And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers
Chasing me all over town
Cause he knows I'm wasted, facing
Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out
— "Off to the Races" by Lana Del Rey
It was an unusually warm midwinter morning when Johanna is awakened by the smell of alcohol hanging heavily in the air. With an audible groan, she wills herself out of bed despite wanting to stay and pull the covers over her head. She takes a quick shower and is soon dressed: wearing a pair of worn out, dark colored jeans and a leather jacket with a fur hood and boots. She shivered, even after all this time the District Seven native was still not used to the ever-changing climate of District Twelve.
How do these people fucking do it? She cursed, pulling the coat tighter around her as she makes her way towards the kitchen. She expected the old bastard to be there nursing a glass of bourbon, possibly drenched in his old vomit like the countless times she's found him in.
Haymitch Abernathy kept his house dark, and his housekeeping was atrocious. For a victor, Johanna would have expected his home to look like a mansion when she started visiting him. The way it was handed to him, when he won his Games. Johanna certainly kept hers in top condition. Now, his looked more like an abandoned, war torn hut than a home. With all the vomit, alcohol, and trash that littered the floor, the dark-haired woman could just smell the house's terrible stench from the train station.
Instead, she finds him sitting at the dinner table without a bottle of whiskey to keep him company. The older man known for his alcoholism; so much so, there was never a time when he wasn't caught without drinking. But to those closest to him, and the oh so few that there were, knew that out of the 365 days of the year, The Reaping was when he abstained the most. Why? It is possible to say that despite passing himself off as a careless habitual drunk, he actually felt remorse and sadness for the eventual children that would soon be forced to fight for their lives.
There was an actual heart inside of him, even if it was drowning in whiskey and bourbon.
Johanna doesn't speak a word to him. This self-imposed state of complete silence was probably the only time he had to himself when he could properly grieve. Ironic, really. One would think it would be better to mourn the dead after their killed not before. Nevertheless, the symbolism of it all is not lost on her.
As a victor of the Games herself, she knew the pain and the tragedy that came with it, before, during and after. She simply chose not to wallow in the mud and continued walking forward.
"Haymitch, when are you going to renovate this place?" She asked putting a hand on the dinner table but immediately retracts when part of it breaks off. "This place is falling apart."
"What for?" The older man asked as he got up from his seat and passed Johanna into the kitchen. "If I can just move in next door, everyone knows I'm the last person that's ever going to live in this village."
Victor's Village, it's where all the survivors of the Games move into when they win. A beautiful little place in the district, built with mansions and luxury items. A little piece of the Capitol for one to call their own. Here in Twelve, Haymitch was the district's 2nd and last remaining victor and ever since his victory 24 years ago, there hasn't been a tribute whose ever managed to put even a sliver of hope in the man.
The thought saddens Johanna, to a point. This was the nation's poorest district; the only tribute this place can produce is a skinny brat who looks like a corpse than a mere human.
...
After getting all dolled up thanks to the Capitol stylists on reserve for today, Johanna waited, if what, impatiently for the ceremony to start. She didn't understand why so much work was put in when the main event was to just read names off a piece of paper. She smoothed her tight, form fitting navy blue dress as she sat down waiting for Haymitch to arrive. The old bastard must've gotten lost on his way here and found himself taking shelter in a liquor cabinet somewhere.
There was a squeak, followed by the sound of overpriced heels clicking against the floor.
Oh no.
If anyone knew how to get on Johanna's nerves, it was Effie Trinket.
Even as she currently walked down the hall, pretty much ran, in a bright fuchsia dress with alabaster make-up and a horrendously bright shade of pink lipstick. After spending the past four years as the District Twelve escort, an especially trying time, the crazed little minx still managed to smile and laugh as she launched herself at Johanna.
"Johanna darling!" She screeched in a high-pitched voice that rang in girl's ears. "Oh how I've missed you! How have you been?"
Johanna shrugged her shoulders, nudging the escort to get off. "Alright, I guess."
In her spare time, the District Seven native mostly took to training and working with her father and brother in their store in the merchant village. Forging tools and constructing furniture, her father also worked as a carpenter. There was once a time when she and her family made weapons and sold them to hunters on the black market. However, when the Capitol stepped in all of their hard work had been confiscated and the store was temporarily shut down despite receiving some of the profits.
That all changed when Johanna won her Games. When not working, she could be found in District Four spending time with Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. And that's if she wasn't visiting Haymitch.
"Nonsense! You must tell me more, I—" the stylist is suddenly still and stares at the dark-haired girl, bewildered.
Johanna ran her a hand through her long hair. It had been a lot shorter barely past her shoulders when she won her Games, but she took to growing it out ever since. The stylist picked up the tresses and squealed happily. "I am absolutely thrilled! You finally let your hair grow!"
"Don't get too attached," the dark-haired girl said evenly. "I'm thinking about cutting it again."
"Into that godawful bob cut? You must be joking."
"Oh because you're one to know so much about hair. For fuck's sake you're wearing a wig."
"So?" Effie asked defensively. "It's stylish, all the rage in the Capitol."
Johanna rolled her eyes. "As it is every year, moron."
The smell of alcohol hits her, and she watches as Effie scrunched her nose up in disgust. Haymitch who stumbled towards them, burping along the way. "What are you two hens clucking on about now?"
I was right. Johanna shook her head.
"You old coot! We have been waiting for you this entire time to start and you show up fifteen minutes late and… Is that vomit on your shirt?" Johanna doesn't even need to look to know the impossibly loud escort was right.
"Just a stain." Bingo.
With a frustrated sigh, Effie simply closed his jacket to cover it up and pushed them towards the stage.
"Smiles everyone!"
"Time to see who's off to the slaughter." Johanna announced crudely.
...
Johanna watched the crowd of children filling into rows. The oldest in the front, the youngest in the back.
The whole event reminded the dark-haired girl of when she was reaped. It wasn't a joyous affair, like the battle ready districts of 1, 2 and 4 make it out to be. Or a death sentence like in 10, 11 and 12. It was neutral, it was only when she won that made it a time of celebration.
As Mayor Undersee began his speech about the history of the Hunger Games, Haymitch took the liberty to ask Johanna about her own tributes back home.
"Any potential winners from the good ol' lumber district."
She thought back, remembering District 7's Reaping Day a few days earlier: the groups of children shoved into rows, the mayor recounting the Games' history, the district escort, Saffira walking onto the stage and pulling out two names from the reaping bowls.
Two kids, teenagers, similar in age named Gryffin and Kara. Both, from what Johanna could remember lived comfortable lives. They knew their way around an ax, so it was possible that she could have a winner on her hands. Then again, who knows? She has been wrong before.
"Possibly. I'm sure Blight can handle them while I'm gone." She said eyeing the peacekeepers on either side of the stage. Haymitch snorts at the mention of the other mentor's name.
When Johanna tuned back towards the proceedings, Effie was already drawing names. "Primrose Everdeen," Effie called out. Johanna heard the murmurs and watched as a little girl emerged from the crowd, frightened beyond belief. Cautiously she stepped forward, until the commotion a few rows behind stilled her movements.
"I volunteer!" the voice shouted in a strangled cry. The peacekeepers kept her at bay. Johanna squinted to try and see her from the stage. Instead she brought her eyes up to the camera televisions.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
Johanna raised her brow in disbelief. She even looked over to Haymitch to see his reaction at this sudden declaration of suicide, only to find him asleep in his chair. Effie on the other hand, just like everyone else, were stunned. Katniss stepped up to the microphone, introducing herself. "Katniss Everdeen."
Notes: character ages have been slightly changed to keep the kids in the same age circle. Katniss (17-18), Peeta (18), Johanna (19), Finnick (21), and others that will be introduced later. In addition, this story is completely AU with some canon divergence.