Hello buddies. So I was going through the Hunger Games fanfics, and noticed that SYOTs are highly prevalent.

Highly prevalent as in 90% of the Hunger Games fanfics.

This is a little sad, especially sinse some people just abandon them and leave them to lurk on the site… sniff sniff. I've made SYOCs, but I usually make a goal to keep them going.

Sigh…

I've gotten a couple reviews so far, and that makes me UBER excited. Hope you enjoy, and tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Anyway… Here is Haymitch!

Haymitch's room on the train was probably the nicest room he'd ever been in. There was a small yet comfortable bunk that was still larger than his bed at home, and a dresser full of fancy clothes in expensive fabrics. Above the bed was a large window. When he peered outside, he could only see a blur of color that made his eyes hurt. A rush of amber and brown. Must be District 11, he decided. He crossed the quarters to the dresser, running his hands through all the clothing and messing up all the folding. These clothes would cost probably 10 times what his family made in a year. Maybe a lifetime, even.

From the clothes, he pulled out a black pair of pants made out of some meshlike material. Haymitch couldn't tell what it was, but it was so soft and breathable. At random, he picked a plain black t-shirt. Looking at himself in the full length mirror, he noticed that the fabrics didn't really match up. Oh well, he thought, looking at his all black outfit. It made his hair seem darker and his eyes seem brighter. At least I look like I have an edge.

He started to try and fold the clothes back up, but ended up just shoving them in the drawer. Right as he managed to get it shut, there was a knock on the door and it slid open. It was Marcus.

"Can't you see I'm changing?" Haymitch shouted.

Marcus instinctively shut the door shut quickly. A second later, it opened again. "You're not changing," he said in his stupid accent. "You're already dressed."

"Good for you to notice," Haymitch replied. "You have been blessed with the gift of sight, I see." Haymitch hoped that Marcus would become frustrated with the sarcastic comment, but he only smiled. Maybe he's really as stupid as he sounds.

"I would just like to invite you to dinner with the other tributes. Come as soon as you can!" He shut the door with a flamboyant flourish and Haymitch could hear his feet pitter-pattering down the hall. Haymitch stared blankly at the door for a couple moments more, mesmerized by his escort's behavior. Either he has an amazingly attitude, he decided, or he actually thinks I complimented him. With a final tousle of his hair to make it seem messy, Haymitch followed his path and walked down the narrow hallway, barefoot.

Marcus noticed his absence of shoes immediately. "Come on now, Haymitch! Is your District so barbaric you do not wear shoes?" The dining quarters went silent by this sudden outburst. Marcus's eyes widened for a moment. "Well, I'm just asking! I'm trying to make you presentable!"

Really the reason Haymitch wasn't wearing shoes was because he liked the feeling of the carpet on his bare feet, but he decided to say, "Yes. In addition to not wearing shoes, we eat raw squirrels for breakfast and drink blood like it is water. Quite delicious, and it does wonders to the hair." His escort's eyes widened, horrified, while Maysilee and Mika sniggered. Charman sneered instead. Satisfied, Haymitch settled himself at the round table, where they were all seated. He noticed that the sixth chair, which was supposed to be for their mentor, Ariel Quint, was empty.

The other tributes seemed to have noticed it too, because Mika blurted, "Where's Ariel?"

Marcus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Ariel will not be helping with the Games this year."

Maysilee's jaw dropped. "We don't have a mentor?"

More shifting and fidgeting. "No."

Charman's eyes narrowed. "So we are going to be going into the arena with no assistance or advice whatsoever?"

Marcus' chest swelled with pride. "I will be your mentor."

"Great. I can already imagine what enlightening advice you will be giving us," Haymitch said. "I suppose we'll only have enough time to take in the scenery of whatever hellhole we're dropped in before we're killed."

"Let's hope it's a nice hellhole," Maysilee offered optimistically.

"Children-" Marcus said, desperately trying to cut in. A look of relief crossed his face and he relaxed in his chair. "The food has arrived."

All four of them were immediately silent as food was placed, plate after plate, in front of them. A platter holding a large sliced ham with glazed brown sugar coating; a vibrant vegetable salad drizzled with a sweet-looking orange sauce; fluffy golden buns with real creamy white butter, and for dessert, a large bowl of some soft looking white substance, kept in a tureen of ice to stay chilly. Haymitch had never seen such food, and spend a minute or two simply staring at it while his mouth watered. Mika and Charman had already begun heaping their plates ravenously, while Maysilee and Marcus took their time, taking neat portions.

Haymitch nudged Maysilee. "What should I take first?" he whispered.

She shrugged. "Anything really. You might as well eat a lot; gain a few pounds before we end up starving to death again." He took her advice and heaped his plate with as much food as it could hold.

It was the best meal he'd ever eaten. He felt the food hitting his stomach and discovered that actually feeling full, with a completely satisfied stomach, was more uncomfortable that he'd realized. Right before he'd felt like he would burst, he stopped eating, eying the cold white substance apprehensively.

He tapped Maysilee on the arm again. "What is that stuff?"

"It's ice cream," she said. She grabbed a bowl and used a spoon to scoop a hearty amount into it. Then she set it in front of Haymitch. "My father bought some once as a birthday present. It's really good. Try it."

Haymitch carefully scooped some onto the spoon. It was smooth and creamy, almost like butter.

"Go on," Maysilee urged, giggling a bit. He placed the spoon in his mouth and his eyes widened. It was cold- like snow, almost, but sweet and flowing, like a stream. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted, better than the ham and the salad and the rolls. He quickly finished the bowl and used his tongue to lick it clean. Looking at Maysilee, he saw that she was smiling and her eyes were twinkling.

"What?" he asked.

"You have something on your nose," she said quietly, raising a finger to wipe a small spot of melted ice cream off the tip of Haymitch's nose.

Charman ruined the nicer moment by clearing his throat. Haymitch immediately closed his eyes, biting his tongue to suppress a string of insults. "Sorry disturb you lovebirds, but when are we getting to the Capitol?"

Marcus looked at his watch. "We had to leave slightly behind schedule, seeing as we now have twice the amount of tributes. Once you wake up tomorrow morning, we should be there shortly after. I suggest you get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big, big day!"

They all nodded. Haymitch returned to his room, lying on the bed, remembering the nicer parts of the day. Liona. Maysilee. The train. The food. The ice cream. It was all so nice; it was almost as if they were trying to get them to forget that most of them would probably die in the next week. Like fattening a pig for slaughter, Haymitch thought, he stared at the ceiling, eating the dinner rolls that he smuggled in his pocket.