Made By Capitol

The gentle knock on his door came unexpectedly. Haymitch had expected to be finally left alone; that there was nothing left to discuss. Slumped in his chair, a bottle of whiskey in his right hand, he squinted his eyes in a feeble attempt to make out the numbers on the clock on his nightstand. It was late. Too late by Capitol standards. He seriously wondered what this woman still wanted from him at this hour. This damned ambition.

"I swear, Trinket, if you don't have a good reason to disturb me, we're going to have a problem," he called out as he trudged to the door, still groggy from the sleep that had lulled him for a few minutes. This time, Haymitch didn't bother trying to brush her off. He was slowly beginning to feel that this woman was only spurred on by rejection.

As the door slid open soundlessly, Effie smiled at him apologetically, still in full splendor of her Capitol attire. "Good evening." Haymitch spared himself from making a comment as she simply pattered past him into his room. For someone who always wanted to maintain etiquette in front of everyone, she discarded it faster towards the Districts than he could take a sip. "I came because we need to set the tributes' strategy," she said, not sounding the least bit tired.

"Sweetheart," he sighed, annoyed, ignoring all of her rudeness. "Can't it wait until tomorrow? I'm a dead man walking."

His statement elicited a laugh from Effie, which surprised him, and she looked around his room searchingly. At first, Haymitch thought she was checking for cleanliness again, but then she gestured to the second chair with a hand, where he usually threw his clothes. "May I sit down?" He nodded silently and returned to his own chair. Given that she had intruded into his room without permission, as if it belonged to her, she could have dispensed with this question. Just another gesture meant to convey to him that everything here belonged to the Capitol; that he only sat here because the Capitol allowed it and made it available to him in its hospitality. "To answer your question: No, it cannot wait."

Haymitch cast a scrutinizing glance at Effie as she studied the notes on her clipboard. She must have been younger than him, but the makeup made her appear several years older. More mature. Mature enough to face this world. That's probably why she ended up here.

Effie must have noticed his staring because she curiously lifted her head, and her eyes met his. She had beautiful eyes, he had to admit. Blue like the sky, blue like the cornflowers in 12. But he wouldn't let himself be fooled by that. Capitols were all the same, no matter how much they tried to hide it. She gave him a nervous smile. The situation seemed uncomfortable for her. He couldn't blame her. Unlike him, she probably found this silent staring unsettling. Because she had so much to lose if he exposed her true motives. Because she hoped he would buy into her lively, over-motivated facade and not look closer. Because she would have a much easier time.

"Well, get on with it," Haymitch urged eventually. Because the fact was, he wanted to get rid of this woman as quickly as possible.

"Right," Effie rushed in a high-pitched tone, and her cheeks took on a slightly reddish hue under all the makeup. "I have been working on Elowen's strategy. Not just for the Games themselves, but also for her appearance at the Opening Ceremony and in the interviews." Her voice returned to its usual, annoying tone. "She absolutely needs a convincing and open demeanor, no reservation, so that people remember her," Effie explained, pulling out her pen at the same moment. "The first impression is incredibly important. I just hope that our stylists this year ... put in more effort than in the past." Her gaze seemed distant, as if she were already thinking about the Opening Ceremony.

Effie's statement regarding the stylists was still quite friendly expressed. Haymitch harbored no sympathy for them because they only worsened the plight of District 12 year after year. In a city where appearance was everything, the unflattering costumes at the parade contributed significantly to the sponsors' lack of interest.

"If you want to talk to me about fashion, I'm definitely the wrong person to talk to," Haymitch interjected, hoping she would leave him alone with such details. He wasn't interested in what the tributes wore because he couldn't change it anyway. In fact, Effie should leave him alone with all these details.

Effie's eyes surveyed him from head to toe, and she began to smirk behind her hand. "You are right about that."

A joke from a Capitol, however, he wasn't accustomed to. "You realize I can tell when someone's making fun of me, don't you, sweetheart?" Haymitch raised his eyebrows in feigned offense, immediately wondering what he was doing. Why was he opening this door that practically invited her to turn this conversation into something more ... personal?

"Firstly, you hinted at it yourself, and secondly, I have no choice but to turn to you since you are the mentor," Effie shot back, the smirk still present on her colorful lips. Haymitch sighed. These were going to be exhausting Games, he could feel it already.

"I have been looking for new stylists, but unfortunately, it is not very easy with Twelve," she continued down her list. Then she looked up as if she had said something wrong. "I apologize, I did not mean to come off as rude. It is just that I think it is better if we speak openly from the outset. And unfortunately, the facts are as they are, I cannot change that. But please do not think that is my opinion, because it is not, I want–"

"Do you even breathe while you talk?" This woman could talk like a waterfall. Her big eyes stared at him in confusion. She probably didn't understand sarcasm. Haymitch waved it off and reached for the glass he had just held out of the corner of his eye. "Forget it. Just keep going, I won't take it personally."

"So, I talked to the current stylists and asked them to bring some fresh ideas to the table. We will see what we are dealing with tomorrow."

"Good luck with that," Haymitch scoffed. Their stylists were nothing but trash. Sometimes he thought even he could tailor better if he actually tried. The thought of her expression when she saw the costumes tomorrow brought a thin grin to his lips.

Effie brushed off his comment. "We need to showcase Elowen's beauty, she has beautiful eyes. Green will be her color for the interviews. Usually, with pretty young women, you try to strike a balance between desirable and amiable, but considering that Elowen is still so young, I think amiable is more appropriate."

Haymitch's nod came quickly and almost automatically, this time he didn't have to force himself to react. He didn't want to imagine portraying Elowen as desirable. She was too young, too delicate, and above all, too innocent. She was damn 13 years old. Suddenly, he was glad it was Effie who now had the task of deciding this and not Petunia anymore. Petunia would have immediately gone for desirable. The fact that Effie had even decided against it surprised him.

"Amiable with a touch of humor to better win over the crowd. I just hope she does not get stage fright out there." Now Effie was already talking about the interviews. Haymitch felt the urge to fall asleep.

A blink of an eye later, and suddenly Effie was immersed in a stream of words, the beginning and middle of which Haymitch had missed. She was babbling something about Ramon, and he barely caught that she wanted to present him as a captivating gentleman with a mysterious aura. Basically, just like him back then.

"Sweetheart, are we done now? One more word about clothes, and I'll make sure you're demoted to a stylist from next year onwards," he muttered, hoping to finally silence her. If she kept talking like this, he'd soon get a migraine.

Effie's bell-like laughter filled the room. The look she gave him was the epitome of amiable, and Haymitch rubbed his eyes vigorously to regain his sharpness of vision. But even after several blinks, that expression didn't turn into something stiffer, more formal. She probably didn't even realize that her mask had slipped for a moment. Haymitch had never heard a person from the Capitol laugh out loud, especially not a woman. Not like this. He couldn't help but grin back.

"What do you think of my strategy?" she finally asked. She was still smiling, but compared to before, Haymitch suddenly found it quite distorted. Even the sparkle in her eyes had disappeared – or been pushed back. He couldn't help but wonder about it. But then he thought better of it and scolded himself for even letting it bother him. She was an escort in the Hunger Games. She could smile sweetly until the cows came home, and it wouldn't cover up her black soul.

"Haymitch?" Effie's voice broke through his thoughts.

He nodded quickly. "Good ... it's really good." Effie didn't seem satisfied with his response. She had invested a lot of time in Elowen's and Ramon's strategy, even though he had only caught half of it. As for the tributes, his gut feeling told him he could trust Effie. For now. Until her motives became clearer. And the fact was, this one conversation was more than Petunia had ever done. Effie deserved more than just a good.

"Really, sweetheart, I'm really ... positively surprised that you've put so much thought into this. Your plan is thorough, and I think ... Elowen will be pleased when she hears about it." He raised his glass in her direction, as if to show her the necessary respect. Though he thought such a gesture might be considered impolite and improper for a Capitol woman, Effie smiled at him, pleased that he appreciated her work.

"I am truly worried about tomorrow," she eventually said, smoothing her dress carefully. She engaged in small talk as if they were friends. Yet, they hardly knew each other. Haymitch sighed. She was probably just trying to be polite.

"Get some sleep, sweetheart," he replied, rising from his chair to accompany Effie to the door. It might be interpreted as a dismissal, and it was supposed to be one. Effie wasn't as bad as Petunia, but she was still annoying. And she was still Capitol.

Haymitch opened the door and almost immediately wished he could slam it shut again. Petunia stood in the doorway, just as dolled up as Effie, though in a negative sense, as Haymitch amusingly noted. She glared at him angrily. What had he done now?

"Is Effie here?" Petunia asked in a condescending tone, peering into the room past his broad figure. As her eyes caught Effie's, she already began to push Haymitch aside.

"Is it normal in the Capitol to just barge into other people's rooms or are you just rude?" he finally burst out. This wasn't a kindergarten, and whatever Petunia wanted to discuss with Effie, she damn well shouldn't do it here.

Effie, who had been standing just a few steps behind him and gazed at Petunia, now looked at him with an expression of bewilderment and guilt. He ignored her and focused on the storm named Petunia between them.

"Effie? What do you think you are doing, carelessly strolling around at this hour?" The Dragon's voice seemed to struggle to conjure up politeness.

Haymitch watched as Effie stiffened under this direct criticism. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, her face frozen into an emotionless mask – the amiable woman from earlier vanished.

"But—" Effie's voice wavered slightly, sounding lost before she blinked and regained her composure. "We were discussing the tributes' strategies."

Petunia shook her head incredulously, and to anyone who didn't know her, it would seem like a gesture of disappointment. "Not at this hour. Do you not have some planning for tomorrow to do? Strategies can wait; there are more important things at the moment."

"In my opinion, there is nothing more important than the strategies," Effie began in a gentle voice, as if trying to explain herself to Petunia. But the older woman seemed unwilling to hear any of it.

"What about the schedule for tomorrow?" Petunia asked in that authoritative tone, as if she knew something they didn't. Haymitch knew that tone all too well. "Is it finished yet?"

An emotion flickered behind Effie's eyes, but she was adept at masking it. The way her fingers tightened around the clipboard betrayed her. "Almost," she said neutrally, but didn't falter under Petunia's gaze, instead returning it – albeit not unkindly. A detail that brought a grin to Haymitch's face.

"Almost?" Petunia regarded her skeptically, lips pursed. "With almost, neither punctuality nor etiquette can be maintained, Effie. I thought I made it clear how seriously you must take this position."

From everything Haymitch had learned about Effie so far, this direct reprimand to her professionalism must have hit her hard. He didn't know for sure, because in the face of the Dragon, she didn't even flinch. Her friendly yet distant facade didn't waver – so different, so much more solid than with him – as she acknowledged her defeat. "You are right, Petunia. I should turn to the schedule. Please excuse me. Good night."

Without sparing Haymitch another glance, Effie hurried past the two of them out of his room. Anger seized Haymitch, and he shot Petunia a dark look. "What are you punishing her for? For being better than you could ever be?" He didn't know why he was defending Effie now, but he had clashed with Petunia enough times to know what her true motives were.

"Certainly not," she snorted – superficially amused, internally seething. Her cold, hostile irises fixated on him – scrutinizing him as if he were vermin she would annihilate. "This is her job, but with all that liquor, you probably have still not grasped that."

"My drinking habits have never been any of your business, but now that you've finally been replaced, they're none of your damn fucking business," Haymitch taunted, turning his back on her to pour himself another drink. He expected her to leave, but she didn't. Of course she didn't.

"Mind your tongue. I am not some District whore you can talk to like that. You owe too much to the Capitol to speak to a Capitol citizen in such a manner," Petunia knew his sore spots quite well after years of working together.

Haymitch almost flinched. Almost. But he didn't want to give that witch the satisfaction of seeing that she had gotten to him. Instead, he slammed the glass onto the windowsill and turned to her with controlled composure. Dead-calm and with a mocking smile, she leaned in the doorway.

"I owe you nothing," Haymitch spat out, forcing the darkness out of his voice. "I'm the victor here. Maybe you should remember that before I forget myself. You no longer hold a position that protects you."

A shrill, monosyllabic laugh escaped Petunia's throat, closer to a snort. "Ha! Oh, Haymitch. Threaten me all you want. I have been overseeing you long before you became a victor. I know exactly what pitiful soul lurks beneath your thick skin. I could never fear you." Something gleamed in her malicious pupils as she approached him with graceful steps. Her nauseating perfume choked him. "You should be grateful that you got away with your Games fiasco as well as you did. So yes, you definitely owe us quite a bit, even if your puny District brain will probably never comprehend that."

Grateful? He should be grateful? Grateful that they had let his girl be executed before his eyes, grateful for burning his family alive in their house? His hand trembled. His fingers instinctively clenched into fists. His vision turned red, and he didn't know how long he could keep his body under control before he did something to this snake that the Capitol wouldn't be too happy about.

And for a moment, as he saw Petunia standing there like that, he considered doing just that. What could they do anyway? They couldn't punish him. There was no one left to punish in his name. Haymitch hadn't avoided social contacts for all these years for nothing. Every risk was too great a risk. What could they do if he just snapped her neck here and now? He was the only living victor from District 12; they needed him, not the other way around.

Haymitch had already taken a step towards her when suddenly Effie came to mind. He couldn't even say how that cursed image of her carefree, friendly laughter popped up in his mind's eye. He definitely hadn't had enough to drink tonight, that was for sure.

Effie would lose it if he killed Petunia. The poor woman would likely have a mental breakdown. She would be traumatized for the rest of her life. She wouldn't exchange a single word with him for the rest of her time in 12, always on edge, forever fearing him.

Isn't that exactly what you want? The realist was back in his head.

Nevertheless. He couldn't do that to her in her first year.

"Get out of my room," Haymitch growled instead, narrowly avoiding throwing his glass at her feet.

Petunia wanted exactly that. She wanted to push him to his limit one last time before clearing the field. But her tricks were nothing new. Especially at the beginning of his time as a mentor, she had often driven him to the brink, to madness. Until he had eventually learned to rise above her words. Even though she had definitely contributed to the terrible, dark image of the Capitol in his mind. The Capitol had molded her into a machine that dutifully did her job and trampled everything that didn't originate from the Capitol.

And yet ... Effie didn't seem to exhibit this tendency so far. Even though he knew she was playing a game with him, it seemed to be a different kind of game than Petunia preferred. But since his victory, fourteen years had passed. Haymitch knew exactly what the Capitol was and how it played. He knew what to watch out for.

The next few days would reveal what kind of person Effie Trinket was.

Haymitch was prepared.

-

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Skyllen