He first met her in person at the preparations for the Victor's interview. She had already been crowned: thankfully, a decent stylist had been found for District 5 this year, and she kept up a steady stream of appearances in shining silver fabrics to signify her district's export of power.
It was at the interview that she really dressed to impress. Her long red hair was left loose, while her knee-length, long-sleeved, skintight dress appeared to be made out of a wet-look, black material. She did well through her interview, smiling happily through thick, black eye makeup. It wasn't until she stood at the end that the full impact of her dress was realised. As she rose, a thunderstorm played out across the material. Lightning bolts cracked across the black sky of the fabric, while thunder clouds rumbled menacingly around her midriff. It took him a minute to realise that her stylist had taken all the talk of how much power could be leeched from thunderstorms completely seriously. She smiled at the gasps of the audience, waving and winking flirtatiously at some of the more important male viewers.
As she walked down the stairs, her dress calmed down, and her entire demeanour deflated. He felt almost sorry for her, alone among a sea of only elderly District 5 victors. No mentor advice had helped her. She had won only on her own character, using her vicious loyalty to her own advantage.
He walked over to her, not yet quite drunk enough for anything more exciting.
"So, congratulations."
She looked shocked to hear anyone speaking to her, and turned in confusion. Her expression became more incredulous as she recognised who was speaking to her.
"Haymitch Abernathy?"
"The one and only."
She looked right at him, easily cutting through the layers of crap that he used to fortify himself against the Capitol.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Wally. And Deia. No one deserves to die that way."
He wasn't sure what saddened him more. The fact that she knew their names, or the fact that he didn't.
"You didn't know, did you? Uma said that you spent these last games in a worse stupor than she's ever seen anyone in before."
Uma. Uma Jakes. The District 5 winner of the 31st Hunger Games. He smiled at his vague memory of her mentoring those from District 5 he had fought against, and inevitably killed, if only by proxy.
"I make a point not to learn anyone's name, unless they are going to suddenly become important in some way."
"Is that a round-about way of saying you don't know my name?"
In a strange way, she reminded him of Fern, who had been killed all those years ago, just because he used a part of the arena that was mean to be 'off limits' as a weapon. This girl was different, though. She had coldness in her eyes in a way Fern had never had. Her visage was stony, her demeanour calm. While Fern had been all softness and light, blond and blue-eyed, the District 5 girl was all angles and darkness, with auburn hair and eyes as deep green as the forests that surrounded District 12. Her gaze slightly unnerved him, yet he couldn't quite look away, for fear she would snap under the weight of loneliness that Victordom brought with it.
"How'd you guess?"
"Althea Gould."
"Althea?"
"It means 'healing' in some ancient language or other. The Games commentators called me Thea."
"Mind if I join them?"
"Knock yourself out."
"Well then, Thea. Going back to where we started, congratulations. And good luck. You're going to need it, being a Victor now and all."
He marched off, then. After all, he had an image to protect, and he was sure if he stayed any longer, it would begin to show that he has actually been sober for the entire 67th Hunger Games.