all was that for most of the year Effie loved being an escort. She absolutely adored it. Outside of games season, it was easy to ignore all the bad parts.

She is a part of an elite group of twelve incredibly famous women. She had a penthouse full of expensive clothing, jewelry, and makeup. People loved her, they sent her gifts, flowers, and letters. She dined at private tables in the Capitol’s most expensive restaurants, partied at the most exclusive clubs, and posed for magazine covers. She could have anything and anyone she wanted.

It was a stunning way to live. It was everything she’d ever dreamed. And if Haymitch thought he could dissuade her with some absurd moral argument from inside his very glass house, he was sadly mistaken.

Effie loved her life. Ignoring the growing black pit at the bottom of her stomach and swallowing back her sick every time blood splashed around the screen…

It wasn’t a small price. But nonetheless, it was one she was willing to pay.  

I never trust a playboy, but they love me

So I fly ‘em all around the world

And I let them think they saved me

It was the spring before the 71^st Hunger Games when Effie’s phone rang unexpectedly, causing her to jump slightly at the shrill sound as it echoed out through her dark penthouse. She picked it up quickly so as not to cause the man in her bed to wake. She held the pink receiver between her ear and shoulder, sighing as she carried the whole base of the phone into her adjoining bathroom and shut the door, not caring if it dented the cord.

There was only one person in the country who would dare call at such an inappropriate hour, and their relationship had long since passed phone pleasantries.

“I was under the impression that your phone was broken.”

She set the base down next to her sink on the shiny, marble counter. The bathroom was dimly lit by her warm ambient lights, the Capitol cityscape was a marvelous view even from her bathroom window. Dawn was really the only time the city was truly quiet. After clubbing hours but before brunch.

“Nah, I just don’t like picking up when you call.” Haymitch slurred into her ear. “All you do is fuckin’ squeak orders at me like I’m your fuckin’ fuck pet.”

Effie rolled her eyes at the sheer drunkenness of his voice.

“Charming.” she deadpanned. “And if I’m so very irritating to speak to, why are you calling?”

“I dunno.” Silence followed. “What time is it there anyway?”

“Here?” Effie began to rummage through many of her makeup drawers, searching for her tone matching foundation as they spoke. A pure white foundation was coming more into style for daytime, but a more natural look was always appropriate for at home. “Uh, just past six in the morning I believe.”

“Why the fuck are awake?”

“Do I detect an iota of concern, Haymitch?” she teased.

He snorted and the line crackled slightly, as it tended to do with calls to the districts. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess.”

“With you?”

She found the foundation bottle she was looking for and set it on the counter, then selecting one of her many pink brushes.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Seriously. Why are you awake?” he pressed. “I thought Capitols would rather die than get up early.”

“Well, I’m not up up,” she explained. She dabbed a few spots of foundation onto her face with her ring finger and then got to work buffing it out. “A… friend stayed over last night.”

She could practically hear his eyebrows raise. “A friend?”

Effie rolled her eyes. He could be so very irritating. “A boyfriend, If you must know.”

She glanced briefly towards the bathroom, straining her ears for any sound of Antoni stirring. She had no idea how she would explain the District Twelve Victor drunk calling her in the middle of her very secret pre-morning routine.

Although, Haymitch’s winning in her ear made it very hard to hear anything.

“That’s nice. Some new wrinkly old fart-bag with deep pockets that you’ve caught in your talons?”

Effie tried not to read too much into the hint of jealousy which seeped into his tone. That was dangerous territory. She might get it in her head that deep down he was actually a little fond of her.

She might get it in her head that she doesn’t exactly hate him anymore. Maybe she never did. It was much too early for that kind of thinking, so she snapped open her powder and began lightly pressing it into her skin.

Who’s really to say what truly went on in either of their heads?

“He’s our age and perfectly respectable, thank you very much.” she retorted. “Although he is rich.”

Haymitch grunted in response and the line fell silent for a moment. She briefly considered the idea that he may have fallen asleep before he spoke again.

“He gonna be around? For game season, I mean.”

Very dangerous territory.

It wasn’t as if they had a real relationship. Effie had had boyfriends and girlfriends before, quite a few of them even overlapping with games season. And while it may seem as though she was cheating on these public relationships, that was hardly the case. Effie remembered all the nameless mistresses who used to pass in and out of her father’s bedroom all through her childhood. Her mother had never said a word. It was perfectly normal. The kings and queens of the world fucking the odd peasant to let off steam before returning home to one another.

It only counted as cheating if you did it with a real person. Haymitch wasn’t that. Just a district boy. A Victor.

It wasn’t real.

“I don’t think so.” she hummed, doing a last check of her complexion for any imperfections. “He’s rather playboy, and I don’t like to keep the ones with wandering eyes around too long. It gives them a terrible ego.”

“Yeah, cause you’re so modest.” he snorted.

It was almost criminal how easily he could make her smile. “Exceedingly.”

They stayed on the line in silence for a few moments, just listening to one another breathe. Effie put away her base makeup and searched for a brown eyeliner pen. She delicately filled in her lash line. An inconspicuous amount, so that Antoni could continue to believe that she woke up every morning with perfect, blinking doll eyes.

She wondered vaguely what Haymitch was doing on the other end of the line.

Perhaps he was just listening to the sound of her rummaging through drawers. Nails tapping on plastic makeup casings.

“So what, did he shove his dick up your ass and wake you up?”

Or, perhaps he was thinking of the rudest thing he could possibly say.

She sighed and tutted slightly, more concentrated on gluing a wispy natural half-lash to the corner of her eye than she was his foul manners.

“You might be the most vulgar man in the world, do you know that?”

He chuckled, because apparently there was nothing more amusing than getting her riled up, even from across the country. “Just trynna think of what sleeping over activities would result in you being awake at six in the morning.”

“Ah. No, he’s still sleeping.” She shot another glance at the bathroom door. “I’m simply preparing.”

“Preparing?” he asked. “For fuckin’ what?”

“Language.” she scolded habitually. “For when he wakes up.”

What followed was a long silence from the other end of the line as Haymitch’s probably very intoxicated mind attempted to put the pieces together.

“Are you actually putting the fuckin’ clown paint on at six in the morning?” he asked.

Effie rolled her eyes at the incredulous nature of his tone.

“Must you always be so vulgar?” she huffed, finally getting her lashes into place. She checked all angles of her face in the large mirror, searching for any mistakes. “And it’s not a full face.” she added. “I’m just… perfecting upon imperfections.”

“You’re insane, sweetheart.”

“Everyone in the Capitol does it, Haymitch.” she replied. “Married women do it every day.”

“You’re all insane then.” he deadpanned. “So what? You get up at the ass crack of dawn, throw a face on, then what? Sit around until he wakes up?”

“That is the general idea, yes.” she said. “Moisturize, base foundation, and a bit of brown mascara. Make sure all your hair is tucked away in your silk scarf,” She tugged at a few of the wispy curls which sat along her hairline. Her hair was bubble-gum pink at the moment. No woman in her right mind would keep their hair its natural colour while seeing someone. “A wig would be overkill…”

“Yeah, that would be the overkill in this whole rigmarole.” he teased, his grin evident even if she couldn’t see his face.

“Then, you slip into your corset,” she continued to explain as she packed away her makeup. “A spritz of perfume, return to bed, and pretend to sleep until his alarm goes off.”

“That is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.” he drawled. “And I’ve heard you say a lot of shit, princess.”

“Every proper lady knows to do it.”

Silence overtook them as she patted on a subtle lip tint.

“You never do it with me.”

That stopped her in her tracks, her ring finger hovering frozen over her parted lips. Her heart was racing. Of course she didn’t do it with him. In the early years she might have, but they had never shared a bed then so it made no difference. But now… Ever since he’d started tugging her wigs off. He played with her natural curls absentmindedly and drew patterns across her bare skin.

She had always assumed he liked her better that way.

But now her cheeks were starting to redden with embarrassment underneath her foundation. Her heart was beating too fast and she felt incredibly stupid for being caught in such a silly assumption.

“What?” she asked.

Perhaps she had misheard him.

“We share a bed. Sometimes.”

The emphasis being on sometimes. She’d taken him to her apartment once. The penthouse she had lived in since she got her first escort paycheck. They hadn’t done anything that night, beyond sleep. They had both been so drunk and tired, Effie certainly hadn’t done a pre-morning routine.

It was strange that he remembered. Even stranger that he brought it up.

She’d thrown out the sheets the next day. They’d smelled too much like him.

“I-I didn’t think you enjoyed… I mean,” she rambled, stumbling over her words. “I simply thought you preferred… which my mistake, I really shouldn’t have assumed. I-I can start to, I mean, if it’s what you want…”

“Hey, hey, breathe a second, princess.” she falls silent at his slightly slurred, but gentle tone. “Didn’t say I wanted shit. I mean, It would be fuckin’ weird… waking up with you lookin’ all Capitol. You don’t… you look pretty without all that shit.”

“Alright,” she whispered into the receiver. “Duly noted.”

All that followed was a stilted silence. Neither of them knowing what to say. Both of them waiting for something the other would never say.

They’d never been good at words.

Effie vaguely wished there was a way she could give him a blowjob over the phone. 

“I gotta—”

“Yes, sorry, I-I should…”

They both started and stopped talking at the same time.

“Sorry about callin’ you late…” Haymitch began again, clearing his throat. “I was drinking and—”

“It’s perfectly alright.” she assured him. “I… I appreciated the company.”

There were a thousand other things she could have said. Like that she missed him when it was the off-season. Like how all the men who slept in her bed always felt like poor substitutes for him. How she always had to do her pre-morning routine alone and in silence. How it was nice to hear his voice, no matter how drunk he was. It was nice to let her guard down for a short while.

But all of that was better left unsaid.

“Goodbye Haymitch.” she whispered softly.

She heard the line click and the dial tone ring. He had hung up without another word and Effie did her best to pretend it didn’t sting a little.

A heavy sigh escaped her. She looked over her appearance one last time. Tested her smile in the mirror and watched it fall. Like she was a mechanical doll. She dabbed a bit of her favourite perfume on her neck and wrists before going through the repetitive motions of lacing her corset.

An hour later she pretended to be awoken by the kiss Antoni placed on her neck, and smiled graciously when he told her she was beautiful.

Effie broke off with him a week before games season. He seemed more annoyed than upset, which made sense. She had caught him with another woman at The Plaza weeks ago. In the whole eight months they had dated, he never saw her face without its protective layer of makeup.

Not once.

They never see it comin’, what I do next

This is how the world works

You gotta leave before you get left

Ever since Portia and Cinna had disappeared someone, or something, had been following Effie.

Everywhere she went she saw black cars with tinted windows. Tall men in plain suits. Security cameras whose blinking red lights never shut off. Invisible bugs. More than once she heard mysterious clicks on her phone line.

She knew they were all in danger, and had known for a long time. She hadn’t spent the Victory Tour pulling all-nighters trying to write speeches that would right the children’s mistakes for no reason. She could feel it in the air they breathed.

But perhaps most concerning of all, she could see it in Haymitch. In the lack of alcohol he was consuming lately. She could see it in the shake of his hands. Sometimes, late and under the cover of darkness, she caught him looking at her with an odd expression on his face. Like he was trying to burn her features into his memory. All the whispering with Cinna and Portia. The meetings on the roof with the other Victors. Handshake deals, knowing glances, unspoken goodbyes.

Effie wished it didn’t all make sense, but she wasn’t stupid.

She knew the end was upon them.

They were in the Sponsor Lounge, watching Katniss and Johanna walk the wire to the beach on the big screen, when Haymitch met her gaze across the room.

He tilts his head to the left and glances down. Effie smiled and tilted her chin up.

An entire conversation passed between them without a single word exchanged. She didn’t remember when exactly they had become so in-tune with one another, but in that moment she was very grateful they had.

Effie set her untouched drink down on a nearby table and excused herself from whatever dreadfully dull conversation she had been pretending to be a part of. She left the main betting room and ducked behind a thick velvet curtain, through the staff entrance. None of the Avoxes dared to even look at her. They just jumped to the side as she rushed through the hall and down a narrow staircase. She emerged behind the building, amongst wretched smelling dumpsters and flats. Haymitch was waiting for her. They used to have sex in the staff stairwell when they were younger and more reckless.

They both knew there were no cameras. No bugs.

“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” she whispered, sounded more desperate than she can ever remember being.

“You don’t have to know anything,” he promised. “But listen, for as long as I can remember you’ve been giving me orders, making me do shit.” The finality in his voice made her stomach sink. “Just this once, I need you to do this for me.”

Every part of her was screaming to say no. To walk away now, as if that would truly fix anything. They had come too far. And Effie knew that no matter how hard she tried, she could never refuse him. She could never do anything but trust him.

And so she nodded.

“Okay, okay…” He ran a hurried hand through his hair. “Listen and do exactly what I say. You need to leave, don’t use your usual driver or the car company. Take a cab and pay with this.” He handed her a gray credit card, one of the ones with no name on it.

Untraceable.

“Where do I go?”

“Go to the Tribute Center. Use the back entrance and the staff elevator, go straight to the roof. Don’t stop in the penthouse, don’t draw attention to yourself, and don’t tell fuckin’ anyone where you’re going. Do you understand?”

“You’re not coming with me?”

It was weak and pathetic, but she couldn’t help herself.

“This is safer, it’s safer if we’re split up. But once we’re out, we’ll meet up at the destination, okay?” She nodded, but he must have caught the tears in her eyes because he settled both hands on her shoulders, squeezing. “Everything’s going to be fine, sweetheart, I swear.”

He looked like he was about to give her a hug. Maybe say something more. But they were interrupted by a device in his jacket pocket beeped. When he pulled it out, the gadget wasn’t one she recognized.

“We have to go.” he said, shoving it back in his pocket. “I’ll see you soon, alright.”

“Soon.” she nodded. “I’m holding you to that promise, Haymitch Abernathy.” She poked his chest with an accusatory acrylic, but the effect was rather lost by the way her voice caught.

“Stay alive, sweetheart.”

“You too.”

If she had known that would be goodbye for a very long while, she would have said more. Would have made him say more. But she didn’t.

Instead, Effie went to the side street and hailed a cab.

She followed his instructions to the letter, right up until she arrived at the Tribute Center. Midnight was still early in the Capitol, which meant that the building was primarily empty. She entered through the back, glancing over her shoulder as she made her way through the narrow halls. Her heels echoed off concrete walls. She exhaled shakily as she entered the staff elevator, trying to dispel the nervous feeling that was seeping into her bones. It was much smaller than the resident one, a steel box instead of polished glass.

She was feeling fairly confident in Haymitch’s plan at that point, whatever it was.

That all changed when she pressed the button for direct roof access and it didn’t light up.

“Come on…” she whispered under her breath.

Effie pressed the button again. Nothing.

Her mind was racing. Had someone purposely cut off the roof access? Were they hot on her heels, whoever they were? Who was she even supposed to wait for on the roof? Would she miss the pickup? Pickup to where? It was then that Effie realized she was hopelessly in the dark.

The button for the twelfth floor caught her eye.

There was a stair access to the roof from the penthouse. She and Haymitch used it all the time. He had told her not to go through the penthouses. Effie pressed the button anyway. She didn’t have any other choice.

The doors closed and she felt the elevator lurch upwards.

She held her breath as the doors slid open on the twelfth floor. But nothing happened.

There was nobody waiting for her. No guns or peacekeepers or men in plain suits. The lights weren’t even on. It was exactly the way her and Haymitch had left it that morning. She exited the elevator and walked carefully through the vast rooms.

The click of her heels echoed through the empty darkness, like the tapping of a tomb. She glanced over her shoulder again, briefly thinking that a lamp in the corner was a person. It wasn’t, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

It was too late when she realized that the automatic lights hadn’t triggered. All the televisions were blank despite mandatory viewing.

She was nearly at the roof access when the shrill ringing of the phone pierced the air.

Effie froze.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. She approached it slowly. Then she just stood there and watched. The answering machine clicked, the robotic voice asked the caller to leave a message. She waited with bated breath.

“Effie? Effie, are you there?”

The sound of Fausta’s shaky voice on the other end of the line made her stomach drop.

“Effie, if you’re there please pick up… Please Effie…”

There was a lot in the world that Effie could ignore. She’d spent her entire career ignoring horrible things. But the pleading voice of a dear friend, someone she cared about…

She picked up the phone from its cradle and lifted it to her ear.

Two clicks.

She closed her eyes and choked back a shaky breath. Haymitch was going to kill her.

“Fausta?” she whispered.

“Effie, Effie…” She sounded like she was crying. “Are you alone?”

It was a very odd question to ask, Effie knew that.

“Why, Fausta?” she asked, fearing that she already knew the answer.

Only silence came from the other end of the line. She was certainly crying. “Just… Effie, please…” The line crackled, Effie heard the faint sound of another voice. Fausta wasn’t alone. If she had to guess she would say there was probably a gun pointed at her friend’s head. “I need you,” she whispered. “I-I need to see you… Are you alone?”

Effie exhaled shakily. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

She was trapped.

She had lost the game.

“Yes.” she whispered, logging the final nail in her very own coffin.

The phone line clicked for a third time. Fausta’s sobbing apologies were swiftly cut off by the dial tone. She heard the door to the penthouse being broken down. Heavy boots and peacekeepers yelling. She had reached the end of the road. There was no way out.

“I’m so sorry…” she whispered, knowing that Haymitch couldn’t hear her.

It took all of three seconds for an irrational anger to bubble in the pit of her stomach. Or perhaps it was the handcuffs and the yelling peacekeepers. He clearly knew what was happening. He knew she would be in danger. Why not take her with him? Keep her by his side so that he could be certain she was safe?

Or was she not important enough for that? Did she not mean enough to him?

Her anger was bitter and all-consuming, she didn’t care if it was irrational. She didn’t care if he technically held the moral high ground. She cursed him, cursed herself for trusting him so blindly.

You couldn’t trust anyone in the city, she’d learned that a long time ago. People always betrayed you, sold you out for their own gain, people always left in the end.

She only wished she had been clever enough to leave him behind first.

They say I did something bad

But why’s it feel so good?

Most fun I ever had

And I’d do it over and over and over again if I could

Effie used to think she knew what pain felt like.

Ten hour days teetering on high heels. Even longer days laced into corsets. Wigs were heavy, hot, and the world’s greatest headache inducer. Laser hair removal, acrylics accidentally ripped off, sometimes for runway shows the prep team would tape down any perceivably body fat and it was a pain to rip off later. Starve herself for twenty-four hours before the shoot. Shoving fingers down her throat and emptying her stomach contents into a toilet bowl.

None of it compared in the slightest to the pain she felt now.

Effie didn’t know where exactly in the Capitol they were keeping her. She only knew that the cell was small, dark, and it reeked of her own sick and blood. In the beginning they had moved her around a lot. First she’d been in a massive cell with all the other escorts, but that didn’t last long. Then she was moved between Johanna and Annie’s cells. Once or twice she had been put in with Peeta. They used to torture her in front of them, maybe out of some painfully misguided belief that seeing her in pain would force them to talk.

It didn’t work. Effie couldn’t decide whether they actually knew nothing or if the Capitol had greatly overestimated how much she meant to them.

It was certainly the latter. She barely knew Annie, and Johanna had always been more of Haymitch’s friend than her own. She was just the annoying escort who got to tag along because she was sleeping with him.

Peeta was the only one who they ever got a reaction from.

But it didn’t matter now. She hadn’t seen them in weeks. Or what she thought was weeks. It was hard to tell the time when you never saw the sun. Perhaps it had been only days. Pain made everything seem longer. Effie didn’t really care anymore.

In the beginning she had been desperately optimistic, as was her nature. She had whispered to Annie and Johanna that surely Haymitch had a plan, that he would be coming to rescue them any day now. Annie never spoke. Johanna had just scoffed and called her stupid.

Everyday Effie racked her brain to try and reimagine her last conversation with Haymitch. He had seemed certain. Like he had a plan, like he had a plan for them.

She had clung to that for a long time, but now it seemed futile.

Mostly she just laid on the hard floor of her cold cell and prayed that her body gave out soon. Haymitch had told her once that if bodies were in enough pain they would just shut down and die. At the time she had playfully slapped his arm and scolded him for talking about gross things right after they’d just had sex.

He had laughed.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

She wondered if it had been a lie. Because every inch of her body was screaming in pain, and her brain had yet to shut down. She had believed him outright when he’d told her, but perhaps that was her fatal flaw.

Effie had always believed him. Trusted him to the end of the line.

And now she was paying the price.

The door of her cell banged open but she didn’t flinch. That would require moving her muscles, which she didn’t think she could do anymore.

“Get up.” a voice growled.

She whimpered as the tip of a steel-toe boot made contact with her ribs. She used to count how many times she heard them crack in case a doctor ever came.

She’d lost count ages ago.

The guard grabbed her by her hair the way one would pick up a cat by the scruff of its neck and threw her against the wall. Effie whimpered as every inch of her body spiked in pain. It felt like she was on fire. Like she was wearing a skin of pins and needles. She stumbled and sank back to the floor.

Her legs couldn’t carry her even if she wanted to stand.

She was facing the guards now, and even with her blurred vision she could make out three of them. Two of them were carrying beating sticks. Her extensively bruised skin and cracked bones were well familiar. The other one was empty handed, but he didn’t need tools.

He knelt in front of her and brushed her matted hair out of her face. The gesture made her shudder. He traced one of his large fingers along her cheek, causing one of the first cuts she received to sting. An ugly gash across her cheek.

“You used to be such a pretty thing, do you know that?”

His breath felt hot against her face. If there was anything left in her stomach to throw up, she would have vomited on his boots.

“Pretty, pretty little Trinket…” he mocked. “You could have had any man in the Capitol… but instead you let that district animal fuck you.”

Effie leaned her head against the wall, inhaling and exhaling in shaky breaths. Her vision lolled in and out of focus. “I don’t know anything.” she whispered.

Her old faithful line. She’d said it a hundred times.

They must have been tired of hearing it because he punched her stomach.

She gave a pathetic sob of pain as she keeled in on herself. She wished they would just stab her. Let it be over with instead of keeping her teetering on the brink of life, trapped in a pool of insurmountable pain. Effie wished she was dead. She wished someone would just stick a gun down her throat.

She wished she had never given herself a weakness. A pressure point.

Effie was smarter than this. She had known better. And it had still come back to haunt her. She was paying the ultimate price.

“The Mellark boy is cooperating.”

Effie felt her heart sink. Her poor boy. He didn’t deserve this, not in the slightest.

“He’s got food and water. A nice little bed as a reward for his services. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

It did sound nice.

She could hardly blame him.

Perhaps Haymitch was right to tell her nothing, because in that moment Effie would have given up every rebel secret just for a sip of water. A plain slice of bread. Anything.

Haymitch had told her a long time ago that he thought she was a bad person. She had thought that since then, something had changed between them. That he had maybe come to see her in a different light. But maybe he always knew that when it came down to it, Effie could help but be selfish and greedy. She could never fight for the greater good. She just wanted to survive.

Haymitch deserved better than that. The children too.

She could never be as good as they deserved.

The guard hit her again and another sob tore through her. Tears intermingling with sweat, blood, and dirt. “I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything,” she choked. “I’ll go on camera, I’ll say whatever you want, please, please…”

“We don’t want you on camera.” he snarled. “Do you really think anyone wants to see your traitorous face on their television?”

Her only response was a whimper.

“Tell us what you know about the rebel plans, and I’ll arrange a nice hot meal for you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I don’t know anything,” she sobbed, desperate and pleading. She was so very hungry. Beyond starvation. “Please, please, anything else…”

“You’re a liar!”

He pulled her off the wall and slammed her down on the floor. Effie heard one of her molars crack as her face made contact with the cold concrete. Her head was spinning, dizzy and disoriented. Although perhaps that was for the better. It meant her brain wasn’t able to fully register what was happening as the other guards approached her with their beating sticks at the ready.

The cell filled with the sick sound of metal against flesh.

“You’re his whore,” the first guard spit. Another round of thwacks. “A rotted, district slut.” Thwack, her body barely twitched.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please stop…”

Another round.

“Betraying your country to be fucked by that animal,” The beatings stopped and he grabbed her face, crushing her jaw between his large fingers. “President Snow ought to let you rot and die in this cell.”

She doubted President Snow even remembered her. He had stopped paying attention to her sometime around the 70^th Hunger Games. No matter what she did to try and claw her way back into his good graces, he never looked at her the way he had when she was starry-eyed and twenty-two.

Those thoughts were pushed from her mind by another flare of pain, and the sound of metal against her flesh.

Effie didn’t know how much longer the beating went on for. But eventually they left her alone, curled up on the floor in a puddle of tears and blood. Her bones ached beyond comprehension. The only way she was certain she was still alive was because she could hear her own weak sobs echoing off the barren cell walls.

“Please…” she sobbed weakly to the empty cell. “Please, Haymitch…”

The worst of it all was she knew that, on some level, she deserved this. She couldn’t help but be selfish and greedy, and twenty-six children had paid the price for her sins. The thought made her want to throw up. Effie wished she could have been better.

Maybe if she had been a better person, Haymitch wouldn’t have left her behind.

It wasn’t as if he was a saint. He’d killed people too, more directly than she had if one looked at the schematics of it. But he didn’t have a choice.

Had Effie ever really had a choice? She tried to think but couldn’t remember.

Perhaps the poison seeps through. She’d never been taught how to be good, not really. And even when she had tried she had failed. Because the truth was, she never stood a chance.

Her gravestone had been carved the day she was born.

Her brain felt slow and heavy. Maybe it was bleeding. All of her memories blurred into one fuzzy mess. She hoped she was bleeding out. Dying of a brain hemorrhage sounded like pure bliss. She wanted to hate Haymitch. Wanted to curse him for making her weak, for getting her involved in his mess, for leaving her behind.

He had sworn everything would be alright.

He had promised…

What made her truly angry was that even knowing that this would be the end, Effie was certain she would have done it all over again. She loved him too desperately, even if she had never said it aloud. She would pluck all those children’s names, betray the Capitol, endure it all a thousand times over, just to cling to those years she’d shared with him. It was wrong and wretched, but it was the truth.

But now she was at the end. All she could do was curl into a ball and sob his name over and over again.

The cell door creaked open again. The heavy falls of footsteps. Someone crouched over her and shifted her slightly. Two fingers on her neck checked her pulse. Was he finally here to save her? To brush her hair back and call her sweetheart with that stupid grin of his while he whisked her off to safety?

“If you suck my dick I’ll bring you food.” the rough voice of a guard whispered.

Effie choked out another sob. The man was already undoing his belt.

At least he finished quickly.

Before he left he dribbled some water from his canteen down her throat and left her with a single bread roll wrapped in his handkerchief. Effie greatly suspected that his superiors didn’t know that he had been in her cell. Not that they would have made a difference.

She spent what must have been hours, curled up in a corner, tearing off tiny pieces of the dry bread and choking them down, tears still streaming down her face.

If the handkerchief wasn’t so small, she would have made it into a noose.

They’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one

They’re got their pitchforks and proof

Their receipts and reasons

The end of the war was not the end of prices Effie had to pay.

She had been under the impression that she had nothing left to give. She had been secluded to a makeshift hospital room in the President’s mansion for god knows how long, reluctantly convalescing under the watchful eye of nurses who didn’t seem to like her very much. Her family was either dead or avoiding the danger of being associated with her. Katniss and Peeta were both under ‘medical watch’ and Effie’s requests to see them had been staunchly denied. The majority of her fortune had been seized by the new government. Nobody had told her outright, but she had a sneaking suspicion her penthouse had been caught in the bombs.

Effie couldn’t help but feel that death in her revolting cell would have been better than whatever limbo she lived in now.

At least she had Haymitch. But, as if only to make matters worse, the new government and specifically Coin seemed intent on taking her dignity too.

It was a gray day when Haymitch marched into her convalescence room, a very determined look on his face. “She wants to see you.”

“Coin?”

He only nodded. He went to his bag of possessions which was sitting in the corner of her room and began searching for something.

“Why?”

“They, uh… they found the other escorts.”

“Bodies?” she asked quietly, dreading that she already knew the answer.

“Yeah.” he replied. “A bunch of the stylists and prep-teams too. They’re still trynna identify ‘em all.”

Her stomach churned at the thought that the bodies of everyone she had ever worked with were so disfigured that the rebels were having trouble identifying them.

“Is that why she wants to see me?”

“No, uh, nothin’ like that.”

He finally found what he was searching for in his bag. She stood up from her bed, wincing at the weight being put on her bad leg which no amount of physical therapy seemed to help. Haymitch approached her and shoved something into her hand.

“Put this on.”

It took her a minute to register what the tiny object was. A worn, bronze band which looked like it had weathered many storms.

A wedding band.

“Is this—”

“It’s not… You don’t gotta make a big fuss about it, princess.” he grumbled. “It’s just a fuckin’ safety ring. Just… put it on, follow my lead, and don’t give her anything she can use.”

The rebel guards opened the door and informed them that Coin was ready for her before Effie had the chance to get another word in. She quickly slipped the band on her ring finger and clasped her hands in front of her. Haymitch kept a steady hand on the small of her back as they were escorted to Coin’s office.

Effie didn’t have any impressions beyond the woman beyond the fact that her haircut was atrociously ugly. But she certainly seemed to have made herself at home in the President’s office.

“Miss Trinket.” said Coin as they sat down. “How are you?” She smiled the way a snake about to eat a mouse smiled.

“Recovering.” Effie replied.

A moment of silence filled the office. Coin narrowed her gaze and continued. “Miss Trinket, I’m sure you can imagine the complexity of the situation the new government is facing.”

“Not as well as you can, I’m sure.”

Haymitch's hand, which was protectively resting on her thigh, squeezed ever so slightly. It was a warning to tread lightly. Were they destined to live their whole lives carefully selecting their words for fear of what the higher powers might do?

Coin’s expression remained unchanged.

“Miss Trinket, you are the last living escort. That puts you in a very unique position.”

“How?” Haymitch asked pointedly.

So much for treading lightly.

“Well, as a former agent of the Capitol—”

“The Capitol arrested her.” he argued, not letting the rebel leader finish. “Imprisoned and tortured her for information, there’s a stack of medical records to prove it. That doesn’t sound like an agent of the Capitol to me.”

“There is still the matter of Miss Trinket as an escort…”

“The Mockingjay’s escort.” he said firmly.

“Mr. Abernathy—” Coin began in a dangerously even tone.

“And my wife.”

The room fell silent. Coin looked between the two of them, calculating as if she could see the thoughts behind their eyes. Effie didn’t know when she and Haymitch had begun holding hands, but she was glad for the show of support.

She squeezed and he squeezed back.  

“For how long?”

“Since the Victory Tour.” he answered without missing a beat.

“A secret marriage?”

“Obviously.”

The woman arched a perfectly shaped, gray eyebrow. “So there is no paperwork to prove it?”

“No, but—”

“Mr. Abernathy, if there is nothing concrete I can give the Justice Trials…”

“We had a toasting.” Effie chimed in, causing them both to fall silent.

“I beg your pardon?” Coin asked.

“We got married by toasting on the Victory Tour.” she said, confident and clear. Effie had told hundreds of lies in her life. This one was no different. “On the train, we used my lighter on one of the dinner rolls in my room.”

Haymitch nodded, as if to corroborate her story.

It was a good story. And it sounded impenetrably truthful on her tongue for some reason.  

“The toasting is what really matters in the districts, isn’t it?” she argued, remembering some vague drunken night where Haymitch had told her about district marriage traditions. “I mean, that’s what truly makes a marriage. Official paperwork was only ever filed for the Capitol’s sake. Wouldn’t it be rather unbecoming of the rebellion to hold to the Capitol’s ways?”

As soon as the words left her mouth Effie knew she had won. Perhaps Coin did too. It was the only time she’d seen the woman blink.

Her cold eyes glanced down at their interlocked hands.

“I see you have a ring.”

“I do.”

“It was my mother’s.” Haymitch interjects.

She hadn’t known that, although perhaps she should have assumed. Who else’s ring would he carry around? He never talked about his mother. Not to her anyway. The one time Effie had asked he had yelled at her to not poke her nose in where it didn’t belong and promptly left.

It must have taken a lot for him to bring her up now. For him to bequeath her that ring. All of that, just to make an attempt to protect her from further harm.

The thought settled warm and heavy in her chest.

“Did you carry it with you during your imprisonment?”

“Haymitch had it the night Katniss blew up the arena.” The lie slid off her tongue like honey.

“If something went wrong I didn’t want them to have anything concrete they could use against her.” Haymitch added.

Coin examined them for another moment. Looking for one of them to break. For a chink in the armor. They were both far too practiced to leave any such weakness exposed. The gray-haired woman exhaled through her nose and folded her hands on the desk.

“Very well. In light of this new information I will consult with the Justice Trial Committee and we will see what comes about.”

They were nearly out the door before she stopped them again.

“Oh, and one more thing.” They turned. She was smiling again. “We would like you to play the role of the Mockingjay’s escort one last time.”

Effie felt her stomach drop, suddenly feeling very ill. If Haymitch wasn’t holding her up by her elbow she might have collapsed. It was almost fitting that they were in Snow’s old office.

For a brief moment she was twenty-two again, being asked to lift up her skirt.

“I don’t—”

“You’ve been asking to see Miss Everdeen for weeks now.” Coin pointed out.

“Yes, but…” Effie glanced around the room, to Haymitch, to Coin, to the marble busts. “I just wanted to make sure she was alright, I don’t—” she trailed off, the words catching in her throat.

Coin arched her brow, waiting for the answer she wanted to hear.

The answer she knew she would get.

“She’ll do it.” Haymitch said, his voice low and careful.

“Thank you.” she replied with a falsely gracious smile. “I’m sure in light of this… new information, as well as your small service to the rebellion, we will be able to find an arrangement for you that will suit everyone.”

Effie wondered if she would ever have a life where she did not have to give her body over in order to survive.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” she said quietly.

Coin nodded, and they left.

She and Haymitch walked in silence through the halls of the mansion. When they arrived back at her room, a dress was already waiting for them. Trimmed in designer fur. A wig, a corset, a makeup kit, a towering pair of heels.

Coin had known that she wouldn’t refuse.

That she couldn’t.

Forever drowning in a bottomless debt of morality that she could never fully repay.

“You alright?”

She had forgotten Haymitch was standing beside her. She nodded and flashed him a weak smile. He had been so attentive since the war had ended and they had pulled her from that cell. So surprisingly caring. She had to wonder if it was guilt, or if there was something else in his heart.

Effie firmly, perhaps foolishly, hoped it was the latter.

He reached over and stilled her hands, which she hadn’t realized were shaking. She mistook the action as his reaching for his ring back.

“Oh, my apologies…” she whispered weakly, going to take it off.

“No, no, it’s—” he cut himself off. Effie blinked up at him, waiting. “Keep it,” he shrugged, like it meant nothing. “You should keep it.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

Effie knew it meant everything, not just to her, but the both of them. A small gift of solace amongst the endless nature of her sins.

She slid the ring back into place and smiled up at him.

Maybe she was mistaken, but she swore she saw the ends of his mouth quirk a little.

They say I did something bad

But why’s it feel so good?

Most fun I ever had (Most fun I ever had)

And I’d do it over and over and over again if I could

Once the war was well and truly over, Effie occupied most of her time just thinking.

She stayed in the Capitol while Peeta recovered. He needed someone familiar who could sit by his bedside and reassure him that he wasn’t alone while the doctors and medicine worked. Effie spent most of her time curled up in the chair of his room. Sometimes she held his hand. Sometimes she talked just to give him something to focus on. Most of the time they just sat in amicable silence, both of them trying to detangle the web of their conscious minds.

Peeta stared blankly at the white walls. Effie held books in her hands, but never truly read them. She just stared, her mind thousands of miles away from whatever was on the page.

When Peeta found a little more peace they moved to District Twelve. Effie moved her long contemplations to Haymitch’s house; his porch, the living room window seat, the spare bedroom.

District Twelve was nicer than the Capitol was for contemplation. She could sit alone on the porch for hours and watch as nature moved around her. Trees in the wind. Birds and squirrels. At the end of the day the sun would set over the never ending forest and it turned the sky a very lovely pink.  

Effie tried her hardest to be her old self, for the others’ sake.

The children had enough of their own problems without her piling on. So she made polite conversation, cleaned their house, mended their clothes, and washed their hair when they felt too rotted inside to do it themselves. It was a small recompense but it was all she had to offer.

Haymitch was more observant than the children were. Effie could tell that he wanted to ask her what was wrong, even if he never did.

She wasn’t even sure she would have a good answer for him even if he did ask. So, she filled their lives with cheerful chatter, cleaned his house, mended his clothes, and kept tabs on his drinking because it was all she knew how to do.

They had an unspoken agreement that when Effie retreated away to think he would leave her alone.

Or rather, she thought that they did.

One day, when she was sitting on the edge of the back porch, her knees pulled up to her chest and an old blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she heard the creak of the screen door swing open.

Haymitch sat down beside her with a groan which reminded Effie of how very old they were. Or maybe the war had simply made them old. He dangled his legs over the edge and placed a steaming mug of tea next to her.

“Thank you.” she whispered without taking her eyes off the pink sky.

He only grunted in response.

They sat in silence for a good long while, and her tea sat next to her untouched. Effie knew it was impolite to ignore him like this, especially when he was so graciously allowing her to stay in his house without a single question of when she was returning to the city. But the air was warm, mourning doves cooed as the sun set, and Effie’s mind felt tired and slow. She didn’t have it in her to fill the silence.

“What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?” he eventually asked in a careful tone.

Best not to spook the horses.

She didn’t know if she was grateful for his prompting or resentful of it. She was leaning more towards resentful, the longer she let his question hang in the air, unanswered. He would hate her if he knew what was going on inside her head. He would kick her out, send her packing back to the city with a warning never to contact him or the children ever again.

The new government didn’t care about her, and they certainly didn’t care about their fake immunity marriage. He had no obligations to take care of her anymore. No reason to keep her around.

The old Effie might have clung to the hope that he would want to keep her around.

But their relationship, if one could even call it that, had hung in strange limbo since the end of the war. He had been tentative around her, unsure of what to do with his words and his hands. He never touched her or tried to touch her. They slept in separate bedrooms and he kept his distance. Never saying too much or staring too long.

Perhaps this was her final punishment. The final price of her sins. That the man she was so desperately and selfishly in love with had finally grown tired of her.

Sometimes she considered the idea that he had never even liked her in the first place. That all the small moments, stolen looks, kisses too gentle for torrid affairs… Perhaps it had all just been in her head.

Then again, he’d never asked for his mother’s ring back.

“Do you recall all those years ago when you said you thought I was a bad person?”

It wasn’t really an answer to his question.

Or maybe it was.

“That was a long time ago, Effie,” he said, mimicking her tactic of avoiding the others’ gaze and staring at the sunset. “I don’t… It was a long time ago.”

“I think perhaps you were right.”

That must have caught his attention because she could feel him looking at her.

“I wasn’t.”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot and—”

“Look,” He cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing. “I know what I said but I didn’t know you then, not really. I was just… It was a stupid thing to say. And it ain’t true.”

“And you know me now?”

“Yeah,” he replied, without an ounce of irony. “I do.”

Feeling a little braver by his words, Effie forced herself to meet his gaze. She had always loved his eyes. Sincerity, surrounded by gray.

“Look, we’ve all done shit we regret, shit we can’t take back. That’s just… I don’t know, life, I guess.”

“Very philosophical.” she teased weakly.

Haymitch rewarded her small attempt at levity with a trademark, shit-eating grin. “Yeah? Thought you’d like that.”

She shook her head in disapproval, but did a terrible job of hiding the smile that had crept onto her lips. He had always had a way with her. Even when everything was different, his way with her had never changed. It made her think of all the time they’d spent together. Every summer since she was twenty-two. They had seen the best and the worst of each other. Mostly worst.

Her smile faltered and she turned back to sunset.

“Do you remember all their names?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Only silence followed.

“The tributes. The children that were put in our charge every year. Do you remember their names?”

“Not all of them.” Haymitch admitted in a low voice.

His solidarity was less comforting than it should have been. He had more of an excuse. More reasons. He had done the job longer than she had, more names to remember. He had detached himself from the boys and girls they’d seen every year, even more than she had. It was probably hard to remember names when the majority of his memories were tainted by alcohol.

Effie had been sober. She had been there of her own free will, hadn’t she? There were no excuses.

For any of it.

“Me either.” she whispered. “I feel as if I should.”

“I mean… There ain’t no accountin’ for how the brain works.” But his attempts to reason with her all-consuming guilt had already fallen on deaf ears.

“I should know their names…”

“Effie—”

“But I don’t, I just… I don’t remember.” she whispered, fearing that her voice would break if she spoke any louder. “They died because of me and I don’t even have it in me to remember all their names. Names that I called. And do you want to know what the worst of it is?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer.

“I loved being an escort.” she choked, her worst sin tasting like poison on her tongue. “Not all of it, obviously, but certainly a lot of it. I loved being famous, and I loved money, and I loved my clothes, and I loved the eleven months of the year where it was just runways, and club appearances, a-and magazine shoots… and I know it’s wrong, I know but,” She sniffed and swiped roughly at the hot tears tracking down her cheeks. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been good.”

Haymitch considered her for a moment. She could feel him watching out of the corner of her eye. But she kept her gaze fixed forward, watching the bird flying above the trees even as they blurred from her tears.

His hands came to rest on her hands, which were folded in her lap, nervously grasping at her skirt. She let out a shakily, sobbing breath as their skin made contact.

“Listen, bad people, and I’m talkin’ really shit bottom of the barrel people… Like ‘I’m gonna try and take over Panem’ bad. They usually don’t worry this much about being bad, or the bad things they’ve done.” he said softly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “And they definitely don’t cry about it.”

He reached a hand up and clumsily wiped her cheek. It was such a sweet gesture that Effie felt her heart clench. She shook her head and gave a watery giggle, taking his and intertwining their finger so that it could rest in her lap.

“I wouldn’t have fought for the rebellion either.” she said after a moment of just sitting, feeling his hand in hers.

“What, are we just confessing sins now?”

“Perhaps.” she chuckled half-heartedly. “I know the rebellion was for the better. But I would have never been brave enough, I… All I ever really wanted was for us all to be free of it all, especially you and the children.” She looked at him properly then, blue against stormy gray. “You all deserved so much better.”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life beatin’ yourself up about everything, princess.”

“Isn’t that advice rather iconic coming from you?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. She had spent most of her adult life watching him run from his all-consuming guilt. His games, his family, his girlfriend, the tributes. “Glass houses and all that.”

He just shrugged.

“I guess that makes me an expert, doesn’t it? I know it doesn’t do any good. When it comes down to it, wallowing and blaming yourself and wondering what you could have done differently doesn’t do shit. Don’t make it go away.” he said. “You gotta make peace with it eventually.”

“Mhm.”

“You know,” he began after her rather lacking answer. “I’ve seen you do lots of good things.”

“If you’re about to lie for my vanity, I promise that won’t make me feel any better.”

“When have I ever lied for your vanity, sweetheart?” he asked, ignoring her sour tone. “If anything I’ve lied in the other direction. Knock that shiny ego of yours down a few pegs.”

Effie playfully nudges his shoulder with hers as the price for his insult.

“So very rude.” she tsked with mocking offence.

He chuckled and for a moment they sat in the warmth of a shared joke. So easy and familiar, it made her heart feel the slightest bit lighter.

“The first thing I noticed was the desserts.”

Effie blinked, not quite understanding his meaning. “What?”

“The desserts,” he repeated. “In the penthouse. You would always note whatever frilly pastry the kids ate the most on the train and then request it special for all the tribute center dinners.”

She had done that. Ever since her first year.

She didn’t remember why she’d started, just that every year the Tribute Center kitchens waited for her request and every year she called without fail. She remembered one year the head chef had told her that she was the only escort who ever made requests for her tributes. She remembered thinking nothing of it at the time.

“It wasn’t a terribly big deal. All I did was call the kitchens.”

“Sure.” he shrugged. “But it probably meant the world to a bunch of kids who only had a few weeks to live and were used to eating wood-shaving bread for most of their lives.”

“I suppose.” she whispered.

Pastries seemed like a very feeble apology for sending a child to their death.

“You always worked your ass off with sponsors,” Haymitch continued, ignoring her trepidation. “Even when you knew Twelve wouldn’t win. Do you know how much fuckin’ times you made me send shitty blankets and sleeping bags into the arena?”

“They were going to die. I didn’t…” she sniffed and looked at their entwined hands in her land. “I just wanted them to be as comfortable as possible.”

“And, you know,” He cleared his throat and ran his free hand through his hair. “There were all the times you cleaned me up when I made a mess.”

Under normal circumstances she might have teased him. Matched his embarrassment with a witty remark. For the moment, all she could manage was to smile and nod for him to continue.

“How many fuckin’ times did you haul ass down to the holding cells in the middle of the night to bail out me and Chaff?” he asked with a dead seriousness. “And that time that bitch drugged Finnick and you stayed up with him all night? All the late nights on Victor Tour making sure the kids didn’t say anything that would get them shot? When you stayed with Peeta in the Capitol? Even now, who cleans the kids nasty house when they’re havin’ rough go? Who mends clothes for anyone in the district without asking for money?”

A thousand little moments, viciously desperate moments which she had done to try to make it up to the people she had hurt.

Moments Haymitch had apparently noticed and stored away in the back of his mind.

Effie shook her head and swallowed hard. “None of that changes anything. The horrible thing I've done. ”

“Sure.” he shrugged. “But it means they’re just that. Things, I mean. Takes someone real special to be a bad or good person, right down to the bone.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m not special?”

“If that’s how you wanna take it.” he scoffed with an eyeroll.

But then he continued, softer and more serious.

“Listen, there are rare cases. But most of the time, ain’t no such thing as bad people or good people, Effie. Just people who do bad shit and good shit.”

He was looking at her so open and earnestly, it was then that Effie realized this wasn’t just her confessional. Like so many other parts of their lives, their sins, their hurt, their badness, their good; it was all forever intertwined.

“Think you can live with that?” he asked.

Could they live with what they had done? At the end of the day, the end of all days, could they find a small bit of peace in each other?

Effie smiled and leaned over, gently resting her head on his shoulder.

“Yes.” she whispered into the crook of his neck. “I think perhaps that I can.”

Her bones still ached with the weight of all the bad she had done and Effie was sure they would forever. But now they had somewhere to rest. Someone to lean against.

And in the end, Effie knew that despite all the bad that had been done onto her, all of the bad she had done onto others, all of the bad she had swallowed and spit out, she would have endured it all over again just to know that one day she would be able to rest on Haymitch shoulder, hold his hand, and find some peace in the shared nature of their gruesome sins.