Notes: I've never written for this fandom before, but I had an idea for a short scene and thought I'd give it a try. I haven't even read much HG fic so forgive me if this has been done before. I own nothing of the HG universe and mean no infringement.
A Victor's Games
She sits in the bar, hidden away in the room reserved for Victors. The drink in her hand is cool and smooth, the best liquor the Capitol has to offer. How she wishes for the white lightning of the Hob. It would burn her throat, smolder in her stomach, and be much more appropriate for the girl on fire.
Her first year as a mentor and both tributes from District 12 had lasted a plum total of four minutes in the games. The blood bath, the cornucopia, the other tributes believing they can no longer ignore the tributes from District 12. Better to get rid of them immediately.
She throws back the drink, feeling it slide down her throat, and signals for another. There are other bars and other rooms for Victors, half of which are probably hosting the rest of the mentors that had tributes die in the opening blood bath. She's just glad she's alone in her little corner of the Capitol.
The curtain protecting her from the rest of the world shimmers and slides open to reveal Haymitch. He smirks at the drink in her hand before plopping down on the plush sofa across from her. He doesn't even have to order. The bartender simply appears, setting down two glasses in front of him. It could have been worse, she supposes. It could have been Peeta that found her.
"It could have been worse, you know," Haymitch says unknowingly echoing her thoughts.
Her eyes find his. "How?"
"At least, it was quick." He raises his glass in salute.
"They were slaughtered because of my performance in last year's games."
"Not everything is about you, Sweetheart." A third drink has appeared in front of him. "They were slaughtered because that makes for good television. They were slaughtered because no district has ever won the games in consecutive years. You," he finishes his second drink in one swallow, "should be thankful."
"Thankful?" she asks, incredulous. "For what?"
"You didn't have to make any decisions. You didn't have to compromise your virtue." He gestures at all of her. "Your first games as a mentor are over. Congratulations, you made it."
"You're disgusting," she snarls. "No wonder tributes from our district never won. You don't even care about them."
The liquid swirls dangerously in his glass and for a few cold moments he holds her gaze. "You ever watch someone freeze to death, darling? Or see someone drop in their tracks, dying from thirst while you sit surrounded by drink and opulence?" He leans forward, setting his glass down on the table with a hard clink. "I've presided over twenty-five games worth of tributes from District 12 dying, and you were the first one that anyone gave a damn about."
"I've met my sponsors, Haymitch. I know all about the deals you made and the promises you gave them on my behalf-"
"Oh? You would have preferred I didn't?" he asks, his eyebrows disappearing under his lanky hair. "Have you forgotten so soon what it was like to truly be the girl on fire?"
"That's not the point. You had no right to promise the things you promised."
He slouches back against the cushions, drink firmly in hand. "If you have enough wealth to be a sponsor, there's only one kind of currency a poor mentor from an outlying district can offer."
"They expect me to fulfill those promises the next time I'm in town…when I'm legal."
"The price of being a victor, sweetheart."
The very idea makes her sick to her stomach. "And if I don't follow through with it?"
"Well, then, I guess you and Peeta will have to watch District 12 tributes die for many years to come." He points to the shimmering curtain that hides them from the rest of the Capitol. "Sponsors talk to each other, and they'll know you owe a debt. Until that debt is paid, there isn't a single sponsor that will give you the time of day." Haymitch slams the drink back. "You think about that when those young, innocent tributes look up at those cameras in the arena and beg for you to help them, to send them a drop of water or a single match, and you can't because you didn't keep your end of the bargain."
She holds the silence that he sets between them, her skin crawling at the idea of what she'll have to do.
"For a victor, the games never end, Katniss. It's just the arena that changes."
Thank you for reading.