Green, Red and White

Only day 4 of the Hunger Games and Haymitch already felt like time in the Capitol was stretching into eternity. He squinted and tried to suppress the groan that was about to escape his lips. With one finger he pushed his black sunglasses higher up his nose; the damn thing kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. Effie had gotten them for him when he had announced that there was no other way to get him to leave the penthouse. It was midsummer. The sun was relentless and his half-hungover, half-drunk brain twitched at every ray of light that somehow managed to sneak past the tinted lenses. At least he could now stand upright without losing his balance. It had taken three painkillers to rid his head of the pain and dizziness. Despite all this, he felt as if he might vomit on the polished patent leather shoes of the vain Capitol that he and Effie now faced at any second.

Luckily for him, Effie did the talking. All he had to do was link his arm with hers and not make his smile seem too forced. The sponsor's wife was already giving him a strange sideways glance. He tilted his head to look at her over the top of his sunglasses and winked. She abruptly broke eye contact, and he grinned. Haymitch knew Effie probably wanted to elbow him for that, but politeness and etiquette forbade her from any bad behavior.

After the events of the previous day, things had calmed down for Elowen in the arena. She spent most of her time in a tree, dozing and occasionally allowing herself a sip of water and a few berries. You could see that she still couldn't really believe Rye Hooker's death. Her green eyes were constantly fixed on a distant point, and she seemed deep in thought. The audience had already lost interest in her.

Haymitch was just glad that the medicine they had been able to send her yesterday had done its job and closed the injury she had sustained when she had fallen by the river. In the swamps, there is an increased risk of infection from open wounds due to the presence of bacterial strains. Even though the young victor had no sympathy for Seneca Crane, it would have been foolish not to trust his words. Gamemakers didn't reveal much about their arenas so as not to spoil the suspense for the audience.

The team from District 8 had either slept through Crane's presentation of the arena or couldn't afford to send medication in. Their male tribute had almost been torn apart by a crocodile that morning while trying to get a drink of water. Now, the boy carried a bloody bite wound that dripped with animal saliva and swamp water. Not the best conditions. He was still on his feet, but with only one functioning arm, he was as good as finished — even without the likely onset of sepsis.

During the late afternoon, Effie managed to convince an older woman to support Ramon. On the condition that he survived today, she would contribute something to his support. It was unusual how things were turning out for District 12. Haymitch wondered what people back home thought; whether they were happy that the children were holding out longer this time, or whether they didn't care. After yesterday's brief high, for which Elowen had to kill a boy, people here weren't too thrilled with her. Oddly, the situation seemed to have the opposite effect on Ramon's place on the betting tables and leaderboards. While he was still not really being traded up, he had gained a few percentage points since yesterday, leaving Elowen far behind. So far, he had done absolutely nothing to prove he was worth the Capitols' money. But the Hunger Games had never been purely about survival; everything played a role in evaluating the tributes: gender, size, attractiveness, and so on. Boys were usually valued a little higher because biology was on their side. If the younger female District partner could kill, the Capitol automatically concluded that the older male tribute must be capable of at least the same. In Ramon's case, it was clear: seventeen, broad-built, solid height, and attractive to boot. The Capitols tended to overlook the details. Haymitch found this incomprehensible, because he preferred to concentrate on facts rather than pure speculation, but gambling was very popular here. If Elowen can kill, Ramon can too was the motto today.

"Let us go upstairs," Effie suggested when they had no luck with the next sponsor. She hadn't let go of Haymitch's arm once since they had entered the lounge hours ago. Now she leaned her head back to look him in the eyes. She seemed a little annoyed, the way her blue pupils flashed at him. "And take those imbecile glasses off your face. Do not think I do not see the looks you are giving the sponsors. Half of them probably canceled because of you."

Haymitch started to laugh, and the tremors in his body were transmitted to Effie's. Her lips were still pressed into a dissatisfied line as he tugged on her arm and maneuvered her toward the stairs that led to the roof. "If it makes you happy, I'll let you believe the sunglasses were to blame for everything, sweetheart."

Effie huffed, but Haymitch knew she was only feigning indignation. He lowered his head to her and gave her a mischievous look over the top of his glasses, the same gesture he had used on the sponsor's wife. A casual grin played around the corners of his mouth, and Effie bit her lip once to keep her pout under control before she started to giggle.

"These glasses make you look like you are on a secret mission," she laughed, shaking her head. "And that model has been completely out of fashion for years."

"Sorry to ruin your hot fantasies, but there was a picture of me on breakfast TV," Haymitch muttered, irritated, squeezing his eyes tighter to avoid the rays of sunlight hitting them. He sighed and pushed his glasses higher up his nose. "People know I'm just hungover."

"Yes, unfortunately I have seen that picture too," replied Effie in a grumpy tone. "It serves you right that the world is laughing at you now."

Like the night before, the roof was packed with people, but the fresh air did wonders for Haymitch's foggy mind. The alcohol still hadn't completely left his system. Now all that was needed was for the sun to disappear ...

The bartender didn't look happy when he recognized Haymitch. His mouth twisted and he mumbled something Haymitch didn't understand. He handed Effie a glass of champagne and Haymitch caught her disapproving look resting on his own drink.

"Seriously, Haymitch?" Effie sighed. "You are still drunk. A few hours ago, you could barely get up from the floor without help."

Haymitch rolled his eyes and sipped his whiskey. The familiar taste burned his throat and relaxed his muscles. He tugged on his arm and freed himself from Effie's clinging grip, earning him another stare. "I'm fine, pretty much the usual. Besides, I have to put up with these annoying people somehow."

Effie clicked her tongue warningly and took a sip of her champagne. "If you talk so loudly, these annoying people can hear you too."

The two of them moved slowly through the crowd, towards the area where Haymitch had been partying last night. He gazed down at Effie, watching her scan the crowd, probably already looking for the next sponsor, when her eyes caught on the glass dance floor and brightened. Her head snapped towards him and Haymitch wasn't quick enough to look away.

"Let us dance," said Effie, excitement in her voice. "I have never danced with you before!"

"Forget it, sweetheart." Haymitch had to pause and turn to Effie as she stopped abruptly, and her pupils darkened.

"Why not?" she asked demandingly. He knew that tone. That tone meant work and trouble.

"Because I don't feel like it and dancing is for pompous Capitols." Haymitch shrugged, adjusted his glasses, then turned back around, only to find himself caught by Chaff's figure leaning against the back of a white sofa, a little away from the crowd. When his friend noticed him, he raised his hand and beckoned him over. With a woman breathing down his neck who would probably have dragged him onto that dance floor somehow, he was happy to oblige. Effie had no choice but to follow him.

When he reached Chaff, he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and grinned when he saw his sunglasses. "So you have to disguise yourself to come here? Was last night that rough?"

Haymitch raised his arms theatrically. "If I could remember, I'd tell you. You look pretty ... sober."

Chaff showed him his teeth. "Whatever pills the guys gave me yesterday, I slept like a baby and after that, the high was more or less over." He folded his arms across his chest and peered over Haymitch's shoulder. A moment later, Effie appeared on his right and gave Chaff a cool look.

"Chaff," she said in what she thought was a welcoming tone. She nodded at him, and Chaff's fingers automatically slid to the two bloody scratches Effie's nails had left on his cheek.

Chaff's eyes darted from Effie to Haymitch, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Haymitch sighed and hoped that the two would put their dislike aside for the duration of the Games. He didn't have the nerve for more drama. But Chaff was Chaff ... "Maybe I should be glad that you two made up, but ... I still think Haymitch would be better off without you."

Unlike yesterday, Effie didn't seem interested in responding to Chaff's comment. Thank goodness. Instead, she lifted her chin and gave him an arrogant smile. "We do not have to like each other to be friendly. After all, we are all mature adults here."

Chaff twisted his mouth but tilted his head indifferently. His eyes turned back to Haymitch, and he pushed himself away from the back of the sofa, against which he was leaning. "You wouldn't believe who I met here." He pointed his thumb at the sofa and Haymitch stepped closer to peer over the high back.

"Hello Haymitch!" a squeaky young woman's voice came to him, bursting into laughter at the astonishment on his face.

"Margarita?" At his tone, even Chaff started laughing.

Margarita, the woman with whom Chaff and he had almost partied all night, lay across the couch, letting her long pink high heels dangle over the edge as if she were in her own living room. In her right hand, she balanced a cocktail, and Haymitch couldn't tell if she was still drinking or had started again. Since he couldn't remember what she had worn yesterday, it was hard to say whether she had even left the party.

Margarita grinned happily up at Chaff and him and saluted with her glass. Her blonde wig hung a little crooked on her head, but that didn't seem to bother the young woman. "Chaff and I were wondering when you'd show up," she chirped and started to giggle when she spotted the sunglasses. "Oh, did we overwhelm you yesterday? I drank at least as much as you and I'm not hungover, old man."

Haymitch rolled his eyes and took a demonstrative sip of his whiskey but couldn't help but smile. "Of course you're not hungover, you're practically still a kid."

"I haven't had this much fun in a long time, we really have to do it again!" Margarita's pink irises sparkled with a youthfulness that was typical of the Capitol. Young, free, independent and enough money to spend the summer pretending to be whatever you wanted.

"Definitely not!" came the reply from Haymitch and Chaff at the same time, and the two victors exchanged a long, knowing glance before bursting into laughter. Haymitch leaned back against the sofa and shook his head as he looked down at Margarita, who was starting to sulk. "Sure, the evening was fun, but my reputation is suffering because of it, sweetheart."

Chaff and Margarita stared at him skeptically and Haymitch shrugged defensively but couldn't really keep a straight face. "Have you watched TV today? My face's all over the celebrity news!" A weak argument, after all, everyone knew how little he cared about other people's opinions. Especially when it was the Capitol's opinion.

Effie, who had been silently observing their exchange, regarded Haymitch darkly. He bared his teeth and winked at her, which only made her expression sterner. Haymitch thought about their discussion that morning and sighed inwardly, gesturing with his hand to close the distance between them. But of course, Effie wouldn't be Effie if she pretended not to understand his gesture. Like Chaff, she crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips together. She looked exactly like a spoiled, pouting child who hadn't gotten their way.

"Where's your fiancé gone off to?" Chaff asked at that moment, and for a second Haymitch feared that the question was directed at Effie and that he was referring to Crane, but when he turned back to his friend, his brown eyes were resting on Margarita.

Margarita giggled and pointed boredly towards the gardens that made up the western part of the roof. "Oh, he's gone off to the labyrinth with some girl. He'll be back."

Her words seemed to pique Effie's curiosity, as she took a few steps toward the couch to get a better look at Margarita. Haymitch couldn't help but notice how her fingers brushed against his arm during the movement and lingered there.

When Effie came into Margarita's line of sight, Margarita's smile widened, and she adjusted herself in the cushions. "Hello, Miss Trinket!" She held out a hand, which Effie shook over the back of the chair, an almost friendly expression on her face now. "We have not yet been formally introduced, I am Margarita Price. It is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance!"

Haymitch and Chaff seemed just as confused as Effie when Margarita's typically formal Capitol accent slipped into her tone. "Pleasure to meet you as well," Effie replied with a gentle smile on her lips.

"I apologize if I kept Haymitch from anything yesterday, Miss," Margarita continued, sounding much more mature than just a few seconds earlier. She sounded like any other woman from the Capitol. Haymitch found it strange how quickly people here could switch their demeanor depending on who they were dealing with. Effie seemed to rank above the victors in this hierarchy.

"There is nothing to apologize for, my dear. Haymitch is old enough to know what he is doing," said Effie, and if Chaff hadn't been standing right next to him, Haymitch would probably have pierced her with his gaze.

Somehow the two women started chatting. Chaff seemed to look more bored with every word that came out of their mouths. "Alright," he finally blurted out, interrupting Effie in the middle of some story. "Now that everyone knows each other, we can get on with the important things."

Effie turned to Haymitch expectantly and the glitter in her eyes alone revealed that he would not like her question. "Does that mean you are finally going to dance with me?"

"Definitely not!" His voice sounded perhaps a touch too defensive.

"Oh, he is not a bad dancer," Margarita said behind closed lips, as if she were telling Effie a secret. "Better than me, anyway. I'm sorry for stepping on your shoes all that time, by the way." The last sentence was addressed to Haymitch.

"Enough stories about me," Haymitch interrupted, throwing a warning look at Margarita, who just shrugged and grinned and continued sipping her cocktail. "I don't dance. Period. End of discussion."

Effie pulled away from him and strode away from the couch. Now that she was no longer in Margarita's line of sight, her features froze into the cold, distant mask that Haymitch hated so much. With an indifferent expression in her pale blue eyes, she turned to leave. "Perhaps it is better if I go alone. I will find plenty of more capable partners on the dance floor anyway, each of whom will be extremely willing to dance with me."

"I think that's my cue to go," Chaff grumbled, pushing himself away from the armrest of the sofa. He gave Margarita a quick nod and patted Haymitch on the shoulder before turning on his heel and disappearing through the crowd toward the stairs. With no tributes left in the Games, there was nothing keeping him here. Why had he come here in the first place? This wasn't like him.

Effie was about to return to the dance floor when Haymitch let out a silent curse and grabbed her wrist before she could pull away. Almost as if she had expected a reaction from him, she didn't resist his touch, but instead moved back toward him. Her mask, however, remained in place.

"Let's talk," Haymitch murmured, pulling Effie away from Margarita and the sofa; away from the numerous pairs of strange, curious eyes. To his surprise, she didn't resist, which he would have expected from the look on her face and the way he was practically pushing her towards the gardens. Halfway there, Haymitch released his grip on her wrist and gently moved his fingers to her back. He was so close to Effie that he had to be careful not to step on the train of her long, dark red dress.

As it turned out, the garden was primarily a water garden, consisting of several artificial ponds and beds of tropical flowers. Orange fish swam through carefully designed channels that snaked around the walkways, leading deeper into the greenery. Greenhouses made of frosted glass housed flora native only to certain Districts, likely helping some victors forget they weren't actually back home. The rooftop of the lounge must have been enormous — larger than the lower floors — because Haymitch couldn't fathom how the Capitol's landscape architects had managed to create a life-sized maze in the middle of the greenery.

Haymitch led Effie through the water gardens, past the splendid pink lotus flowers, and by the greenhouses, none of which, of course, were dedicated to District 12. There was nothing in 12 that could truly impress the Capitol: no particularly beautiful flowers, no rich variety of colors, just forests, ferns, and wildflowers. As they stepped under the ivy-covered archway of the maze, the sun disappeared from above. The walls of the hedges were tall enough to provide shade. Haymitch sighed in relief, but he didn't stop until he had rounded several corners and found himself in a dead-end.

Effie took a hesitant step toward the plant, looked skeptically at the dark green leaves and slowly turned to Haymitch. She raised one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows questioningly. "What do you want to–"

She didn't get any further. Haymitch had closed the distance between them in a split second and his sunglasses almost slipped off his nose as he leaned down to Effie's face and pressed his lips against hers. A surprised sound escaped her throat, but a moment later it turned into a contented sigh that sent an electric impulse down his spine. Haymitch's hands went up to her cheeks and he stretched the fingers of his left hand to her neck. Her real, blonde hair, which fell down her back in light curls, tickled the back of his hand as he stroked the crook of her neck and pressed her face harder against his mouth. Effie didn't hesitate long before wrapping her own arms around his shoulders. For a few seconds they staggered in the shadows of the hedges, fighting for the upper hand in the kiss, until a jolt went through Haymitch's body and Effie matched his movements as he took one step after another until her back collided with the leaves of the trees.

"Haymitch, my dress," Effie whispered warningly, but her voice sounded far away, distracted.

"Your dress is beautiful," Haymitch replied, pulling away long enough to take in Effie's form, even though he knew her words meant something else. "You're beautiful. Red is your color, princess."

Red was truly her color. The deep burgundy, glowing dress must have originally been crafted as an evening gown — for a ball or some other elegant event — because even for the Hunger Games, it seemed too refined, too special in a classic sort of way. Haymitch couldn't think of anything else. She really did look like a princess in that dress. The shimmering fabric widened toward the floor, the last few inches even grazing it. Sparkling embroidery stretched up to her shoulders and down to her wrists. Effie's blonde hair, though styled, remained mostly untouched, a sharp contrast to the heavy gold jewelry and the dark red makeup that adorned her lips and eyelids. Yet, Haymitch had to admit, despite all of that, she still looked good. More than good.

Haymitch's eyes glowed as he leaned into Effie again. An astonished sigh escaped her as his mouth pressed against her neck, but she immediately tilted her head back as he slowly and subtly worked his way up her throat. His tongue caressed her warm skin and Effie's fingers paused on his neck and for a split second Haymitch feared he had gone too far, but then her sigh turned into a deep hum, and she pressed her body closer to his. For a moment, all Haymitch saw was endless white. Then, as his senses slowly caught up, Effie's mouth found his and the world around them faded once again.

"Dance with me, Haymitch," Effie murmured against his lips and then leaned away from him. A storm of lust and passion glittered in her cornflower-blue eyes, which Haymitch could hardly escape. It took every ounce of strength in his body to shake his head. His fingers ran over her back, caressing the soft fabric, and with every breath the need grew within him to pull her back to him without another word.

"Forget it, sweetheart," Haymitch said, but his voice was rough and barely above a soft whisper. He cleared his throat and leaned in a little, letting his own gaze sink in on Effie. A smirk spread across his face as he saw that he was having a similar effect on her as she was on him. Effie swallowed, and her pupils seemed to dilate as he made no move to kiss her again. "I only danced with Margarita because I was drunk. There's nothing that's going to get me on that dance floor again. Not even you."

The mention of Margarita's name took the light from Effie's eyes. It was as if she had come back down to earth. A dissatisfied expression crossed her face, which had been soft until recently, and she bit her lower lip in frustration. Haymitch could practically see her eyes take on a distant look and she began to think. Her still wide, deep blue eyes wandered back to his face and paused at an invisible point; where the sunglasses had just been on the bridge of his nose. Haymitch couldn't even remember how they had landed from his nose into his left hand, which continued to explore Effie's back.

Effie, having decided on a strategy to convince him to dance, wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and Haymitch didn't protest as her face paused inches from his own. In her shoes, they were almost the same height. Effie's lips parted and she gave him a smile that made his stomach lurch.

"You still have alcohol in your system," Effie whispered in a soft voice and Haymitch couldn't swallow the lump in his throat as the long fingers of her left hand ran over the fabric of his suit. Her nails ran over his shoulder, down his arm in an agonizingly slow movement. He wanted her. Every fiber of her being. If she kept going like this, she would get what she wanted. "So technically you're still drunk. So dance with me, Haymitch. Once and never again."

Haymitch's head was spinning. Effie's smile had taken on a touch of calculation; her eyes sparkled with the knowledge that she had won. Before he could even manage a nod, she was already pressing her lips to his; a quick, fleeting kiss. Then she pulled free of his grasp and clasped his hand to lead him out of the maze. Before Haymitch knew it, they were already crossing the water garden and he seriously wondered if he was perhaps drunker than he had first thought, or if she really had that effect on him. It seemed ... impossible. Let's talk. He wanted to scoff. And talked they had.

But as always when the Capitol was involved, reality caught up with Haymitch and Effie as soon as they returned to civilization. The change in people's mood was so noticeable that Haymitch almost tripped over his own feet. His heart gave an unpleasant jolt and Effie's fingers suddenly pressed harder against his.

Irresponsible and stupid. That was all he had to say about their behavior. The Hunger Games were on, Elowen and Ramon were both in the race, and instead of making sure they stayed that way, they hid in a goddamn maze to make out like teenagers. For a second, Haymitch was so disgusted with himself that he wondered how it had even come to this. What was this woman doing to him that he was forgetting his values and his morals?

Before Haymitch could get an answer to that question, his gaze stopped on the next screen. He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized Cashmere and the Careers. There was no sign of any of his tributes anywhere. But the image that greeted him still confused him. They hadn't arrived early enough to catch the context behind the argument that Cashmere and the girl from District 2 were currently battling out with words.

The group stood in the middle of the jungle, the trees far enough apart to form a small clearing between the ferns. On the damp ground lay the lifeless body of a girl who looked too small and delicate to have had a realistic chance against any of the Careers. Her shirt was so soaked in blood that it was impossible to decipher the number printed on it. But her hair was jet black and she was too tall compared to Elowen.

"Elira seems to have lost her patience with Cashmere," laughed Claudius Templesmith, his voice standing out from the words the two tributes were exchanging in the arena. "Someone seems to be a little jealous that Cashmere keeps eliminating every opponent before her allies even get a chance. With the female tribute from District Seven down, her lead over the others has just widened again!"

Elira, apparently the female tribute from District 2, seemed to be working herself into a fury in front of Cashmere, while the latter stood watching, unimpressed, her blood-stained sword hanging loosely at her side. She looked almost bored as Elira stomped back and forth, pointing her finger at the blonde girl and grimacing angrily. The rest of the Careers watched silently as the argument unfolded. Magnus, the boy from 2 and the girl from 4 were left, and the expressions on their faces seemed to share some of Elira's frustration.

"I can understand her in a way, Claudius," Caesar remarked amusedly. "Every kill that Cashmere racks up puts her further ahead as the favorite and earns her more sponsor gifts. I would certainly be annoyed too!"

"Of course! But I doubt you would lose your manners like dear Elira here," Claudius replied, his voice betraying a hint of disdain that he tried to mask with a laugh. "That kind of behavior does not exactly make you popular. I wonder where she picked up such a colorful vocabulary! "

"In a normal year, the other tributes already have it tough, but Cashmere is the sister of our beloved victor Gloss from last year! According to the betting offices, that does not exactly boost the chances of the rest. What do you think, dear viewers? Is Elira's behavior justified? Cast your vote now!" Caesar's voice blended with the sounds of the arena, and the crowd on the terrace erupted into chaotic shouts as the tension between Cashmere and Elira began to shift into action.

Elira, clearly frustrated, seemed irritated by Cashmere's passivity. She halted mid-step, hissed, and then prowled toward the other girl. There was a weapon at her belt, but against Cashmere's golden sword, Elira wouldn't have stood a chance anyway. It all happened so quickly, but if you had been following the Hunger Games long enough, you knew the signs. The tributes were under immense stress, enormous pressure. The fear of not leaving the arena alive dug so deep into them that it could drive a person to madness under the right circumstances.

Elira's hands collided with Cashmere's chest, shoving her backward. Whether she had truly intended to harm her, no one would ever know. It happened too fast for the other Careers to intervene; but even if they could, why would they? One less tribute only brought them closer to their goal. Cashmere's feet dug into the mud in one swift motion. She lunged forward, her long blonde hair whipping in the air. The sword that had been resting so casually in her hand now gripped tightly. Elira's eyes widened, as if she hadn't anticipated a counterattack. Her hand darted toward her belt, but she was a second too late. Cashmere drove her sword forward with precision, and for a fleeting moment, a hint of regret crossed her face as she pulled it back.

Elira gasped for air, lowered her stunned face to her stomach in panic, and took a staggering step backwards. Her feet stumbled on the uneven ground and a wailing sound escaped her lips as her District partner came to her aid, grabbing her arm. The boy lowered her carefully and then glared angrily from Cashmere back to the girl who had just been alive. Now all that was left of her was a blank expression in her brown eyes, staring skyward. The cannon sounded and Elira from District 2 was dead.

The people around Haymitch and Effie burst into cheers. Some began to clap, others whistled, others cheered Cashmere's name or that of her brother. Caesar and Claudius began to comment on the events again, this time more excited than before. The death of a Career was a lot more exciting than that of a girl from District 7, who had never had a realistic chance anyway. Now that Cashmere had killed an ally, the other Careers didn't dare stand up to her. A mistake. Together they would probably have had a chance against her. Later, when the numbers dropped, things would look different ...

Haymitch shook his head and turned away from the screen. This game, this city, this life was driving him crazy. His eyes met Effie's, who seemed to have been watching him for some time. There was no sadness on her face, not like when Elowen had encountered death, but there was no joy either. Her cheeks, which had just glowed red, had lost their color.

Haymitch sighed. "Let's keep watching in the penthouse, nothing else is going to happen there today."

Effie frowned in surprise. Given everything, he could have said, she had hardly expected this. "It is only afternoon, Haymitch. We cannot just leave. What about the sponsors?"

"The day is over for us, sweetheart," Haymitch explained curtly. He knew the cogs of the Games and how they worked inside and out. "Today, everyone will only have eyes for District One. Since two tributes just died, the Gamemakers will stay out of it at least until tomorrow. So we might as well get out of here."

"How do you know? Are you sure?" Effie still sounded skeptical and Haymitch tried not to take her distrust personally.

"Look at the map," he said, nodding to another monitor. "Both Elowen and Ramon are too far from other tributes to cause us any trouble today. Since it's getting late, the other tributes won't be going on any more excursions either."

Effie took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly as if she were thinking, and then squeezed his hand. Only then did he notice that she was still clutching his fingers. Carefully, without making a fuss, Haymitch wriggled out of her grasp; under the pretense of placing her hand at her back to lead her out of the crowd. If Effie noticed his stiffness, she said nothing. He didn't mind holding her hand. Doing it in public, however, was something else entirely. Something dangerous. And Haymitch had played through enough danger for one lifetime. So he pressed his fingers against Effie's back and navigated her down to the ground floor of the lounge without giving it another thought; without noticing the man in white who had been eyeing him since Haymitch had entered the lounge at morning today. No Peacekeeper, but the rose on his lapel spoke louder than a thousand words.

-

As always, hope you liked the chapter. Chaff and Effie ... probably not love at first sight haha. Nothing much really happened, although it did, but then again, not really because we haven't really progressed in the arena apart from the two deaths. It's still day 4, although it's easy to lose sight of that with so many chapters. In retrospect, I wish I could have written the first 15 chapters differently, but oh well. It is what it is. But we have the first hint that Hayffie has not remained hidden from our beloved Snow.

Merry Christmas! You wanna give me a present? Like and write a comment! ;)

Skyllen