yeeeeeeeeeeah | Her eyes were bright and clear

Needless to say, it'd been a rough week for the Capitol and her rebellious children.

Things weren't exactly looking up, but considering two power hungry political minds were out of the way, things were at least looking straight forward again. Except for the fact Katniss was being kept under lock and key until her trial was over. And if the results of her trial weren't favorable...

And for that reason alone, Haymitch was back to the bottle, quite literally. He drank down the bitter liquor, the sting distracting him from heavy thoughts and worries. Worries. Too many damned worries. About Katniss. About Peeta.

And strangely, about a prissy Ms. Trinket. Or used to be prissy. Or what ever.

She hadn't been the same. He wouldn't call her lifeless. Nah, he would have almost called her soulless before all of this started. But it was as if whatever the Capitol had done to her, had drained her of what made Effie...Effie. Even if it was prissy and several layers of annoying.

He looks down at the bottle, frowning. Not enough alcohol to drown these worries apparently.

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"I'll get it clean."

It would give her something to do. Which was a good thing. And maybe give her a little bit more ability to settle in here.

Still, she didn't really want to even touch anything.

"How did this much dust get in here?"

"Lack of use," Haymitch wasn't going to stop her if she wanted to clean, "Probably the fire bombs. Ashes and dust get everywhere during fires."

This was home though. Not really home. But the only home he still had. And his chair was still there.

In his nice clean Capitol suit, he walked over to the chair, and collapsed into it, sending dust and ash flying everywhere.

"Haymitch!" She exclaimed, more out of habit than actual shock.

And then her face went white. Ashes. The ashes of the houses, yes, but also...

Pressing a fist to her mouth she closed her eyes. Tried not to be ill.

Tried not to cry.

He turned back to her, and saw her expression. He could even see her pale under the makeup she was wearing. Through out their years together working in the hunger games, he'd always been the more calloused one towards death. And here he was again, forgetting exactly how sensitive she was to this.

"Eff," he started, standing up to go over to her. But then he realized he didn't know what to say. People died in fires. Those fires made their ashes and the winds carried their ashes where ever. And he knew Effie wasn't so naive not to realize that, so lying to her was out, "We can't change it now."

It was true, and not wanting it didn't make it any less true.

And these might not be, factually, her friend and family. But symbolically they might as well be.

She pressed the heels of her palms to her face, nodding.

"I'm...I'm sorry. It just...it hits hard sometimes."

He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, "I forget sometimes."

Alcohol had done it's damage to him. Numbed him to the point of no return. There were three people who'd somehow defied the odds, made him remember what emotions were. Beyond them though? He hadn't felt much. Seeing 12 for the first time had angered him, but remembering that people had actually died? Well. It wasn't his three. So there was no use losing it over death.

He doesn't say anything as he moved to dust a chair off for her to sit on.

She follows, keeping close to him. Not touching, not exactly, but shadowing after him like a lost little child.

She felt like a lost little child. In a strange new place, with no home to go to.

Taking a deep breath, she reach out to lay a hand on his arm, just closing her eyes and...reminding herself where she was. And why.

For a moment, he thought she was going to pass out. And while it had happened with them in the past (more him passing out drunk on her than the other way), he wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with that.

"Uh. Eff?"

"I'm ok. Just..."

She shook her head. She didn't have words to describe what she was feeling. And if she tried, she had the sneaking suspicion it would end up in tears. Again.

"I'll clean tomorrow. Everything."

"Everything? You sure?" He was teasing a bit. Trying to get her mind off of the ashes that were everywhere.

She gave him a dead pan look.

"Have you actually seen your house? Yes, everything."

A little bit of the old Effie.

Haymitch chuckled looking around the room, "Guess you're right for once, princess."

Looking around the house, she knew she had her work cut out for her.

"Where am I sleeping?" She asked, starting to feel her exhaustion. it didn't creep up slowly. it wasn't there, and suddenly, she felt weak on her feet.

"Uh," Haymitch stopped, starting to think of somewhere she might be able to sleep, "Well, the guest room isn't exactly..guest ready."

Years of being a drunk, victor hermit played into that, "My room isn't much better princess."

She's want somewhere clean, somewhere nice. None of the rooms in Haymitch's house fit that description.

She pursed her lips.

It would be rude to be un thankful. but also, the idea of sleeping here...

"Even your room?"

"I wasn't exactly spending a lot of time worrying about cleaning up before everything happened," Although to be honest, he hadn't spent a lot of time before cleaning up.

He sighed heavily looking to the stair, "I can try to clean it up or something."

"I'll help." She said, the relief evident. She didn't mind helping but right now, she wasn't really feeling assure enough to just push in.

And maybe the work would tired her out the rest of the way.

Her eyes were bright and clear

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In which, haymitch is about as sensitive as a rock

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