Effie Trinket is alright. A little bruised on the inside and slightly distrustful, but alright. In pristine condition compared to the Victors she was around before the Rebellion. Nightmares didn't come often, but only because she didn't dream often, but when they do she's almost sure they were going to kill her. Effie Trinket wasn't a woman who was built to handle unpleasant things such as nightmares, torture, or an entire war. She was, however, a woman built to control and handle any situation she was put into, and so when the time came for her to experience such unpleasantness, she handled it quite well. Haymitch Abernathy himself had been amazed.

Effie Trinket was a crier, but mostly for happy things, preferring to stay silent and bottle it up when she was truly upset. She cried at weddings, births, and soppy love stories. She stayed silent and passive when it came to funerals, heartaches, and the deaths of children fighting for their survival. Effie Trinket had herself figured out. At 38, she was comfortably aware of her likes and dislikes, her weaknesses and strengths, and she felt annoyed when other people couldn't say the same. If she could ever bring herself to admit it, despite such a happy persona, Effie Trinket was annoyed with most things. Perhaps it was her perfectionist nature, or bitterness from months of torture. Effie Trinket didn't know, and she knew that she didn't care to figure it out.

Sitting in her favorite chair, she watched a program on her television with contentment, only half soaking in what was happening. Most of her attention was on the red wine she had in her hand, because believe it or not, Effie Trinket sometimes needed a drink, too. Switching through channels, a familiar face stopped her heart for a second. Dropping the remote, Effie brought her free hand up to her face and started half-sobbing, half-laughing, as she watched the all too familiar face run Capitol reporters out of his house. They wanted an interview, but he made sure they weren't going to get one. He looked clean shaven but messy, swinging his liquor bottle around in one hand, knife in the other. His appearance seemed to not have changed since the last time she had saw him. Effie Trinket took pride in knowing herself, but for the life of her, she couldn't find out why Haymitch Abernathy's embarrassing appearance on her screen made her react the way she did. While cleaning herself up, she blamed it on too much wine.

She didn't have anything to blame it on, however, when she made her way to the train station the next morning without hesitation to buy a ticket booked for District 12.

"Will that be a one-way ticket or a round trip, Ms. Trinket?" The lady in the ticket booth asked. Effie Trinket looked at her like she was crazy before composing herself.

"A round trip, surely." Effie replied, slightly baffled.

"Just visiting the old team, I presume?" The lady smiled. Something about the lady's question made Effie furrow her brow, so Effie Trinket promptly smiled politely and walked off, trying hard not to stomp. Stomping is always a sign of poor etiquette.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Haymitch drawled, leaning himself on his doorframe. Effie pursed her lips and gave him a disapproving look.

"I wasn't talking about you, Princess. I was talking about the dead bird you're stepping on. Damn cat always leaves things at my doorstep. Katniss won't tell it to stop. But nice to see you, too." Effie looked down and gave a screech, taking her heel off of the dead bird's body. Haymitch gave her a satisfied smirk.

"It's been years, Haymitch. I just wanted to see how poorly you were doing without me." Effie said coolly. Haymitch let out a dry laugh. Ha!

"I've been the same way I've always been, Princess."

"Which can only mean very drunk and very poorly, indeed." Effie countered. Haymitch glared at her. She mustered up a smile. It really was wonderful to see his face, in person, again.

"Well, you saw me. Guess you'll be heading back now." Haymitch says, trying to close the door. Effie rolled her eyes and stopped the door; very unladylike, but she deemed it necessary.

"I'll be staying for a tizzy, Haymitch, dear. I just know that you won't mind." Effie says in a sickly sweet voice, making her way into the odious house. "I can tell this place is going to need a major cleaning if I'll be staying here, though." Effie wrinkled her nose. "I'll send for them tomorrow."

Surprisingly, Haymitch doesn't protest. Instead, he turns around to face her, leaning his face as close to hers as he can stand. He squints his eyes, looking straight into hers. Seam grey staring at Capitol blue. Haymitch evaluates the expression in Effie's eyes. Unwavering, self-assured, stubborn. Strong.

"You seem to haven't changed at all." Haymitch tells her, amused.

"Was I supposed to?" Effie asks, slightly defensive. Haymitch ponders this for a few seconds. He was sure the war and her torture had changed her in some ways, even if she chose not to show it. Nobody could go through such things without a few scars. He decides that he wants her to stick around, at least long enough to figure out where those scars are. Effie Trinket, despite his inward protests, was strangely fascinating to him. One of the only people to counter his insults back. What he hasn't decided, however, was whether to laugh at her response or to kiss her. Haymitch decides to do both. Effie surprises herself when she not only lets him, but pulls him in for more. Kisses are pleasant things, she reasons. She was a woman built for pleasant things.