#warning incoming for my intimacy issues in the tags

[fishandshesmygills]

also nobody makes me cum im a stone top

[violetmuses]

Silhoutte || Chapter 7

Tag Team: @eyelinerandcigarettes @thisworldwecallsleep @stylesthesunflower @mysoftboybensolo @xoxabs88xox @anteroom-of-death @zemoslittlebird @karimac

=====

2016

Helmut Zemo

“What are you doing here?” Nicole questioned Gregory, rising at the moment to pace in an effort to avoid fidgeting on our sofa located here in this front room.

“Can we talk for real this time? I’m sorry.” Gregory sighed towards Nicole, acting as though I was not around and watching his every move during the conversation with her.

“Have you lost your mind? You might as well have been stalking us and Helmut’s supervisor could be missing. I don’t want to speak with you.” Nicole defended in return, already fuming with good reason.

“First of all, I wasn’t stalking you. The public already knows that you stayed here for quite some time to begin with. Secondly, how was I supposed to know that a low-ranking nobleman was living with you? To make matters worse Nikki, can you even name his country?” Gregory ranted, even dismissing my home at one point.

“Wait a second. What? It’s one thing if you come here and argue with me about our relationship, but it’s a completely different issue now. What gave you the audacity to disrespect Helmut that way, especially given how much Sokovia means to him? Have you done any research?” Nicole continued, nearly shouting in response.

“Nicole.” Gregory failed, recoling back once Nicole refused his incoming touch. Instead, Nicole reached out to hold my hand, interlocking our fingers as I stood up to match her movements.

“Get out. Now, I remember exactly why we broke up and why I’ve forgotten that you even exist. All you do is care about yourself. Leave before I actually call the police and file a lawsuit for threatening us.” Nicole lowered her voice, angered.

“Please we can talk. You really don’t need to bring out attorneys for this…” Gregory seemed miserable now, failing once again in an attempt to reach her for the millionth time.

“She said to leave. How stubborn are you?” I spoke up at last, stepping closer to Gregory and releasing Nicole’s hand from my palm to make this point even more substantial.

“You don’t scare me.” Gregory affirmed, almost giving me this form of a once-over as we stood directly across from one another.

“If you dare to taunt me one more time, both of us will ensure that you may never breathe fresh air again.” I tilted my head, warning this childish “man” for what would hopefully be the final occasion.

“Fine.” After glancing between Nicole and I, Gregory hadn’t weakened his stance, but still backed away, leaving us alone and departing the penthouse.

____

“Do you have any updates on Karpov? It’s only been a short time since Gregory left those weird calls on your work phone.” Like an angel, Nicole had checked in on an almost regular basis, calling to see if Kaprov returned to his post as my supervisor.

“It’s true. He is safe, but has been working remotely in Ohio for the past few days and hasn’t returned yet. I still do not understand what is going on, but someone else will be leading my department until further notice.” I groaned, still drained.

“Oh, thank God. At least we know he’s actually not hurt.” Nicole answered, clearly relieved because of this “news.”

“Something still does not feel right, though. I just cannot describe the problem yet.” I told her, still puzzled by so much of what happened recently.

“For now, just breathe, Helmut. Maybe everything you’ve thought of will connect in the future.” Nicole continued giving advice in an attempt to calm me down. Her sweet voice alone would’ve usually settled these nerves, but my mind still raced, asking more and more silent questions.

“Perhaps we should celebrate another date night. I’ve begun to overthink again.” I admitted, trying to distract myself and channel intimacy.

“Good idea. Destressing might actually be your best solution right now. What did you have in mind?” Nicole asked once more. I just knew that she smiled in person on the other line now.

“We should stay at home this time. Let’s cook dinner together and I will finally open that bottle of Merlot that you have been hiding from me.” I laughed, still typing through more work during this conversation.

“I’ve never hid the bottle! You just haven’t asked me to open it yet.” Nicole chuckled in return, warming my heart and easing these frazzled thoughts once more.

Despite ongoing issues, tonight would hopefully be quite enjoyable.

_____

“Baby, I love you, but please stop eating these mushrooms. If you keep snacking, I won’t have extra pieces left to mix with the pasta.” Like memories of my mother, Nicole took charge in the kitchen, cooking with me around despite affluence that swarmed around us.

“The mushrooms sauteed perfectly. Did you ever consider attending culinary school?” I asked, hoping that she would smile because of this compliment. Meanwhile, soft music which I did not recognize played from a Bluetooth speaker that cornered nearby.

“Mom and Pop couldn’t afford it, so we pulled loans and I went to college for my Hospitality degree instead. As long as I kept grades up, they were proud. Can you please take out the Parmesan container? I’m almost finished cooking here.” Nicole revealed more details on her own life, which piqued my attention once more. Still, I walked over to our refrigerator and handed over that container as she asked, but we continued this conversation.

“Perhaps cooking is just one of your many talents beyond work.” I smiled again, moving towards cupboards and planning to set the table. In all honesty, despite our plan, no matter how many times I genuinely offered to help make dinner tonight she refused. My best friend worked almost entirely alone as I mostly handed over various items.

“Thank you, Baby. It's a nice break from constantly ordering food or asking one of your staff members to make something. Life gets hectic and I’m too tired to actually make dinner for both of us when you’re home with me.” She nearly laughed, finally allowing me to help plate our meal. Even another beautiful smile reached her lips.

“You’re quite welcome. Now, let’s eat and simple appreciate more of this much-needed time together.” I hand, leading Nicole towards the table shortly afterwards.

_____

“What should we toast for now? Your birthday has already passed, of course.” I smiled, holding this glass of Merlot wine between these bites of delicious pasta crafted this evening.

“Us. We hit that one rough patch earlier and now I’m pretty sure that you and I are trying to improve for the better. I love you.” Nicole grinned, lifting to her clink mine in return.

“And I love you.” I promised, joining her glass to give out that shared chime here in the room this time.

As we each took gentle sips and set our glasses back down on the table, Nicole spoke up again, tilting her curls.

“I’ve got brownies in the fridge too. Would you like to share those with me and watch a movie together or something?” Her request sounded adorable and gave a almost youthful sense of flirtation.

“Thank you, but I have a better idea.” I said, moving my head towards the Bluetooth speaker before taking another sip of wine.

“Okay, then. What’s that?” Nicole held her glass without drinking more between words.

“Let’s clean up our kitchen, take out the brownies, and then we may try to finish this bottle of Merlot whilst discussing your musical choices.” I suggested, now arching my brow for “good measure” by this point.

“You don’t like my playlists?” Whilst facing me, Nicole gaped.

“No, don’t worry. I’m not offended at all. Your musical taste is actually fascinating.” I encouraged her instead, still genuinely curious.

“Deal.” Nicole winked.

“All right. We will see what happens next.” I chucked back.

_____

“Let me get this straight: You like EDM?” Nicole felt shocked once more as soon as I listened to music that boomed with faster tempos than expected.

“Believe it or not, yes. Why else do you think we danced together all night in Madripoor?” I laughed after wiping my lips. Our plate of brownies set onto the coffee table across from this sofa as we sat alongside one another. The Merlot had been half-empty now.

“We were both tipsy as hell that night and even though we were already together, you wouldn’t stop flirting with me. I just thought it was the ambience that encouraged you.” Nicole nodded her head to the music whilst replying back to me.

“At university back in Sokovia, I would actually bypass my security detail and go clubbing with classmates.” I winked, wondering what crossed Nicole’s mind as I revealed this new information.

“Oh no!” Nicole snickered now, holding her stomach and adorably fell onto my chest in response.

“What?” Humored once more, I looked down towards Nicole with a smile, adjusting my own body to keep her close.

“I could only imagine what that would look like. Young Baron Helmut Zemo dancing in nightclubs around two in the morning. I’m sorry, but that would’ve been hilarious to see.” Nicole shook her curls, but could not fight another grin that had crept onto her beautiful face.

If I knew then what I know now…

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Now or never

(Hayffie ff ❤️. I initially shied away from this prompt because I didn’t think I could write it in a way that felt interesting. But I ended up having a great time with it, so much fun that this became one of my longest one-shots. — I make no apologies for the length of my posts in the feed or in the tags. I don’t apologize for any aspect of my free expression. For personal reasons, I write on my phone using the tumblr app, and the limitations are what they are. Like the limitations of my disabled body are what they are. For prompts, I reblog the prompt along with the link to my fic in case anyone wishes to reblog something shorter. — I write for myself, for my love of the characters and the process. When people comment on, like, or reblog my posts, I view those interactions as unexpected gifts. I have such love for writing that I’d do it old-school like Anne Frank, without any audience beyond my journal itself. This blog has been that for me for over 5 years, my space for coming of age and processing intensities in a strained and oppressive midlife. — I’m inspired now by prompts much more than I have been in past fanfiction efforts. So, thank you to everyone who offers them. And when people are willing to slog through my long fics and other posts, that is fabulous devotion to the characters/issues that are important to me, and I feel good to know I’m not caring alone. — 💛 Kim)

***

His facial hair was rough against her lips. The sensation triggered fantasy which played out more readily if she didn’t have to look at him. So she kissed him with her eyes closed whenever they fucked around. He was the same height as Haymitch. When she wore 5-inch heels, those added to the feeling of intimacy. It wasn’t entirely real, but it felt better than loneliness.

Their relationship was discrete, of course. Mutual discretion was a condition she established before getting involved with anyone, especially someone as high-profile as Seneca Crane.

As far as Capitol society was concerned, their connection was primarily professional, with occasional dinners at expensive restaurants. It was an image they’d been comfortable projecting, and it wasn’t far from the truth.

In moments that weren’t overly physical, she enjoyed his eyes. Blueish-grey with a streak of emotion, they were familiar enough to help her pretend. That’s why she’d first invited Seneca up to her apartment in the fall — to have sex with Haymitch in fantasy.

The sex was good enough. He was gifted with his hands, though he smelled too much like her. She wondered if he wore the same cologne as she did. And his body frame was smaller than the one she actually wanted intimacy with. By November, they’d become a regular *good enough* thing.

A dozen years earlier, they’d been schoolmates at the Academy. He graduated two years before her. She was softer then but already a force to reckon with. He was shorter in those days, sharp, obsessed with tech design. Ambition was an attribute they shared, perhaps the only one.

By 30, he’d become one of the youngest Head Gamemakers in history. He enjoyed the rush of adrenaline he experienced when executing the Games, and he relished the opportunity for artistry. The thrill and beauty he saw in death made Effie uncomfortable, but she viewed it as part of the job. He carried out the president’s wishes, though he confided in her that he didn’t fully agree with the way Snow ruled Panem.

On an evening in late December, they walked along a garden path covered in trellises draped with strands of fairy lights. Effie kept her hands warm in her pockets. It had been a long day, and she was ready to be home in bed, asleep, alone.

“What do you think about marriage?” he asked. The question was slightly more inspiring than if he’d asked her what she thought about the weather.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” she answered honestly, leaving out her occasional ludicrous fantasies about having babies with tiny purple wigs and predispositions for alcoholism.

“A union could be advantageous for both our careers. The publicity could improve your chances of promotion to escort for an inlying district.”

“And what do you stand to gain from a *union*?”

“You’re iconic, Effie. You represent the Capitol with style and positivity, and you execute your work flawlessly. You’re in good favor with the president. You could be a wonderful ally for me,” You could be a buffer for me, he didn’t say.

“Is there anything more?”

“Like what?”

“Really, Seneca, is THIS how you’re proposing??”

“Well, our families would support us. And there’s the matter of sentiment.”

“Sentiment?”

“I like you. I care for you, of course.”

She thought of Haymitch’s words from last summer, the night they almost... but didn’t.

‘I like you too much,’ he’d said, ‘I can’t fuck around with you and pretend it’s nothing. And that’s how it would have to be. That’s the only way it could be.”

Venia and Octavia insisted Haymitch loved her, but she believed that was still a pipe dream. She could keep waiting in vain, or she could choose a more sensible path.

“And there’s this...” From his coat pocket, Seneca pulled a black velvet box and flipped it open. Effie’s jaw dropped. The diamond was huge. It was far and away the loveliest ring she’d seen. She looked in those blueish-grey eyes that reminded her a bit of everything she wanted that wasn’t accessible to her.

Seneca pressed, “Say yes, and the wedding can be one of the biggest events of the year, rivaling even the Games.”

She imagined what her dress would look like. He was saying the right words to tempt her. They didn’t love each other, but maybe she could look past that inconvenient reality. Sometimes people married for other reasons.

“The press would go crazy,” he continued, “There would be red carpet interviews. We could invite everyone who’s anyone: stylists, victors, even Snow.”

Victors... Would he show up to watch me get married? 6 months ago, Haymitch had asked her what she wanted. He’d unzipped her dress and touched her body. He’d taken off his shirt and shown her his scars. Then he effectively told her a relationship between them was never going to happen, and he held her hand as she fell asleep.

Damn him.

She took her left hand out of her pocket. “Let’s see how it fits.”

Seneca had investigated her ring size, so the fit was perfect.

“Let’s show him,” she said.

“Show who?”

“Them. Let’s show them all.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. Let’s get married. ...This spring.” She could plan a wedding in 5 months, no problem. Isn’t this the time couples usually cry and leap into one another’s arms? Shouldn’t this occasion call for a show of passion?

“This spring it shall be then.” When Seneca kissed her, she closed her eyes and embraced the same fantasy as usual.

***

Haymitch rarely received mail beyond his compensatory income from the government. In March, when the post delivered an envelope addressed to him in gold ink, he almost tossed the thing straight into the trash, recognizing it as an invitation to a Capitol party. Then he saw the name “Trinket” and the return address of Effie’s family home.

What’s this? He opened it right there on the porch with uneasiness gnawing at his stomach.

“You are cordially invited to celebrate the marriage of

Euphemia Rosalind Trinket -and-

Seneca Lucius Crane

Saturday, the first of May

At 3 O’Clock in the afternoon

Palazzo Annaeus”

What the hell is THIS! His stomach churned, and he vomited up a pint of white liquor on the ground beside the porch.

Memories flooded in... tracing up the seams of her stockings, unhooking her garters, feeling her body without a corset, running his fingers through her hair as she curled up in bed, so soft. So damn soft. Fear had screamed warnings about getting attached to her. Fear was always screaming.

When those Games were done, he’d left the Capitol with a strained sadness between them, like a rubber band stretched too long. Today it snapped and smacked him in the face. He felt the sting of annoyance and regret.

Damn her.

He couldn’t fix this. The only thing left to do was decide whether or not he was willing to watch it happen. He would have burned the invitation in the fireplace if not for the P.S. in her obnoxiously perfect handwriting.

***

Seneca had been right about one thing. Effie’s parents were thrilled that she’d decided to marry one of *the Crane boys,* especially the Head Gamemaker. Historically the Cranes had been part of the old guard of the wealthy from the Capitol, and they’d successfully diversified their financial interests in the years following the Dark Days.

Her parents spared no expense for *the wedding of the decade.* Effie spent the winter so caught up in the comfort of validation and the thrill of event planning that most of the time she evaded the sense of dread that nagged her when she startled awake in the mornings.

When she’d addressed the invitations, she considered adding a postscript to Haymitch’s, either “Fuck you” or “I love you.” Both feelings were nonsensical and nonetheless true. In the end she’d written,

“H — Please come. — E”

She checked the mail each day for his response card among hundreds, but it never showed up. Figures. He probably threw it away.

She didn’t need anyone to *rescue* her from the fate she’d chosen. If she wanted to call off the wedding, she’d simply come up with a logical explanation to save face; she’d apologize to Seneca and her parents; she’d put a stop to all plans, and that would be that.

The phrase “Mayday mayday mayday” was a distress signal used by Capitol troops during the Dark Days. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d subconsciously scheduled her wedding on the first of May because, apart from the fine details, opulence, and attention, her heart wasn’t in this.

***

“We’re here at Pallazo Annaeus,” Claudius reported from the red carpet which had been rolled out along the walkway to the galleria of the Crane family mansion. “Just a short time from now, fashion icon and District 12 escort, Effie Trinket, will wed two-time Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane.”

“Isn’t this exciting!!” Caesar was in typical form. “The air is positively electric!”

“So much so that my hair is standing on end!”

“As is mine!! Thank goodness for hair products.”

“And wigs! We’re seeing all of the ABOVE as the guests arrive. What a crowd!”

Their interviews with attendees were concise, asking which stylists designed their gowns and suits, and if they had particular wishes to share with the couple.

“Now here comes... Is that?... It is! Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the second Quarter Quell.”

“How touching. One advisor for District 12 supporting the other on her special day.”

“I LOVE it!! Haymitch, do you have any words for the happy couple?”

Haymitch stomped past them without pause. He hadn’t entirely sobered up from the bottle of whiskey he drank on the train, and he didn’t even try to resist flipping Caesar off when asked the question.

“A man of few words,” Claudius covered for a shocked Caesar. “We never know what to expect from that one.”

“He certainly does keep us on our toes.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we have stylish shoes!”

“Indeed!” Each of them spun around on tiptoe, and the cameras zoomed in on their footwear as a distraction from Haymitch’s persistent middle finger.

Just beyond the entryway, the galleria was packed already. Guests were dressed in yards of fabric and large hats. Floral arrangements lined marble walls covered with paintings, some of which were probably older than Panem itself. Haymitch slipped into the first empty chair he spotted, ignoring the usher who asked him, “Are you here for the bride or the groom?”

The question pestered. The bride. Shit. I’m here for the bride.

***

With every detail attended to, Effie curled her fingers around her father’s arm in the vestibule. Flower girls and bridesmaids entered the galleria first, then it would be her turn.

“My princess is getting married in a palace.” Her father kissed her cheek.

“Daddy! Careful of my makeup. Photos aren’t being taken until afterward.”

“Of course. It’s YOUR perfect day.”

Effie had certainly made everything perfect, except for this unrelenting nausea and desire to run away. She forced herself to breathe slowly. The last thing she needed right now was to throw up, ruin her white gown, and have the press start a false rumor about pregnancy. She had no desire to have children with Seneca. She’d made that clear, and he agreed.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Her father calling her “sweetheart” made every discomfort worse. Clearly she thought of Haymitch.

“I’m trying to be alright... but I don’t know,” she confessed.

Her father wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s almost time to walk down the aisle. Is that what you want to do?”

He asked it like she had a choice, but it was too late for choices.

“Let’s go pay the piper!” As Effie started down the aisle on her father’s arm, she didn’t notice the splendor and fullness of the room, nor the oohs and aahs from standing friends and family. She didn’t notice the rose petals on the floor, nor her fiancé sweating like a pig about to be roasted alive with an apple in its mouth.

All she saw was Haymitch.

He stood at the edge of the aisle, in the middle of the room. In the years that she’d known him, he’d been clear about his disdain for Capitol events, yet here he was, no RSVP and very much himself in his regular clothes from District 12. She’d probably be irritated if she hadn’t missed him so much. He was standing right here, and she was still missing him. It took every ounce of restraint to not tell him so.

“Great dress, sweetheart.” He offered a subdued smile as she passed.

She looked back at him once, and her eyes felt like old glass, holding tears too hardened to fall. Then there was nothing to do but look forward.

***

Fear was screaming different words now at Haymitch. Stop this. This wedding. Stop this!

As she walked away from him, he could see that her dress had an open back from her waist to the top of her shoulder blades. The gap was bordered in ornate jewels, stitching, and fancy shit. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her skin, and he couldn’t stop thinking about touching her.

She glanced at him again as she handed her bouquet to a bridesmaid. Her eyes were pleading. He knew the look because of all the times he’d tried to ignore her feelings for him ...and his feelings for her.

The officiant addressed the audience, “We are gathered here today to join Effie and Seneca in matrimony. Family, friends, and honored guests, do you support this union and affirm that these two should be married today?”

Haymitch looked around as the audience responded in unison, "We do."

I don’t.

The officiant continued, “Will you surround this couple in love, offering them the joys of your friendship? Will you support this couple in their relationship? At times of conflict will you offer them the strength of your wisest counsel and the comfort of your thoughtful concern? At times of joy, will you celebrate with them, nourishing their love for one another?”

The automatons responded together again, "We will.”

Like hell I will.

“If any of you has a reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Haymitch sighed and shook his head. Someday he’d be the death of her, or she’d be the death of him. Maybe today was that day.

This felt like now or never. The bit of whiskey still in his veins helped it be now. He stood up and moved quickly down the aisle to the sound of gasps and murmurs all around him.

***

“What are you doing?” Effie was stunned as he gripped her wrist.

“Excuse us,” Haymitch said directly to Seneca, then he pulled Effie out of the room down a long hallway.

She went willingly, chastising him in hushed tones along the way. “Haymitch! This is highly inappropriate!”

“More inappropriate than us having this conversation in front of the entire Capitol?”

“What conversation?”

He pulled her into a room down the hall.

“Not so tight!”

He loosened his grasp on her wrist but didn’t let go.

“What are you doing, Effie?”

“Do I need to state the obvious?”

“Marriage?? Why are you even WITH him?”

“I don’t owe you explanations — or anything else for that matter.”

She was right. She owed him nothing. His edge softened, and he stroked her wrist with his thumb. “Why are you marrying somebody you didn’t even look at as you walked down that aisle?”

“I LOOKED at him.”

“For about five seconds, and what did you see?”

She hesitated, “He’s wearing a tie, not an ascot. We had a dispute about it this week, and I insisted he wear the tie.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about on your wedding day when you see the man you’re about to marry — a goddamn tie?”

“Why are YOU giving ME the third degree! What are YOU thinking about on my wedding day?”

“I’m thinking about how much I hate Seneca Crane. I don’t want him marrying you. I don’t want you fucking him.”

“Well, that ship sailed! We’ve been having sex for months, not that it’s any of your business!”

“Not my business?”

“Absolutely not!”

He was burning with a mix of emotions: anger, jealousy, frustration, confusion, desire, fear. “If it’s not my business, then why did you ask me to ‘please come’ today? What am I doing here? ...If it’s not my business, then why did reading your wedding invitation make me puke. Why can’t I stop thinking about you? ...If it’s not my business, then why do I want to be the one to take this dress off you. I keep holding your wrist because if I let go, I’m gonna touch you, and what would your *fiancé* think about that? What would YOU think about that?”

He’d never confessed so much to her all at once, and she was in a mild state of shock about it. “Last summer you told me if we ‘fucked around’ then you’d have to pretend it means nothing. You told me you can’t pretend that, so where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“I think you do. ...Let go of my wrist.”

“I told you what’s gonna happen if I let go.”

“Then let it happen.”

In a duality of reluctance and eagerness, he let go of her wrist and caressed her through the open back of her dress. She shivered and leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her, touching every inch of skin he could reach.

The wig she wore resembled her actual hair color, light golden, like wheat before harvest. In this moment, she was an angel. He’d kiss her if she’d just shut up, but she had things to say too.

“If it’s not your business, then why am I still here with you instead of out there marrying Seneca?” Her tone softened. “Why do I close my eyes and picture you every time I kiss him and every time we have sex? ....If it’s not your business, then why do I miss you so much?”

“Jesus, Effie. What are you doing to me?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“I think you do.”

***

From the doorway, Seneca cleared his throat. He’d been listening awhile. Effie tried to pull away from Haymitch, but first he had to untangle himself from the back of her dress.

“This isn’t quite what it looks like,” Effie laughed nervously.

“It looks like unfinished business,” Seneca said.

“Then it IS what it looks like,” Haymitch told him.

“Will you please excuse us?” Seneca asked, proper as fuck. “Effie and I have some things to discuss.”

“I’m not leaving.” Fear and desire for her wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll handle this,” she insisted. “Please wait in the hall.”

This was the Gamemaker’s house, his wedding, and his girl for god sake. What else could Haymitch do? Pull out his knife and slit the guy’s throat?? This was Effie’s world, not his. Without another word, he stepped out of the room, and he hated that she closed the door behind him.

Seneca confronted her, “I’ll say this quickly because our guests have already waited long enough. A marriage of convenience is prudent when the motivations for such a union are stronger than the desire for love. I’ve realized that’s not the case here. For me, and apparently not for you either.”

“Are you in love with someone else?”

“Someone my family regards as unsuitable. I’m sorry I didn’t speak about it sooner. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.” He glanced at the door, “But I see that you do. Frankly, this interruption is an enormous relief.”

Effie was slightly miffed to realize that Seneca would not be pining for her, but the interruption did lift her feeling of dread. “I apologize as well. I haven’t been forthcoming with you, or with myself. What do we do now? The Capitol is expecting a wedding.”

“The Capitol is expecting a show, and they’re getting that. Let’s walk out there together and announce that we’ve decided to cancel the nuptials and move straight to the reception. It can still be the party of the year.”

“But my parents...”

“I’ll reimburse your father for his investment in this. It’s the right thing to do. I do care for you, Effie, but I should never have discussed marriage as a hypothetical, let alone proposed and let it get this far.”

He held out his hand. “Shall we? Before any more time passes.”

She threaded her fingers with his in solidarity.

When the door opened, Haymitch was still there in the hall, fuming now at the sight of them holding hands.

“Seneca, give me another minute,” she said.

He let go of her and took several steps away.

She touched Haymitch’s arm and spoke into his ear, “The wedding is off. But we need time to appease our families and everyone else. Meet me at 9 o’clock at The Popina on 6th St. Do you know the place?”

He’d never been there, but it was a good call. He doubted the press would look for him at a swanky wine bar. “I know the one.”

She whispered, “I said I don’t owe you anything, and you don’t owe me anything either. Regardless, this feeling between us isn’t going away.”

Seneca told him, “Keep following this hallway as it bends to the right. You’ll eventually reach a side door you can take out of here if you want...”

Haymitch didn’t trust him and didn’t want to leave.

“...Unless you’d prefer a walk back down the red carpet with the other guests.”

I don’t.

Effie urged him to go. “I need to set this right. Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”

“I don’t wanna run out in the middle of a pile of shit.”

“Language! This wedding is not a pile of anything. It’s an event we need to finish differently than expected. Will you trust me?”

“Fine.” He answered without conviction, turning away so he wouldn’t have to watch them link hands again. Holding the handle of the knife in his pocket, he followed the hallway to the side door and left all that nonsense behind him. Did he trust her?? If she walked into that bar tonight without a rock on her finger, then maybe he just might.

***

Afterward, the red carpet commentary indeed made for a more interesting show.

“The only thing more exciting than a wedding,” said Caesar, “Is a kiss at the altar between the bride and groom after they’ve CALLED OFF the ceremony!”

“You may now kiss the woman in white who is no longer your bride!”

“Oh, Claudius, you’re so cheeky!”

“I can honestly say I’ve never seen a couple more happy to be NOT married.”

“Did somebody bring the sun INSIDE the palace? Because they were positively glowing.”

“The reception is still on, and did you hear their words about it?”

“Caesar, I was on the edge of my seat, and I couldn’t miss them, but say them again.”

“Seneca began, ‘May 1st, May Day, is not just one of folktales. Mayday was a cry of distress during war, terrible war. The Capitol responded and transformed that distress into peace.’

“Then...”

“Then Effie continued, ‘Instead of celebrating a wedding, we’ve decided to transform the reception we’d planned into a festival honoring the glory of the Capitol. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.’”

“Don’t you just love that?”

“I DO! I absolutely do!”

“Well, that’s the only ‘I do’ that we’ll be hearing this afternoon!”

Hysterical laughter ensued between the two.

“Claudius, the question on everyone’s mind revolves around the influence of a certain mentor from District 12.”

“Yes. Haymitch Abernathy interrupted the ceremony.”

“He pulled Effie away, and Seneca followed. When the couple returned hand-in-hand, they called off the wedding. The mystery is, what happened in between?”

“As you said earlier, we never know what to expect from Haymitch. That one is a wildcard.”

“We’ve been waiting for him to emerge from the palace so we can ask him, but as we noted before, he is a man of few words.”

“Maybe we’ll catch him at the reception.”

“The festival!”

“The festival, of course!”

***

By 10 o’clock, Haymitch had read the sign on the wall a hundred times. “Hedone says, ‘You can drink here for one; if you give two, you will drink better; if you give four, you will drink Falernian.”

‘Hedone’ he recognized as the Roman goddess of pleasure. He thought pleasure would be a fine devotion if it wasn’t pursued at the cost of other people’s lives or pursued to chase away demons. He was already chasing one bottle of Falernian with another. “Damn Capitol wine doesn’t get you drunk unless you chug two bottles. And this is the best they’ve got?”

He’d been there a couple of hours. During that time, his attention was divided between that sign reflecting on hedonism and the screen showing footage of Effie’s non-wedding reception.

They were *saving face* alright. Haymitch had rarely seen Effie kiss anyone, and tonight he’d watched her kiss her *former* fiancé every time someone clinked a glass. The kisses were pecks mostly, a game they were probably playing to host a fun party and show the Capitol there were no hard feelings between them. But as the kisses added up, Haymitch’s dislike for Seneca Crane became more palpable.

“Slide a bit,” she said, showing up beside him. She was hiding in a simple dress and a light layer of makeup. Her hair was pulled back beneath a scarf instead of a wig.

He scooted over, making room for her at his booth in back. “You’re late, sweetheart. Did Crane kiss all that makeup off your face?”

“And you’re drunk.” She caressed the back of his neck, content to be with him right now, drunk or not.

“Wasn’t drunk an hour ago after the first bottle of this Falernian shit. But the more you drink, the better it tastes.”

She drank from his glass, and he didn’t object. From his perspective right now, she could drink straight from his mouth or off his body.

He encircled her waist, pulling her as close as the setting allowed. He was relieved to see that she wasn’t married. His inhibitions were reduced, so she could do just about anything to him right now, and he wouldn’t object. He tried not to think about her having that kind of power.

She stroked his arm wrapped around her. “There’s a rumor circulating about you.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?” He kissed her neck after each question. “Do they think I’m fucking you?”

She giggled because the hair on his face tickled her skin and because she was anticipating his response. “Not quite, honey.”

“What then?”

“They think you’re fucking Seneca.”

“What the hell?!!”

“Caesar and Claudius predicted ‘the mentor from District 12 is having a torrid affair with the Head Gamemaker,’ and you pulled me away from the wedding in the hopes of taking my place at the altar.”

“They’re lunatics.”

“It’s a risky move breaking up a wedding. Who knows what people will say.”

“What do YOU say?”

“I say you look at my breasts far too often for you to be interested in Seneca Crane,” she chuckled.

“And what do you say about me breaking up your wedding?”

As she looked into his eyes, there was no approximation, no almost. It was a relief to not have to *pretend* that he was the one she wanted, but to just KNOW it. “I say, thank you. ...Sweetheart.”

What fantasies and real desires would be accessible with him? She’d know more in time.