Chapter 1
First Impressions
The sky was shrouded by a veil of clouds as Hazelle Hawthorne made her way through the Seam to the Victor's Village. It was relatively early in the day, and she was on her way to the home of her new employer, the home that was also going to be her workplace.
The home of Haymitch Abernathy.
Katniss had somehow convinced him to hire Hazelle as a housekeeper, a favor for which the mother of four was very grateful. The winner of the 50th Hunger Games had plenty of money, and Hazelle had plenty of stomachs to fill. She'd always struggled, but this opportunity seemed like an ideal chance to turn things around. She never shied away from hard work for the sake of her family, and she was prepared for whatever disaster Haymitch's house may be.
At least she thought so.
As she neared the Abernathy household, Hazelle's stomach turned and she began to chew her bottom lip, wringing her hands nervously. She shot her gaze across the courtyard at the Everdeen and Mellark residences, both of which looked warm and welcoming, even in the dreary half-light of the overcast day.
The only other occupied house in the Victor's Village, on the other hand, didn't appear as friendly. Hazelle turned into the walk and approached the house cautiously, eyeing it guardedly. From the outside, she could see that the windows were nearly opaque with grime, the front door hung awkwardly on its hinges as if it had been slammed a few too many times, and the yard was slightly overgrown and unkept even though the victors were supposedly supplied a groundskeeper to maintain their lawns for them.
Hazelle glanced behind her towards the tidy green between this and the other properties. Everything seemed to be in perfect condition except this yard. She turned warily back to Haymitch Abernathy's front door—before which she now found herself—sure that it had something to do with him. Maybe this job wasn't the best idea after all.
She rearranged the grimace on her face into a polite smile and tapped her knuckles softly against the door. She stood tensely, back ramrod straight, obliging expression pasted on her face, waiting for someone to answer the door. After a minute, when no one did, Hazelle knocked again, a bit louder this time. To be honest, she worried for the door to fall over if she beat it very hard, so the volume hadn't been altered all that much.
After pausing for any response from in the house—footsteps, a voice telling her it would be right there, anything—and receiving nothing, Hazelle silently pushed the door open and slipped inside.
The smell hit her before the chaos around her registered in her mind. She gasped and immediately held her breath, glancing around swiftly for any signs of life. What she found was not the famous Haymitch Abernathy, but his horrible mess that consumed what seemed like every inch of the house.
Dirty clothes and wrinkled papers littered the floor and any other available surface, filthy dishes and rotten food covered whatever the former didn't, and every accessible space between was crammed with empty, broken, discolored bottles of every shape and size imaginable.
The first thought to cross Hazelle's mind was that someone had broken in and trashed the place, but as she wandered further into the house it became clear to her that this was just the way Haymitch lived. She wondered how he did it.
At home, with three young children, Gale, and herself, everything had a place and order was enforced without exception. Everyone in the house contributed to keeping it tidy and livable. Here, with one perfectly capable resident, the entire place was one giant trash can. Hazelle couldn't take two steps without her path being obstructed by some form of waste.
Disgusting, Hazelle thought to herself. This man is disgusting.
She hadn't even met him yet.
Hazelle continued to wade through the rubble carefully, searching for Haymitch. Or some cleaning supplies.
"Mr. Abernathy?" she called softly. "Is anyone here?"
Turning off the hall into what appeared to have once been a living room, she spotted him. She was pretty sure it was him anyway.
The man was snoring softly, laying face down on a formerly beautiful sofa, its intricately-patterned fabric now stained and tearing. His dark hair was uncombed and spilling in thick curls and knots over his face and forearm, which was propped under his cheek as a sort of makeshift pillow. His other arm was draped over the end of the couch, a half-empty bottle of cloudy liquor clutched loosely in his hand.
Hazelle wrinkled her nose and decided not to disturb him after all. She backed out the room and crept towards the stairs, deciding to start on the second level, hoping desperately it wasn't as bad as the first.
It was.
The untidiness continued up the stairs onto the next floor, where it appeared to have been left untouched for a much longer window of time. Piles of useless rubbish filled every room and obscured the beauty of the fully furnished home provided for the victor.
Hazelle couldn't help but feel offended by Haymitch's wastefulness. She, who had nothing and struggled to keep food on the table, saw all these potentially valuable things shoved aside and wasted and felt slighted. If Haymitch had all these wonderful things he didn't use or appreciate, why were there thousands starving to death in the Seam every day?
He must have forgotten where he came from.
Hazelle pushed the feeling to the back of her mind and set to work. She found a large cloth sack that she shook out and immediately began filling with various unusable items in the first bedroom upstairs. She managed to salvage a few dishes that could be scrubbed clean and several stacks of books that Haymitch may want to hang on to, setting them together in a clear corner of the room. Focused and efficient, she was making fast progress.
When the bag was filled to the brim, she did her best to haul it down the steps without being too noisy.
No such luck.
"Who's there?" a gruff voice barked from the front room.
Hazelle froze in her tracks at the bottom of the staircase.
Shuffling could be heard from the other room, and then, there, groggy and hungover, poised to strike from the doorway, bottle replaced with knife in hand, was none other than Haymitch Abernathy. His sharp grey eyes scanned Hazelle's slight form up and down, scrutinizing her for any sign of a threat. Finding none, he relaxed, lowering the knife to his side.
She cleared her throat, stood up straight, and opened her mouth to speak.
"Who are you?" Haymitch asked coarsely before she had the chance. "And what are you doing in my house?" His eyes flicked to the full sack at her feet. He sized her up again. Then, his voice laden with sarcasm, his lips pulling up at the edges, he teased, "Robbing me?" He cracked a smile and slouched against the doorframe, running a hand through his disheveled hair absently.
"Um," said Hazelle quietly, shifting her weight to her other foot. "No—"
"But really," Haymitch continued, relaxing. "What are you doing with that?" He nodded at the garbage sack.
Hazelle looked down at the sack as well, as if she had forgotten she was carrying it. She lifted her gaze back up to Haymitch's, a bit red in the face. "Cleaning," she replied. "I'm Hazelle, your new housekeeper."
Haymitch stared steadily at her for a few moments. She fidgeted uncomfortably under his intense gaze, glancing at her feet, then up at him, then back down again.
"Well then," Haymitch said finally. "Continue."
Hazelle nodded and proceeded to lug the bag towards the door, but not without difficulty. It was very full, very heavy, and very loud. Everything inside clanged together as the bag dragged slowly across the floor. Haymitch turned and headed back into the front room, yawning and rubbing his fist against his eye sleepily.
"And Hazelle?" he called as he lay back down on the sofa. "Another thing."
She left the sack momentarily to poke her head into the other room. "Yes?"
"Try to keep it down," he advised in a condescending tone, shifting positions on the couch heavily. "I do need my beauty rest." He grinned at her sarcastically, winked, and closed his eyes without another word.
Hazelle scowled at him for a moment before returning to the hallway where she had left her work. She had trouble throwing herself back into her task and couldn't make herself look at working for Haymitch as a positive opportunity anymore. His unpleasantness left a sour taste in her mouth and a foul mood hanging over her head. As far as first impressions go, she thought, Haymitch Abernathy does not leave a particularly good one.
A/N: I'm honestly not very happy with this. I apologize for the yucky boringness of this chapter, but I needed to include it to set up the rest of the story. I promise the next chapter will be better, with less dull description and more character development and relationship building! Please review :)
