That Capitol Girl

Effie's P.O.V.

I am very aware that many people do not like me. That Capitol girl. The reasons span from me being too happy and bubbly, to overly annoying. But what most people do not understand is that not only am I forced to act the way I do, but that my job requires I keep up this unneeded verve for the sake of my sanity.

I jump as the Avox girl in my employment comes round the corner and passes me a message. I mumble my thanks which are returned by a small smile. I am, after all, the only person I know, who in private, gives thanks to their Avoxs. I sigh, running a hand over my yet to be painted face, before unfolding the small letter, sealed with wax with The Capitol's seal.

Dear Miss Effie Trinket,

I am delighted to inform you that you have been given District 12 for the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games reaping. You will be leaving in two days time ready for the reaping which, of course, will be held at exactly 2pm.

May the odds be ever in your favour,

~ Seneca Crane, head gamemaker.

My fingers crumple the sheet slightly as make my fingers resist curling into the centre of my palm.

District 12.

Again, I have been left with District 12. Another reason to why people hate me, especially the people of District 12. I do not expect less fight from their tributes than I do any other district, I just fear, knowing their lack of wealth, how unhealthy their tributes will usually be. Every one of the district 12 citizens looks at me in distaste and disgust with my attitude towards their reaping, but I know they'll never truly understand how much I dread the reaping as much as they do.

Last year, I looked at the faces of the children in District 12. The twelve year olds were so tiny, they always have been, but last year, all of them were so small and undernourished, I almost refused to do it. Of course, I knew that would have resulted in less pleasant things for me, and so Cinna had literally pushed me on the raised wooden platform outside the justice building.

And every year, every single moment I'm up before those unfortunate people, my heart feels it's going to burst from my chest, because I know that no matter who I've chosen, I've signed their death certificate. It's hard no matter what age they may be, but when they're just twelve and I see them shaking with sobs as they mount the stage, their mother's anguished cries creating a haunting harmony, I almost become undone.

I pray every year, that another district will need me. A career district. But they never do. And every year I am left with the hunched shoulders and solemn, giving up faces of District 12. And I realise, which others don't, that if I do not treat the games as I do, I know I'll be scared out my wits about them, scared out my wits for the district, the tributes and their families.

My make-up allows me to become another, more confident person. My wig, although unneeded, is important for the sake of my bravery.

I go to The Capitol with those two district 12 tributes. I watch as they feast until they can no longer eat any more, I watch them as they train and train and train, I watch them as they're transformed into works of art by our stylists, I watch them and get to know them. But eventually, through everything, I watch them die.

My fingers curl around the note and I screw it up, throwing it towards the small bin by the door in bedroom. I cry out with anger and ultimately sadness, pushing myself away from the vanity I am sat up and marching over to my wardrobe where I pull anything out, along with the suitcase lying patiently ready with a fine layer of dust covering the top.

I'm too agitated to work calmly and so I roughly open the case up, messily folding and placing clothes on top of each other, shoes and wigs going on the very top. The Avox girl, alarmed by my sudden intensity lingers by the door way. I look at her and she gulp, albeit awkwardly because of her situation, and suddenly, I am calmed, because I know I do not want a fate as ugly as hers was. And I know that if for a second, my thoughts are voiced to those around me, I will be in her place, serving someone rich for their needs and entertainment.

"I'm fine, Zelda," I say, patiently while placing a palm to my forehead. "You can go."

She nods once, teetering between the hallway and my bedroom before nodding again and leaving again. I throw myself down beside the suitcase, running my fingers through my hair, a sudden knock jolting me back into present time.

"Effie!" And I recognise that voice. It's the voice of Cinna, district 12's new stylist.

I sigh, making sure he doesn't hear. "The door's open," I call back.

He sweeps in elegantly, nonjudgmental and calm, something that offers stability in my life. I smile for the first time in what seems like weeks and he places his hands on my shoulders.

"The tension, Effie," he whispers, "It shows." I smile again, weakly this time as massages my shoulders.

"District 12... again," I sigh.

He gives me a quizzical look, "They're not that bad," he counters.

I laugh feebly as he clasps his hand in mine and pulls me up to the full length body mirror. "I know, Cinna, I know."

I remove my sleeping gown, comfortable to be naked before Cinna. He examines me before commenting, "You've lost weight, Miss Trinket."

I know he's right, but I keep a poker face. "I have?" I ask innocently while placing a silk nightgown over my skinny figure.

However, Cinna doesn't buy it and so returns a concerned look. "What's wrong, Effie?"

I shake my head, unwilling to talk to him about the problems that keep me up all night, only to become a reality again in less than three days. "It's just..."

"The games?" I allow myself to shoot him a sharp defensive look. And I can see in the mirror it's enough to tell him the truth. "I feel the same, you know."

Cinna runs his fingers through my hair before reaching for a brush and combing my golden curls that are barely ever seen in public view. I fold my arms over my chest, unconvinced about his reasoning. He smiles slightly, but nods. "I've woken up for the past week in a cold sweat, scared that I'm going to kindle a too close of a relationship with my tribute. I don't know... I don't want to make that connection."

I stare at him from under the hair falling over my face. "It's something we have consider. But as an escort I am there to instruct, help and above all, keep things in order. It is in my contract I do not get too close to the tributes."

"But you can," Cinna retorts, quickly.

"But you can," I agree.

With another kind smile, Cinna pins my hair into the latest fashion, crazy overdone curls. I'm amazed with what his hands can do in so little time. Our small conversation has lifted some of the painful pressure of my chest and I feel a little better about my job, because finally someone's found another person like them. Finally, I am not alone.

"You're coming with me?"

He folds a jacket over his arm and answers, casually, "Yes." I exhale in relief, unsure how long I have been holding my breath. "Now," he continues, tapping my shoulders to make me stand, "I think it's time to go and get refreshed. After all, we have a big, big, big day today."

I smile again, giving him the genuine large smile only Cinna can draw from me in situations like these. "And today, and tomorrow."

"Of course."

Cinna kisses my cheek and I realise that not everyone hates me. That I at least, have one good friend who understands me.