I forgot to write this at the top of the last chapter! This is my first time publishing on here, so be kind J This story will be in no way comparable to some of the other Hunger Games fanfic out there, but I'll give it a shot J
I'm not sticking too strictly to the Catching Fire/Mockingjay storyline, but I'm following it J
I've always wondered what Haymitch's perspective would be when the Quarter Quell was announced, so I thought I'd write it J ENJOY!
*DISCLAIMER*
I do not own The Hunger Games or any of the characters, all this belongs to Suzanne Collins!
Chapter 1
"There's a special broadcast on soon!" Prim chirps incessantly. Can't she see I'm slightly hungover? "Katniss, I bet it's your wedding dresses!"
"Guess I shouldn't be watching, then!" Peeta interjects, moving his knight to take out my queen, We've been playing chess for about an hour and he's already beaten me twice. These hangovers absolutely kill my concentration. I should probably stop drinking, but I rely on it far too much.
There's a brisk knock at the door and Effie Trinket clatters into the room in her too-high high heels.
"Now I want us all to be sat down by seven twenty-five!" she announces, "AT THE VERY VERY LATEST!"
"Jesus, Effie," I roll my eyes, "you even have to organise us to watch a stupid television show?"
She shoots me a look, so I shrug and pull back from the table.
"I need a drink" I say, and walk over to the minibar in the corner.
That's the one thing the Capitol did right, installing minibars into the Victor's Houses. The Everdeens don't drink, so they said I'm welcome to theirs. I pull out a glass and half-fill it with whisky.
I sit down and take a gulp of it. It burns, but it's a distraction from the pain of being in the same room as Effie Trinket.
By 7:25pm, we're all sat around the TV. Myself and Mrs. Everdeen sit on the sofa, with Effie sandwiched between us. Peeta sits in an armchair with Katniss sat at his feet. Prim sits next to her with a great ugly cat, cooing at it as if it's a baby and not a mangy animal.
There's some excitable chatter amongst the women in the room. Peeta and I exchange the occasional eye-roll. Weddings. I never intend to get married. I'd be too scared of losing them. As well as killing my family, the Capitol took my girlfriend and murdered her too. I never want to feel pain like that again. The alcohol helps.
As the clock strikes 7:30, the Capitol Seal flickers on to the television screen. Caesar Flickerman appears and begins to show each of Katniss' wedding looks in great detail. Effie squeals at each one. I quietly retreat to the bar and begin to refill my glass.
Just as I'm screwing the lid off the whiskey bottle, I hear the words that make me go ice-cold.
It's the 75th Hunger Games this year. It's a Quarter Quell. I know these Games will be more brutal than the rest.
I know I don't want to listen, but something pulls me back to the television. I sit down again, empty glass in hand, and watch.
"This year's tributes," President Snow smirks, "will be reaped from the existing pool of victors."
It takes a moment for myself, Katniss and Peeta to register. It's the firm grip of Effie's hand on my knee and the sound of my own glass shattering on the floor as it slips from my hand that make me realise.
My name is going back into the Reaping Bowl.
I remove Effie's hand from my knee, scoop up the broken shards of glass and put them in the bin, then leave the house.
The night air is cold but my house isn't far. When I get there, I pull open the door, pick my way through the liquor bottles on the ground and slump down on the sofa.
No sooner than I've been sat down for ten minutes, there's a knock at the door.
"I'm not here!" I yell. I don't want to see anyone tonight.
"I came for a drink." Katniss says bluntly. She must've let herself in.
I can't help but laugh, but I throw her a bottle. She pops it open and takes a drink from it.
The look on her face as she swallows the liquor is priceless. Despite this, she keeps drinking and she soon becomes just as incoherent as I usually am.
Well, I guess even the Girl on Fire needs to let go sometimes.
