"Haymitch Abernathy!" The enthusiastic, pink lady on stage finally exclaimed, after unraveling the tiny scrap of paper, which took extreme focus and concentration on account of her shaking hands.
As the name echoed, a young man stood tall, shoulders broad as he gave a glance to someone, perhaps a little brother, a mother, a girl. His hair was rather long, but masculine and ruggedly handsome. He was a typical District Twelve seventeen year old, ready to get down to the mines soon and work for his food - though he knew now that he would never work down there, for in a short fortnight, he'd be running into the bloodbath of the arena. As the final of the four tributes reached the stage, somber claps filled the air. The peaceful requiem sung by the hands of the district's citizens marred by one sound; someone clapping quickly.
The only person in the audience who struggled to hold back her grin and enthusiasm was Effie Trinket. As the sixteen year old daughter of a Capitol escort, aspiring to be one herself soon, watching for experience and to aid her mother, Effie couldn't be any more excited for a special Quarter Quell. She wore a spectacular updo without the aid of wigs, and her face was painted white, orange lips contrasting the coal dust. She was, that day, the brightest thing in the District, visually, but terribly naive.
Around an hour later, young Effie was scribbling away at her notepad, with her golden pen, watching her mother give the tributes a tour around the train. She'd been told by her mother that this bunch of tributes was kinder than it could have been, though Haymitch seemed particularly difficult. As a result, Effie kept a close eye on the young man before her, who would have been far taller than her if it weren't for her clattering heels.
Valira Trinket ushered her tributes to the dining table, assuring that dinner would be ready soon. She left the room quickly, and Effie covered up her mother's coughing and spluttering by muttering on about the beauty of this room.
"Hey, Princess, how 'bout you just shut it?" Haymitch asked gruffly, not even bothering to make eye contact with her. He was much too preoccupied with spinning a knife between his fingers and staring at the frail 12 year old boy who'd unfortunately been selected first. That tribute didn't stand a chance, he'd scarcely make it to the arena. Effie crossed him off the list she'd made in her notebook before glaring at Haymitch.
"With manners like that, you won't be getting any sponsors." She answered, pursing her tangerine lips and sitting at the head of the table. A strange pink liquid in a slim glass balanced between her white fingertips, before she brought it to her lips, swallowing it. She tutted at how awful it tasted, pouring it away. She looked around for a drink more lavish and expensive, wasting hers for being inadequate. For this, she earned glares from the tributes, aside from the crying young boy; wasting anything was incomprehensible to them.
"'Might wanna borrow your knife sometime." Maysilee Donner, an athletic blonde, half-joked quietly to Haymitch, trying to lighten the mood. The blond responded with a smirk, twirling the butterknife rather skilfully.
Effie didn't take the comment seriously, she knew how susceptible escorts were to threats, but what use would shooting the messenger be? She simply watched the knife, already trying to decide on her favourite to coach. She had no time for all four.
Haymitch sat through the quiet meal, unphased by the tangibly uncomfortable atmosphere and took advantage of eating as much as he could, as messily as he could, if only to annoy the escort's daughter. He only knew who she was because she'd made a sort of announcement a few minutes previous, something about how she was "here to assist", before she had to rush off to her mother's room, like a servant.
He didn't have the spare time to find this at all curious, he was counting the days to his death, or the days to when he would transform into a monster on account of cold-blooded survival killing. At this thought, he pushed the last of his food away and shoved himself out of his chair, walking to the bedroom assigned to him by Valira.
Haymitch's rough hands found his eyes, letting out a sigh and rubbing them. He wanted to be with his brother, making sure he was fed tonight. He wanted to tell his mother not to worry about him. He wanted to tell his girl he loved her. Thanks to the Capitol, he was here. He was a pig for slaughter, to quench their bloodthirst and feed their hunger for entertainment.
Haymitch laid down in the plush bed, unnervingly comfortable. Comfort was home, with family and friends. This was artificial comfort. So artificial, in fact, that he couldn't use the word "comfortable" for anything here. Sleep wasn't about to come easy, so he stared at the wall, mind completely blank.
After goodness knows how long, a soft knock came at the door, and Effie entered, holding some black pants and a white nightshirt. "We should be in the Capitol tomorrow evening. Get a good sleep, you'll need it." She chirped, placing the clothes, neatly folded on his bed.
Haymitch didn't acknowledge her at all, which she didn't care about for the time being. She didn't need to waste her energy focusing on a difficult district kid until it actually counted. She would find her favourite soon. Snapping from her thoughts, she walked out noticeably quickly, clip-clopping down the hall to her mother once again.