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Haymitch loathed this day. Loathed it with every fiber of his liquor-saturated being. If only he was liquor-saturated.
But, no.
Because of this wretched day Haymitch was forced to be sober. Normally, he’d say, “Screw that,” and chug down every type of spirits he could get his hands on. But somehow in the middle of the day, both the spirits store in Town and the Hob had been forced to shut down, and all shipments of alcohol from the Capitol were put on hold until further notice.
In other words: Until you get through this torturous afternoon, Haymitch, because we don’t think you’ve suffered enough. Because this is for the children.
Because it’s freaking Career Day.
Of course the Capitol would have something as ludicrous as Career Day. In District Twelve, you didn’t even have options. For the men, you were either going to be a coalminer if you lived in the Seam, or for the women, become a housewife. If you lived in Town, you were going into the family business. But, naturally, the privileged children of the Capitol had the opportunity to choose what they wanted to be when they grow up.
Because they could grow up.
And the reason he’s at the stupid District Twelve train station on this stupid day is because some misguided, stupid soul decided that they wanted to grow up to be the hand of Fate. The lucky secondhand executioner who chose what kids could grow up and what kids couldn’t.
Even so, it was a wonder that anyone was choosing to be an Escort for District Twelve at all. More than likely the spots to visit the more successful Districts were full. This is the first—and hopefully last—Career Day of which Haymitch had to be a part since he won the Games three years ago. He only heard about this asinine Capitol tradition from his fellow Victors who all equally hated this day.
Except for those lame-ass Career Districts. To them it really was Career Day.
So whatever Capitol protégé who got looped into this waste of a District was sure to be pissed. Haymitch only hoped it wasn’t some obnoxious fifteen-year-old who acted like they knew better than anyone. Or worse, someone around his own age. He could barely handle his peers when he was in school.
He was told his job would be fairly simple. Meet the Capitol brat, entertain them, show them around the District, explain the politics, and, of course, what the District does for the Capitol. Somehow Haymitch doesn’t think President Snow would be too happy if he said, “Well, other than sacrificing children for your disgusting Games, we also sacrifice grown men to give you coal!”
Why wasn’t Mayor Jefferson doing this again?
Haymitch ran a hand through his overgrown dark hair with grim satisfaction. If he couldn’t have his drink, he was at least going to be comfortable. He forewent the heinous slacks, colored shirt, and tie he was “suggested” to wear. He decided a dirty T-shirt and shorts were much more appropriate. Plus he could always use the excuse that he was showing the brat how coalminers would dress on their day off. But that was only if the brat mentioned his lack of formal attire. Hopefully the brat wouldn’t be that obnoxious.
Speak of the devil, and the devil shall come. Haymitch really hoped Snow wasn’t on that train. His day was bad enough without seeing him.
The train pulled into the station behind the Justice Building. Haymitch continued to lean against the wall, hands in his pockets. They could meet him there. He wasn’t about to put forth more effort than he needed just to meet some sleazy teenager whose dream was to send children to the slaughter.
When the train door open, Haymitch was stunned speechless when he saw its occupant.
It was not the sleazy teenager Haymitch expected. It was instead possibly the oddest looking child—literally child—who Haymitch had ever seen. She was small, but she was dressed in the puffiest, bluest confection of a dress. Her bright blonde hair was piled up high in a ponytail split into four sections. Her shoes were mary-janes speckled with diamonds. Haymitch briefly wondered if they were real diamonds. Probably.
So. Not the brat he was expecting, but definitely the spawn of two older brats.
The little girl looked around for Haymitch. He sighed and whistled through his teeth to catch her attention. Her navy eyes landed on him, and they instantly brightened. Her smile was so genuine and large, it was a surprise it didn’t crack her face. She walked briskly over, the four parts of her ponytail bouncing with her. She stopped a few feet in front of him, craning her neck in order to keep beaming at him. She came up to his belly-button.
He remained stone-faced. Why on earth a child was so happy to see him, he will never know.
“So you’re here for Career Day, eh?” he asked drily.
She nodded vigorously. “I am, Mr. Haymitch!” He scowled at the formality. “I couldn’t be more excited!”
“Uh-huh. Well, since you already know my name—”
Her eyes widened. “Who wouldn’t know your name?”
“—how about you tell me yours?”
She smiled again, proud as punch. “Euphrosyne, Mr. Haymitch!”
“…Gesundheit.”
The little girl giggled. “Not gesundheit, silly! Euphrosyne!”
Haymitch gaped at her. Who in the hell names their child Euphrosyne? What was a Euphrosyne? It sounded like a toilet cleaner!
(Brought to you by Flashy Flushers: The most trustworthy and bedazzled plumbing agency in Panem. We’ll make your boring basin look like a porcelain god with Euphrosyne!)
Euphrosyne clasped her hands behind her back and swung her body from side to side. “So what are we going to do first, Mr. Haymitch?”
Haymitch pushed himself off the wall and began walking away. Euphrosyne ran to catch up with him. “How about we take a look inside the Justice Building?” he suggested.
He was sure she wouldn’t mind just a tour. He really didn’t know much, nor did he care, about the politics here.
To his surprise and great annoyance, Euphrosyne already seemed to know everything about District Twelve politics. She knew what each room stood for, who presided over what position, and what their duties entailed. Her voice was irritatingly high-pitched, and thick in Capitol accent. By the time they were finished, Haymitch had a full-on migraine and an in-depth lesson in government that he really didn’t want. If he knew nothing about the justice system in District Twelve before, then he sure knew it now. Much more than he’ll ever care.
He really needed a drink. Maybe some rehab.
Euphrosyne was blissfully unaware of his thinning patience. She continued chattering happily as they exited the Justice Building. She moved on to things much more important—things like the color of her house, her favorite class, how she was so excited to be here (she mentioned that almost every other sentence), and how she hoped her mommy won’t be mad that a little coal dust got on her shoes and her dress.
Haymitch clenched his fist. Is that really all this girl had to worry about? The coal on her dress? Of course. She didn’t have to worry about if she even owned a dress to wear to the Reaping. She didn’t have to worry how much thread or shoes cost. She didn’t have to worry about if she was going to eat that night. He just bet she had a table full of rich delicacies to choose from every day, three or more times a day. She didn’t have to worry if she was going to die before she reached thirteen, or live until the age of nineteen.
And he hated it. It made him so angry he had to bite back a growl of outrage.
“…don’t really want her to be mad. But, I mean, I don’t mind because it’s gray. I like the color gray. And if I like the color, it should be okay. Right, Mr. Haymitch?”
“I don’t care, Euphrosyne!” he snapped.
Euphrosyne gasped, eyes wide with hurt. Her bottom lip trembled.
“Come on,” he grumbled. “I’ll bet you want to see the District.”
Not really.
Euphrosyne nodded and blinked back her tears. She folded her hands in front of her and walked next to him with her head down.
He hadn’t meant to yell at her, he really hadn’t. But her problems were just so trivial, and it made him so angry. District Twelve reeked and oozed poverty, yet she goes on about her dress which, more than likely, cost the yearly paycheck of a coalminer? It disgusted him.
Part of him knew he shouldn’t be mad at her. She was just a child, after all. She was raised this way, probably didn’t know any better. He should be mad at the Capitol. And everyone knows he has been for years.
He showed her around the Town and into the Square. She remained quiet, but soon her eyes begin to brighten once again, her tears forgotten. When they reached the end of Town she reverted back to being a squawking chatterbox. It was maddening, but if Haymitch were being completely honest, it was sort of adorable.
Sort of.
They were at the end of Town, in front of Peacekeeper Headquarters, the division between Town and the gate to the Seam.
Euphrosyne looked at Haymitch curiously. “What’s in there?” she asked, pointing her slender finger at the gates.
Haymitch nodded at the gate. “That’s the Seam. Where the coal mines are.”
Her mouth formed a small o. “Can we go in? My teacher says I need to learn about the coal mines. He’s going to test me on it when I get back to school.”
“Let’s go then.”
Good. Maybe once she gets a taste of the Seam she’ll realize that not everything is sunshine and roses. That there are things more important than coal-dusted dresses. That there are little girls who couldn’t even afford to dream about owning a dress as fine as hers.
“What’s that, Mr. Haymitch?”
Haymitch looked in the direction she was pointing. “That’s the Meadow. That’s where the little boys and girls play.”
Euphrosyne grinned. “It looks like so much fun!”
Sure, if you aren’t barefoot. Then you don’t have to worry about jagged rocks or cut glass. But Haymitch reluctantly agreed. When he was a little boy trips to the Meadow with his mom and baby brother—he swallowed thickly—were the highlights of his day. And it really was beautiful, minus the sporadic rocks and stray glass. The grass was overgrown and plush, adorned with multiple dandelions, wild roses, and purple, blue, yellow, and white wildflowers. For a year after his Games he would often visit to find peace.
He quickly realized it only made himself feel worse and instead turned to a bottle. He would break the glass instead of step on it. He would vomit in overgrown grass rather than frolic in it. Colorful bottles replaced colorful flowers.
It was sad if he thought about it. He usually drank enough to where he wouldn’t. But here he was, sober and attacked by the miserable direction his life was heading. He wasn’t even middle-aged yet.
He studied the little blonde mite, skipping happily next to him, occasionally glancing at him like he was a king in a land of peasants. He wondered if it made her feel like a princess. A princess without a care in the world and pleasantly guarded from the world’s cruelties because she was from the Capitol.
He thinks this is the only time he’s ever been jealous of anyone from the Capitol.
As they walked deeper into the Seam, Haymitch began to notice the change in her demeanor. The light left her eyes, a sadness seeping into the navy irises as they took in the small, decomposing shanties, barefoot children with tattered clothes, and the thick layer of soot coating everything. Her dress would no longer be a blue splattered with gray, but black.
Her smile fell. Her lips gently parted in stupefied devastation.
Good, he thinks. She needs to see this.
“What happened to these poor people?” she whispers.
Haymitch laughs bitterly. “Life happened, sweetheart. This is where they live. The men will become coal miners—basically living in the mines during the day then coming back here at night. They slave in those mines to put food on the table. Many times they don’t get food at all.”
She looked at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Really?”
He nodded, face grim. “Really, princess. Not everyone can afford the life of luxury that you have. They don’t have mansions for homes. This is their home. This was my home.”
She stopped walking and gasped. “You lived here, Mr. Haymitch?”
He crossed his arms. “I did.”
“Did you hate it very much?”
“No. my family was here. I didn’t enjoy it all the time, but I had them.”
She bit her lip and averted her eyes to survey the poverty. “But now you live in the Victor’s Village, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad. I’m glad you don’t live here anymore.”
Haymitch glared above her head. “I’m not.”
“How come?”
He didn’t answer. A child from the Capitol wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t understand that he would trade everything about his luxurious lifestyle if he could erase the Hunger Games from his mind, the blood he shed, the murders he committed. He would trade it all if he could have his mother, his brother, his girl.
“Follow me, kid. The mines are up here.”
She scurried along.
Haymitch showed her the coal mines. She shuddered when she saw the elevator shaft the miners had to use to travel deep underground. Surprisingly, she had questions to ask rather than information to spout. He would answer gruffly, but she didn’t seem to catch the attitude. Or maybe she just ignored it.
Euphrosyne walked around until she came to a hill of coal dust, dirt, and dead grass. “What’s this?”
Haymitch stifled a laugh with a cough. “That’s the slag heap.”
She gave him a funny look. “What’s a slag heap?”
Oh, what is a slag heap, indeed. He couldn’t possibly explain to this young child for what the slag heap was really used. She probably thought boys still had cooties. “This is where the big boys and girls come to play.”
This time, her mouth formed a big o as she let her eyes roam around the large hill. She turned to him with rounded eyes and pointed to the slag heap. “Is this where you come to play, Mr. Haymitch?”
He smirked. “Not so much anymore, sweetheart.”
She pouted as if this answer was completely unacceptable. He couldn’t say he entirely disagreed. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “No one to play with anymore.”
Her frown turned thoughtful as she considered the big-kid playground. Suddenly she whirled around with the biggest smile on her face. “I’ll play with you, Mr. Haymitch!”
Haymitch couldn’t help it. He laughed. No, not laughed; he guffawed—deep and guttural. He laughed until he had tears running down his face. Heaven above, he hadn’t laughed like this in years. It felt great! And it was all because of the innocence of this little Euphrosyne.
Who was currently standing with her hands on her hips, deeply offended. This only made him laugh harder.
“Laughing at someone else when they’re trying to be nice to you is very bad manners, Mr. Haymitch.”
Manners! She was talking to a native Seam boy and Hunger Games Victor about manners. Oh, this child. Haymitch controlled his laugh into small chuckles.
“Sorry, princess,” he said with one last little chortle. “I appreciate the offer, really, but I’m going to have to pass.”
She sighed, obviously disappointed.
He didn’t know what made him say it. Maybe it was because she really was precious (if you got past her annoying accent and constant talking), maybe it was because she looked so crestfallen, or maybe it was because he really wanted to laugh again. Whatever it was, he found himself saying, “Why don’t we play somewhere else, yeah?”
She lit up again, bouncing back on her heels. “Can we play at your house, Mr. Haymitch?”
“No!” he said a little meaner than he intended. He repeated himself in a softer tone.
She pursed her lips to the side, thinking about where they could possibly have a good time. “Can we go back to the Meadow?”
Haymitch sighed. “Sure, sweetheart.”
She skipped in front of him, singing a happy little ditty. It was completely ridiculous, and she was not a very good singer. It was a good thing she didn’t sign up to be a popstar for Career Day. But hearing her sing about a little sparrow who ate a magic seed and turned into a peacock while skipping through the dreary Seam, the four parts of her ponytail flopping around like the tentacles of a squid, was just so amusing that Haymitch had to give a tiny quirk of his lips.
They finally reached the Meadow. He sat down in a patch of the grass that was slightly less overgrown. Euphrosyne unceremoniously plopped down next to him, her very dirty dress billowing out around her. She looked like a giant cupcake. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. Haymitch brought his knees up, rested her forearms against his knees, and gazed into the forest beyond the fence. He could faintly hear the buzz of electricity coursing through the livewires.
“You know,” Euphrosyne chirped, “District Twelve isn’t what I thought it would be, but I’m happy I came. I’d like to grow up and be its Escort. I knew I made a good choice.”
Haymitch raised his eyebrow at her. “You chose to be here?” He hadn’t expected that. He thought maybe she was too young for the rest of the groups, or maybe they were too full. He didn’t think she’d come here willingly. Who would?
She giggled. “Of course, silly!”
He smiled ruefully. “District Twelve doesn’t make you sad?”
She looked at the ground and began twirling a blade of grass around her finger. She frowned, suddenly looking much older than she acted. “It does. It’s gloomy. Home is much prettier. Twelve isn’t perfect, but I like it very much. I’d still want to be an Escort here.”
“Why?”
Her eyes snapped to his, looking absolutely appalled that he didn’t know the answer already. “Because you’re here, Mr. Haymitch!”
Haymitch blinked at her, completely speechless and—if he were being honest—deeply moved.
Euphrosyne grinned broadly. “When I’m fifteen I get my first Alteration. I decided I was going to dye my hair silver so I can match your eyes.” She stood up and began walking around the Meadow. She saw a butterfly and started to chase it.
Haymitch watched the little girl in awe. He didn’t think he’d felt so touched in his life. Here was this Capitol princess, on a tour of District Twelve because she wanted to be the one who controlled the fates of other children just like her, but the reason she wanted to—in Twelve, of all places—was simply Haymitch. Dirty, rude, damaged Haymitch who was well on his way to becoming the resident drunk. He knew it was not a good aspiration, but he was also acutely aware that, in her underdeveloped and brainwashed Capitol mind, this was completely logical. It was a compliment, even. And because he knew this child didn’t know any better, and he was so desperate for kindness, he took it.
Heaven above, she wanted to dye her silver because it will match his eyes. He thought his eyes were gray, dulled from the horrors he’s seen. She saw them as bright silver.
As he watched her laugh and begin to pick flowers, hair and dress rustling with the wind, he was struck by how truly innocent this child was. She was raised in a Citadel of Death, yet she had no idea. She wanted a job that was part of the most revolting excuse of a sport, yet she was completely unaware of what it meant. And, in a twisted way, Haymitch hoped she never learned. Earlier he had wanted her to open her eyes, to see that there was devastation in the world. Now he was hoping her innocence was never shattered, if only to humble louts like him. He prayed that little Euphrosyne would remain blissfully ignorant. But maybe not bloodthirsty. She could use a good dose of revulsion for the Games.
He felt a slight tickle on his arm and realized that the wind had blown a dandelion tuft onto his arm. He frowned and tried to smack it away, but it was caught in his dark arm hair. He raised it to his lips to blow on it.
"No!”
Haymitch snapped his head to the side at Euphrosyne’s shout, nearly getting whiplash. She was kneeling, bouquet of wildflowers clutched in one hand, the other clutching his dandelion-flecked arm.
“Don’t blow it away!”
He furrowed his brows, but did as he was told. He lowered his arm back to its place on his knee and she removed her hand. “Why not?”
She smiled. “Because it’s good luck! If a piece of a dandelion is blown on you by the wind, then that means you’ve been kissed!”
He smirked. “Kissed?”
She nodded emphatically. “Mhmm! It’s the kiss of spring. If the wind blows a dandelion fluff on you, and you let the wind blow it away again without touching it, that means you’ve received the kiss of spring. It means that soon you’ll fall in love.” She jutted her chin, proud that she knew something the smart Victor didn’t. “And you’ve been kissed!”
Haymitch chuckled. “And you believe this, princess?”
Her smile softened and she played with her bouquet. “Very much so.” So innocent. She remained quiet for a moment. “How old are you Mr. Haymitch?”
“Can you not call me mister, anymore?”
She glared, her lips thinned. “No. It’s bad manners if I don’t.”
Of course.
“So how old are you, Mr. Haymitch?” She grinned cheekily, pleased to tease him.
Haymitch playfully rolled his eyes, a grin fighting his way onto his own face. “Nineteen.”
“That’s seven years older than me,” she mused, stroking the petals of a purple wildflower.
She was twelve? Really? Haymitch thought she was eight or something. She seemed so much younger than twelve. He blinked at her rapidly. If she lived in the Districts she’d be eligible for the Reaping. Haymitch felt his heart grow heavy. As irritating as she was earlier, Haymitch had developed a fondness for this strange little princess. And as much as he detested the place, he was glad she was born in the Capitol so that she’d never have to worry about going into the Hunger Games. He didn’t think her fragile little heart could take it. His barely could, and he had grown so calloused during his lifetime. He felt so much older than the nineteen years he confessed. He felt forty.
Euphrosyne looked into his eyes, growing very serious. “Do you have a girlfriend, Mr. Haymitch?”
His throat closed against his already fragile emotions. What he wouldn’t give for a nice bottle of scotch right now. He’d even take wine though the hangover will hurt like a—great, he couldn’t even swear in his head around this wisp. Memories of his girl came flooding back to him. Her short black hair, laughing blue-grey eyes, and biting wit. Heaven above, he missed her touch, her voice.
Euphrosyne was looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat, swallowing his emotions. His face became stone. “No, Euphrosyne. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” She looked down at her favorite purple wildflower, stroking its petals once more. She grew very shy. “Do you…” she tentatively met his eyes again, her voice now very quiet. “Do you think that I could be your girlfriend, Mr. Haymitch?”
He didn’t think it possible at all, but little Euphrosyne simply melted his bitter, hard heart. This girl. This girl with a foolish crush on a rancorous Victor. How could she have come from such a vile place? He almost didn’t want to give her back. He didn’t want her raised on such violent ideals. He didn’t want her at the mercy of Snow’s bloody hands.
But he knew he was the last person who could protect this twelve-year-old. It was inevitable she grow out of her youthful naiveté.
Haymitch chuckled softly and shook his head. He sighed through his nose and smiled at the girl. He bent his head closer toward hers, deciding to indulge her girlish fantasies.
“I’ll tell you what, sweetheart,” he murmured. He grabbed her favorite purple wildflower and placed it behind her ear. “Here, It looks better in your hair than in your hand anyway. If you become an Escort for District Twelve, then in ten years I’ll take you out on a date.” He chucked Euphrosyne under her chin. “Does that sound okay to you?”
She seemed to burst into euphoria. “Oh, yes, Mr. Haymitch!” She touched the little flower in her hair. “It’s a date!”
He laughed and tugged on of her ponytail splits. “You got it, princess!” He hummed and squinted at the sun. “Looks like we gotta get you back to the train.”
Her countenance fell. “Oh, okay.”
They walked back to the train station in a companionable silence. Haymitch found that he was going to miss this fascinating symbol of youth. They made it to the station before the train. While they waited Euphrosyne sang her sparrow-peacock limerick again, attempting to teach Haymitch the words. He purposely said them wrong every time because her reaction was too funny. If something wasn’t perfect then that just would not do. It was hilariously ironic.
At last, the train pulled in. Euphrosyne deflated as she watched the sleek, silver locomotive slow to a stop. Suddenly she gasped and whirled to face Haymitch, her wildflower almost falling out in the process. “Mr. Haymitch, will you take a picture with me? I forgot my camera in the train, but I can ask an Avox to bring it to me!” She brought her flowers up to her nose and sighed into them. “I want to remember this day forever!”
Haymitch smirked and shrugged. “Why not?”
Euphrosyne squealed—and she was doing so well at not annoying him. Oh well, nothing was perfect. She asked the Avox to fetch her camera. The Avox hurried to get it (because they were going to be very late if he didn’t). When he returned, Euphrosyne bounced next to Haymitch telling him to smile big for the camera! He chuckled and knelt down beside her, a small smile gracing his face. He could only imagine how large hers was.
Click!
Done.
Euphrosyne threw her arms around Haymitch’s neck, squeezing him with all her might. “Thank you so much, Mr. Haymitch! I’m so glad I got you all to myself today. The other kids don’t know what their missing.”
They do. Nevertheless, Haymitch hugged her back. It felt odd. He hadn’t been affectionate to anyone in so long.
She sniffled. She squeezed him tighter, almost choking him. “Goodbye, Mr. Haymitch.”
Haymitch pulled away. Her eyes were wet, but no tears had spilled over. He grinned and tugged one of her ponytails again. “See you later, sweetheart.”
She giggled and ran into the train. She waved at him until the train pulled out of sight, Haymitch waving back.
He began his walk back to the Victor’s Village. But first he stopped by the Meadow once more for good measure. Today hadn’t been as bad as he originally thought. He hadn’t felt so light in years. He knew by nightfall it would be gone. He’d return to his bottle once more. But for now, he was going to enjoy the skip in his step, the lightness in his chest. He’d enjoy the feeling of being adored by someone so darling.
Little Euphrosyne.
“That woman,” Haymitch growled under his breath.
It was after the Seventieth Annual Hunger Games, and he decided he was not drunk enough as he stepped onto the train. He didn’t remember how his Tributes died. He thinks he had passed out by then. But now, he was still sober enough to think straight, and that was not acceptable. But, of course, Effie had to hide the keys to the liquor cabinet. Another futile attempt to keep him sober.
He didn’t know why she tried.
He thinks it might be a little game of hers. She started it five years ago. She would hide the key in a new spot each time, telling him he’d have to find it if he wanted a drink that badly.
He did. So he usually indulged her. He always found it. She’d hide it in a more difficult spot each year. The first year it was actually on top of the cabinet. After that it was under the dining table, inside of his pillow, and last year, it was with the conductor up front. It took him almost the whole day to find it that time.
This year, however, she said it was in a place he would never find. He didn’t know why she waited until after the Games to hide the key. He would think she would hide it beforehand. His theory is that she’s hopeful he’ll make the wise choice and sober up for the kids himself.
Fat chance.
Well, he had nothing better to do at the moment. He began his search. Three hours later, it was not in the dining cart, his cart, neither Tribute’s cart, and not with the conductor again. Not even in Effie’s room.
Where on earth did she put that thing? He wanted some brandy, and he wanted it now!
Think. Think. Think. Ouch. Ouch.
Suddenly, inspiration struck him. Her bag! She’d been hoarding that thing more than usual that day. She’d practically hugged it to her chest since breakfast.
Of course she’d hide it in her bag. According to her etiquette, no man would willingly look through a woman’s purse. Who knows what he’d find in there?
(Outrageously colored lipstick, tampons, and knowing her, a copy of Capitol Vogue with a picture of shirtless Perseus Oliveryne, that good-for-nothing, sleazy, womanizer.)
Now where was she?
Haymitch finally found the colorful escort watching the television as he peeked through a slit in the doorway. He rolled his eyes at the program. It was a feature on none other than Perseus and Seneca Crane.
This woman’s taste in men was incredibly awful. But, really, why should he care?
Ignoring the trashy program, his eyes scanned the couch.
There! Right next to her.
He waited until she needed to use the restroom. She looked to be finishing her favorite Capitol tea. She always had to pee five minutes after she finished a cup. Why Haymitch knew this, he wasn’t sure. But he figured it was inevitable. They’ve been working together for nine years. He was bound to pick up on a few of her habits.
Like clockwork, she took her empty mug and rose from the couch—with the television running, so that meant that she was returning—to relieve herself. Haymitch molded himself into the wall, praying she wouldn’t see him. The last thing he needed was for this obnoxious peacock to start screeching in his ears for spying on her.
After all, her Perseus/Seneca time was personal and special.
Yeah, whatever, sweetheart. You keep dreaming.
Thankfully, she walked by without even noticing him. Haymitch smirked to himself and walked into the cart. He made a beeline to her pink flamingo-feathered purse. Not even bothering to search the black hole inside, simply dumped all of the contents onto the couch.
Hm…lipstick, tampon, magazine cover of Perseus…you know, it really is scary how well I know this woman. Aha!
Haymitch held the key between his thumb and pointer finger, a triumphant grin adorning his features. That brandy was going to taste oh, so satisfying. He may have to guzzle the first half of the bottle in front of her face just so he could flaunt—hey, what’s this?
Haymitch tucked the key into his shirt pocket and picked up a small, purple spiraled notebook. Effie’s planner. Her most prized possession. He always did wonder what that anal-retentive woman wrote in this thing. He’d never had the chance to peek inside.
Haymitch shrugged. Eh, what the hell?
Haymitch opened the notebook. It was incredibly organized, as he expected. There were dates of appearances, birthdays, the usual, each scrawled in her loopy Capitol penmanship. Purple ink, naturally, to match the cover of the notebook. Haymitch leafed through the pages. It all looked the same…except this.
His thumb stopped after the last page slipped past the pad of his finger. Two items fell out of the notebook and onto his lap. Huh. He set the notebook aside and picked up the smaller item. It was a small, dried up flower, flattened from the weight of pages. It was a blackish color, looking like it used to be either dark blue or purple back in its prime. Probably purple judging by the book. It tugged at Haymitch’s memory. He picked up the last item. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
It was a picture of him at nineteen, actually smiling back at the camera. It was a small smile, but it was present. Next to him was a young girl he could never forget even if he’d tried. A little blonde tyke, in a dirty and blue, puffy dress, hair in high ponytail split into four sections adorned with a purple wildflower. Her little mary-janes, which were once sparkly diamonds, were black with soot.
Why did Effie have a picture of him and little Euphrosyne? Unless…
It couldn’t be. He turned the photo over.
Euphrosyne ‘Effie’ Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy (who was even more totally gorgeous in person!) on Career Day.
Haymitch could hardly believe what he was seeing.
How did he not notice before? If he compared Euphrosyne and Effie, he supposed it did make sense. Effie was a District Twelve escort. She was annoying as all get out when she talked non-stop. They had the same navy eyes. And, yeah, Effie acted pretty naïve for her age. He supposed he should have noticed little Euphrosyne grew up. Granted she never said anything, and he was drunk half the time, so how was he supposed to know?
Whatever. He needed a drink.
Haymitch put the picture back in the notebook, but he tucked the flower in his fist. He replaced the contents of Effie’s bag and set it back to its original position. He settled back in his seat on the opposite end of the couch, looking as if he had been watching the television all the while, when Effie came back into the room. She had been gone a long time. She must have washed her mug before she went to the bathroom.
He could feel her eyes trained on him as she walked over to the couch. “What are you doing in here?” she asked warily. Ah, she must be afraid he found the key. To the liquor cabinet or their past, he wasn’t sure. Oh well, he found both.
He nodded to the television. “Watching TV. Did I forget to tell you? I’m a big admirer of Perseus and Seneca.” He rolled his eyes for good measure, as if she didn’t already know he was making fun of her.
She pursed her lips and sat down. “Honestly, Haymitch,” she clipped as she settled in the seat. “I’m a grown woman. I’m allowed to find a man attractive.”
Haymitch pretended he hadn’t heard her. Instead, he stretched his arms behind his head. How to bring this up, how to bring this up? Hm…
“Hey, princess.”
She huffed at the nickname. “Yes, Haymitch?”
“How old are you again? I must have been drunk the last time I asked.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not surprising, really. I’m twenty-nine, why?” She furrowed her brows. “If this is about you making fun of me because I’m turning thirty in a few months—”
He chuckled. “It wasn’t. But thanks for reminding me, old lady.”
“Haymitch!”
"Effie!” he mimicked in a shrill voice. He knew she hated it when he did that. She always said—
“I don’t sound like that you insufferable inebriate!”
Right on cue.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the program. Well, Effie was watching. Haymitch was smirking, eyeing her from the corner of his eye. “Hm…twenty-nine. You know, I’m thirty-six. That’s a seven year difference.”
She paused. “Well, yes. I suppose it is.”
“Interesting, isn’t it, princess?”
She didn’t answer. He let her sit in wonder for a bit. Softly, he began to whistle the tune to that stupid sparrow-peacock song. Sure enough, her whole body stiffened. She twisted her neck slowly to look at him, panic striking her eyes. He smiled in response.
“Wha—?”
He revealed the crinkled wildflower stuck between his first two fingers. Her look turned to horror.
“Nice to see you again, Euphrosyne.”
She groaned and put her white powdered face into her manicured hands. “Oh, heaven above,” she whispered. “How did you get that?”
“Found the key to the cabinet. The flower and the picture fell out of your planner.” Well, it was half of the truth.
To her relief, the train made its first stop for fuel. She sped out of there, desperate for some fresh air.
“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” Haymitch called after her.
She only quickened her pace. At least, she tried. It was kind of hard in those impossibly high heels of hers. He caught up to her easily. She paced in the grass outside, fluttering her hands about in embarrassment. Haymitch crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the train.
“How come you never mentioned anything?”
Effie sighed. “I didn’t think you’d remember it.”
Haymitch smiled ruefully. “Well, I did. You made quite the impression.”
She glared at him. “I was young, Haymitch!” she spat.
He held up his hands in defense. “Relax, Eff, I didn’t say it was a bad thing. It’s not. At all. You made me laugh harder than I had in years. You wouldn’t believe how much I needed it at the moment.”
Effie visibly relaxed, a small smile on her face. “Yes, well. You gave me one of the most memorable days of my childhood. So, thank you.”
“So why Euphrosyne? Why not just say that your name was Effie?”
Effie shrugged and averted her eyes, embarrassed. “I wanted to seem older, like a young woman. Effie sounded so childish. I guess I wanted to impress you. After all, I’d be working with you one day.”
He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “To be honest, your innocence is what I enjoyed so much. Let me know there was still some in the world. Can’t say there’s much in the world now.”
She smiled. “Hm. Maybe not.”
They were silent for a beat. Haymitch’s smirk grew into a crooked smile. “You know, sweetheart, I still owe you that date. It’s been more than ten years.”
Effie laughed. “Yes. I wouldn’t hold you to that, Haymitch.”
Haymitch was surprised to find that he hoped she would. Little Euphrosyne wasn’t a girl anymore—she was a young woman. Quite pretty, and probably even more beautiful underneath that Capitol disguise. He wasn’t blind.
He only shrugged one shoulder in response. “I have to ask though…”
“What?”
He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Am I really even more totally gorgeous in person?”
Effie rolled her eyes and brushed past him. “Shut up, Haymitch.”
Her wig almost hit him in the face. A thought occurred to him. Without turning to her, he asked, “Did you ever dye your hair silver?”
It was very quiet. Finally, in a voice remarkably similar to her younger self, she softly answered, “Yes.” Then she walked away.
Haymitch watched her retreat, a small smile on his face. He shook his head, trying to ignore the warm feelings spreading throughout his chest. Blind or not, he didn’t have room in his life for this. It was time he got his head straight. And some alcohol. Yes. Alcohol would be nice.
Little did he realize that as he walked toward the entrance of the train, a small dandelion tuft landed on his left shoulder, then was softly blown away by the wind.