Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Both The Hunger Games and The Office (US) belong to their respective owners. I also do not own any topical references made in this chapter.
Year One, Episode Two: The Scores
When a mystery package is delivered to the office, everyone begins to speculate what it could be.
A crowd of curious workers forms around the reception desk within minutes of the UPS delivery worker dropping it off.
"Maybe it's finally the toner that Katniss supposedly ordered weeks ago for the printer," Clove conjectures, shooting the girl at reception a pointed look that seems to scorn her for all things wrong with the world.
"Maybe it's some sort of sex toy," Johanna offers. The corners of her lips curve upward into a sly grin when everyone openly retorts the grotesque suggestion. "Come on, we were all thinking it!"
"Maybe Madge used the company card to go online shopping…again," Wiress suggests, voice as soft as a chirping, gossipy baby bird. She keeps her eyes averted when the offended young blonde makes a sound of utter disgust and looks among the crowd for her accuser.
"It's addressed to Haymitch, guys," Katniss rebukes.
"So then it's definitely a sex toy," Johanna calls out. When met again with sounds of protest, she urges, "I'm serious! He's old and drunk and lonely…old lonely drunks need, like, inflatable dolls and shit to keep themselves going…"
Whistling poorly to himself as he comes back from the bathroom, Cato notices the lack of productivity and the huddle at reception. Beady eyes honing in on his targets, he b-lines to the crowd and elbows past everyone to get to the mystery package.
"This is what has caused you all be distracted from your work? Simpletons. It's just a package."
"But we don't know what's in it!" Caesar explains. "Oh, the suspense is just KILLING ME!"
He shouts this last part into Greasy Sae's ear. Not even sure why she is standing in this huddle, Sae's reaction results in her screaming back at Caesar. It is a grating, guttural noise that causes several members of the huddle to step away and leaves Flickerman reeling.
"Can't we just open it?" Gale asks, his interest diminishing by the second. It may not have even been there to begin with, since the man has been glued to his phone the whole time.
The camera watches over Gale's shoulder as he captures a picture of the package on Snapchat and captions it with "Did my boss order a sex toy? #savethetemp".
Madge shakes her head. "No, it's addressed to Haymitch. That's against the law…omigod, Gale. You're such a rebel."
Cato rolls his eyes. "Looks like we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way. Step aside, let a master do the work."
The over-confident salesman takes the package from the desk and begins to perform a series of what he deems 'tests' to figure out the contents of the mystery delivery.
For shape, he places the package on the ground, removes his shoe, and feels around the perimeter of what is in the package with his toe.
"Square," Cato announces. Given the shape of the parcel, this is a very obvious fact.
He performs the same routine with his other foot for size.
"Length and width appear to be about the size of ream of paper, maybe smaller."
"So…it's paper, then," Peeta concludes after Cato's most recent development only leads to more seemingly pointless probing. Cato scoffs and rolls his eyes.
"I think Haymitch mentioned something to me about ordering stationary, like, a week ago or something," Katniss chimes in.
Peeta claps his hands together and bends over to pick up Cato's shoe. "There we go! Mystery solved! Cato, you can put your shoe on again."
"False," Cato retorts, kicking his shoe out of Peeta's hand with his socked foot. "If it were that easy, Caesar would have had it figured out by now."
Caesar grins at the camera, not realizing that he has just been insulted. He seems almost trained to smile at the mentioning of his name, regardless of what is being said about him.
Cato does some more finagling with the package, but never once does he touch it or place any pressure on it. Peeta coughs and mutters, "It's paper" loudly as Cato continues with his tests.
"Just…just let me do my job, okay, Mellark?" Cato growls.
"Oh, you mean your job as a salesman? Be my guest. Isn't that what you were just scolding us about, anyway? Not doing our jobs?" Peeta jabs, gesturing toward the vacant office behind them.
Cato's cheeks flush with embarrassment that his original annoyance at people not doing their jobs now includes him. Therefore, he concludes, he must be annoying himself.
"No, I mean my job at figuring out what this package is!"
"But you said it's 'just a package'…"
"I know what I said, Mellark!" Cato snaps. "Look, you're wasting everyone's time. You're going to be so sorry if this thing is a bomb."
Suddenly, his eyes grow to be very large and wide. He freezes. Everyone watches with bated breath.
Without a single word, he rushes to his desk and pulls out a full-fledged, authentic Medieval sword from beneath his desktop. He's like a deranged, poorly-dressed, modern-day King Arthur, pulling his Excalibur from a stone that no one else in town knew was there.
Several people scream at the sight of the weapon. Johanna cackles. Peeta gives the camera a look that seems to say he wishes he were surprised that Cato keeps a sword under his desk.
Cato takes the sword and jabs a hole through the packaging, careful not to stab the object in question. With the package dangling from the end of the weapon, he rushes off toward the conference room. Everyone follows Cato.
"Is that anyone's pink Volkswagen down there?" Cato shouts over the hysteric mob of employees behind him. The sword is half out the window, and the package hovers over a gaudy, highly-decorated car.
"It's mine!" Effie shrieks.
Cato stares out the window manically. "I hope you have good car insurance, because that baby's about to blow."
Everyone begins to panic. Gale takes another Snapchat and captions it, "Co-Worker's a literal barbarian #savethetemp".
"What's with the Snapchats? Well, my hope is that the hashtag becomes popular enough to become a viral thing, and that maybe another employer will stumble across my social media cry for help and actually get me out of here," Gale tells the cameras in a private interview. He pumps his fist into the air and solemnly closes his eyes.
"Save the temp," he whispers wistfully.
"What do you mean the package is going to blow up? Blow up as in explode?" Madge chokes.
"Cato, what exactly do you think is in there?" Peeta exclaims.
Cato shrugs and very nonchalantly replies, "It's very obviously a landmine. An M14 Blast Mine, most likely. Maybe non-personnel Claymore."
As expected, pandemonium erupts in the conference room. People are making such a fuss that the cameras begin to shake.
"A landmine?!" Katniss shouts.
"Cato, please. That's ridiculous," Clove observes with a yawn. She is easily, and eerily, the calmest one in the room. As if Cato's antics have no effect on her.
Cato's eyes grow to be the size of saucers at the accusation.
"No, it isn't. Maybe the jerks in Four sent it to us." He begins to retreat into his own mind as he fleshes out his conspiracy. "Haymitch is the kind of person who would be sent hate mail in the wake of a downsizing, and it's our job to protect him from the crazies of this world."
"Now…when you say 'crazies', Cato, what do you mean?" Peeta asks, exchanging a look with the camera.
"Abnormal behavior. Drastic, dangerous motives. Causing harm to the people and things in the office," Cato replies, wincing as a gust of wind almost sends the package plummeting. Cato reacts quickly, however, letting out a warrior's cry and jerking the sword back into the conference room. He almost hits Wiress, but Cinna steers her out of the way just in time.
Peeta's eyebrows arch.
"So, would a man wielding a sword in the workplace be considered a 'crazy'?" Peeta says, directing most of his example at the camera.
Cato nods violently and guffaws at Peeta's question, which he has obviously deemed dumb.
"Duh!"
Peeta presses his lips together, stunned by both his co-worker's density and zeal.
"Just checking."
"People, this is serious. We cannot allow for potential dangers like this in the office! This thing can blow with the slightest pressure applied to it, so we need to shut it down by detonating it," Cato explains this as if he were going over the emergency protocol for a drill.
"Why is detonating it the answer?" Cinna says.
"Gets rid of evidence quicker," Sae replies immediately. "You can't find finger prints on a safe if that safe has been blown up."
Cinna sends a worried look to the camera as the old lady cackles with delight.
"But why does it have to be on my car?" Effie wonders aloud with a pout.
Beetee, the office's unofficial genius, seems to be the only hope at talking Cato out of blowing up Effie's car. Adjusting his glasses, he steps up to the plate to reason with the manic salesman.
"Cato, I believe that you're jumping to a very dramatic conclusion here. There's no way that what's in the package is a…"
But it is too late. Cato shouts "BOMB'S AWAY" and drops the package directly onto the hood of Effie's pink beetle, where it lands with a blunt, dull thud. It then proceeds to bounce off of the hood and skid along the blacktop of the parking lot.
Nothing happens.
Everyone, even the thrill-seeking Johanna who had claimed she was 'all for a landmine being in there', lets out a collective breath of relief when their co-worker's crazy speculation has been proven wrong.
By this point, everyone is very much over the mystery package and the excitement surrounding it. People gradually return to their work and go about their day.
Cato, however, is not convinced.
"I know a landmine when I feel one up, and that thing is a landmine!" the blonde man shouts to the cameras from the window.
Filming from the parking lot, the film crew captures about two hours' worth of Cato throwing an entire bag of apples at where the package lays harmlessly on the blacktop below.
At his desk, Haymitch nervously drums his fingers on whatever he can find in close proximity. It is clear that he is nervous.
"As you all know, I have to fire someone in the office by the end of the month. And that end of the month is Friday. Which is also today."
He groans and spins in his seat for a while.
"Guess that explains this special delivery from Corporate, then," he continues, gesturing toward a thin folder on his desk. "Still haven't gotten that stationary I ordered from Etsy a week ago, but the postal service gets this shit to me right away..."
He pulls out an index card from the folder in the Corporate package and reads to himself for a moment before addressing the cameras.
"It's from Alma," he says. He then begins to read the note aloud. "Dear Haymitch—she called me 'Dear'; that's nice. Usually she just puts my name on her notes and starts yammering on—as incentive to help you decide who to terminate by the end of the day, Corporate has provided a list of scores for each of your employees. We have used a set of criteria to evaluate the performances of each employee in their given job description over the past few quarters, and we trust that you will agree that those with the lowest scores should be reconsidered. Among them, fire one. I'm not kidding, you have to do this. Alma."
Haymitch appears to have gone into rigor mortis for a moment, frozen entirely in the exact same position he had been in when he finished reading the letter from Alma Coin.
Finally, Cressida breaks the ice when she asks if Haymitch is going to look at the scores.
Snapping into action, the man shoots up in his seat and quickly peruses over the paperwork that has been sent to him. His facial expressions seem to indicate varying levels of shock, disappointment, and finally, anger.
He slams the papers face down on his desk and shakes his head.
"No. Nope, I refuse to let Corporate and their numbers tell me who to fire. I've got a better idea…"
"Morning, Peeta!" Madge chirps as she skips into the break room. Peeta, pouring himself a cup of hot water from the communal coffee machine, offers Madge a smile.
"Morning, Madge."
They continue to go about their business in silence. Peeta dips a tea bag into the steaming cup. Madge pretends to be busying herself with menial tasks, such as opening and closing the fridge, rearranging bags of chips, and unstacking, then re-stacking coffee filters.
Finally, she huffs. This catches Peeta off guard. Tea pours over the side of the mug, scalding his fingers.
"I'm just going to cut to the chase. You and I have no other real reason to talk, so I may as well just come right out with what I want to say," Madge continues.
Peeta gives a half-glance to the camera as he replies, "We were neighbors growing up, Madge. We went to high school together…Nevermind. Go ahead. What's up?"
"You're good with guys, right?"
Peeta nearly chokes on his tea. "What do you mean?"
Madge snorts. "Not, like, sexually. But you're, like, a bro, right? You're good at being one of the guys?"
Peeta shrugs. Madge takes that as confirmation to go forward.
"Well, I was wondering what you thought of the temp."
"Lumberjack Boy?"
"His name is Gale, Peeta. Have some class. Anyway, what do you think of him? He's cute, right?"
Peeta, quite literally cornered by Madge in the conference room, gives the cameras a strained look of panic. It is clear that he has come to conclusion that there is no escape.
"He's…uhm, tall…"
"Omigod, you're right…he's so cute. We'd look cute together, wouldn't we? Like, Taylor Swift music video cute. Ugh, I have so many butterflies just thinking about it. I can't even. Do you think you could set us up, Peeta?"
The moment Peeta begins to look hesitant, Madge begins showering him with pleas and batting her eyelashes like there is no tomorrow.
"I am the daughter of one of the District Commissioners," Madge explains when she is asked in a private interview how she got to be so persistent. "My father is running for mayor next year—Undersee 2016!—and he taught me that if you want something, you don't stop until you get it. I've been going off of that when it comes to the things I want since I could talk. That's how I got three Barbie dream houses, and a miniature pony, and my Porsche…and this job, actually."
"I'm not giving up until you agree to help me."
"Jeez, Madge…I hardly know the guy…"
"Peeta, pleeeease? Who am I going to ask to help me if you won't? Beetee? Come on, think of everything I've done for you!"
"Like what?"
"Like when I speak to customers about their satisfaction with the products that you sold them so you don't have to do it."
"That's your job, Madge…"
Madge reaches her wit's end. Lips curled into a scowl, she goes about grabbing the end of Peeta's tie and yanking him forward, so that he is inches from her determined face.
"Do it, or else someone's poor customer service reviews will result on getting him moved to the annex. Far, far away from the reception desk," her voice has grown low and menacing.
Peeta gulps, and then he finally nods.
"Yeah, ok. Fine." Peeta agrees, fixing himself up again. "And I don't care about the reception desk…"
Madge cheers and hugs Peeta tightly, thanking him for 'volunteering' to do this for her.
Gale Hawthorne enters the break room. Madge squeaks and pushes Peeta off her. Tea splatters down Peeta's arm, and he hisses in pain.
"Hi, Gale!" Madge greets him. Gale grunts in response, jerking the refrigerator door open and grabbing a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. He takes one bite of the sandwich before wrapping it back up and putting it back in the fridge.
"Hey…Meg, right?"
Madge chuckles as if Gale has told the funniest joke she's ever heard by messing up her name. Her curls bounce as she shakes her head and corrects him.
"Oh." He stares intensely at the white sweater dress that hugs Madge's curves. "Nice dress."
She giggles. "He says that to me, like, all the time," Madge whispers excitedly to Peeta.
Turning his attention back to the fridge, Gale plucks a few grapes from a large bowl and informs Peeta and Madge that the office needs better snacks through a mouthful of half-chewed fruit.
"So, Gale," Madge pipes up, drawing out the vowel sounds in his name with stars in her eyes. "What do you do for fun when you're not hard at work here?"
"Hunt," he replies.
"For food?" asks Peeta. He receives a glare from Gale and promptly goes back to pretending to mind his own business.
"For sport," Gale answers, breadcrumbs dribbling down his shirt.
"I played volleyball in college. That's a sport. And I go shopping, which is essentially like hunting, but for cute things. Wow, we have so much in common!" Madge cuts in.
Gale snorts. He has gone back to the sandwich. Peeta watches as he pulls the sandwich from the brown bag with Madge's dainty cursive name in plain sight without any remorse. Madge watches as if the eating of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich is some sort of courting ritual.
Peeta then feels a sharp jab to his ribcage and looks down at Madge's pointed glare.
"Uh, you guys should date," Peeta offers lamely. Strawberry jam drips from the corner of Gale's mouth while Madge attempts to lean seductively against the counter.
The large, hulking temp shuts the refrigerator door and gives the blonde girl another very blatant once-over.
"Okay," he says finally before finishing off the sandwich that belongs to his future date.
Madge squeals. In her excitement, she whacks Peeta in the chest multiple times and practically flies out of the room.
When asked to comment on her date with Gale, Madge could only reply with three letters, strewn together to make one long exclamation:
"OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG."
"Dude, tell me that dies down," Gale says, watching Madge gaily dance about the annex and nearly knock Effie's hairpiece off of her head.
Peeta chuckles. "Madge is a really sweet girl…even if she talks a lot."
"She's hot," Gale cuts in while trying to catch Cheese-Its in his mouth.
Peeta nods slowly and purses his lips in mock thought.
"Yeah, personality's not important. Sure…"
"Super hot," Gale says, as if the added superlative makes Madge's attractiveness increase and Peeta's sarcasm nonexistent.
Gale makes his way over to the counter where Peeta stands with what little remains of his tea and starts fixing a cup of coffee.
"Say, what do you think of…" Gale begins. Peeta rolls his eyes. He's done with playing matchmaker for the day. Gale will have to learn all about Madge on their date.
Peeta looks like he has set himself into auto-pilot, ready with positive feedback for Madge, when Gale catches him offguard.
"…Catnip?"
Now, he has Peeta's full attention.
"What about Katniss?" Peeta says, emphasizing her name to correct Gale on his grievous error.
"She's cute, right?" Gale probes. He smirks when he notes the pink shade of Peeta's face and neck.
"I mean, yeah…she—she's engaged though."
"Whatever. Engaged isn't married. That's always been my motto. I've gotten with plenty of the 'engaged' chicks in this business night class I go to…we always go to this real shady bar across town called The Slag Heap. They don't hold a candle to her, though."
Gale brings his coffee cup to his mouth and shakes his head. He looks out into the direction of where Katniss answers the phone at reception, gets annoyed with whomever she talks to on the other end, and hangs up the phone. Gale sighs and raises his mug in her direction, as if to toast her.
"I feel like that's the kind of girl you could take hunting."
"Peeta," Katniss tells the cameras in a candid private interview when asked to comment on relationships in the office, other than the one between her and her fiancé, who works in the warehouse. "Peeta is easily my best friend here. I really hope he finds someone who deserves him."
"She said I'm her best friend, huh?" Peeta leans back and lets a smile take over his face. "Well, Katniss is…I mean, you guys can see it, can't you? She's…the greatest. She's funny, and warm, and smart, and caring, and strong…"
His smile suddenly dampens. Both he and the crew know that 'best friends' is far from what he wants to be with her.
"Her fiancé is a really lucky guy. I hope he knows that."
"Attention, District Twelve!" Haymitch bellows from where he plants himself outside of his office. "The time has come to determine one lucky winner!"
"Winner? What winner? Was there a raffle that no one told me about? Oh, DRAT." Caesar implores. Clove rolls her eyes.
"The winner of the Office Games, of course," Haymitch announces. He takes an intentional beat, for effect. The applause he must have imagined that he would get does not happen, and the deafening silence is almost painful to endure.
"The Office Games? Ooh, what's that? It sounds absolutely tantalizing," Caesar says. His hand then shoots up as he calls dibs on being the announcer.
Haymitch cocks a grin and clasps his hands in front of him. Straightening up, he explains that the Office Games will be a series of competitive tasks that will earn them points and, if Katniss is willing to fish the discarded foil from everyone's lunches this week out of the break room recycling bin, medals.
The room is so silent, that the sound of a pin dropping could have the power to cause the walls to cave in.
"Get excited, gang!" Haymitch cheers, waving his hands around. A half-hearted 'yay' is elicited from some of the employees. Cato gives Haymitch a standing ovation.
"You can do better than that! You have to do better than that, if you wanna win the Games."
"For validation points from you? Hard pass," a very disinterested Cinna answers.
"Well, these games could determine your future!" the boss tries again, glancing into the camera with a look that insinuates that by 'future' he means 'job stability'.
"We've got work to do, Haymitch. Here's a game for you. It's called: The expense reports are due at the end of the day," Cinna, completely straight-faced, says.
From where she sits at reception, Katniss watches Peeta pretend to bang his head into an invisible wall.
"Every now and then Peeta claims that he's hit his 'forcefield'," Katniss clarifies. "It usually happens when he gets so bored that he physically can't work anymore. It has the power to knock the life right out of him. Today, I think it's the expense reports that have caused him to strike the forcefield. And it's my job to revive him."
"We can't be playing games…not with all the problems the company's been having," Clove's serious voice reasons. General agreement ripples throughout the room.
Haymitch does not take this as a viable answer.
"Do your work now, fine. But at two o'clock, the games will begin," Haymitch declares. With that, he seals the deal that the Games are, in fact, mandatory.
"Now, I'm going to need all hands on deck. Peeta, come up with some good games that won't cost the company anything in damages. Katniss, to the recycling bins! You're on medal duty. Clove, decorate the place…make it look like the Olympics. Johanna and Wiress, you'll help her. Sae, don't touch anything. Beetee, figure out how to get my iPod speakers to work so we can blast the playlist that Madge will make. Lumberjack Boy, stay handsome. You're the unofficial poster boy of the Games. So, just look cute. Take your shirt off or something, I don't know. Effie, try very hard not to be your harpy self this afternoon. Cato, join me in my office. We're in charge of score sheets. Cinna—"
"No."
"Alright! Everyone get to work…and at two o'clock, let the Office Games begin!"
"How are you holding up? Your heart looked like it stopped when you hit that forcefield," Katniss asks, feigning concern for the blonde man standing at her desk. She fiddles with strings of paper clips, tin foil, and magic markers to construct medals for the Games.
Meanwhile, Peeta scribbles furiously on a piece of paper, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth and brow furrowed in concentration.
At the mentioning of their deal, Peeta grins, his blue eyes flashing through his long eyelashes.
"Well, it's working now, thanks to your wicked reviving skills," he says. Katniss laughs. "This list of games may be the most productive thing I've done all week. Haymitch should make us do distracting things that have no real purpose more often. It'll make me feel less guilty about doing distracting things that have no purpose on a regular basis."
Katniss leans forward in an attempt to see the paper. Peeta jerks himself and the list of games away, pretending to look deeply offended.
"Miss Everdeen, are you trying to cheat?"
The receptionist grins sheepishly and shrugs. "I couldn't help myself. Besides, you know I never play by the rules."
Peeta rolls his eyes at this fact, which he truly seems to already know about Katniss. "You'll never be my partner in Catchphrase ever again. Learned that the hard way at Johanna's birthday party. My God, you're so competitive. I don't know who to trust anymore!"
In that moment, Beetee and Caesar approach the reception desk. They giggle like a couple of school girls, barely able to contain their excitement.
"Peeta, we have a game suggestion for you," Beetee whispers excitedly. "Are you taking suggestions?"
Peeta beams at the cameras. "Beetee Latier, coming to life! I love it, lay it on me."
"It's called 'Toleration Ball', because Clove always says that she has 'zero tolerance' for it," Caesar explains. "We play it at our desk clump whenever Haymitch is out or we're really bored. Which is a lot."
Beetee then extracts a large cardboard scorecard that dates all the way back to 2010. Peeta claps his hands together in amusement.
"Guys, this is amazing! We're taking it to the big leagues with the Games, for sure!"
Beetee and Caesar high five before scurrying off to practice their game.
Peeta starts to write it down when he notices Katniss' mischievous eyes watching his every move.
"Everdeen! Get a grip!"
"I'm sorry!" Katniss exclaims, throwing her hands in the air with a laugh. "I can't help it! I've been competitive since I could walk!"
Plucking the list from her desk and hugging it close to his chest, Peeta begins to saunter away, impishly looking over his shoulder at the now-miffed Katniss.
"This is strictly confidential stuff, Everdeen. Game-makers only. Besides, you and I have to train separately for these Games if I have any chance of winning," he says with a wink before disappearing into Haymitch's office.
Katniss smiles and watches him go. As she grabs her duplicated expense reports from the copier, Clove snickers.
"Something funny, Clove?" Katniss inquires, doing a double take as she realizes that Clove has been watching the exchanges at her reception desk for a while.
Clove shakes her head. Her straight, dark hair has been pulled tightly into a flawless ponytail, which sways as she moves closer to Katniss.
"Nothing. It's nothing."
"Are you excited for the Games?" Katniss asks politely, forcing a friendly smile on her face. Clove looks appalled.
"Ew, no."
"You don't play games?"
"I play plenty of games. I do pilates. I dangle crickets in front of my lizards. I play games, Katniss…just not at work."
Jabbing a paper clip chain through the piece of foil with particularly noticeable strength, Katniss makes it obvious that she intends to return to her work.
"Alright, well it was nice talking to you, Clove…" Katniss says, voice strained.
"Oh, I do play this one game, actually!" Clove pipes up.
"You do?" Katniss exclaims, suddenly into the conversation. Her eyes light up with a friendliness that was not there before. "What is it? I can suggest it."
A sinister look flickers in her eyes as Clove steps dangerously close to Katniss' chair behind the reception desk.
"It's called Peeta Pong. I count how many times Peeta gets up from his desk and comes to reception to talk to you."
Katniss narrowly misses sending the paper clip through her finger.
"We're friends," she asserts, nearly crumbling the aluminum foil in her hand with her fist.
Clove widens her eyes, clearly in disapproval of Katniss' friendship with Peeta.
"Hmph. Apparently 'friendship' has a new meaning these days."
"I have been Haymitch's number two guy for about five years, and we make a great team. He's a Leo, I'm an Aries. Very compatible, according to this one website, and probably some religious texts. We're like all the famous teams…Gollum and the ring, the Wizard and his hot air balloon, late night talk show hosts and the supporting personality that sits on the smaller couch…"
Cato pauses reflectively. A small smile forms on his lips. "Haymitch is like Clooney, and I am like…his very dedicated security guard. Do you understand this analogy yet? Because I've got a good one about a stone and a hammer that I can elaborate on."
"Which is why I feel like this…monkey jumping…"
"It's called 'Muttspringen', Cato," Peeta interrupts, almost too seriously to be taken seriously. "If you're gonna critique it, at least get the name right. That game is very well known in the country where it originated."
From where he stands by a white board with an elaborately drawn out score sheet, Peeta's list of games in one hand and laser pointer in the other, Cato simmers. Haymitch, sipping from his mug, sends Cato a pointed look that tells him to calm down.
Cato takes a large breath and blinks sweetly at the blonde seated against the back wall of Haymitch's office.
"And what country would that be, Mellark?"
Peeta bites his lip. "Andalasia?"
When asked why Peeta used the made up land from Enchanted as the country of origin for 'Muttspringen' in a private interview, Peeta explains:
"I have three nieces, and I babysit for my two older brothers a lot. I know my way around Disney geography."
"Okay, well I feel like this 'Muttspringen' game could use a bit more obstacle."
"It's an obstacle course, Cato."
"I suggest we get real monkeys. I know a monkey guy. Works at the Philadelphia Zoo."
Peeta looks taken aback. "We're not getting real monkeys. What the hell would we do with them?"
Cato shrugs, as if the answer is obvious. "I bet they're trained to know what to do when they smell incompetent idiots. Hint: it's attack and claw that idiot's face off."
Peeta objects loudly, and Haymitch cuts in.
"No real monkeys, dummy. We have enough people flinging their feces around like apes around here anyway," the manager finalizes. He props his elbows up on the desk and massages his temples.
Cato stiffens. He returns his attention to the list, scanning the contents like a madman.
"Then I propose that this sharpshooting game have actual weapons. Lucky for you, I keep a crossbow in my car…"
"No crossbow!" Haymitch snaps.
Cato looks miffed.
"You're never going to get the proper evaluation of the competitors if you don't have at least an ounce of authenticity to these games," he mutters.
"Are you going to suggest that I chop off my leg for the three-legged race, then?" Peeta asks, annoyed.
"It crossed my mind, yes."
"Oh my God, Cato!"
"The real warriors will sacrifice great things for the integrity of these games!"
"Haymitch, are you hearing this guy?"
Finally, Haymitch slams his hand down on the table and orders the two arguing salesmen to evacuate his office immediately.
"I need to be alone with my thoughts," Haymitch says as he stands. They leave. Cato pokes his head back into the office moments later, a curious glint in his eye.
"So you're going to think about the monkeys?"
"Dammit, Cato! Get the hell outta my office, boy!"
"At the end of the day, I have to fire someone," Haymitch says, running his hand over his tired face. He stares out into the office, where people are milling about in preparation for the Games.
"Corporate gave me my answer. It's right here in this packet of bullshit. But what kind of manager would I be if I let Corporate Headquarters, all the way up in New York City, determine the value of my workers? I have to see it for myself. The Games will decide the winners and losers. That way, I don't have to."
When asked if he thinks the truth about the Corporate scores will come out at all, Haymitch crumples the score sheet up into a ball and aims for the 'Special Filing Cabinet'.
"Now we won't have to worry about that happening. Belongs in the garbage, anyway. They can't tell me how to run my office."
As Caesar, Cato, and Madge perform an off-key a capella version of the Olympic fanfare, Haymitch slowly raises a lit candle above his head. Clove and Johanna stand at either side of a large banner that reads "First Annual Office Games".
"Ladies and gentlemen-men-men-men," Haymitch bellows, making it look like he is creating his own echoing sound effects by cupping his hand over his mouth. "This candle-dle-dle burns with the eternal spirit of competition-on-on-on! And when I set this, uhm, this roll of paper towels on fire—"
"You will do no such thing," Effie corrects him with a not-so-subtle kick in the shin that causes Haymitch to waver and brings the flame dangerously close to Madge's loose blonde hair.
"Fine, Buzzkill. When I light this milk carton on fire—"
"No fires, Haymitch!"
"DAMN WOMAN, LET US HAVE FUN FOR ONCE."
"NOT WHEN FUN COMES IN THE WAY OF SAFETY!" Effie cries out, shrilly.
"Whatever. When I count backwards from ten, the Games will begin!"
Haymitch counts backwards from ten. The room erupts in a chorus of half-hearted cheers when he reaches one after echoing every number for about ten seconds each. Everyone moves on to the first game.
When Effie's back is turned, Haymitch sets the roll of paper towels on fire and quickly extinguishes it in the sink when the flames lick his fingers and cause him to exclaim a word that the crew has to bleep out.
Many of the games go off without a single hitch, much to the boss' surprise.
Caesar receives merit on his gold medal achievement in 'Bees in the Trap', a game that determines who can fit the most TicTacs in their mouth.
Effie wins gold in the high-heeled race, lapping her competitors and crossing the finish line while triumphantly pumping her fists in the least ladylike way imaginable.
Beetee dominates in 'Toleration Ball'.
Peeta shows off his strength in 'Bad Santa' (also known as lifting bags filled with coal).
Despite the lack of actual monkeys, Cato performs with a record time in 'Muttspringen', jumping over hurdles made with boxes from the warehouse with agility and ease.
Wiress and Madge take the gold as the winning team in the Office Scavenger Hunt, solving riddles and figuring out the hiding places of various pieces of coal like professionals.
Gale smokes the competition in the game titled 'Timber', which is essentially a large-scale version of Jenga that uses cardboard boxes. Johanna, the silver medal winner of the game, says it's probably because of his lumberjack skills.
Katniss gets every paper clip to land in the mugs placed at various distances throughout the office in the sharpshooting game. Peeta gives her a high five when she places the gold medal over her own shoulders.
Even Cinna gets into the spirit of the Games when he unassumingly wins the 'Quiet Game', a game he did not even know he had been playing as he read his style magazine at his desk while everyone succumbed to the pressure of having to be silent around him. He is surprisingly all smiles when he receives his medal.
Peeta is the biggest cheerleader in the room, treating his co-workers like true athletes whenever they are awarded in one of the games that he designed. Cato, as expected, is deemed by everyone as most competitive. Katniss is a surprising close second in the competitive category that no one, save Peeta, saw coming.
The office is filled with laughter and cheers all afternoon long, nonetheless.
All the while, Haymitch stands in the front of the office, quietly tabulating scores and drinking from a flask inside of his jacket pocket.
When asked how he thinks the games are going, Haymitch is astounded.
"I've never seen them get this into something. There's this…drive to be good that has never been around when they're working. And the games are bringing out the strengths in just about everyone. I'm learning a lot about my crew today. For example, who knew that Caesar's big mouth could actually be used for something good? It's blowing my mind, and it's warming my heart to see them all so…happy…"
He grimaces and pours himself a drink.
"Too bad I have to fire one of them."
Katniss smiles knowingly when the crew asks her.
"Yeah, I think he made up games that would play to everyone's strengths on purpose. That's Peeta for you…he knows how to make you feel special."
She finds him tearing up an old t-shirt from the supply closet to tie around the pairs' ankles. Grinning from ear to ear, she plops herself down to sit on the floor beside him and playfully jabs him in the ribcage with her elbow.
"I saw that Haymitch paired us up for the three-legged race. You better bring your A-game for this, Mellark. You know that I don't mess around," Katniss says, receiving a playful shove back.
Peeta yawns overdramatically. "I don't know, Everdeen. The day's events have tuckered me out. I mean, I know the three-legged race is the last big event, but…"
"Peeta, do not mess with me," Katniss demands, gray eyes suddenly serious. "We're not losing. You and I are going to win the gold foil medals, even if I have to drag your pacifistic ass across that finish line."
Peeta chuckles lightly.
"The more intense you get about this, the more I want to intentionally sabotage us just to see you get this mad again."
Katniss rolls her eyes. Smirking, she finally says, "Fine. We'll just have to let Cato and Clove win, I guess."
"Cato and Clove are a team? Now, we have to win, or else we'll never be able to live it down."
Katniss laughs. "Oh, I almost forgot! Check out what I made for the big winner."
Pulling an old cardboard shoebox out from behind her, Katniss removes the lid to reveal a crown. It is shaped to look like a crown of laurels, made up of construction paper, pipe cleaner, twine, glitter and leaves from office plants.
Peeta's eyes light up as he takes the delicate crown in his hands.
"This is amazing, Everdeen! You've truly outdone yourself! This is perfect for the closing ceremonies at the end of the day," he cheers, holding up his hand for a high-five. Katniss happily obliges.
"It was nothing, really."
Peeta continues to praise her, calling her the 'MVP' as he begins hoisting himself up from the floor. He reaches down to help lift Katniss up. They stumble a bit from the momentum, and Peeta catches her to stabilize them both. Her face comes dangerously close to his face. They stay like this, holding each other and staring into each other's eyes, for just a moment longer than friends would.
Peeta laughs awkwardly, breaking the heated moment, and offers another high-five.
"Better bring these back to the boss," Peeta says, gesturing toward the scraps of t-shirt in his hands. "Have you noticed how strung out he looks this afternoon?"
Katniss nods. "He's the one who had the idea for the Games, and now it's as if he wants nothing to do with them."
"Maybe he ran out of white liquor," Peeta jokes, eliciting another laugh from Katniss.
"Well, I'll see you at the race?" she says as he starts to make his way to Haymitch's office. Peeta smiles brightly and nods.
"See you then, partner."
Grinning to herself, Katniss makes her way around the same corner when she spots Clove, who smirks wickedly from where she leans against Katniss' desk at reception. Holding up a small notepad, Clove records what appears to be a tally for her game of Peeta Pong before she saunters off.
"Attention, athletes! We have reached the final event of the day: the three-legged race!"
There is a resounding cheer, much stronger than the low-energy response earlier in the afternoon. The teams all stand at attention by the starting line in the annex: Peeta and Katniss, Cato and Clove, Beetee and Wiress, Cinna and Effie, Gale and Madge, Cray and Sae, and Caesar and Johanna.
"Now, remember, the rules are simple here. Get to the finish line first, with your tie still around your ankles. The connected feet have to cross the line before any other part of the body can."
The cameras pan to peer through the window of the annex to the track that Haymitch has marked off with blue painter's tape. The path often appears to be very narrow, as if only one pair can fit in between the two blue lines.
"It's going to be tough, but I want you kids to get clever here. Cheating, such as pushing people down, is allowed. In fact, it's highly encouraged. Watch."
Haymitch demonstrates by shoving his full weight against Effie's shoulder. The orange-haired woman cries out and collapses almost immediately, bringing an unsuspecting Cinna down in her wake. The man shoots Haymitch daggers with his dark eyes while Effie complains about Haymitch's lack of tact.
Readying himself in position, and jostling Clove's tiny frame around as he does so, Cato leans in toward Peeta.
"I hope you like loserberry pie, Baker Boy, because you're going to have a lifetime supply of it once I'm through with you," Cato sneers.
"I just hope that you can come up with a better burn than loserberry pie once you're through with me. Loserberry sounds like an interesting flavor, though…I hope you like it, though, since you'll be the one stuck with that pitiful name copyright. Oh, and since Everdeen and I are winning this," Peeta counters. Katniss snickers.
Catching how spurned Cato looks while Katniss and Peeta wear matching shit-eating grins, Clove steps in with trash talk of her own.
"Katniss, maybe we should call Darius up here to watch the race. I'm sure he would love to watch his fiancée giggle while attached to another male like a harlot."
Katniss glowers, and Peeta turns a new shade of bright red that gives Effie's hair a run for its money.
"You know what? You can tally me all you want, Clove," she lowers her voice and leans in toward the shorter woman, careful to avoid letting Peeta hear. "The only score I'm going to be keeping is how many people trip over your fragile little body once I push it down."
"I don't get why none of you are even considering the obvious fact that Gale and I are going to win this," Madge cuts in. She has tied her blonde hair back with a ribbon. Gripping onto Gale's bicep, she squeals with delight.
"Our first challenge as a couple!" she cheers.
When she rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes contentedly, Gale mouths "Hashtag Save the Temp" to the cameras.
Haymitch begins his usual countdown from ten. When he sets off the gong ringtone on his cell phone, the teams spring into action. Katniss wastes no time tripping Clove, who pulls Katniss down with her as she falls. Cato and Peeta bang heads.
Beetee and Wiress move about the course slowly and methodically, and their plan works for a while since everyone else took the cheating approach right out of the gate and ended up in a giant human knot as a result.
Madge and Gale untangle themselves quickly and surpass the older pairing. Madge makes the mistake of turning around to laugh in Beetee's face, however, and she is met with Johanna's hand smushing her cheek and forcing her and Gale back onto the floor.
Cackling together, Johanna and Caesar step over their prey and move on.
Eventually, the race is narrowed down to Katniss and Peeta versus Cato and Clove. Everyone else, nursing minor injuries and scattered along the trail, manages to cheer for their favorite pairing.
Haymitch heckles the groups from his comfy place at the finish line.
Neck and neck, the two three-legged pairs trash talk each other as they continually push bodies out of the way and fight to take the lead.
Katniss and Peeta have just gained the upperhand, Cato cursing Mellark's rotten name, when the race suddenly comes to a jarring halt. With the force of their stop catching up to them, Cato and Clove topple to the floor. Katniss grips onto Peeta's middle for support, and Peeta throws his arm around Katniss' shoulders when he starts to teeter.
The cheering turns into palpable silence. Everyone freezes in place, shocked expressions on their faces.
Haymitch's calls are the only sounds that can be heard throughout the now speechless office.
"C'mon, you pansies! The timer's still going! You call that a race? Come on!" Haymitch heckles, trying to force the life back into his now inanimate employees.
"What's gotten into you all? You look like you've just seen a ghost…"
From behind him, the sound of a woman clearing her throat can be heard. Haymitch whirls around and drops his stopwatch, still running, when he comes face to face with his boss.
"Hello, Haymitch," Alma Coin says.
"Alma? What are you doing here?" Haymitch croaks.
Coin stiffens. "I've been trying to reach you all afternoon, but all of my calls have gone straight to voicemail."
Katniss nervously glances at the blinking, idle phone on her desk before expressing her worry to the camera.
"I thought I would come down here and see why you were choosing to ignore me. I had assumed that the expense reports had you all busy with work. But, it appears as though…this, whatever this is…is far more important than keeping this company afloat."
"Alma, I can explain. These games were helping me score everyone," Haymitch starts.
A gray eyebrow makes its way up Alma's forehead.
"Scores? You?"
"I was, um…getting a more, uh…accurate assessment of my employees' value than the scores Corporate sent me," Haymitch admits. The shocked expressions among the office workers deepen at this news. No one knew what was really going on.
Alma Coin, a master of terrifying stillness, glances dismissively at the cameras before asking Haymitch to join her in her office alone.
"They can vouch for me! We've been having a great day of determining our skills, right, gang?"
Not a single competitor speaks up. Silently and sullenly, the workers begin to return to their respective posts throughout the office and continue to do their jobs.
"Guys? C'mon, guys! What about 'Timber'? Or 'Muttspringen'? We had so much fun while team building, right everyone? Guys…"
"Haymitch," Coin orders from his office door. Tail tucked between his legs and head hanging in shame, Haymitch shuffles to his office like a wounded puppy and shuts the door behind him.
"I finished my expense reports and got them in to Beetee about twenty minutes after the Games ended. And then I closed two more sales," Peeta tells the cameras sadly, while Clove and Wiress can be seen taking down decorations through the window behind him. "So, yeah, today was just as productive as every other day I've had here…maybe more so."
The office remains eerily silent for the next hour, save the muffled sounds of Coin's angry shouting coming from inside of Haymitch's office.
Gale slowly walks up to the waste basin by reception. Making uncomfortable eye contact with Katniss as he does so, he disposes of his medal. Watching from behind her computer screen, Katniss purses her lips. She is obviously hurt.
"Look, it's nothing personal, Catnip," Gale says with a shrug.
"Katniss," the receptionist corrects him quietly.
"Yeah, right. Sorry. It was either I toss it out now, or wait for a few weeks and then toss it out. No hard feelings. Today was nice."
He pauses before going back to his desk.
"You ever been hunting?"
Katniss' eyebrows knit together at the question that seems very out of the blue, considering she was not in on the previous conversation about her.
"Uh, yeah."
"Would you ever wanna…sometime…"
"I'm engaged," she replies icily, turning away from him.
Katniss watches him sulk all the way back to his desk, and Peeta watches the sadness creep into her features from where he sits.
Meanwhile, the cameras hide behind the plants that surround Haymitch's office and listen in on the conversation. The mic pack that the doc crew has the employees wear has thankfully not been turned off by Haymitch.
Coin chews the manager out for directly disobeying her orders, distracting his employees, and making a mockery of Panem.
"I just don't understand what you were thinking, Haymitch!"
"I was thinking I would let my team have a little fun before I had to slaughter my family by gutting one of my own," Haymitch grumbles.
"No, you were thinking, once again, that your ideas were far superior to those of your actual superiors! Corporate is now going to need an explanation for why the District Twelve branch has been playing games all day long, and your employees now need an explanation for why these games were secretly evaluations of their worth."
"To be fair, you evaluated their worth first. I was just doing it much more nicely by letting games be involved."
"You're unbelievable."
"You ought to loosen your corset, Sweetheart," Haymitch says, trying to placate the frazzled woman. He reaches into his jacket and holds something shiny out to her. "Care for a drink?"
Coin nearly slaps the flask out of his hands.
Everyone is gathered in the conference room minutes later. Alma Coin has appeared to have cooled off very little since the cameras last saw her, while Haymitch quietly stands behind her, rendered speechless as Alma takes over.
"Good afternoon, everyone. I know some of you have heard things about 'scores' from Corporate, so I'd like to take this moment to discuss with you what was really going on today, since your manager could not handle that task," Coin begins.
Everyone looks nervously at Haymitch, who simply shrugs to the cameras.
"This morning, Corporate sent Haymitch a list of scores for each of you, as a reflection of your performance over the past three quarters in your given jobs. The people with the lowest scores were going to be considered by Haymitch, and of those, he was going to have to let one of those low-scoring employees go at his discretion. However, Haymitch's discretion translated to these time wasting, inefficient…Games…"
Katniss can be seen glancing across the room to Peeta, who looks ashamed to have the games he made up be considered time-wasting, inefficient, and a way to get someone he works with fired. He meets her eyes, and she offers him a reassuring smile. Peeta smiles sadly back.
"Now, I have with me the scores that Corporate has delegated to each of you. It is only fair, at this point, that you are all kept in the loop. Since Haymitch has refused to share the scores with you today, I will read them aloud."
There is an obvious mood shift in the room. Even Haymitch looks uneasy with what is about to happen.
"Let's start with the receptionist, Miss Katniss Everdeen. Corporate gave you a score of…10."
"Out of 10? Way to go, Sweetheart!" Haymitch rejoices, letting go of the huge breath he was holding. Katniss looks stunned, but nods respectfully.
Coin shakes her head. "No, Haymitch. I sent you the criteria points, remember? The score is out of 12."
Haymitch stiffens. "Well, then I give Katniss a 12."
"That isn't how this works," Coin says, heaving a sigh.
"I'm fine with a 10, Haymitch," Katniss says softly.
"No you're not, Everdeen. You deserve better."
Haymitch whips out a sheet of paper, containing a printed out spreadsheet with dozens of markings done in red ink. The cameras zoom in to reveal that it is the score sheet from the Games.
"Well, according to what I've got here, she gets a 12. Katniss Everdeen earned a gold medal in a game that required concentration, precision, and patience, which is what she shows me every single day at work. I bet that your score can't tell you that."
Coin swallows hard and turns away from the slightly inebriated man. From where she sits, Katniss stares, wide-eyed at Haymitch with a look that is a cross between gratitude and disbelief.
"Plus, she's got spunk!" Haymitch continues. He points an accusing finger at Coin. "More than you! More than the chumps at Corporate!"
"That's enough. We're moving on. Clove Sevina, head of accounting. Your score is 8."
Clove's chest puffs and her nostrils flare.
"Nope. Clove gets a 12 on her organizational skills alone. The day wouldn't have even worked without her decorations and planning of the itinerary. The whole perfectionist thing may be annoying as hell, but no one knows how to get a job done like Clove. She gets a 12 in my book."
Alma Coin huffs.
"Cato Hadley, salesman, with a score of 9."
"From me, his score is 12."
"Haymitch, you can't just give everyone a perfect score and expect it to nullify Corporate's tabulations. There was a system…"
"Our Games had a system, too. And Cato helped create that system. He could have easily made it unfair for everyone else, but Cato has always worked hard to earn his successes. No one can tackle more obstacles than he can, and if you had watched him during 'Muttspringen', you would know that."
"…I'm sorry, 'Muttspringen'?" Coin blinks in confusion.
Haymitch gives her a look that seems to say, "duh" when he responds, "It's from Andalasia, Alma."
As hard as he tries to remain professional-looking in front of Coin, there is no denying the smile that begins to form on Cato's lips.
"Johanna Mason, Purchasing/Supplier Relations, with a score of…7."
"Yeah, I won't argue that one. That one's fair."
Johanna shrugs, accepting the score.
"True, it's fair. I'm just happy my number wasn't in the negatives."
"But she proved me wrong a lot today with her involvement in the Games," Haymitch pipes up. "That thing you did…where you could sniff out the Axe Body Spray in the room while you were blindfolded…crazy, how good you were at that."
"Thanks, Old Man," Johanna says with a wink and a boastful smirk.
"Peeta Mellark, salesman, with a score of…4."
Haymitch's reaction to this has to be censored, it is that severe. Everyone looks taken aback and offended by their co-worker's score, save Cato, who loses all sense of professionalism when he jumps up, points in Peeta's face, barks out a laugh, and takes a victory lap around the conference room.
"Sit your ass back down, you fool," Cinna hisses as he yanks Cato by the belt back into a chair when he tries to go for a second lap.
Haymitch shakes his head, stunned. "You mean to tell me that Corporate thinks that kid right there is only worth a 4?"
Coin straightens out her gray pencil skirt and nods tersely.
"Based on the criteria, yes."
"You've got it all wrong, then. Because that boy should have a big ol' 12."
"The sales the past three quarters haven't been Peeta's best, especially in comparison to other salesmen like Cato."
"But he's strong. He's got a lot of fight in him. He may not use it all the time, but Peeta has so much potential. That really shows when he cares, truly cares about something. He doesn't give up, and he didn't give up on anyone today. You think it was a coincidence that everyone walked out of the Games with a gold medal? So I don't care about your stupid sales quotas, Alma. This company could downsize a thousand times and never deserve this boy!"
Immediately following this rant, Alma drags Haymitch by the shirt collar back into his office. He screams some more obscenities as he goes.
The cameras come around to survey the varying looks of shock that have filled the faces in the conference room. Peeta sits in the middle of the room, jaw unhinged and hanging open in utter disbelief as he looks off to where Haymitch just was, and then back at the cameras.
"Well, they had to get President Snow involved, but Haymitch and Coin eventually settled on averaging the scores from Corporate and from the Games together to make a new score. The lowest of the combined scores' averages will be the person who is let go," Peeta explains in a private interview. He pauses to calculate.
"Which gives me…an 8. Sure, I'll never be able to live down that Cato scored higher than me, but an 8's pretty generous, considering the amount of work I actually do around here."
Pausing again, Peeta sits, deep in thought, before looking back into the camera.
"That was nice, what Haymitch said. He didn't have to say it…I don't know. It's always nice to know that you're doing something right, I guess. I may be mediocre at my job, but at least my boss thinks that I deserve it."
"My new average is an 11. I can finally breathe about this whole downsizing thing, I guess," Katniss tells the camera crew, relief in her soft voice. "Means I can hold onto my job for a little while longer. I can afford to send Prim to medical school…maybe look into serving a nicer chicken dish at the wedding."
Running a hand over her braid, she smiles to herself.
"Today was a lot of fun. No matter what happens, at least the person who goes will have had a fun last day."
As people continue to be called one-by-one into Haymitch's office for a private evaluation, the tone of the main office dampens more and more.
Suddenly, the sound of a dozen computers pinging with the sound of a new email revives the living dead that sit at their desks.
Reading the content of the email, the camera focuses on Wiress as a huge smile covers her face. She giggles, spins around in her chair to face Peeta at the desk-clump next to hers, and nods. Others begin to mirror the sentiment, until everyone in the office is sporting matching grins.
Even Cato joins in, nodding in approval of whatever the email has asked everyone to do.
Looking over the counter of her desk, Katniss raises up her hand to Peeta, mouthing 'MVP'. He reciprocates her air-five.
Haymitch Abernathy does not have a very good poker face.
When he calls Greasy Sae into his office, he is visibly perspiring, wringing his hands in front of him, and stumbling over his words.
Luckily, Sae's old bones take a good while for her to drag herself over to Haymitch, giving the manager ample time to compose himself.
Unspoken looks of nervousness and fear are tossed around like a hot potato between the remaining employees when the door shuts behind Greasy Sae.
Inside of the office, Haymitch is struggling to stay away from the flask that Alma now has clasped in her hands. The manager makes a series of loud noises—groans and exhalations—before finally looking up at the old woman, who looks surprisingly serene. Alma clears her throat after a long time has passed with Haymitch having buried his head in his hands.
"Sae, you are…great, and very ambitious, and…you're pungent—that means you're always on time," Haymitch starts.
Sae crinkles her nose. "No, that means I smell."
"Well, you get it. Anyway, I feel like you want more than this office has to offer. You're ready to spread your Greasy wings and just fly on to bigger and better things with…well, for instance, with your granddaughter…"
"What was my score, Sonny?"
Haymitch arches his eyebrows. "Pardon?"
"My score. What was it?"
"Um, it was…1. Your score came out to 1."
Sae leans back in her chair. "So I had the worst score?"
"Yeah. There was no saving it. Not even with the average."
"This is a misunderstanding. No one else had a worse score?"
"No." The conversation looks as though it physically pains Haymitch.
"You can't do a recount? Switch some more things around? I won the gold in the trash picking game, Haymitch. I want to stay in the place where that's allowed."
Haymitch shakes his head.
"No, you wanna go."
Sae shakes her head.
"No, I wanna stay."
This banter goes on for a while.
Finally, Sae slams her fists on Haymitch's desk with surprising force for someone that old.
"Let's fight this. You and me, just like in the old days," she says suddenly.
"Old days? Sae, I can't, I have to—"
"Call up Corporate and undo this, Haymitch!"
Coin coughs. "I'm right here, you know."
"Sae, look, I have to fire someone today. Today is my deadline. Someone needs to be let go today."
"Fine, then fire someone else," Sae says. An idea hits her. "Fire Cray. He's just as old. He didn't even win a damn trophy today. I'm better at my job than he is. What was his score?"
Haymitch massages his temples. "I can't share that. And I already picked you, so…I can't live with you looking at me every day and thinking of me as the guy who almost fired you."
"No, no, no I won't!" Sae pleads, her voice rising. "You'll be my savior. This old brain will forget right away about this whole thing. Fire Cray. I bet his score is no better than mine."
"You're wrong, actually. His score was a 2, and that's with Corporate giving him a 1 and the Games giving him a 3, so…" Haymitch trails off when he realizes that he disclosed the information he just said he would not tell Sae. Coin rolls her eyes.
"2? And I got a 1? All his points were from the Games? He didn't win any medals! How'd he get points?"
"Participation. Teamwork. He bought me Kahlua last Christmas…"
"I did those things better. I got you scalped concert tickets to see Cher when she came to town. Cher, Haymitch."
Haymitch pauses, taking all of this into serious consideration, especially the Cher tickets. Alma looks into the camera in disgust.
"Okay, you raise some good points. I'll have go back in and change some of my scoring, then."
"What's Cray got now?"
"From me? Zero."
"So that makes my score better," Sae says with finality as she rises. She clasps Haymitch's hands in her own, despite his sounds of protest, and kisses each of his knuckles. "Thank you for seeing it my way, Sonny. Cray is awful. I'm better."
Sae leaves before Haymitch can get a word in edgewise. Alma Coin looks like she has given up all hope in humanity.
"Phew! Why yes, I have done some work in the black market," Sae says this with no prompting questions; she just walked right into the room and demanded a private interview.
Then, she reacts as if she is receiving the highest of compliments when asked how she became so good at persuasion. "I also sell corn husk dolls at the local flea market and lots of…herbs…online."
She leans in very close and gives the camera a wink.
"Point is, I'm real good at negotiating."
"What?" Orin Cray spits out. "You actually listened to that old hag? You know Sae's crazy, you know that!"
Haymitch shakes his head solemnly, looking sicker for round two of this termination process.
"I know, and that's why she was my original choice."
"See? You had it right the first time! You should go with your gut!"
"Eh, maybe I did have it right…" Hayitch says wearily. It is clear that he is beginning to waver in his resolve again. Alma sends him a pointed look that tells him he ought to think better of it. He is not allowed any more flip-flopping.
"But the thing is…no, I can't go back. I would look like an idiot. I already have the new score written in red ink."
Cray looks deranged with anger. "That's what this boils down to? You don't wanna look like an idiot or use a little whiteout, so I get fired?"
"No, there were…other things. Like, uh, costs…and Cher. I just hope we can still be friends, Cray."
Orin throws his head back and cackles. It is acerbic and causes Haymitch, and even Coin, to wince.
"Unbelievable. Screw you, Haymitch, and screw you, Coin! Screw this whole (bleeeeep) company!"
The cameras follow Cray, Haymitch, and Coin as they rush through the door and follow the mad ex-employee to the exit. Everyone rises, anxious to watch the commotion play out.
"Cray, please," Haymitch begs, fishing around in his wallet. "Let me make it up to you. I've got a…punch card for the liquor store, and…thirty seven—no, thirty-eight—cents…"
"Take it and shove it, you old, drunk bastard," Cray shouts, flinging his coat over his arm. "You all can go to hell!"
He leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Everyone remains paralyzed in shock for a few moments.
"Well, what are y'all staring at? It's done. Get back to work," Haymitch says, shooting a scornful glare at Coin. "You happy? I did what you asked me to, and now I feel like a jerk."
Alma, looking far more emotionally drained than she must have suspected she would be by coming to District Twelve today, wordlessly waves goodbye to Haymitch before ducking her head and bowing out of the office.
Haymitch turns his attention to the remaining, shell-shocked employees. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, the manager lets out a strangled sound and retreats into his office.
Peeta is first to rise.
"Athletes, you all know the drill," he says. He claps, and the employees of District Twelve spring into action.
"Knock, knock," Peeta says, his head poking into Haymitch's office.
Keeping his back to the entrance, the manager silently stares out the window. The cameras pan down to reveal that his car has been spray painted on every surface by zeroes, undoubtedly drawn by a vengeful Cray.
Peeta presses his lips into a thin line. Dramatically leaning his forehead against the window, Haymitch whines that he just wants to be left alone.
Haymitch heaves a heavy sigh when the salesman does not leave. "Not now, Peeta. Just…just tell everyone to go turn in early tonight. Even though those meetings kept you all for an extra hour…"
"Alright, but you might want to come out here first. There's something for you."
Haymitch has suddenly turned around, rejuvenated.
"Really?"
When Peeta leads Haymitch out of his personal office, the manager's expression quickly shifts from sullen to awestruck.
The camera pans around to reveal that the decorations have been put back up. The national anthem blares from Beetee's computer speakers. Everyone stands in a semi-circle around a box at the center of the room, each person holding a small, lit candle and wearing a reverent smile. Katniss has adorned the center box with origami doves.
"What's this?" Haymitch asks.
Peeta shrugs, jamming his hands into his pockets.
"We never got to have the closing ceremonies."
Peeta then leads Haymitch to the box and has him stand to face his employees.
"People of Panem-em-em," Peeta bellows. "We fought. We dared. We played the Games. But one man stands above them all, the man who gave us the greatest gift of them all-all-all…"
"Distraction?" Haymitch guesses bitterly.
"He gave us hope, the only thing stronger than fear, when we needed it most. That's why we award you, Haymitch Abernathy, with the champion's crown-own-own!"
The room erupts in applause. Cato whistles. Katniss steps up on a stool and places the crown that she designed on the top of Haymitch's head and a gold medal around his neck with a warm smile.
Tears glisten in the boss' eyes, his emotions fueled by his alcohol intake.
"Wow…I don't really know what to say. I don't make speeches, but…well, thank you. Today, Corporate showed us that we must always bear in mind that they can be the real enemy in times of crisis…"
As he speaks, Katniss yawns, the day having taken a great toll on her. Without much thought, she lets her head rest on Peeta's shoulder. The boy looks shocked for a moment of brief panic, staring down at the head of dark curls that rest so close to his face.
He eventually looks away from her to give the cameras a small smile.
"Today was fun. And then it got bad. And then it got worse," Peeta tells the cameras. Behind him, Katniss can be seen engaging in a conversation with Johanna. There is a number of aluminum medals still draped over her arm.
"Overall, it wasn't a bad day, though," Peeta says with a smile. "I definitely couldn't have gotten through it alone, that's for sure."
"…The economy isn't getting any better, and our business will face many struggles in the future. But I promise you, as long as we stick together and none of you interfere with my drinking, then I will stay sober enough to lead us through the fire!"
"Cato, release the fireworks-s-s!" Peeta calls, using his announcer voice again. Cato rounds the corner with sparklers in each hand, beaming now that he finally could use one of the weapons he had in his car.
Beetee blasts the national anthem again, and slowly, each employee raises their three middle fingers to their lips before holding them toward the sky.
"What the hell is that? Sign language?" Haymitch asks.
From where he stands on Haymitch's left side, tall and proud with his three fingers in the air, Peeta snorts.
"No, it's the office sign of thanks. Duh."
Haymitch is rendered silent after this. With tears in his eyes, he mimics the move and thanks his athletes.
In his final private interview, Haymitch reflects on his taxing day.
"My office is like a well-oiled machine. We've got all the right cogs and whistles doing their job to keep our machine moving forward, and that's what matters most. But, you know, every machine has its squeaky wheel. Sometimes, even if you don't wanna go through the hassle of doing it, you have to throw the rusty, squeaky wheel out in order for the rest of the machine to function, I suppose."
He smirks. "Never thought you'd have to inspect every part of the machine so thoroughly, though. Imagine if you had to score every little gear in your vacuum."
The manager pauses, his eyes falling on the folder containing the scores that Coin had to fish out of his trashcan. It rests on his desk.
"I saw my name on that list, you know. Never bothered to check it, because obviously, I wasn't going anywhere—I'm not gonna lie, though…I'm a little curious…"
He takes the paper out of the folder. He crumples it. He looks at the wastebasket.
"Probably best to let this one go…"
He looks at the wastebasket, then back at the wad of paper. Then, he uncrumples it and begins to scan the list.
He finds his name, eyes lingering on it for a long while.
Finally, he looks up at the camera and smiles.
"I got a six. I'm exactly average," Haymitch announces with pride.
A/N: Hello! Thank you all so, so much for your feedback on the first chapter of this fic! I'm really glad to hear that a lot of you who know The Office found this take believable and even those of you who haven't watched enjoyed what you read. I hope everyone is enjoying the little Hunger Games easter eggs among The Office moments. Please keep it up with the feedback, because I would love to hear it and keep writing these episodic chapters up for you all. I truly appreciate it!
I'll do my best to get a new update out quickly. With my other fic, Ghosts That We Knew, and general life to also juggle, I can't really determine set intervals for chapter releases, but the more feedback I get, the more skilled I can be at juggling. Thanks again!
-ILoVeWicked
