Haymitch cursed. He was late. They couldn't begin the reaping without him, nor could he miss it, but in any case, he was not happy. The trip to Thirteen had taken longer than expected, the meeting with Coin had gone over. Taking a huge gulp of alcohol, he ran towards Twelve. Slipping under a spot in the fence, he began to walk like a drunk. If any really late people saw him, his charade would not be discovered.
He was slightly worried, too. He wanted this to work. It had not been easy to find a way to make every last one of those slips say Primrose Everdeen. It also wasn't positive that Katniss would volunteer. If she didn't, it was just one more Games, one more where Twelve lost. If she did, they would finally have the perfect victor. A victor to insight a rebellion. They needed her. He felt terrible, though. He liked her reasonably well. She frequented the Hob, with that friend of hers. Gill was it? She was responsible for much of the good meat in Sae's stew.
He flashed back to a meeting a few weeks ago. They had been talking about ways to insight a rebellion. Plutarch and Seneca had come up with the idea of a victor. They needed someone who could win. Someone who could play up the crowd. He had been the one to suggest Katniss. It was no secret that she would do anything for her little sister. They all knew that this year was the year. If it wasn't now, who knew when they would get another chance.
As he reached the crowds of people, he acted even more drunk. Up on the stage, he managed to pull off a very convincing act. Effie wasn't happy. When Prim's name was called, his heart started racing. The small girl walked slowly up to the stage. Her sister raced up to get ahead of her. Her voice was desperate as she pushed the little girl behind her and volunteered. Her friend came and pulled a sobbing Prim off Katniss's back. Haymitch felt awful, no better than the Capitol, as he breathed a sigh of relief. Doing his best impression of a drunk, he made a fool of himself and plummeted off the stage.