A/N: Well, here's my first THG fic. I don't own any of the recognisable characters or settings etc., they belong to the wonderful Suzanne Collins.

For Effie Trinket, make-up used to be a simple statement: look at me. I can be beautiful too. That was until the rebellion. It became, after that, her lifeline, the only way to disguise the scars that the Capitol had left behind.

She carried on as normal, as though she had remained untouched by the terrors of the interrogation rooms, as though she were the same. She kept rigidly to her schedules, said all the right things, smiled whenever she thought somebody was looking her way. They would not have the satisfaction of knowing that they had damaged her.

But she could not hide everything. She could not bring the light back into her eyes.

It was dark. That was the first thought that crossed Effie's mind after she awoke. Cold was the second. Then the panic that always accompanied the unknown began to set in. The goosebumps rose on the pale surface of her skin as she twisted to one side and was rewarded only by a shooting pain through her right leg. Her stomach dropped when she found the rough metal shackle clamped around her bare ankle. Her panic deepened but her breathing became shallower.

As the awareness crept slowly back through her body, Effie managed to make a swift mental assessment of the damage done, just as she did after every mishap in the run-up to the Games. She was still wearing the clothes she had on the last evening she remembered: the white vest she wore under her dresses, the torn white underskirt. She had injured her leg, possibly even broken it. But the worst pain, the most overwhelming, was the dull thudding in her head. It probably arose from her crashing against the table in her apartment back in the Capitol.

The kitchen was filled with the high, light sounds of the latest pop tune as Effie flitted about, humming while she prepared her dinner. The smell of warm pheasant was not enough to cure her of the waning appetite she had had since the shock ending of the Quarter Quell. After a while, she found that she had stopped whistling and started concentrating on her long fingers as they danced across the glossy surface of the polished mahogany.

Something was wrong. Not just with the Games, which she had long ago begun to despise, but with her. Effie had become accustomed to the days when she was not required to work, when there was nobody else around, but she usually spent the duration of the Games in the apartments with the tributes and mentors. This year had been different, though. Haymitch had sent her home. He told her that he could deal with the sponsors himself. He had been revitalised by the training and lack of alcohol, he said. She should have known something was happening right then, but she was too glad to be getting away from that place to worry about it. The more distance she put between herself and those two children, she reasoned, the less difficult it would be to deal with the thought of losing them both in the arena.

People seldom seemed to realise how much damage the Games had to her. With Haymitch, it was obvious. The stench of alcohol on his clothes was enough for everybody to know. But Effie was not as open about her flaws as Haymitch. She had learned long ago to disguise her tears, having been conditioned to aspire to perfection and to be positive in the face of adversity. There had been that slip at the dinner table, of course, when Katniss had mentioned Seneca and Effie couldn't contain the tears as she always had. Seneca had been her best friend, her first ever friend, in fact. There is no disguising the kind of anguish that comes with the loss of a friend.

But other than that, Effie Trinket was a wall of positivity. When she was in company, anyway.

She pushed herself up from her chair and moved towards her bedroom, leaving the bird to go cold on the table. The mirror reflected her fears; her walls were falling down again. She unzipped the dress that was now uncomfortably hot and took a seat at the old dressing table, littered with all kinds of differently-shaped bottles and pots. The make-up brush was in her hand before she knew it. If she was going to face today, she would have to have her best face on.

That was when her television flashed on of its own accord.

Effie was pulled out of her reverie by a clicking at the door. A moment later, a man clad in a rough grey jumpsuit stepped through the door and secured it swiftly behind himself, blocking out the momentary glimpse of light that had come from it. He was not a peacekeeper. He was worse.

He was an interrogator.

Electric lights flickered on with a faint buzz. It was painful to her eyes but Effie could not help looking into its enticing glow. The first light she had seen since she had been here. Now she was getting an idea of where 'here' was.

The walls were a depressing shade of grey like the interrogator's uniform, so far removed from the bright colours of her home. A small metal table was set up in the centre of the room, but other than that, there was nothing else in the room. Unless you count the grate beneath Effie's feet. She immediately knew what it was for and her mouth went dry. She would not be leaving any time soon. The scraping of metal on the slick tiled floor as the interrogator pulled out a chair set off a ringing in Effie's ears that remained for quite some time. He was not speaking. He was waiting for her to join him.

Precariously, Effie rose to her feet, almost toppling over when she put pressure onto her damaged leg. An involuntary wince crossed her face and she dug her nails sharply into her palms. It took a few minutes before she collected herself and finally reached the other chair. A pang of unrest rose from her gut as she realised that the chain around her ankle would allow her to go no further.

"Tell me why you think you're here, Miss Trinket." There was something in his voice, an inflection that showed he was not originally a Capitol citizen. An inflection that she knew.

Originally, when a victor of the Hunger Games emerged, they were offered the chance to take up residence in the Capitol and leave their old District behind, opening their minds to a whole different world. That, of course, was before the concern over the Capitol's thoroughbred arose. The Government became concerned that mannerisms from less civilised Districts were slipping through into their home and that their children would be catching on to them. Children are extremely perceptive, after all. Effie was too young at the time to remember exactly why the concern came up in the first place, but, from what she had discovered since, it seemed that some the families of some of the victors held strong opinions against the Capitol and their children, overhearing them, had begun to repeat them unwittingly in the schoolyards.

One victor from District Five, Anastasia Chaisty, moved into the Capitol with her younger brother and parents when Effie was seven years old. The youngest member of the Chaisty family, Salvio, soon became fast friends with little Effie after attending school with her. They could frequently be seen playing in the garden of the big new house that Salvio's family had moved into and grew increasingly fond of each other, which, to the utter bemusement of Effie, appeared to annoy young Seneca.

It was hot during the summer of Effie's sixteenth birthday. Unbearably so. Women had even refrained from wearing their usual amounts of makeup for fear of the humiliation that would surely follow the streaks of brightly coloured sweat as it worked away at the various powders and lotions. A light melody played loudly from a speaker connected to one wall as Effie opened the last of the boxes in her new apartment. Her new apartment. The sound of it was delicious on her tongue. This was hers and nobody could take it away.

She had been desperate to get away from her family for some time now. Oh, she adored them in every way, but teenagers often have the need to escape and have their own space away from it all. This, she supposed, was her own little form of rebellion. A rush of giddy excitement entered her bloodstream, her first taste of true independence.

There was a knock on the door and Effie clicked a button on the wall, causing the music chip to cut out abruptly. She opened the door to reveal the faces of some of her closest friends as well as some that she was not so well acquainted with.

"Happy birthday!" they chorused chirpily.

"What's all this?" she asked.

"Call it a welcoming party," Seneca cried from somewhere near the back of the group. Effie couldn't see his face in the bunch.

"Are you not going to invite us in, Effie?" Salvio asked in a mock offended tone. "Where are your manners?"

With a chuckle, Effie moved back, opening the door wider to the flood of incoming visitors.

"Well, you got this place sorted quickly," said Salvio, appraising the living room from its centre. His accent still amused her; he tried so hard to fit in with the Capitol, bless him. He needn't have tried, in her opinion.

"It's a big day. I thought if I could get all of this out of the way I'd have more time to have fun."

"Good for you, Eff." Seneca had already taken a seat on the red armchair by the window, currently one of the only two chairs Effie owned. "Very sensible." There was something in his voice that she could not place. It was almost as if he disapproved of her.

Effie did not have long to dwell on this, however, as someone had thrown a new music chip into the player so that the speaker was now emitting a heavy pounding noise. Fulvia, a girl from Effie's old neighbourhood, thrust a bottle into her hand and told her to drink it. Effie was dubious, but took little sips of the liquor and relished in the fire that followed the liquid down her throat.

"Come on," Salvio said, grabbing her hand. "Let's dance."

Effie could have sworn she heard Seneca swear under his breath. Undeterred by his sudden sullenness, Effie joined Salvio in the middle of the room, which had helpfully been cleared by some of the others, who were now moving in a strange way along to the beat of the music. This was not the sort of dancing that Effie was accustomed to and the sight of it made her want to giggle.

Salvio seemed to have noticed her perplexed look as he asked, "You know how to dance, don't you?"

"Not this kind of dancing."

"It's easy," he said lightly. "Here, let me show you." He laid a hand on her waist and must have ignored the obvious shiver that ran down her spine for, the next moment, he was moving her hips from side to side, in time with his own.

"See? It's simple. Want to try on your own?"

"Don't patronise me, Sal," Effie said flatly.

"Alright, I'm sorry."

Effie smiled and continued the movements he had shown her without the guide of his hands. She even surprised herself when she found that she was moving closer towards him. Her voice was somewhat deeper than usual as she asked:

"Does this live up to your standards?"

"I don't know," Salvio replied, returning his hands to her waist. "It could do with something else."

And before she knew it, their lips were meeting in a warm, soft kiss that she was reluctant to end. When space opened up between them once more, Effie's thoughts were disorganised in her mind. All she knew was that she was grinning in the most childish way and he was grinning back at her.

Later that night, Effie found Seneca sitting on the floor of the little balcony by the kitchen. She took a seat next to him and offered him a cold bottle of the same liquor that Fulvia had thrust upon her earlier that evening. He ignored the gesture.

"Sen, what's going on?"

"Nothing, Effie."

"Well, clearly that's not the case, is it? You've been sulking all night! It's supposed to be a party; lighten up a little."

"I haven't been sulking," but his tone only reinforced her argument and raised a smile on her face. The irony, however, could not elicit a smile from Seneca. "I'll see you later, Effie."

"Sen! Don't -" The slamming of the door cut her off.

"What's the matter with him?" Effie turned to find Salvio standing just behind her.

"I don't know," she replied as he sat down in the same spot Seneca had only vacated moments earlier. Concern tugged at her stomach.

"Well, he's a big boy. I'm sure he can handle himself."

"Yes," Effie replied vaguely.

"Hey, did you know they've started building Victor Villages in the Districts now? That means no more immigrants from outside. Your mother will be happy."

Effie's brow furrowed into a frown at the news. She was really rather fond of meeting people from outside of the Capitol – they had the most interesting stories!

"That's a shame."

"Yeah." A comfortable silence hung between the pair for quite some time before Salvio spoke again. "Hey, Effie?"

"Still here, Sal," Effie joked.

"I know." And he leaned in close to her again, the sweet scent of honey emanating from his skin. The kiss was soft like the last, but it burned Effie's lips and sparked something inside her that made her fingers tangle in his hair and let out a soft moan as his hands settled on her waist for the third time that evening. Salvio's tongue brushed gently across her bottom lip and, without thinking, Effie opened her mouth to him. Her hands tangled more frantically in his hair. He held her impossibly close now.

The crashing broke them apart.

The impact of the wooden front door striking the tiled kitchen floor reverberated around the apartment. Salvio leapt up like the old dogs the Peacekeepers used to take around with them, to investigate the source of the noise.

He got halfway into the kitchen before Effie saw him tackled to the ground by two peacekeepers in their starched white uniforms.

"Effie, what's going on?" Salvio's eyes looked pleadingly up at her from the floor.

"Stop it. Stop it, please," Effie screamed, trying to push the men away from her friend. "He's done nothing wrong."

Evidently, the peacekeepers disagreed. The biggest one shoved Effie backwards. She lost her balance and toppled to the floor. The last she saw of them was the grim expression of the man who had pushed her as Salvio was carried out of the building, away from her.

How many times would they need to wash their uniforms before they could remove the stain of the boy's blood?

For several minutes, Effie sat, unable to think properly, sobbing into her hands. She eventually managed to stumble towards the telephone and dial the only number she knew off by heart.

"Sen? Sen!" she was shouting down the receiver the second the ringing tone stopped.

"Effie, what's going on?" he asked worriedly. They were the same words Salvio had used.

"They took him."

"Who?"

"The peacekeepers!" Then she realised that that was not the 'who' that Seneca had meant. "They took Salvio."

"Effie…" his voice cracked. Her head started to reel.

"Did you already know about this?" Her question was met with silence. "DID YOU?"

"He was heard bad-mouthing the Capitol in public. I'm sorry." Sorry? They had just dragged her friend from her house with his blood all over them and all Sen could say was 'sorry'?

"How? How did you know?" Her voice was dangerously low, verging on a growl. She already knew the answer.

"My father –"

"You knew and you didn't tell me? How could you, Sen?"

"I thought it would be best if you didn't know."

"You thought it would be best? How is it best for me not to know that they were dragging one of my friends off to God-knows-where? In what twisted world is that the right option?"

"Well, I didn't know you were going to be kissing him, did I?" There. He had said it. It was rage that he was holding onto. Or was it something more?

Effie slammed down the receiver and felt her body sink to the floor, heavy as a rock in the ocean.

"I don't know anything about a network break down; I've been in here, remember?"

Incensed by her spiteful tone, the interrogator sprung across the table, grabbed her arm and put his face so close to hers that she could taste the wine on his breath. It was expensive, Capitol-grade liquor, not the cheap stuff that she had occasionally wrenched from Haymitch's hands during the Games. What she wouldn't give for some of that right now. He was still snarling at her, perspiration beginning to fall in periodic drips from the tip of his nose. They don't expect a citizen of the Capitol to be so non-compliant. Capitol citizens were raised with manners and respect for their superiors. They did not defy them.

"Who organised the network take-over?" Every word was punctuated with the interrogator's heavy breathing, his lips coated in spit.

The disgusting metallic tang of blood seeped into Effie's mouth and she realised that she had been biting hard on her bottom lip to take her mind away from the searing pain caused by the interrogator's grip on her bruised arm.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," she spat with as much power as she could muster in her parched vocal chords. The grip around her arm tightened and she could feel every throb of the blood pulsing through her body.

"You've spent two years in league with rebel leaders and you're trying to tell me that you know nothing? You must think us stupid, Miss Trinket." In league with rebel leaders? Well, it couldn't be Katniss; she seemed to despise Effie and everybody knew it. Peeta, he was a sweet boy, but not a rebel. As for Haymitch, well, that was something else altogether.

"Teamwork was never one of my strong points, Salvio."

Something flickered behind his eyes and she knew that she was correct. They killed him, hadn't made him an Avox – but this was worse than any physical mutilation. They had warped him into some new, bloodthirsty, hateful creature and he had her scent.

"Neither was honesty, as I remember it."

The moment the words slipped out of his mouth, the door opened once more and Salvio was escorted from the room. Effie was left in an abrupt silence. It was some while before she realised that she was breathing heavily and her senses began to resume their normal work. Salvio had said the wrong thing, perhaps for the last time in his life. But what had they told him to make him hate her so much? That it was her fault? That she called in the peacekeepers? Why would he believe it? But these people could make you believe anything. They had made the entire Capitol believe that the Hunger Games was entertainment. They had even managed to cover up the chaos that had happened in the Districts for a while.

The television flickered on of its own accord. Effie caught its reflection in the mirror and immediately recognised the flash of blue hair that must have been Caesar Flickerman. She bolted towards the screen, looking for any sign at all of the others. Katniss, Peeta, Cinna, Haymitch. Even his drunken face would be good to see.

Her hope was rewarded with a close-up on Peeta's face. It was just as it had been on his last evening in the arena. Effie released the breath she had been unconsciously holding. Peeta was safe. But he was calling a ceasefire. That could only mean that the rumours were true. The whole of Panem was rebelling against the Capitol, those who had nurtured them for so long.

But had they really done any good? Effie remembered the shock she had felt walking into District 12 for the first time. The stench of poverty lingered in the air at every turn. There was no escape. That was the moment, she supposed, that she had first doubted the Capitol and its precious ideals but she never voiced – much less acted on – them.

As she looked at Peeta's frowning face, Effie choked back a cry. Then everything went black.