I stand up and huff out of that unprofessional meeting. I don't get recognized for any of the work I put in. Did I NOT create the Mockingjay, and basically the whole revolution was my doing. Oh one day they'll see.
I very gracefully, yet just enough to show my frustration, walk down the stone path and down the sidewalk. My posture is perfect, as only years of practice could have caused. It does get tiring at times, but a good appearance is a good impression.
As my heels, pink as cotton candy and lined with silver jewels, click on the cold stones I hear shouting. No, no one is in trouble- except me that is. Haymitch comes staggering down the road, the only good thing about his posture is his back is straight and not hunched. He catches up, and I can't help but smile at the half haggard grin on his face. I suppose he understands the difficulty of dealing with these victors.
"Why hello there Miss. Pink, or I'm sorry is it salmon colored today?"
His jests are supposed to be funny but I find them the least bit entertaining.
"Haymitch do you not have a bottle somewhere you have to get back to?"
"Ah a little humor, something new I see." Haymitch replies, not the least bit offended. "And sadly no, I finished off my last bottle trying to get the image of your awful mustard hat out of my head."
I smile, but continue walking. Haymitch puts his hand on my shoulder, I feel his rough, un-moisturizer skin through the lace on the shoulder of my dress. Oddly enough it send a pulse through my body, my heart beats a bit faster. I shake it off, it was probably a reaction to that awful fake wrist watch he has on.
"Now there Effie, you can't strut away from all your problems."
He positions his other hand on my other shoulder so I'm not forced to face him. His messy blonde- or is it brown- hair falls just in his eyes. I smell a hint of old wine, and his shirt has a stain on the front. Yet somehow I don't feel the need to point any of this out, fearing that he will stop holding me here. I wish, for a moment, that I had applied makeup today, as my face was barren of any product. My heels were barely heels, and he was my height as a result. Haymitch steps forward, closing any space that was once between us. His lips near my cheek, and the warmth of his breath sends shivers down my spine. "Eventually you'll have to face a few" he whispers, the stubble of his unshaved chin tickling my cheek. He wait there, his face nearly up against mine, for just a second before slowly stepping away. One hand falls from my shoulder and the other lays there for a second longer as he steps away. It gently falls down my arm, lingering at my wrist for a moment, before Haymitch is gone, walking away. Leaving me with my thoughts and a few sentences to think on.
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