Hello everyone, plus any PJO readers who were alerted of this story. This is the story of the 50th Hunger Games, the 2nd Quarter Quell, just because Haymitch is kind of awesome. So enjoy. Sorry if there are any spelling mistakes or anything, I wrote this somewhat quickly in order to get the idea down. Reviews are welcome, I also love suggestions, sometimes I add them to the story. So review, tell me what you think.
Haymitch Abernathy was doomed the moment someone said his name. Seeing as that someone was the District 12 escort, Marcus Pippins, his name became synonymous with corpse.
He heard the crowd gasp around him, heads turning and necks craning to see him. Haymitch ignored them and walked through the crowd that parted before him like the old Sea in the story his father told him when he was very young. It was weird now, thinking about his childhood, as he walked toward almost certain death. Was his whole life meant for the sole purpose of the entertainment for silly, fat, rich people? Well then, he thought grimly. They want a show, they'll have it. He climbed up the steps onto the stage, next to Marcus with his fluffy green afro and the two female tributes; Mika Sevenfold, a girl from the Seam who was bone-thin, and Maysilee Donner, which was a surprise. Maysilee was a town kid- she did not have tesserae like Haymitch and Mika, and she probably ate every day. When Maysilee's eyes met his, she nodded gravely and let a single tear trail down her cheek. Then she looked away, embarrassed, but not before Haymitch could see the resolution in her eyes. She might stand a chance, he observed. Not Mika, though. Mika had strong trails of tears cutting through the dirt on her face, and her hands were shaking uncontrollably. She won't make the first five minutes. Or thirty seconds.
Haymitch's observations of the female tributes were cut short by Marcus' high-pitched, feminine Capitol accent. Haymitch winced. The way they talked was so ridiculous, it sounded like they should be some fancy toy from the Capitol. "The second male tribute is… Charman Locus!"
Haymitch groaned. Charman lived a couple sooty houses away from him. He was a tall kid who looked like he'd been pulled through the taffy puller in the town's expensive candy shop. He was also whiny, annoying, daft, and probably the person that Haymitch hated the most. Aside from President Snow, of course.
Charman climbed up the last couple of steps. There were unmistakable tears in Charman's eyes, and Haymitch could tell he was trying not to cry. No, let them out. The easier you seem to kill, the faster you'll be dead. The tears disappeared when he saw Haymitch, though. Then the tears had disappeared and his eyes had narrowed. When it was time for them all to shake hands, he seemed to be trying to break Haymitch's fingers. Unfortunately, the latter was much stronger, and Charman turned out to be the one wincing. Haymitch pulled away from the annoying boy, smiling, to see Maysilee. Her hand was soft, unlike his own calloused hands. She gave his hand a little squeeze, which Haymitch returned. If I make an alliance, it will be with her, Haymitch thought as he shook Mika's frail hand. He was careful not to squeeze it at all, not hard like Charman's, or reassuring like Maysilee's; he was afraid if he put any pressure on her fingers at all, they would snap. As soon as the handshaking was over, the Peacekeepers began herding them all to the Justice Building. Haymitch stared down his assigned Peacekeeper angrily. He hated Peacekeepers. Not all of them were bad, of course; there was Jakkob who patrolled down the street. But he loathed the looks they gave him- like he was going to steal out of their garbage cans or beg them for food. It was ridiculous. Like he would ever beg for food. He had much more civilized and illegal ways of getting nourishment.
After the sour-smelling elevator ride in the Justice Building, Haymitch was herded into a small decorated room that was apparently made just for this Quell, so that there were enough rooms for all the tributes. His eyes immediately went to the floor- no there were none of the worn patches of carpet he'd heard about, where tributes paced uselessly, knowing they would die sometime in the next few weeks; the carpet was brand-new. Haymitch settled on the new couch, an uncomfortable thing with hardly any cushion. It was coated in velvet. He found it entertaining to run his fingers up and down, watching the fuzzy fabric change shades. He had just finished writing his name when the door burst open.
"Oh, honey!" his mother sobbed, locking her arms around his neck. It reminded him of one of the monkeys he'd seen in his Science book, one of the extinct animals.
"Mum, calm down," he answered. Over her shaking shoulder, he could see his father, standing straight and still, like he was afraid to move; and his little brother, whose lip was quivering. It was clear that he was trying not to cry.
"There- there's forty-eight of them," she cried. His shirt was getting wet from her tears. "You have no chance!"
Haymitch laughed cruelly and patted her on the shoulder. "Thanks for being optimistic, mum. And calm down. There will be so many people; they'll all kill each other for me. I'll be back before you know it."
His mother sat up, rubbing her swelling eyes. "We'd better get going," she sniffed. "Liona is waiting outside to see you."
Haymitch's heart fluttered. "Okay. Just a moment, though. Come here, Jamie!" Jamie shot over to Haymitch as fast as his little seven-year old legs could carry him. He buried his face into Haymitch shoulder, sniffling. He'd tried so hard not to cry, but it was all coming out now.
"Come one, Jamie," Haymitch said, trying to keep his voice optimistic. He ruffled Jamie's dark hair. "When I come back, I'll bring you a souvenir from the arena." Jamie nodded and slid off his lap, wiping his nose.
Just as his family was about to leave, his father stopped at the door. He looked at Haymitch, biting his lip. The coal miner- strong, stoic, brave- had never looked so vulnerable.
"Come back," he said gruffly.
"I will," Haymitch promised. "Feed Jamie extra while I'm gone."
"I will," his father returned, as the door closed.
The door had only closed for a second before it opened again. Haymitch had known who was going to come before she had stepped in; he met Liona right at the doorway, taking her in his arms, catching her breath with a long kiss. Her hands stroked his hair, and Haymitch felt her tears sliding down his cheeks.
When he broke off the kiss, she took a shuddering breath and stared him in the eyes. Her eyes were dark green, like emeralds, and they took his breath away every time he saw him. I wish I could stop time here, Haymitch thought. I want to live in this moment for the rest of my life.
"Haymitch, you have to win," she said. Her voice was strong and steady. This is what he loved about her- her strength, her determination. "You might not be as big as any of the Careers, or as strong. But you're fast, and ten times smarter. Outsmart them. That's your best chance."
"Sounds easy enough," he responded, and she smiled.
"Don't get too cocky," she said, but it was a teasing tone. She pulled herself out of his arms and went into her pocket. She brought out a small little drawstring bag, sewed together with teensy little stitches. It was made of leather, too; Haymitch knew how much leather cost. It probably cost a lot for her to buy this little bit of fabric. When she placed it in his hand, he felt something gritty inside. "It's your district token. A little bag of coal dust. It's sewed tight enough that nothing should escape."
Haymitch smiled. "If I put it in my boots, it will be just like home."
She bit her lip, but still smiled weakly. "No matter where you go, no matter what happens, remember me, remember yourself, remember where you came from. You're your own person. You're not a tool for them."
"Am I a tool for you?" Haymitch asked, his hands on her waist.
"Only if you want to be," she breathed, her breath warm against his neck. She pressed his lips against his, and that's where the two of them remained until the Peacekeepers came.