For Writerverse

[mihnn]

Challenge #03 - March Table of Doom

It wasn’t the smell of freshly baked bread that drew my attention from my slumber; it was a stronger sense, an almost pungent perfume that I inhaled. Through my drunken induced haze, I remembered the smell immediately, even as my face was buried deep under a cushion as I laid facedown on the couch.

“Effie,” I mumbled, because I knew it was her. It had to be. I could recognise her perfume anywhere.

I groaned, wondering why liquor had the power to make me forget what I wanted for a little while, only to make me regret my choices the day after. It was both a blessing and a curse. But the benefits outweighed the cost any day.

A gentle shake of my shoulder made me groan. If she pushed him any harder I would probably empty the contents of my stomach on her very pricey shoes. She would screech and demand that I showed some manners by apologising. Even at the back of my mind I thought that maybe I should do it anyway, just to get a rise out of her.

“Oh, Haymitch,” she said softly, her voice gentle as she raised the cushion from his head. “Haven’t you learnt anything?”

I would have snorted had I been able to. Instead I blinked open one eye, then the other, immediately wincing and closing both my eyes shut when the morning glare fell across me.

“Ugh,” I groaned again, reaching out for something—anything—to cover my face.

“It’s time to get dressed!” she said perkily, her voice higher and reminiscent of the old days when she used to yank me from sweet, glorious sleep so she could shove me to the Justice Building so I could wave prettily at the next boy and girl sent to die.

My wandering hand found hers and I pulled back, turning away from the sun to bury my face deeper into the couch.

I heard her sigh in annoyance, a sound I had very dearly missed.

“I’m not giving up, Haymitch.” With strength that I didn’t know she possessed, she rolled me over, causing my headache to worsen when I finally looked up at her.

Maybe I shouldn’t have looked at her. Maybe I should have stayed asleep.

In my drunken stupor I thought he might be dreaming. Blinking rapidly, I raised one hand to touch her hair gingerly. “Your hair…”

Her smile was sad as she looked away from me, her hands working quickly to pull away the random items I had been sleeping on. “Yes, well, things have changed.”

I groaned as I forced myself to sit up. There were a few things that could wake me up after the night I had had, and one of them was seeing Effie Trinket without her hair and face done.

“Now,” she began happily, her tone bright but her eyes far from it, “it’s time you take a shower, don’t you think?”

I let out a small moan as I buried my face in my hands. A year later, and I still felt the same way. A year later, and I was still unable to miss the celebrations I loathed.

I spent a good amount of time in the shower, letting the water cascade over my body as a cooling balm while I tried to ignore the significance of the day ahead. After I had emptied the contents of my stomach, my headache lessened, and I started craving for another drink. I knew Effie was out there, though; I knew she had probably found my stash and hidden them away.

Maybe she would have missed the bottle I kept under his bed. Who knows? Maybe she missed my flask buried in my underwear drawer. Prissy and proper Effie, never one to rifle through a man’s underwear drawer unless she was married to him first. I was loathed to admit that I had missed her. She had been a companion and a distraction all the years we had worked together.

A firm knock followed by, “Hurry up, Haymitch,” made me re-think the feeling I had had of missing her. I certainly didn’t miss this. I certainly didn’t miss the bossy tone. Maybe I did once, when I had been in District 13, but not now. Definitely not now, I told myself stubbornly.

“Hold your horses, Sweetheart, I’m coming!” hIyelled back, ducking my head under the falling stream of water as I mumbled to himself, “It’s not like they will start without us.”

I groaned again. I really didn’t want to attend the celebrations today. The feeling of dread was less than a Reaping Day, but it was still there, nonetheless.

After roughly drying his hair and wrapping a towel around my waist, I entered my bedroom to see that Effie had handpicked what I was to wear by placing the clothes on my bed. She had somehow found the one shirt I hadn’t worn, a blazer to go over it and dressy shoes that I hadn’t worn since I had been in the Capitol looking for Sponsors. She had even placed a tie near the suit, already knotted so that all I had to do was throw it over my head and tighten the knot.

Near it was a note that read, “Get your butt in here, Haymitch,” and I couldn’t help but chuckle.