The Hunger Games: she had grown accustomed to his face
Fill for this prompt: Haymitch/Effie When she pulled his name out of the bowl she wanted scream "ANYONE BUT HIM!"
She had grown accustomed to his face.
That was is, really. Simple as that. There was a familiarity between them at this point, given all their years together sending children off to their deaths.
She’s not dumb, she just tries to be good at her job with the hope that one day she doesn’t have to pretend that she enjoys the Reaping. One day she would like to be a mother and the only thing worse than losing a child by happenstance is having them proudly wish to volunteer. But first, she had to advance her career by getting to a better district.
When she was first assigned to District 12, she tried to ignore the smirks and giggles from her colleagues and focused on her first meeting with the only remaining victor. If he had won the Hunger Games, how bad could he be?
“So you’re the new Grim Reaper,” he said.
She had stiffened. “Effie Trinket, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she trilled, staunchly pretending as if the man in front of her wasn’t completely sauced up.
“Yes, it’s a pleasure,” he sneered. “The sixty-seventh year of this wonderful game. There’s only been three winners from District 12 ever, what makes you think that the odds are going to be in favor of those two poor souls that you pick tomorrow?”
As a lady who enjoyed good manners and decorum, she was mildly horrified to hear herself snap back, “Odds are a relative probability! You shouldn’t undermine the people from your own district!”
“Lady, I’ve been here longer than you and I’ll still be here after you’ve moved on to shinier districts,” he drawled. “It’s not undermining my district, it’s called being realistic. Word of advice? You might be their escort and I might be their mentor, but at the end of the day you can’t get
attached. They’re gonna die, sweetheart. And the sooner you make peace with that the easier your job is going to be.”
He was right, of course. All her training couldn’t have prevented her from the gut-wrenching pain as she watched her District 12 tributes fall on the first day.
They only saw each other once a year but they played their roles to perfection. She pretended that everything was going to be alright, and he eventually got around to giving each pair some advice. And at the end when the victor was crowned, they would sit together and share a glass or two or ten of alcohol in honor of their fallen pupils.
They spent no more time than usual together, until the 74th Hunger Games.
“I think we have a shot here.”
She was powdering her face and paused mid-puff. “Don’t-”
“We’ll need to work harder this year, more than ever before,” he said.
She snapped her compact shut and looked at him. “You’re sober,” she said with genuine surprise.
“Don’t get used to it, I’ve already got a headache. But I need to think.”
“He really loves her, doesn’t he?”
“She’s smart. She’s got spunk. And he’d die for her. She’s the one we have to protect.”
It wasn’t that they didn’t work hard for their other tributes, but it was something about Katniss that sparked a fire in him to protect. It was the first time she’d seen this different side to him, the one she knew was there all along but had given up on ever seeing. They spent more time together schmoozing sponsors, using her Capitol connections and his slightly-drunken charm. And when he came along on the Victory Tour, they would spend hours together, often at odds, but together nevertheless.
So when her hand dipped into the bowl, she hoped that the Capitol cameras couldn’t see how much it was shaking. The odds were very clear this year for District 12. She drew out the folded piece of paper and held her breath as she opened it.
“Haymitch Abernathy.”
When she pulled his name out of the bowl, she wanted to scream, “Anybody but him!” She was so distracted she barely heard Peeta volunteer through the fog of emotions.
She tried not to cry as Katniss and Peeta were taken away, grateful to have a tangible tragedy to focus on rather than her gut reaction to picking Haymitch’s name.
Later as she thinks about it, she comes to the conclusion that she had just grown accustomed to his face.
It had nothing to do with their shared experiences watching their tributes die. It had nothing to do with the way he defended her when he thought she couldn’t hear, and it certainly did not have to do with the fact that after Katniss and Peeta had won, he had kissed her and swung her around in a big circle.
“We did it!” he had yelled, his face full of genuine joy. She was too caught up in the overwhelming emotion of the win to register the kiss.
It had absolutely nothing to do with any of that. Haymitch was uncouth, and normally full of negativity. The only thing they had in common was the yearly Hunger Games. She had just grown accustomed to having him around, like a little puppy, and she didn’t want him to die.
In the meantime, she still has to pretend as if reliving this nightmare again will be okay. “Chins up, smiles on!” she tells Katniss and Peeta, trying not to let her voice tremble. It’s been her personal motto for years and though they seem unconvinced, she knows the advantage of a good façade.
She tries not to cry as she hears the Games begin. After all, she’s grown accustomed to having them around too. Instead, she puts on a smile and mingles with possible sponsors while ignoring the fluttery feeling in her stomach whenever Haymitch catches her eye and smiles. Because if there’s anything good that can come from the 3rd Quarter Quell, it’s that at least he’s still alive.
She had grown accustomed to his face.
That was is, really. Simple as that. There was a familiarity between them at this point, given all their years together sending children off to their deaths.
She’s not dumb, she just tries to be good at her job with the hope that one day she doesn’t have to pretend that she enjoys the Reaping. One day she would like to be a mother and the only thing worse than losing a child by happenstance is having them proudly wish to volunteer. But first, she had to advance her career by getting to a better district.
When she was first assigned to District 12, she tried to ignore the smirks and giggles from her colleagues and focused on her first meeting with the only remaining victor. If he had won the Hunger Games, how bad could he be?
“So you’re the new Grim Reaper,” he said.
She had stiffened. “Effie Trinket, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she trilled, staunchly pretending as if the man in front of her wasn’t completely sauced up.
“Yes, it’s a pleasure,” he sneered. “The sixty-seventh year of this wonderful game. There’s only been three winners from District 12 ever, what makes you think that the odds are going to be in favor of those two poor souls that you pick tomorrow?”
As a lady who enjoyed good manners and decorum, she was mildly horrified to hear herself snap back, “Odds are a relative probability! You shouldn’t undermine the people from your own district!”
“Lady, I’ve been here longer than you and I’ll still be here after you’ve moved on to shinier districts,” he drawled. “It’s not undermining my district, it’s called being realistic. Word of advice? You might be their escort and I might be their mentor, but at the end of the day you can’t get
attached. They’re gonna die, sweetheart. And the sooner you make peace with that the easier your job is going to be.”
He was right, of course. All her training couldn’t have prevented her from the gut-wrenching pain as she watched her District 12 tributes fall on the first day.
They only saw each other once a year but they played their roles to perfection. She pretended that everything was going to be alright, and he eventually got around to giving each pair some advice. And at the end when the victor was crowned, they would sit together and share a glass or two or ten of alcohol in honor of their fallen pupils.
They spent no more time than usual together, until the 74th Hunger Games.
“I think we have a shot here.”
She was powdering her face and paused mid-puff. “Don’t-”
“We’ll need to work harder this year, more than ever before,” he said.
She snapped her compact shut and looked at him. “You’re sober,” she said with genuine surprise.
“Don’t get used to it, I’ve already got a headache. But I need to think.”
“He really loves her, doesn’t he?”
“She’s smart. She’s got spunk. And he’d die for her. She’s the one we have to protect.”
It wasn’t that they didn’t work hard for their other tributes, but it was something about Katniss that sparked a fire in him to protect. It was the first time she’d seen this different side to him, the one she knew was there all along but had given up on ever seeing. They spent more time together schmoozing sponsors, using her Capitol connections and his slightly-drunken charm. And when he came along on the Victory Tour, they would spend hours together, often at odds, but together nevertheless.
So when her hand dipped into the bowl, she hoped that the Capitol cameras couldn’t see how much it was shaking. The odds were very clear this year for District 12. She drew out the folded piece of paper and held her breath as she opened it.
“Haymitch Abernathy.”
When she pulled his name out of the bowl, she wanted to scream, “Anybody but him!” She was so distracted she barely heard Peeta volunteer through the fog of emotions.
She tried not to cry as Katniss and Peeta were taken away, grateful to have a tangible tragedy to focus on rather than her gut reaction to picking Haymitch’s name.
Later as she thinks about it, she comes to the conclusion that she had just grown accustomed to his face.
It had nothing to do with their shared experiences watching their tributes die. It had nothing to do with the way he defended her when he thought she couldn’t hear, and it certainly did not have to do with the fact that after Katniss and Peeta had won, he had kissed her and swung her around in a big circle.
“We did it!” he had yelled, his face full of genuine joy. She was too caught up in the overwhelming emotion of the win to register the kiss.
It had absolutely nothing to do with any of that. Haymitch was uncouth, and normally full of negativity. The only thing they had in common was the yearly Hunger Games. She had just grown accustomed to having him around, like a little puppy, and she didn’t want him to die.
In the meantime, she still has to pretend as if reliving this nightmare again will be okay. “Chins up, smiles on!” she tells Katniss and Peeta, trying not to let her voice tremble. It’s been her personal motto for years and though they seem unconvinced, she knows the advantage of a good façade.
She tries not to cry as she hears the Games begin. After all, she’s grown accustomed to having them around too. Instead, she puts on a smile and mingles with possible sponsors while ignoring the fluttery feeling in her stomach whenever Haymitch catches her eye and smiles. Because if there’s anything good that can come from the 3rd Quarter Quell, it’s that at least he’s still alive.