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“This,” Haymitch muttered, tugging at the thick rope binding them together at the waist, “has to be one of the worst ideas the Capitol’s ever come up with. And trust me, that’s a long list.”
He was no stranger to bad ideas. In fact, he spent a large amount of his time thinking about them, and then enacting them just to get on his escort’s nerves and drive the boredom away. He usually thought everything Capitol was a bad idea - especially parties. But this party was taking the cake.
Being tied to Effie Trinket - in any context - wasn’t something he could suffer long. Not only did she play on his nerves, but being restrained played on his… everything. The risk of an explosive fight or a blackout of epic proportions from his time as the Captiol’s favourite toy was too close for comfort that night.
The current Capitol’s favourite toy, Finnick Odair was on another press tour, courtesy of District Four’s latest victor Annie Cresta. Who’d yet to show up for her crowning after a suspiciously lucky escape from the arena. In short, Haymitch was already on edge that week, and the last thing he needed was a night like this to add to his growing tension.
He grunted as Effie shifted against his side, yanking the stove rope connecting them tighter across his chest. “Could you not choke me out before I manage to get to the bar?” he scoffed. The customary glass of wine handed to his one free hand on arrival was like water for a night like this.
He’d been trying to find where the bar actually was, too concealed by people making tedious chit-chat as they waited for the big arrival. It was easy to spot the victors, tied together with each other or their escorts. Sponsors, however, had used the theme differently, some had dressed up as their favourite districts - there was a lot of seaweed and gold for the career tributes. Others had taken a more… literal theme, covering themselves in straps and rope that was less practical than the rope his prep team had. It made him swallow a little more difficulty, a little afraid the party could end in some kind of orgy.
“You won’t be getting to the bar, I need you sober and charming,” Effie replied, her voice sharp enough to cut through the buzz of chatter around them. Straightening her already perfect posture, she pressed closer to him, her perfume thick and musky, a sharp contrast to the soft, shimmery black dress that clung to her frame. It wasn’t pretty enough to distract him from this hell all night, for that he was sorry.
Earlier, when he’d seen the velvet brown suit hanging on his wardrobe, with its thick ridges looking like a tree trunk and the metallic belt across the waist and hips, he’d been thrown. By all means, Four’s victory led to a resurgence of the colour blue and all things aquatic - the amount of so-called ‘mermaid’ wigs his escort had been slipping in and out of the penthouse in… He’d been even more surprised when Effie had emerged in a shimmery tulle-obsessed black dress and matching wig. A face so covered in black powder that he thought she’d got into a fistfight with her makeup team.
-
“I’m supposed to be coal,” she’d retorted, dusting the glittery fabric at her waist with a bit of a disappointed sigh. Black didn’t suit her. It didn’t even suit the trends of the year, even he knew that. Their prep team probably wouldn’t be returning next year…
“And what am I supposed to be, a tree?” he’d asked, curious.
“You’re a minecart.” One of the gentlemen wrapping the rope had said. He’d felt the rope across his chest, the same kind they used in District Twelve for the fireplace and in the mines. He’d been confused, but then he’d looked at his escort who looked just as unhappy as he felt for once.
“I do hope you’ve been to the toilet because you won’t be going for a long time now,” she said, jokingly. But then she swallowed tightly before taking her place at his side. A scowl barely cracked through the layers of powder caking her face. The rope was looped between them and back through to her waist…
-
“I’ve never been sober, or charming, sweetheart,” he retorted, taking a step towards the back of the room, where the bar must be. Effie resisted but it was futile, he was the heavier weight. Where they went, he dictated.
“Don’t I know it,” she muttered under her breath before suddenly perking up. “I want to go over there, Haymitch! Allister Strauss has harboured a crush on me for years… now’s the time to capitalise on it for next year!”
Haymitch thought of Allister Strauss, a business mogul known for his pinstripe suits and his lusty eyes for his escort and winced. “There’s no way I can deal with Strauss sober.”
“I’ll get you a drink after we’ve spoken to Strauss, oh Haymitch, please.” Effie batted her eyelashes, looking utterly ridiculous with that pout on her black lips. But Haymitch knew better by now than to push his luck. If he were to be tied to her all evening he needed to pick his battles.
Allister Strauss looked pleased by their attention as they approached, his brown eyes flickered over Effie’s shimmery dress, travelling slowly from her legs to the coal dust artfully scattered across her collarbone.
Already irritated, Haymitch extended his hand. “Mr Strauss.” Allister took his attention from his escort’s cleavage to shake his hand, and if Haymitch was a little firm then… Well, he was just trying to follow his escort’s propriety rules for once.
“Mr Abernathy,” he greeted, then his gaze drifted back to Effie. “Miss Trinket… Lovely as ever.” His voice had gone warm, and a little too familiar for Haymitch’s liking. His eyes tracked Strauss’s hand, which hovered near his escort’s elbow as though to steady her.
Stupid, Haymitch thought, Effie was anything but unsteady on heels. He was convinced she could outrun him on a track in those things. It was patronising too, of course, tied to his escort as he was, she was unlikely to fall anywhere. Unless he toppled her over. Usually, bad ideas like that brought him amusement, but it barely made his lips twitch.
Still, Effie preened under the attention, what he dubbed as her predatory smile reserved only for sponsors on her face. “Always a charmer, Mr Strauss, it has been terribly long since we last bumped into each other.” She caught his hand to shake it as well, lingering a little.
He was definitely too sober to deal with this level of vomit-inducing ass-kissing.
“Interesting look you’ve got going,” he remarked, his eyes going back to his escort’s legs and chest. He tossed an unimpressed look towards Haymitch to be polite. “Mining equipment… very clever.”
“Clever…” Haymtich snorted, echoing his words in thought. “I’ll have to pass that on.” Effie pulled on the rope wrapped around them, tightening the rope around him not so accidentally.
Allister caught the movement and turned his attention back to her and smirked. “Your idea?”
His escort giggled, laying the charm on thick with a hand back on Allister’s forearm. “Oh no, all thanks to our brilliant prep team. Haymitch and I have been far too busy grieving another loss…” Her voice went tight, even with the smile present on her face.
“Such a shame,” Strauss said, his voice as hollow as his words. His dark eyes barely registered the topic of dead tributes, slipping instead to the curve of Effie’s smile, the way her lips parted slightly… “But you wear it well, despite the circumstances.”
Haymitch’s stomach twisted. The bile rose up, sharp and bitter, as he watched Strauss pour on the charm. The way the man flattered Effie, right after talking about their dead tributes, was enough to make his skin crawl. It was like death didn’t exist to these people - just another costume to comment on, another performance to applaud.
He shot a glance at Effie, who was still standing tall, her Capitol smile firmly in place. He wondered not for the first time how she could stomach it. Maybe she was just as sick as the rest of them. Maybe she was a better actress than him. He remembered why he never met with sponsors too sober then, he was too in his head to ignore their glaring ignorance. His throat was dry. Too dry. The thought of whiskey was more appealing by the second. He crept a hand into his pocket, brushing against the cold metal of his flask, longing for one sip.
His escort and Allister were caught up in their conversation, so he slipped the flask free. It was easy to unscrew with one hand. His eyes never left the pair beside him - Strauss’s lustful drooling over Effie and her false flirting only made him more thirsty. He brought the flask to his lips…
Just as Strauss’s gaze shifted, lingering on the flask in his hand. Quickly followed by Effie’s sharp eyes and faltering smile. The corner of Allister’s mouth twitched upward in a knowing smirk. ‘I suppose some things never change, do they?’”
“Haymitch,” she hissed, her voice dripping with irritation, though she kept her tone light for the crowd. “Really?”
He hesitated but then shrugged. To hell with it. He took a long, defiant swig. The whiskey burned, but it was the only comfort he’d find in this hellhole of a party. And he probably wouldn’t get many opportunities to indulge in it with his escort glued to his side. It was a little her fault he'd wanted a drink anyway. He'd told her he couldn't stand Strauss sober. And there she was laying it on thicker than usual...
Effie’s laugh was tight, forced, but her teeth were gritted in a way that said he’d pay for this later.
Strauss chuckled, enjoying the show. “I can’t imagine how frustrating it must be for you, Effie,” he said smoothly, his voice laced with faux sympathy. More sympathy than he’d extended for their tributes, he couldn’t help but notice. “Tied to your victor all night. All work, no play.”
Haymitch’s grip tightened around the flask. The way Strauss addressed him wasn’t lost on him. He dismissed him just like he’d dismissed their tributes. Like he was a burden for Effie to manage with her usual poise and grace…
Sensing his anger, Effie’s fingers brushed against his at their tied side. He could feel the tension in her shoulders as she laughed, as hollow as Strauss was. He could sense the tightrope he was balancing on and despite how much he enjoyed pissing her off, he wouldn’t squander a wealthy connection that might come in handy next year. Even if he sensed it’d never come for free. Effie was more than capable of handling a man like Strauss - she’d dealt with far sleazier sponsors. But the way Strauss hovered close, eyes roving all over her rubbed him the wrong way. It was clear he saw her like a prize to be won. Still, if Effie was willing to entertain Strauss, it was none of his business.
Even if the thought made him want another swig from what was clutched tightly in his fist.
“Haymitch always finds a way to entertain himself,” she replied sweetly. “As do I. I was hoping we could arrange to meet next year, Mr Strauss. We are hoping to have stronger candidates and I would be interested in forming a professional connection with you.” She fiddled with the rope around her, making it look absentminded. Haymitch felt the tug and understood the order for what it was: behave or face her wrath all night. Chaff always said she'd put a leash around his neck, he'd never realised just how true that was until it was his literal reality.
“Oh, Miss Trinket, you certainly know how to capture my attention. A stronger pool of candidates next year, you say?” His gaze flicked momentarily to Haymitch, as if doubting his ability to mentor those tributes, before returning to Effie. “I’m always open to new… investments. Especially such a promising liaison with yourself.”
Effie nodded, her eyes shining with excitement, but before she could respond, the entire room seemed to shift. The ambient chatter died at the sound of the heavy ornate doors opening. Even she looked away from her prize to see the commotion.
District Four had arrived.
People started to whisper, no doubt wondering whether they’d finally see their victor. Instead, Finnick Odair had joined the party, half-naked, wrapped in some kind of shimmery blue fabric around the waist and covered in seaweed that wrapped around him. His escort was wearing a glittering blue gown that seemed to shift between blue and purple. Next to him, he felt his escort glower in what he could only imagine jealousy.
Four's escort looked far better than she did. And Effie Trinket hated to be outdone.
He bit back a jibe about her definitely looking like coal now, she was smouldering away with irritation.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Allister interrupted, briefly touching Effie’s shoulder and then regretfully pulling away with a wince at the black powder on his hands. “I was hoping to catch a word with Aella…”
Effie’s smile faltered as she watched Strauss slip away into the crowd of people swarming around Four’s team, her fingers ghosting over the dark smudge his hand left on her shoulder. She exhaled sharply through her nose, her Capitol poise momentarily cracked before she straightened her posture again. “Of course. Everyone’s eyes are on District Four now,” she muttered, sounding bitter, more to herself than him.
He popped his hip out to give her a friendly bash. “Cheer up, at least the bar’s free.”
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage drinking tonight?” she huffed, but she didn’t resist when he shuffled closer to the now-empty bar. With everybody distracted it was quick service. They had to huddle onto a bar stool, tied together as they were, but it was oddly comforting to have her pressed against his side then. What a team of losers they made.
“Sweetheart, I’m barely even buzzed,” he complained. “The Capitol’s got the attention span of a toddler with a shiny toy. Strauss’ll come sniffing back when the glitter wears off.” The bartender placed a whiskey on the bar and a glass of red wine. He wrinkled his nose, dreading what she’d taste like at the end of the night. He hated red wine.
“We had him just where we wanted him…” she lamented. She was watching the crowd still, where Strauss was fondling Four’s escort - Aella’s - elbow just like he’d been cradling hers. Silently Haymitch thought if that were his best move, then he didn't have to worry about Strauss with his escort.
“Yeah, and where did you want to go?” he said, annoyed at both her disappointment and the scenes playing out in front of him. “To dinner? His bed?”
“Do not be so vulgar,” she huffed, similarly wrinkling her nose to him a moment earlier. “Allister is harmless. We will let the excitement die down and get back out there. There will be plenty of sponsors interested in us for next year.” He wondered who she was trying to convince.
“I’m not moving from this bar,” he argued, just for the sake of it.
She narrowed her eyes, looking him up and down with clear displeasure. There was a real threat in her voice when she spoke next, after a generous sip of her wine. “You will.”
He smirked, leaning in just enough to smell her perfume once again. “Or what, princess? Gonna strangle me with this rope?” He gave it a tug for effect, jostling her on the stool she was perched on.
She shrieked and then glared.
“Don’t tempt me,” she hissed, pulling at the knot at his chest with a sharp twist. He bit back a chuckle - she was wound tighter than the noose around his neck. But he wasn’t so sure she’d let go this time. All eyes were on Four, and he knew she could be stubborn when he pissed her off too much.
“You know, all this choking…” He murmured in her ear, just to get his own back on her. The knot was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t suffocating. He let his breath roll on her sensitive skin, pausing just to see her eyes close... “Is it turning you on?”
“I do find the thought of choking you out is a pleasant one, don’t you think?” she grinned, finally turning away from Four to look at him, eyes glittering like her dress. He liked it when she looked like this. Not only did it usually mean he’d get lucky, but it was nice to find a common ground with her. “What do you say, should we put this stove rope to better use, back at the penthouse?”
He thought about it, tying her up sounded fun, but he wasn’t sure he liked the thought of exercising so much control over her. He was dominant, he knew that but there was fun in her fighting back, wrestling the control between each other was half the appeal. There was still a beast inside of him that he didn’t like to bring out to play in those moments. But there was something else she was offering in that proposition… “Now?”
She laughed, maybe because even to his own ears, he sounded eager. “Later, darling…” She patted his chest, clearly glad to have played him. And finally letting go of the knot to push herself off of the stool. She ended up more wedged against the bar - of course, he hadn’t moved with her. “Now don’t be a sore loser, choose a woman and we will go and charm her together…”
“Gonna be my wingman, princess?” he quipped, although he hoped she knew he was joking. She’d implied kinky sex later and he wanted it - ropes not necessary. She could be a jealous thing when she wanted to be.
She glared - and thankfully for his balls it was the playful one - and when he got down from the stall, she linked their trapped arms together. She curled her nails around his forearm, digging in through the thick velvet. A reminder of just how sharp they could be, no doubt.
Stupid… he couldn’t help but think. They were tied together already. In more ways than one, bound by the Capitol’s games and each other’s miseries. But tonight, he didn’t mind so much. Not now he’d had a drink, anyway.