Haymitch rolled his eyes at her Little Miss Manners routine. He knew just as well as she did that there was no place left for her here. And it just pissed him off that she would choose this over...well, anything else.

"And what do you think they're going to do with you here?" he said, bite in his tone, "You may be a citizen, but you know what's waiting for you once the dust clears."

Another person dying. Haymitch's face hardened at the prospect. It had been a bloody war. Too many were lost in it. Innocents. Lovers. Good people. And while Effie was most definitely none of those things (really though, he wasn't so who was he to pass judgement?)...she didn't deserve to die.

When she coughed he made no comment. He could have. He could have prodded, asking where exactly did a lady learn to cough like that.

But he didn't. His mood had shifted, and not in a good way. He downed the drink, same as her, but with no coughing. This was a mood he didn't like. Things he didn't like to think about. So his answer?

He finds the next bottle, opening it and leaning over to pour more in her glass before she can say more. This is always the answer, even when it's not.