Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Hunger Games trilogy, which is trademarked by Suzanne Collins. I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of the Hunger Games. Please do not sue me because I really have nothing so..!
"This is team Alpha reporting in, we have all of them safely onboard. We are on course; over," Gale Hawthorne reported as he walked among the fragile and traumatized prisoners who were arranged systematically, in alphabetical order. Many of the prisoners were victors of the Hunger Games and some were aristocrats who rejected the games aggressively or as aggressively as people of the Capitol were capable of. However, what was truly startling was that none of these prisoners were spared; all of them were scrawny and malnourished, their skins thin and yellow, and their eyes were dull and lifeless. Indeed, an enemy to President Snow and the Hunger Games is an enemy to the Capitol. He gritted his teeth and shook his head as he reached the end of the order. There were more bodies at the end than in any other section and that was certainly understandable; these victims were tortured beyond recognition that it was near impossible to identify them. He glanced at the bodies, making a quick body count before picking up the clipboard to affirm the number of unidentified persons. He growled softly before exiting to return to the cockpit; for now his mission was complete.
"President Coin, the teams have returned," a soldier, perhaps a colonel or equivalent, reported solemnly as he maintained a professional stance in front of the important revolutionists, "may I have permission to proceed to phase 2- identification?"
A low whistle echoed through the room and all eyes landed on the victor. With his feet propped on the table, arms crossed across his chest and the chair balancing on its hind legs, was none other than the Mockingjay's mentor, victor of the Second Quarter Quell and 50th Hunger Games- Haymitch Abernathy. "Phew, saved us all a heck lot of trouble, yeah?" he grinned as he rocked forward, forcing the chair back onto all four and bringing his body closer to the table. "Don't have to be sending another bloody four teams out to collect your corpses, eh?" Crossing his fingers lightly, he propped his chin on his hands and stared coolly at the soldier from behind his long and dirty bangs, "What happened to returning in three weeks top?" His voice had turned cold and the stiff soldier began to tremble.
It was understandable and even, forgivable for the soldier's subtle reaction to the victor. This was the victor President Snow wanted to break by killing and taking everything that was precious to Haymitch but even Snow never succeeded in breaking him completely because Haymitch was the catalyst that brought together their revolution plan. The Capitol wanted to tame and control him by indulging and encouraging his drinking but they never did tame him and certainly did not control him; some years he would accidentally hurt or even kill a Capitol citizen or two in his drunken stupor and there was nothing the Capitol could do because their own darling President Snow protected him. Nothing ever ran smoothly where Haymitch Abernathy was concerned and it seems to affect even friendly plans. His selfish choice to move ahead of plans without even consulting or informing anyone during the 75th Hunger Games nearly sent everything spiraling out of control; Plutarch had had to hastily prepare a hovercraft and they had to leave some of the victors behind were among the chaos he brought. However, on hindsight, his desire to move ahead allowed him to hijack a hovercraft albeit ruthlessly and rescue the Mockingjay as the Capitol swarmed rapidly into the arena. Perhaps it is this characteristic that made many wary and suspicious of him; he is alike a snake- deadly and unpredictable. Perhaps even his loyalty is questionable because a man who has nothing to lose is a man who is loyal to only himself.
"Well?" The question jolted the soldier who stiffened visibly on impulse. He blinked rapidly and tried as he might to regain composure. He was afraid that much he acknowledged. This Haymitch Abernathy was a man not to be trifled with unlike the infamous clumsy drunkard the Capitol had known. This person was dangerous. Period.
"It... They had to be located. They were apparently kept and tortured in more than one underground prison," the soldier stuttered as he fought fiercely to break the eye contact with the victor. It was akin to having no weapons and facing a blood thirsty predator. God help him.
"Abernathy, stop chewing him," President Coin remarked coolly. "We are on course and our fellow revolutionists are with us. I'm not complaining, so why should you?" She for one was an impatient person who wanted things to proceed as promptly as possible. She did not care about the hows, whats, whos or whys; she just wanted the plan to unfold and all disputes among members can and will be shoved aside or ignored if possible.
The victor turned his head deliberately and held his gaze with the revolutionists' leader. Cold unfeeling eyes met clear piercing eyes. After what felt like a cold intense staring match, Haymitch blinked before his lips curled into a patronizing smile. "Oh very well, have it your way," he shrugged his shoulders carelessly, strolled towards the exit and stopped just briefly to whisper to the shaken soldier, "She may have let you off but I haven't." In a louder voice, "See you around." A careless back wave and out the door he went.
As the door slid shut, Plutarch and the major released a shuddering breath of relief; neither knew they had been holding their breaths. President Coin looked at the empty chair, snorted and commanded the soldier, "Permission granted; proceed with phase 2." The major quickly and albeit too eagerly nodded his compliance and exited the room.
"That was a close one," Plutarch said weakly and winced when he realized how raspy his voice sounded, "Who knew he still had them?"
"A predator never loses its killer instincts," she mused as she watched the breathless Capitol man. A victor of the Hunger Games is a predator but when one includes brains, cunning and ruthlessness, the predator is a dangerous one. However, when you think of a Quarter Quell victor who triumphed the game, outsmarted his 'master' and lived to tell the tale of intense emotional and mental torture, and intimidates the other predators despite his usual drunken state; he is no longer just a dangerous predator, he is a superior species of predator whose ruthlessness is incomparable and stands in his own league. He has no equal, no one to rub shoulders with and thankfully, such beasts are rare and few in between. One in 25 years.
"Perhaps, Abernathy..." she trailed quietly. She had no need to continue because the occupants in room knew exactly where that thought trail was headed. Haymitch Abernathy might just be the predator that preys on predators, and that beast might just be waking after sleeping for close to a quarter of a century.
Haymitch prowled his room while berating himself for losing the tight rein on his temper. How could he even have thought of losing his temper? Should he not be glad that the other victors were rescued? What reason was there for him- a person who has nothing left and cared for nothing, to be angry? So maybe the last thought was not entirely true but all the people who matter are here with him, so really what reason was there to lash out? Katniss was brought here safely by him and Peeta, no doubt, was brought here safely too since he was one of the main reason the rescue mission was even considered by that blasted Coin. There was no one else, everyone was here with him.
He ran a hand through his long tangled messy hair and sighed heavily, and frowned when his fingers seemed to be stuck among the snags. It had been ages since he last washed his hair, never mind showering. Taking a whiff of himself, Haymitch nearly hissed at the stench. Good grief! Even in all his drunken episodes whether in the Capitol or in district 12, he was never as foul smelling. Then again, if he was honest, he had to thank that...woman for watching over and taking care of him. Effie... Trinket. That woman whom he loved to annoy and the only woman he allowed to touch him while he was unconscious. Perhaps, she is the only one whose opinions, although ridiculous at times, matter to him. "Effie..." Haymitch breathed her name as he violently shook himself out of his thoughts. Of course! How could he forget her? "That Gale boy would transport her; she's on the list," he mused as he began unbuttoning his dirty shirt. "Better freshen up or I'll never hear the end of her tirade. I'll see you soon, sweetheart." He yanked open his wardrobe, snatched a pair of pants and a shirt and quickly made his way to the adjoining toilet. "Then again, you might not want to see me..."
Freshening up was strangely easy despite his trembling hands and as he dressed up, Haymitch could not help but stare at his reflection. The usual lazy smirk. The tired face of a man who has seen more than he should in a lifetime. A worn out yet still very much fit and muscular body with ancient scars that ran ugly across his chest and torso. However, despite all of them, what captivated his attention most was his own grey eyes. He hardly ever had the chance to see them because it was either his fringe was too long and fell unceremoniously and stayed stubbornly over his eyes or he simply did not have the heart to. After all, looking at the mirror, all he could see was the face of a murderer who killed and stood over the corpses of forty-seven children and a conspirator and accomplice for the deaths of another for forty-eight children. He closed his eyes briefly and sighed heavily. "Soon, it will end, soon," he crooned softly to himself. "The cries and screams will begin to silent themselves." Soon, very soon.
Upon opening his eyes, Haymitch noticed how his eyes looked at him with a startling clarity and awareness. His bloodshot eyes seemed so acutely aware of its surrounding that they felt surreal to him. Surely, a violent heavy drinker such as himself would definitely show signs of wild unrestrained rage instead of the piercing calmness. It was unthinkable how his eyes could defy logic when even his stomach was sporting a pouch, although unnoticeable. Perhaps, scars, trauma, nightmares, pain and loss were not the only takeaways he got from the arena but also the constant acute awareness of his surrounding. Were his eyes this clear even when his mind was too muddled and he was too drunk to even think incoherently? As he continued fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, his brilliant mind offered him an answer to his myriad of questions. Ask Effie Trinket.
"... Elena Foster, Eliot Hotcher and Ester Pitrre. Alright, all confirmed."
Haymitch stood in silence, leaning casually against the wall as he listened to the roll call. He was in the room where all the victims whose first name starts with letter E. When the roll call ended, he frowned and approached the doctor who was carrying the clipboard of names. "I think you missed a name," he drawled as he tilted his head to the side and crossed his arms across his chest. It would diminish his threatening pose greatly if she saw how his hands were shaking from the withdrawal. Stupid law; since when has drinking ever been a crime?
"I'm certain I did not, Mr Abernathy," the doctor assured as she unconsciously took a step away from the intimidating man. Ever since Plutarch discovered the locations of the past victors, the drunk mentor had been edgy and shockingly sober. Haymitch became even more...intimidating when President Coin granted permission to carry out the rescue mission. The doctor, like most of the others, didn't quite understand his change in behaviour. Sure, they didn't like the useless drunk but when one compared both versions of Haymitch, they would most likely choose the less dangerous, a lot less intimidating and certainly a lot more predictable.
"When I think you did, it means you either repeat the roll call or give me the blasted list!" the victor growled as he crossed the distance between them with a foot forward. His face was menacing, his lips curled into a snarl yet she found his grey bloodshot eyes clear, clam and aware. How strange was it that the windows to his soul displayed emotions different from the rest of the body? Shaking, she thrust the clipboard to him and scampered away, a good and safe distance away.
Haymitch's eyes scanned the list of names and swore under his breath. Sure, there were names listed that did not have a tick beside them which meant that these people were probably tortured badly and were still classified as unidentifiable people. However, a particular name did not look as if it was cancelled or crossed out but rather it looked like it was omitted out. Did he not explicitly state that she be rescued because and only because she was the escort of the Mockingjay? Coin had approved to his demand and reasoning, so why was that name not printed on the list? Something was amiss, something was very wrong; and he would be damned if he could not even uncover a simple fault. He frowned as he called the doctor who timidly made her way to him. "Is this all the names of those they were supposed to rescue?" When she nodded, he growled softly. Someone had bludgeoned his plan, someone had defied and he would definitely flush the rat out.
"Perhaps Mr Abernathy, the person could still be in the Unidentified Persons section?" she said carefully, fearing that she might trigger his rage. As far as she was concerned, she did not have to look at him to know he was riding the waves of rage. After all, she could feel his rage and it was intimidating and crushing. Haymitch blinked and the doctor sighed in relief and finally dared to stare at him. This man was a victor and one who could change the atmosphere of a room with a single blink; from a terrifying and intense atmosphere to a breathable and normal one. He nodded his thanks and left the doctor rooted with a single thought. Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the Second Quarter Quell, is dangerously unpredictable.
"Mr Abernathy, may I be of assistance?"
Haymitch barely glanced at the doctors while he strode through the room. His grey eyes roving quickly over the bodies and his ears twitched ever so slightly when he noted the scars. Some scars were blackened, others were still stretched wide opened and bleeding. There were those whose skin was so thin and seemed to have to stretch painfully across the limbs, while some had their bodies and limbs mangled together. Would her body be just as terrible or worse considering her relations to the Mockingjay...and him? He released a harsh shot of breath as he began reeling back.
He had caused another person to suffer. He brought the terrors down on an innocent person; a defenceless and perhaps ignorant woman. Capitol or not, he was her tormentor. He winced as he quickly turned and fled the room. Why? Why had he not anticipated that they would turn the sword against her and punished her? Why had he chosen to ignore his own warnings about leaving her behind? What nonsense did he entertained; leave her behind with no knowledge about the revolution and the uprisings because it was the only way to protect her from the wrath of the districts. He had assumed the Capitol and Snow would spare her because she was an escort and a Capitol citizen, had zero knowledge about the revolution and the revolutionists, and...
Haymitch stopped stomping abruptly, and shuddered at the mere thought of the last reason and he feared that thought would be reason enough for Snow to be merciful to her. He should have known better than anyone; Snow was everything but merciful. Snow is courteous and even gracious but he was certainly merciless, and Haymitch knew this better than anyone, having learnt it the hard way. "Damn it!" Haymitch swore as he punched the wall before he allowed the fist to fall and leaned his forehead heavily against the wall. His hands trembled and he watched coldly as the blood dripped from his knuckles. He no longer knew, much less cared, if his body shook from withdrawal or rage but what he wanted to know was- who or what was he raging about. Was he furious with himself for leaving her behind or for assuming Snow would spare her? As he began to probe deeper, his body slackened and he twisted around so that he slid off the wall, sat on the cold floor of the sterile district 13 and leaned his back on the wall. He knew his mistake, he acknowledged that leaving her behind was a crime but had he not rectified it by having Coin approved of her rescue?
Haymitch shook his head as the realization dawned on him; someone had gone behind his back and bludgeoned his rectification. There was a squirt that hated the escorts but who would dare to go against a victor's word? Another victor. Then again, he was not just a victor; he was a Quarter Quell victor as much as he detested that title or praise but at times such as these, the title did come handy. Another usual Hunger Games victor would think twice of going against him; hell even Brutus, Finnick, Johanna and the district 1's siblings: Gloss and Cashmere would rather walk away than engage him in a bloody duel. Haymitch reluctantly ruled out the idea of a victor challenging his order and instead turned his mind towards district 12. Someone abhorred her greatly, dared to deny him and certainly had to be a high rank officer of the rescue team. Who? "Gale Hawthorne!" he hissed the name. Only that...that vindictive person fit the description and Haymitch swore so colourfully even Katniss would blush a deep scarlet. He would affirm his suspicion and then go for the jugular but he is never wrong when he was sure of his suspicions.
"I remember I told you I haven't let you off the hook, didn't I?"
The soldier shuddered as he slowly turned on his heel to regard the victor. He gulped as Haymitch pushed himself deliberately off the wall. As the supposedly drunk victor stalked forward with an unexpected feral grin and a face clouded with dark malicious intent, the soldier felt himself unable to move. The sheer fear pulsating through him as he stood rooted as if he was a prey whose fate was already sealed and waited for the menacing jaws of the predator. Closing his eyes tightly, the soldier waited for the victor's strike but a full minute passed and the strike never came. The echoing footsteps had also ceased and the soldier could hear his laboured panting bouncing off the walls. Peeking through his eyelashes timidly, he looked at the bored face of Haymitch Abernathy and before he could even recomposed himself and released the tension from his body, his soldier instincts told him not to lower his guard despite the lax looking victor. "Can I help?" he stuttered as he felt fear swelling in the pits of his stomach again and he struggled with the feeling of nausea. If all victors carried such presence, the soldier was not too sure he wanted to share the presence with even one of them ever again.
"You were part of the rescue team?" Haymitch started as he leaned against the wall to put some space between him and the cowering soldier. He nearly snorted when he noticed how the soldier was shaking with fear as if he would faint any time soon. Why the poor boy had such a reaction, Haymitch did not know and he was not too sure he wanted to know. After all, nothing was more important than finding out the identity of the daring little rat. Occupied with his thoughts, Haymitch nearly missed the timid nod from the soldier. "And you were one of those who were actively searching and rescuing them from their cells?" Again the soldier gave a shaky nod and Haymitch was close to losing his patience. What use was it to have a trembling soldier? It was not as if he was threatening bodily harm! Blast it! "Did you see the Mockingjay's escort?"
"I did; she was kept in the same section as the rest. I had the shackles removed, was going to carry her," the soldier finally mumbled as he stared at his boots like a child awaiting a suitable punishment from the parents for a wrong doing. Haymitch waited patiently or rather as patiently as he could. There was no doubt that there was an unspoken but that shadowed those words, and it was the words that followed that word that interested Haymitch. Looking up, Haymitch noticed the tears that were pooling in the young man's eyes and somehow Haymitch felt as if he could envisioned what had happened during the mission. "I...couldn't." Haymitch frowned. What exactly did the whelp mean by he couldn't? What was the obstacle? Before Haymitch could voice his concerns, the soldier beat him to the punch. "He said she was not on the list and therefore, should not be saved."
Haymitch swore as he slammed his fist into the wall. He was the obstacle. He was the reason this poor boy was tearing up. He was the reason she was not rescued. Damn it! Haymitch repeatedly punched the wall as he felt rage bubbled and overwhelmed him. As he punched, he gradually felt the pain on his knuckles and slowed down the pace of his punches, and a new feeling of calmness took over. The sensation of pain and rage were so familiar that Haymitch felt himself getting giddy. Was it excitement or relief that he was feeling? Perhaps it was neither since it was illogical for him to feel them, given the current set of circumstances. If he was truly honest, it felt...good. It felt calm. It felt...powerful. God help him, he felt the exhilarating adrenaline rush that coursed through him while he was in there. Turning so slowly, he smiled gently at the quivering soldier and crooned softly, "Who?"
"Colonel Hawthorne. Please save her! She had it as bad as them!"
Gripping the sleeves, the soldier finally broke down as he burrowed his head in Haymitch's chest. With a gentle smile which could easily be mistaken as cruel, Haymitch rudely disengaged the poor whelp from his shirt and sneered, "That's not your privilege." Leaving behind the sobbing young man on the floor, the victor of the Second Quarter Quell strode away confidently. He had his answer, and Hell would freeze over before he made the rat a quivering fool. Gale Hawthorne will be reminded who he was dealing with because Haymitch Abernathy was feeling less than merciful today and before the day ended, someone would die.
"President?" Gale bowed lightly as he came into the room and noticed only one seat was empty. Haymitch Abernathy, the useless drunk mentor of Katnip, was absent. "May I-"
"Gale Hawthorne," Plutarch interrupted as he waved for him to come closer, "Could you please explain this?"
The list of names of those to be rescued was placed on the table and Gale saw his signature at the bottom of it. His signature of confirmation and acknowledgement. He could not see what the matter was; he had rescued everyone deemed worthy of rescue. He frowned as he looked from Plutarch to President Coin to the other victors who were seated and finally back to Plutarch. He noticed some of the grim faces of the victors despite their lazy posture and the indifferent look of President Coin but the concern face of Plutarch set his warning bells ringing. Something was wrong, something was very wrong and he had better figured out fast.
"The poor boy doesn't quite understand, does he Plutarch?" Finnick sniggered as he swirled his glass of water lazily while he propped his head on his hand. The other victors were either looking at Gale in sympathy or simply shaking their heads in amusement. "Would you be able to hold your own against a victor?" Finnick continued his condescending tone and Gale frowned harder, " A victor who is feeling more than ruthless." This encouraged more snickering from the victors who were giving their malicious grins while some remained looking sympathetic if not more than before.
Gale gulped as he felt the gears in his head spinning ever harder and faster. A victor was angry. Was a blood bath going to occur? Surely, no one would dare to disturb a hair on him. God forbid! No one would even dream of touching him as long as Katnip explicitly maintained that he was her best friend. Surely, no one here would want to incur the wrath of Katnip and upset Coin, yes? At this point of his train of thoughts, Gale suddenly felt a bubble of cockiness swell in his chest as his grin became smug. Who knew keeping a long lasting friendship with Katnip was such a blessing? "Let me clue you in, you left a babe behind, didn't cha?" Finnick's words burst into his head and Gale found his smug grin disappearing quickly when he saw the lazy smile that the handsome victor was spotting. Somehow that smirk had Gale reeling back and Gale was not even sure why. Had the catastrophe not been averted? If something were to happen, as if it anything even could, surely Katnip would interfere and stop anyone from trying to hurt him. His friendship with her, and their closeness, merited some sort of protection for him, no? Nevertheless, how dare Finnick Odair accused of him leaving someone behind! He did his job with pride; "No failures." that was his motto.
Gale blinked and tilted his head to the side as he tried his hardest to recall. He left someone behind? Who? He had seen over his rescue team and he had saved all the tributes and victors. There was no one he left apart from those whose names did not grace the list and those he deemed unnecessary. Surely, President Coin would agree with him that those left out of the rescue were part of the inevitable collateral damage. He dared a sneaky glance at the apathetic but calm woman. Yeap, she did look like she would agree with him so there was no worry was there?
"You were in charge of this mission, weren't you?" a soft whisper blew gently against his earlobe but Gale felt his hair stand on ends. The door slid shut and Haymitch Abernathy breezed past him and settled in the empty chair.
Gale noticed how the room suddenly became a lot chiller and quieter. Finnick Odair had stopped sniggering and nearly everyone seemed to sympathize with him. If he did not believe it before, he completely believed it now; something was definitely wrong but for the life of him, he could not figure it. A startling fact was that everyone including the president and himself seemed to be waiting for Abernathy's words; it was as if everyone was hanging onto his every word and action. Instinct told him that the faster he answered the question, the faster he would leave the suffocating room. Nodding slowly, Gale held his breath for the next question.
"You acknowledged and signed this list after you checked it, didn't you?" A nod. "You were the one who wrote down all the names?" Another nod. "And you attended and sat through the meeting while we were deciding on who to rescue?" Another nod. "You left a name out, didn't you? Why?"
Gale felt his eyes widened at the last question. Of course! How could he have been so dense? The victors had tried to warn him in their own ways, even that Capitol man had but he, as usual, had waved them off in his arrogance. Finnick's clue or rather warning should have set his brain gears moving but... "She's a Capitol scum! She's a murderer!" The words tumbled out of his dry lips as he hurriedly tried to defend himself. The words sounded like a reiteration and a chant that he had repeated all over his head to convince himself but Gale was far from the point of caring how those words sounded to him.
"We're all murderers," Finnick spoke softly and Gale swallowed.
"You are victors, not a willing murderer, Odair! She happily ushers the kids to their deaths! She, like all the other Capitol scums, bet on the kids!" Gale sputtered as he rushed forward and slammed his palms on the table top. Effie Trinket, the vile woman who turned Katnip into a murderer. Effie Trinket who forcefully stole the peace and innocence from Katnip. Effie Trinket who killed and destroyed Katnip. "She smiled like all of those Capitol during the Reaping! Hell! She was ecstatic when Katnip volunteered last year!"
"Whether willing or not, victor or not, I am still a murderer!" Finnick roared as he stood up and pushed his chair back with one hard shove, "She ushered, I killed!" The glass that had been in his hand was crushed and he did not even glance to see the shards that penetrated his palm. Finnick was furious not because Hawthorne assumed that his friend enjoyed ushering children to their deaths but more so because that...boy had drawn the line that separated the same sin. Since, the victors and escorts had murdered children be it directly or otherwise, was there a need to differentiate murder? He, for one, had killed the other tributes of the 65th Hunger Games in cold blood so how different was that from an escort who led children to their deaths? Murder was murder, there was no way two ways about it. How could Hawthorne excused the victors' killings as unwilling and claimed the escorts' as willing? What of the mentors' failure; was that willing or unwilling?
"If a mentor fails, would that make the mentor a willing or unwilling murderer?" Finnick challenged as he righted his chair and slowly dropped into his seat, "If a mentor chooses to sacrifice one of the tribute to give the other an additional advantage, is the mentor a willing murderer or not?" The victors at the table glanced at Finnick as they kept quiet. A victor by Hawthorne's definition is an unwilling murderer. However, if a mentor chooses not to help the tributes for whatever reason, what does that make the mentor? A willing murderer since he ushered them to their deaths, an unwilling murderer since he had no choice in the matter or...?
"Trust you to create controversial issues, Odair," Haymitch drawled as he sliced the silence in the room and brought everyone's attention back onto the forgotten subject. With a deliberate move of his head, Haymitch glanced around the table to ensure he had everyone's attention again before he continued. Maintaining a cool stare with the panting Hawthorne boy, he continued, "You left out her name, didn't you? When you saw her in prison, you chose to leave her behind, didn't you?"
"She deserved it!" Gale shouted while Haymitch's face remained as stoic and cool as President Coin's. "She isn't necessary to save! She's not worthy of rescue! She doesn't deserve to be rescued!" Why could no one see his point? Why could none of them accept his justification? Were they all entranced by such a...disgusting monster? That scum deserves everything her beloved Capitol dished out on her! She ruined everything! She ruined his life plans!
"She doesn't deserve? She isn't worthy?" Haymitch echoed incredulously as his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was considering, "And whose opinions are these because I can name you one very important reason why she should and deserved to be rescued: she is the escort to Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay and symbol of this revolution."
"Precisely! That piece of trash destroyed Katnip!" Gale shouted even louder and even he heard his own voice straining. His throat burnt as his eyes glared angrily at the clear and calm grey eyes of the drunk. "And you're too drunk to realize that! Why can't you just accept that I did all this with the best intentions of all of us?"
"That person you call a piece of trash gave Katniss the opportunity to be greater than life, whether accidentally or not. Had it not been for that person you call Capitol scum, do you think the districts and victors would unite to create the second rebellion?" Haymitch asked softy and the other victors moved away noticeably. They knew better than anyone that when a sober Haymitch's voice turned soft, it meant only one thing- fight or flee situation. A sober Haymitch is a victor but a sober Haymitch with a soft voice is a deadly Quarter Quell victor, and there is a difference. One would probably punch you once if provoked, the other would send you back to your maker and that is only when he feels very merciful. "If not for that undeserving person, do you think your beloved Katnip would live until today? Hell knows how many times Katniss had said things that would have motivated them to put a bullet through her, and that unworthy person had saved her one time too many."
No one said anything after Haymitch's cold and malicious tirade, even Gale Hawthorne could only pant. A full half an hour past before President Coin cleared her throat and addressed the Mockingjay's mentor, "There is nothing else for you to do, Abernathy. There is nothing you can do and she is unfortunately part of the inevitable collateral damage. We will continue onto the next phase with or without her."
"I'll just have to drag her out of it then," he said carelessly as if that was common knowledge, "and I should've known better than to ask a boy to do it. A victor would have certainly been successful." This elicited a round of sniggering and amused faces from the victors, and even Plutarch allowed a smile to grace his lips, and Gale had the courtesy of blushing. After all, to be humiliated by a proclaimed useless victor in front of other victors was simply too much for a prideful boy.
"You will do nothing of the sort. I will not allow you to derail the revolution," President Coin challenged Haymitch who looked at her nonchalantly as if he had expected her to reject his idea, "You may be her mentor but I'm the President here. You will continue leading your force forward." She had no choice but to lay that card down. No one will rebel against her; and by God's grace, not at this stage of the revolution she had dreamed for many years!
"If you knew how important I am in your plans, you would've sent someone much more capable than a mere wannabe," Haymitch snorted as his eyes bored into hers. "Since your chosen can't do a good job, I guess I've gotta be the man to do it." He smirked as he walked round the table, intentionally walking behind her to whisper an after thought, "You're more than welcome to try to stop me." With a swagger and a careless back hand wave, he left the room.
The victors shared a look before they started laughing as if they were sharing an inside joke during the intense talk. It was hard to say with conviction that the meeting was fiery or cold, but it was certainly intense. Even Heavensbee was smiling and his eyes twinkled with amusement. The only people who were not sharing the joy were President Coin and Gale Hawthorne and that was expected. The humiliation Haymitch gave Hawthorne is a feat not to be forgotten or forgiven so easily and quickly by the boy. If anything, Gale hated Katniss' mentor even more than before.
For President Coin, the spine chilling whisper had her staring at the vacant chair. Haymitch Abernathy was the only remaining Quarter Quell victor and the only one she could not control or tame; everyone here in her district had someone but he had no one and therefore, had nothing to lose. It was this unique thing that made it impossible for her to bend him to her will. However, on hindsight, perhaps having Haymitch Abernathy invading the Capitol would serve her purpose; complete control over everyone in district 13 and ultimately having two of her greatest obstacles obliterating each other. Yes, Haymitch Abernathy's recklessness might very well push her revolution to completion faster than expected and she need only to depend on the beast waking completely and take control.
My first fanfic chapter! My following chapters I suppose would be shorter than this one because for the prologue, it seemed difficult to do a break. Sorry about the lengthy prologue.
Please review. Thank you.