A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

"You made it look much more harmless than it actually was!" Effie scolded, squeezing Haymitch's arm as she linked arms with him. "The wig was completely askew! Imagine if someone had seen me like that!"

"I knew you'd find something to complain about," Haymitch replied, rolling his eyes. "Be glad I brought it to your attention at all. I couldn't have said anything."

Effie had spent a full fifteen minutes in the ladies' room fixing her wig, and Haymitch had been thinking almost every minute about just going back to the lounge alone because the wait was taking too long and he would have preferred to hide away in a lonely corner to think about what had just happened between him and Effie in the chamber.

Kissing her was so easy, felt so right, even though he knew he would regret it sooner or later. Haymitch was no optimist, far from it. Chaff had warned him. Mags had let him have his way as long as there were no feelings involved. Were feelings involved? He wanted to say no, but what would be the point of lying to himself?

All he knew was that his family and his girl were dead and therefore it definitely wasn't love. It would have been far too soon for that after such a short time anyway – if he had been a normal person. Haymitch didn't believe in love at first sight. He didn't believe in love at all. All he knew was that Effie stirred something in him, and as far as he was concerned, he didn't need to and wouldn't name the feeling. Why should he? Effie herself had said that this was casual. And casual it would be. Capitols and their obsession to define everything ...

They reached the entrance to the sponsors' lounge and Haymitch's mood soured. The afternoon party seemed to be mostly over, as the windows were no longer darkened, the lights on the ceiling had turned to their everyday colors, and the deafening band had disappeared. Still, people were in good spirits. They were laughing loudly, running around, and dancing wildly to the music that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Just because the party was over didn't mean the alcohol levels were going down. Haymitch knew that better than anyone.

He spotted Chaff immediately, perched on one of the first chairs in the mentors' area, staring eagle-eyed at the entrance. His eyes met Haymitch's, looking him up and down. Haymitch did nothing, didn't breathe, didn't laugh, simply entered the lounge. Yet, a second later, a roar of laughter boomed through the room. So loud that the Capitols closest to him turned to Chaff in startling surprise. Effie followed Haymitch's gaze, her eyes darkening when she saw his friend laughing. She had enough dignity not to blush and simply shook her head at his childish behavior.

At that moment, a man stepped into their path, bringing Haymitch's mood down to the ground with just a twitch of his eyelashes. If Chaff's laughter had been a roar before, now everyone could hear him for sure. More heads turned. Haymitch gritted his teeth to hold back the anger coursing through his veins. Anger at Chaff, because he knew exactly what he felt, but mostly anger at Seneca Crane – simply for existing.

Seneca stood in front of him and Effie and smiled politely in their faces. Haymitch wondered how he couldn't be uncomfortable in that silly red suit. He doesn't even mind that beard, the suit isn't the biggest problem here, a wry voice in his head said and he had to force himself not to say it out loud. Effie would definitely rip his head off.

"Effie!" Seneca looked relieved. He held out his hand to Effie, who immediately broke away from Haymitch and took a step toward the Gamemaker. Seneca's smile widened.

"I apologize for leaving you like that," Effie said in a sad voice, patting his hand. "As you have probably heard, there was a small accident."

"Accident." Now Crane actually laughed and Haymitch felt the need to wring his neck. As if the death of this child was nothing but music to his ears. "I am so happy for you, my dearest! This could become something really big for you this year."

"I hope so," Effie replied, batting her eyelashes like she was a pubescent high school girl. Haymitch wanted to just turn on his heel, but he knew that the two of them would probably take offense. Just as Capitols took offense at anything that, in their eyes, didn't conform to the highest etiquette.

"I have been looking for you," the Gamemaker continued, nodding to Haymitch as if he hadn't noticed him before. "You still owe me a dance, if I remember correctly."

That sentence was all it took to make Effie forget her own etiquette. She grabbed the hand Seneca held out to her and linked arms with him. Where seconds before Haymitch's own arm had touched hers, Seneca's now lay. Effie turned to Haymitch over her shoulder and beamed at him as if everything was fine. "I will see you later. Try not to drink too much."

Effie apparently had nothing more to say to Haymitch than these two sentences before she turned her back on him and marched off with Seneca Crane at her side. The crowd parted in front of them as if they were a royal couple surrounded by their subjects. Now the victor actually regretted not having said something stupid in front of the Gamemaker that would have made his escort blush with shame.

She had simply left. Without a final honest look, without an apology, without a subliminal signal that she was only doing it for the children. Although the word casual was still buzzing around in Haymitch's head, her actions still felt wrong; he still felt betrayed.

So much for her not having feelings for the Gamemaker. Or was this just a casual affair to boost her reputation? After all, Effie had admitted that she was trying things out. She had never mentioned another man, but that didn't mean that Haymitch was the only one she was trying things out with. It wouldn't be unusual in the Capitol.

Still, Haymitch couldn't help but be angry that she had left him standing there after their conversation in the chamber. And instead of looking for sponsors herself, she preferred to play games with the devil ... at least Seneca came pretty close to the real devil in Panem with his lack of morals. Later, Effie would probably simply claim that the publicity Crane brought her attracted the sponsors on its own.

The crowd closed in behind Effie and Seneca and Haymitch lost their heads over the crowd. His eyes narrowed, the only reaction he allowed himself before his face slipped into a blankness. His feet turned on their heels of their own accord and carried him staggering to the bar. If she wasn't looking for sponsors, he certainly wasn't either. He wasn't a clown, after all.

It took less than two minutes before Chaff joined him. He was still cackling to himself and patted Haymitch on the shoulder in amusement as he unsteadily sat down on the stool next to him. "You can't have been very good if she replaced you with Crane at the first opportunity," he remarked, seeming to be entertained beyond measure.

"Shut up," Haymitch hissed back, wanting to throw his glass at the nearest window when he heard his own sulky tone. Any further reaction from him would only make Chaff's grin widen. He was angry at Effie; for all the wrong reasons for a Capitol-hating victor, and he wasn't even able to hide it. His voice was admission enough. Haymitch downed the whiskey in one quick gulp, barely feeling the burning in his throat as he tried to ignore his friend. Chaff buried his head between the crooks of his arms on the bar, laughing. How pathetic must he look if Chaff could barely hold himself up? "Seriously, if you don't shut up right now, you'll be drinking alone from now on."

That made the older victor pause pretty quickly and he raised his arms in a placating gesture. "It's all good, buddy," Chaff murmured, having to press his lips together to stop them from forming into a grin again.

Haymitch leaned his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at Chaff. Chaff just stared right back until, after a few seconds, a thoughtful glint crept into his eyes. The pressure on his lips disappeared and Chaff sighed, a conflicted expression on his face, as if a rather stupid thought had occurred to him. "Okay, wait here, I'll be right back."

Chaff jumped up from the bar stool, stumbled, and nearly knocked a passing Avox to the ground as his legs regained their balance. Then he disappeared into the crowd. The whole thing happened so fast that Haymitch couldn't even open his mouth. He stared after him, perplexed, a bad feeling creeping over him. How pathetic had he looked that Chaff felt the need to provide him with a distraction? Very pathetic, a voice in his head determined when his friend returned fifteen minutes later, a blonde woman in tow. Haymitch, in turn, marveled at how drunk Chaff was. If anyone hated Capitols more than he did, it was Chaff.

"There's hell going on up on the dance floor," Chaff remarked, without introducing the woman next to him, who gave Haymitch a beaming look. "Lots of sponsors talking about Twelve."

"Since when are you interested in my tributes?" Haymitch asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest, unmoved. His eyes were fixed on Chaff and he didn't dare look at this woman who already seemed to be undressing him in his mind. Where had he found her? Haymitch held back a theatrical sigh. Whoever she was, she didn't seem to be completely sober either, even if she didn't look nearly as drunk as he felt. Maybe drinking this morning had been a mistake ...

"I'm not," Chaff admitted, giving him a smug grin as he placed a hand on the woman's back and pushed her a little closer to Haymitch. "But I do care about you, and I have a great idea for how you can get back at Trinket."

Now Haymitch's eyes did slide to the woman who shyly held her hands folded in front of her body and gave him a deep look from under her long false eyelashes. She wore pink contact lenses that made her look like a doll. Her figure was wrapped in a long pink dress that threw a small veil onto the floor behind her, but stopped just above the knees in front, revealing her gold-glittering legs. Her feet were in shoes with heels so high that Haymitch had to raise his head before he got dizzy just from watching. She must be a small woman, smaller than Effie, if she only came up to his chin in shoes like that. The only halfway normal thing about her was the blonde wig that fell over her shoulders in precise curls. Her face was covered in small gold jewels that emphasized her eyebrows and made the pink lipstick look bizarre. A gold chain so massive hung from her revealing cleavage that Haymitch wondered how she could even stand upright with that weight.

Haymitch's gaze shifted from the woman back to Chaff, and he could practically feel his eyes darkening. Where had he picked her up? How did he know her? The rational part of him didn't want to know. "You're out of your mind, Chaff." The fog around his vision gradually thickened again.

Chaff didn't let Haymitch bother him. He stood between them and smiled from ear to ear. Oh, how much must he hate Effie to do this for him? The thought almost made Haymitch laugh. "This is Margarita and she's going to make your evening a little better, aren't you Margarita?"

And Haymitch had actually thought that Effie was a ridiculous name. But Margarita? That was beyond the mark ...

A thirsty smile spread across Margarita's pink lips and she reached out her hand excitedly. Haymitch hesitated, swallowed his reluctance and shook it. Her skin was warm but thankfully not sweaty. "Haymitch Abernathy."

"But I know that," she giggled, holding a hand over her mouth as her equally pink eyes roamed over his body. She looked young, even with the makeup.

Haymitch glanced at Chaff, raised his eyebrows in a lost expression, and leaned toward him. "Is she even of legal age?" he asked in a whisper, but his syllables were overlapping.

"Of course she's of legal age," Chaff shouted indignantly, punching him in the arm and seeming to push aside the veil of alcohol for a momentarily indignation. "Do you think I'm suicidal?"

Haymitch just shrugged. "You're drunk, I'm drunk. Mistakes happen. I'd rather ask."

"Don't worry, Haymitch," Margarita crooned, patting his other shoulder. He had to force himself not to flinch from her touch. "I turned twenty last week."

"Well then, happy belated birthday," Haymitch murmured disinterestedly and drained another glass. The conversation was already uncomfortable with alcohol in his system. He couldn't imagine having it sober. The thought made him make a decision that he would probably regret very much in the morning: Today he would get drunk until he couldn't think straight anymore. And if Margarita wanted to drink too ... He probably wouldn't be able to get rid of her anyway, the way she was staring at him.

"Margarita here is the daughter of a very successful lawyer who just happens to be a sponsor too," Chaff explained benevolently, as if he were Santa Claus presenting him a great present. "She has a wish to spare, and she's suuuuch a big fan of yours. Win-win situation if you ask me." Chaff winked.

Margarita grabbed Haymitch's arm and took a step towards him so that she was now standing directly in front of him. "I've been adoring you for so long, Haymitch. I would be thrilled to spend the evening with you. My father's money is yours for sure."

Haymitch studied Chaff, perplexed, and for a second his drunken brain wondered how he could casually slip the word prostitution into his next sentence without causing a national disaster. He held back as Chaff spoke again. "That's so nice of you, Margarita," he purred in a honeyed tone that told Haymitch exactly how drunk he really was. Chaff was trying to do him a favor. He wasn't interested in the donation. He was interested in running rings around Effie. A thought that didn't displease Haymitch. She wanted to play? With pleasure. Had he been halfway sober, he probably would have smashed his glass in Chaff's face. But neither of the two victors was in a position to think clearly at the moment.

"This will be fun," Haymitch said matter-of-factly, but offered Margarita his arm. "I hope you like alcohol, Margarita. But given your name, I assume you do."

Chaff relaxed noticeably, so he couldn't have been that sure after all, and Margarita squeaked with satisfaction. She was actually excited to be spending time with him. Unlike Laetitia, who tried to take advantage of everything, she was nothing but a crazy fan who adored him. He could deal with that. Maybe if the world started spinning a little faster around him, he could have some fun.

Margarita linked arms with Haymitch and the two made their way to the next floor, Chaff in tow. The floor was completely open, with no glass separating them from the skyline. This lifted Haymitch's mood in general. As he passed, he grabbed three champagne glasses from an Avox's tray and pressed two into Margarita and Chaff's hands. With a bright clink, they toasted and entered the next party. The sun was moving towards the horizon in the west, but evening would still be at least two hours away.

There was a dance floor that seemed to float a few meters above the ground in the middle of the terrace. It was reached via a wide glass staircase and was a hive of activity. Margarita drained her glass and moved closer to Haymitch. "We can go to the bar if you want," she offered cheerfully and he nodded.

"Oh yeah, off to the bar." Chaff sounded visibly pleased. So Haymitch led a bouncing Margarita to the bar. She looked elated with her empty champagne glass. Having landed a victor at her age was obviously getting her pumped up. The look on her face reminded him of Effie's earlier when Seneca had asked her to dance.

As if on cue, Effie and her Gamemaker came into view ahead of them. They weren't standing directly at the bar, but close enough that they would see each other if Effie half turned to the side. That was when Haymitch threw all sense out the window. He raised his hand, leaned over the bar with a grin, and ordered three vodka shots. This was supposed to be fun, after all.

Chaff raised his glass dramatically to the sky and he and Margarita followed suit. They were experts at drinking, but whether the desire to party would come naturally remained to be seen. "To Haymitch," Chaff shouted so loudly that several people turned to them, embarrassed. Haymitch gave his friend an amused look and poured the vodka down his throat.

"Oh, Haymitch!" Margarita burst into coughing laughter next to him. She grimaced at the taste of the alcohol. "Men always like the most disgusting alcohol."

"Would you like a margarita?" asked Haymitch with a grin and leaned over to the bartender again. At that moment he suddenly felt her gaze on his face. He didn't turn around, didn't want to give her the satisfaction, but was pleased that she had noticed him. He handed Margarita her margarita, who leaned against the bar next to him and regarded him with big pink eyes while he reached for his whiskey. How he would love to see Effie's look now.

"It's working!" Chaff said cheerfully, a few octaves too loudly, and almost collided with a Capitol as he tried to slap Haymitch on the back with a smile. He made no secret of the fact that he felt schadenfreude. After all, his plan had worked. "She saw you. And she looks like she wants to tear you both to shreds!"

"Then I guess it's time to go," Haymitch said, taking a final sip and then offering Margarita his hand, just as Seneca had just done with Effie. Their dance couldn't have been long if they were already back from the dance floor. "Would you like to dance, my dearest?"

Margarita almost dropped her glass as she began to nod enthusiastically and grabbed Haymitch's arm. He had to pull himself together not to stagger to the side. The alcohol had a firm grip on him again after the short drinking break this afternoon. He led her towards the floating dance floor and turned to Chaff over his shoulder one last time. "This is actually more fun than I thought," he laughed, and the laughter was a clear indicator of just how drunk he was too. After everything that had happened today, it was no wonder. Haymitch looked away and for a split second met Effie's eyes, who seemed to be following his every move. The grin on his face grew a little, but otherwise he showed no reaction to having even noticed her.

"Oh my God, Haymitch, can you dance?" Margarita cried, stumbling up the stairs as if she had been drinking as much as he had. Who knew what she had been up to before Chaff had introduced her to him? How many people had she promised her father's money to today? He would have loved to know.

"Sure I can dance," snorted Haymitch as if she had insulted him. And dance he would. Probably not very well, but at least Chaff had something to laugh about. "We'll see if it turns out well."

The thought of being a laughing stock in front of all those people didn't seem to bother Margarita in the least. The younger generation apparently wasn't so keen on politeness or etiquette. Once on the dance floor, Haymitch bowed deeply, almost losing his footing. Then they started dancing. And it was bad indeed.

To say that Margarita had no idea how to dance would probably be an understatement. Either she was so drunk that she had lost her balance or she was just very very untalented. Haymitch had to dodge to avoid her high heels and every time he spun her around, she swayed and threatened to fall to her knees.

"You're unbelievably terrible."

The evening blurred before Haymitch's eyes. He had no idea how long they were dancing. Everything came in fragments. He felt Margarita's arm around his, still dancing, but no longer on the dance floor. They both held glasses filled with green liquid, raising them as if they were at a seedy house party instead of the most elite event in all of Panem. But that's what Capitols were like, he supposed. For once, Haymitch let himself be swept away by their party stream. He was already out of control. He had no power over his body anymore. Margarita bounced around him, and at some point, other people joined in. From the way she spoke with them, they had to be her friends.

Chaff was there too. He wasn't bouncing or dancing, but stood among the crowd, grinning from ear to ear with a glass of the same green liquid. It must amuse him to see Haymitch like this. After such a serious start to the season, his friend was probably glad to finally see him like this again, the way he had known him for the past few years. Or maybe it was the look on Effie's face, which had only grown more intense as the night wore on. Seneca was still by her side, but she couldn't keep her features in check. Every time Margarita wrapped an arm around Haymitch's shoulder or brushed his hair out of his face, the blue in Effie's eyes darkened and turned icy.

Chaff seemed to be relishing this blow against her, even if it came somewhat at Haymitch's expense. He had disliked her from the first day, and the opportunity to get one over on her, even if it was subtle, appeared to suit him just fine. Chaff had done far worse to Capitols.

Margarita's arm around Haymitch's waist was all the young victor could perceive. The alcohol clouded everything — his sight, his hearing, his instincts. All he saw were blurred colors. All he heard was loud pounding. He kept drinking. He kept dancing. It helped. There was no thought of Elowen, no thought of Effie. He knew anyway that she was somewhere on the other side of the terrace, staring daggers into his back.

"I want to do that too!" Margarita screamed into Haymitch's ear at that moment, and he turned his head to see two of her friends lifting a laughing woman into the air as if they were acrobats in a circus. Margarita clapped her hands in amusement, and the two guys released one hand from the woman's body and extended it, as if they were presenting a new trick. Only this time, they held glasses full of alcohol in their hands.

Margarita started bouncing up and down in front of Haymitch again, but this time with an intention in her pink pupils. "You're stronger than them, Haymitch!" Then she pointed her index finger at her friends as if she were a little whining child trying to get her way. "Come on, lift me up!"

"Yesss, dearest, I may beee ... stronger, but I'm alsooo ... ten yearssss older, ya know?" Haymitch staggered from left to right and took a sip of the green liquid. Then he tapped his forehead at her.

"Ohhh, c'mon, Haymitch, don't be a buzzkill," Chaff suddenly purred at his ear, wrapped a brotherly arm around his shoulders and bared his teeth. His breath reeked of vodka. "One of her ... err ... friends can totally help ya, old man."

Haymitch squinted and broke free from Chaff, almost costing them both their balance. One of Margarita's friends grabbed his arm and saved him from the ground. He sighed theatrically and then shoved his sticky glass into Chaff's hand, who nearly dropped it in the process. "Fineee," he slurred to Margarita. "But don't go cryin' if I drop ya, okay?"

"Probablyyy wouldn't be the first time sheee's fallen on her head, huh?" Chaff chuckled so quietly that the music almost swallowed his words. He started to laugh and Haymitch couldn't help but join in. Where he was right, he was right.

Margarita, who was oblivious to it all, dragged one of her friends over and placed her hands on his shoulders. For a second, Haymitch wondered what she was doing, but then the man crouched down and cupped his hands into a hollow. Margarita placed her shoe on his palm, pushed off the ground, and then balanced with one leg in the air, her entire face resting on the hands of the man, who swayed back and forth but started to laugh.

"C'mere, Haymitch!" Margarita ordered in a slurred voice, waving her glass, which she was still holding. She grinned down at him and didn't look like she was doing this for the first time. "Turn your backkk to me and, like, crouch down a little, okay?"

Haymitch had barely turned around when she jumped onto his shoulders. Startled, he lunged forward and heard Margarita squeal as he tried to regain his balance. He instinctively reached for her legs, which dangled on either side of his head. He felt bare, warm skin beneath his fingers and only now remembered how low-cut her dress was in the front. Better not to think about it. It almost suited him that he was having trouble standing upright again. Margarita's weight on his shoulders threatened to topple him backward. The alcohol barely let him feel his feet on the ground.

Chaff's laughter roared over to him so loudly that even the music faded into the background for a moment. "Does anyoneyy have a cameraaa? Is anyone from the pressss here? Ohhh man, I need a piccc of thisss!"

Haymitch walked through the crowd with Margarita, having already distanced himself from her friends and Chaff, as moving was the only thing keeping him from landing on his back. Margarita, thinking he was doing it for fun, threw her head back and raised a hand to wave at the people they passed. He was too focused to pay attention to their faces, but he heard laughter. That was the kind of headline that had earned him his reputation in the early years.

After making another lap, he finally managed to stop next to Chaff. "Damn ittt, ifff anyone everrr suggests such bullshit agaaain, you'll stop me instead of encouraging me!"

Chaff laughed and gently patted him on the shoulder. Margarita rocked back and forth and Haymitch had to keep stepping back and forth to avoid losing his balance. "Haven't seen ya this exuberanttt in forever, buddy! Couldn'ttt pass this up."

Haymitch carefully let go of one of Margarita's legs and grabbed the glass in Chaff's hands to drink the rest. "Could use a newww one, how 'bout ya?"

"You can ... hardly walk upright!" Chaff noted, but nodded.

"I wanttt something to drinkkk too," Margarita called from above as if she were light years away from them.

Haymitch rolled his eyes and had to use all his willpower to focus his pupils on the bar in order to be able to see it somewhat clearly in front of him. But his legs wouldn't work. He stumbled twice and twice a Capitol gave him an amused look as he held on to them to avoid crashing to the floor with Margarita. At some point Chaff grabbed his arm and led them to the bar. Only he swayed almost as much as Haymitch. It was a miracle how they managed to cover the short distance without falling.

It was the middle of the night, nearly three o'clock, as a blurry glance at one of the screens broadcasting a dark, empty arena revealed. None of his limbs were tired. Nor wide awake. Something in between. All Haymitch knew was that he should have stopped drinking five glasses ago. He couldn't remember drinking them at all. His stained shirt told a different story. He had lost his jacket somewhere. His face was sticky. Had he spilled alcohol?

The bartender handed Chaff a glass of yellow liquid and then looked expectantly at Haymitch, who couldn't stand still because of Margarita, who was turning in all directions and trying to touch people's wigs.

"Margarita, tell the man whatcha wanttt," Haymitch commanded, trying to tilt his head back to look at her. It only reminded him of how close he really was to her. Margarita, however, wasn't listening and squealed as her friends joined her at the bar. She leaned her body to the left to wave and Haymitch staggered.

Chaff leapt toward Haymitch, but he had drunk so much himself that his instincts were failing him. Margarita, realizing she'd made a mistake, began to shriek and tried to lean in the opposite direction. Haymitch grabbed her right thigh and pulled as hard as he could to keep her from falling sideways off his shoulders. For a second, his drunken mind wondered if Snow would be angry to hear that he'd ripped off a twenty-year-old Capitol girl's leg. The thought made him laugh. Chaff, pressed against his side, raised his eyebrows in surprise, but a moment later joined in his laughter. Somehow, they managed to stabilize Margarita on his shoulders again, but Haymitch had had enough.

"'garita, this can't go on like this," he called to Margarita, who raised her eyebrows in incomprehension and carefully accepted a green glass from the bartender, who had climbed up onto the counter shaking his head to hand her the alcohol without causing any further accidents. "Ya have to get downnn there if ya don't want to end up in the ... errr ... hospital with a hole in yourrr head 'cause I tripped over m'ownn foot." Because in the state he was in, that didn't seem so unlikely.

Margarita sighed, but then nodded. She pointed to a white sofa set a few meters from the bar. Haymitch grabbed his glass from the counter and started walking. He still couldn't feel his feet. He didn't feel anything. Not his body, or anything else. Chaff trotted slowly beside him, watching him with sparkling eyes. He was probably just waiting for him to trip.

"You kneel downnn and I'll jump on the sofffa," said Margarita, patting him on the head. "Did you heeeear?"

"I'm curiousss how ya plan to do that withouttt breaking a bone!" Haymitch shot back, waving staggeringly to the Capitolites sitting on the sofa he had targeted. They turned in his direction, confused, and seemed less than pleased when they saw Margarita on his shoulders and understood what he wanted. "Good evening, fellowww Capitols! I'd ask ya to stand up for a momenttt, so my companion here doesn't break every bone trying ... errr ... to get off my back. Thank youuuu very much."

Bloodshot, sleepy faces grinned back at him. They looked strange. Not really present, as if they had been drinking, but there was no fog in their eyes. Instead, it looked as if all their muscles had given up, as they lay there on the sofas. One of them sniffled and tilted his head as if he hadn't heard what Haymitch had said. Neither of them said a word. Had they lost their tongues?

Chaff revealed the secret that Haymitch's synapses had no capacity for. "Whattt did ya swallow? Passss some over if it's the good stuff!"

Drugs, then. Haymitch shrugged and crouched down. "Just stomp on them. Won't feel anything anyway!" he said to Margarita.

Margarita didn't hesitate. She swung one of her gold-glittered legs backwards over Haymitch's shoulders and then pushed off of him. Not the most elegant method, but it served its purpose. He could hear her weight knocking the air out of people's lungs as she landed face down on their bodies. It took Haymitch two tries to get up from his crouch and he sighed, relieved at how light everything suddenly felt. He looked over at Chaff and saw one of the Capitols sitting on the opposite couch handing him a small bag. Margarita staggered to her feet, her wig askew on her head. Haymitch didn't bother to point it out.

Chaff walked over to him and held out the open bag while he popped two of the pills and washed them down with a sip of alcohol. Haymitch hesitated. It was already as if he was floating. What harm could a few pills do? But when he looked at the Capitols, lying motionless and emotionless on the couches as if they were at home in their own beds, he shook his head. He preferred his green drink.

"I can't go onnn," said Margarita, exhausted, her legs having fallen asleep on Haymitch's back. She staggered towards Chaff and him and he had to hold her so she didn't fall over. Now that he was so close to her, he noticed that the front of her dress was wet. She must have jumped off his back with the glass in her hand. More than that, over the course of the evening it had ridden up so high that you could see more than he liked.

"Your wiggg is hanging completely crooked!" Chaff noted, laughing a throaty laugh. Margarita just shrugged her shoulders as if she didn't care at all.

Haymitch put his glass down on one of the coffee tables and turned to Chaff, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows. "I know that look," was all he said.

"Haven't even gotten to beddd and I can alreadyyy feel the hangover I'm gonna have tomorrow!"

"The one you'll have laterrr, I suppose?" Margarita giggled at his side. "It's almost morninnn'. Could just party allll night! We wouldn't be the only onesss not going home."

"How niceee it'd be to be that young again," murmured Chaff, exchanging a look with Haymitch. "If you go, I'll go too. Poooor drivers who have to wait for us all damn time."

"Let's go then." Haymitch didn't want to sleep. He already knew he would regret the hours he spent in bed. The alcohol wouldn't let him sleep for a second. It would rock him back and forth like he was on a ship, give him crazy daydreams and probably make him spend half the time hanging over the toilet bowl. But Haymitch didn't want to stay here either. Margarita's weight on his back had pushed him over the edge, reminding him that he was out of place here, even if he had had a good time for a few hours.

"I'll walkkk ya to the doorrr!" Margarita declared with a wide smile, as if this were her own home, already tugging on Haymitch's arm. By door, she probably meant the entrance to the lounge.

Reaching the bottom floor proved extremely difficult. Margarita's legs were only half as good as Haymitch's, even though he had been the one carrying her around the whole time. Chaff's gait wasn't any better. Whatever effect these pills had, he was losing the control that Haymitch had already lost with the alcohol. The three of them held onto the banisters of the stairs and slowly put one foot in front of the other. Another half hour must have passed before they reached the bottom.

"You should get one of yourrr friends to come," Haymitch called in a slurred tone, looking at Margarita, who was crouched at the bottom of the stairs and couldn't get up. "I would, but I don't thinkkk I could get up those stairsss again!"

"Don't worryyy, guys, I'll just call my fiancé who's around hereee ... somewhere. He'll help me!"

Now it was Haymitch and Chaff who stared at her in surprise. "You have a ... fiancé?" asked Chaff, the surprise in his voice unfeigned for once.

Margarita nodded and grinned at the two victors. "Don't worryyy, nothing seriousss. An open thinggg!" She winked when neither of them came out of their trance.

Haymitch was reminded of his situation with Effie and wondered if she had said the same thing to Seneca today. "Whatever," he said with a shrug and took a step back. "Thanksss ... for the evening, I guess?"

"It was nothinggg! It was an honorrr, Haymitch!" Margarita bared her teeth at him and waved goodbye.

"Damn ittt, Chaff, where did ya drag her from?" Haymitch laughed and shook his head, pressing himself against the people dancing around like wild animals. There were still so many people here. Unbelievable.

Chaff opened his mouth, grinning, but Haymitch would never know the answer, because at that moment a hand wrapped around his forearm in a firm grip and pushed him to the side with so much force that he lost his balance and fell to the ground. "Holy shit, whaaat ..." The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat as Effie's ice-blue eyes flashed down at him as if she wanted to stab him in the chest right then and there.

-

Something definitely went wrong with me here. I was in a really good mood the evening I wrote this. You can just forget about the chapter if it's too much for you haha. I don't have much more to say about this chapter. I have to admit that I find Margarita quite funny and I laughed my ass off when I wrote the line where Haymitch brings Margarita a margarita. XD

Enough about me for today. XD

Skyllen