“What will happen when we get to your arena?” she demanded. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.“ 75 arenas and one colossal task for Effie Trinket. Hayffie. Post-MJ. Previously
8. The Bar
Where her social life was concern, there was little resemblance to the person she was before the war. It was glaringly apparent when she chose instead to spend her Friday night in the office, going through the project timeline and noting with satisfaction that it was going according to schedule - schedule she had meticulously set out.
Cressida and Pollux had tried to persuade her into joining them for a party two blocks away from the office thrown by one of the small-time district entrepreneurs but the thought of mingling with people from the districts made her stomach roiled. Just like those former Capitol elites, Effie was sure that some of them would have something nasty to say behind her back or mock her in the face or throw her disdainful looks, all of which she was not in the mood to face that night so she opted to work instead.
It was boring, yes, but boring was good. Boring meant she was safe.