Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Hunger Games. The feedback for this is helpful, thank you!
The wagon is bumpy beneath me. The bags dig into my back, but I don't say a word. I don't know what will tick this Effie Trinket off, but I'd hate to be the one under her anger. She's too cheerful to really be like that. She smiles. She laughs gaily. She points and explains about the country as we move our way out of the small town to the back roads of Sussex. I know that one thing will make her twitch and turn the tide. No. I may not like Effie Trinket, but I will have to learn to live with her.
Prim and Posy stick to me like I'm a guardian angel. That I am not. I'm not angel. I'm as hard as a statue, but they cling to me like I radiate warmth instead of chilly air. They fall asleep against my body, Posy snoring next to my ear.
Rory and Vick look over the country. I watch it vaguely as the places pass by. It's so different from the city. First, the air is clean. No fog. No smoke. And there's no sounds except for Effie's happy chatter and the wagon. No crying. No bombs killing loved ones. No alarm. Nothing. It's almost peaceful, and for a brief second I forget about a war happening all around us.
The place is cold, though, grey, the grass looking brittle and yellow. Tufts of snow sit about in the fields, which have winter wheat growing almost pessimistically. The sky is grey, but it's a cozy grey. The grey of winter.
I see horses, looking old and tired, as they pull several wagons along the road. Effie turns, nearly leaning out of the wagon as she points to a lone figure, saying, "There's Johanna Mason! Oh, let's talk with her, Finnick! Slow the wagon."
"You know she doesn't like talking with ya, Effie," Finnick says easily, looking like he's teasing her. But he stops the wagon.
A woman comes walking up the dirt road. Dark hair pulled back in a bun, her clothes pulled tight around her, her mouth a line. She stops at the wagon and says curtly, "Effie. Hello, Finnick."
Finnick salutes her. She smirks.
Prim wakes and sneezes.
Johanna looks over to the wagon bed, and I feel caught, like we're smuggled goods and she's a copper.
Johanna takes us all in, from the boys to us pile of girls. Emotions pass over her face, a number of which. One of remembrance. One of anger. One of pain. One then of pride. She laughs and looks back to Effie.
"Are you serious?" Her breath comes out like steam.
"Excuse me, Johanna? Whatever do you mean?" Effie says, so confused.
"Haymitch Abernathy, the stinky sorry drunk I play poker and smoke with, is talking in a bunch of kids from the city?" Johanna laughs. I feel something rise in my cheeks, and realize it's a blush. Of embarrassment. Like I shouldn't be here. Like I'm something that should have stayed in the city. And instantly I don't like Johanna.
I'm in the country with four children I love and four adults I'm starting to loathe.
Effie looks perturbed, pink in the face as well. "I will be there to guide the children in the house. Haymitch need not to have to do all the work himself. It is an honorable thing, Johanna, part of the war effort."
"Don't talk to my arse about the war effort, Effie Trinket," Johanna says, spitting.
Effie scowls, looking shocked. "Your language, Johanna!"
"What about my language?" Johanna looks over at the kids and laughs. "Gotta protect your virgin ears, kids."
Finnick laughs.
Effie is beet red underneath her mask of clown paint.
"Johanna, do not talk such vulgar language in front of the children. They're delicate!"
"Course they are, Trinket. 'Cause kids coming in from a city that's bombed every night are as delicate as china, going'ta shrivel like a flower if something harsh dare touches their paths," Johanna says bitterly. She looks at me with an almost sorry look. But it disappears as soon as she looks back to Effie. "I'm more scared for you than the kids, Trinket."
She turns to Finnick. "See you soon, Odair."
"Mason," Finnick says. "Going down to the recruitment office, Johanna?"
"Yeah. Just gonna get the boys signed up for war. Nothing unusual," and Johanna says, "Good luck, kids," as she passes us, trudging down the muddy dirt road. Snow starts to lightly fall as she hurries on.
Effie falls back in her seat with a gasp as Finnick starts the wagon again. It lurches, sending us all moving around. "Honestly, why does Haymitch keep her company around?" Effie tsks.
"Because she's amazingly hilarious, obviously," Finnick says. His voice rings with sardonic tones. I'm surprised as I look behind me at his back and head. He sounds annoyed with Effie; not a particular annoyance, just a general. Like he has to suffer her every day, which he probably does. And suddenly I don't think him all that badly. I still don't like his attitude, but that doesn't mean I don't get it. At least—this part of it.
"I hope she spends more time at the war office than at the manor," Effie sniffs. A handkerchief is brought out to touch her nose. "She'll be a horrible influence on the children."
Children. I feel as if categorized into a general age. I am not a child. I do not think, feel, or act as a child. I'm too hardened to have the sweet innocence of a child.
Finnick lets out a barking laugh. "They're going to live with Haymitch Abernathy. He drinks and curses and would have his entire house in a wreck if it wasn't for us. And yet you're worried about Johanna?"
"Do not speak so ill of your employer, Finnick!" Effie hisses at him. She sighs, though, and puts down her hankie. I can practically see her face, all red and white. Her head is turned to look at the road ahead of her, not to the side as it was when she was speaking with Johanna. "I do know, I believe, where you are coming from. He would not be the man he is today if I had not stepped in, seeking a job."
"Yes. And your complaining got him into hiring me, so there's nothing bad in that," Finnick says, laughing.
"Oh, Finnick, hush and keep your eyes on the road. There is snow on the road." Effie's voice is a soprano as she says over her shoulder, "Doesn't that sound exciting, children? Snow falling? Oh, the snowballs and the snow angels you can make! Oh, joy!"
What Effie doesn't realize is that these children don't like the snow at all. Snow is biting. Snow is freezing. It offers no joy. It just makes the broken streets of London soggy, horrible. She seems entirely gullible when it comes to us. And she doesn't even realize that.
The road gets little smoother as we cross the country. The hills get large, the fields longer. I see a few old farmers with their plows and horses and oxen. Effie smiles and waves pleasantly to them. She is the only one happy in this situation. I can see Finnick's hunched shoulders and I know that he is as tired as the rest of us.
I almost loll off to sleep, and then chastise myself for abandoning my watch over the children when I get jostled awake. My eyes fly open and I'm nearly throw forward. I hear Effie's soft, scolding voice talking to Finnick as I sit up straight, alert and awake. Prim is awake. Posy is asleep. So is Rory. Vick.
It's gotten darker out. As I look around, I can barely see anything, save for the shadows. The white-greyness of the sky. The shapes rising up atop hills at our sides. Effie screeches and says, "Oh, there it is! The manor! Children!" She turns. I'm the only one who looks.
It's a white house. Dark shutters, maybe three stories. A front porch with rocking chairs. Drafty looking windows and a windmill beside it. We roll up the road and I can see the path leading up to the front door. Stones and dead plants half hidden in the snow. A stable hangs in the back, and a little shed. All dark grey. All looking like they're haunted. There are no lights on.
"Oh, the lights didn't go out again, did they? Oh, Finnick!" Effie says as we ride up. Her voice awakens the Hawthorne children. She notices and sputters, "Wel—welcome children, to your new home!" Clears her throat. "Now, this is the house of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, but you're going to live here, too. He doesn't have many rules. Just do take care not to break anything, and do not disturb him."
Sounds easy enough. I just need to stay away from this man. Maybe not see him at all. I know, then, that the less contact I have with Haymitch Abernathy, the better.
We stop in front of the house. Finnick jumps off and helps Effie down. She rambles excitedly about something or other as Finnick comes and opens the wagon bed. He's not smiling anymore when he offers his hand.
"Hand me one of them. It's cold out 'ere. Need to get 'em inside," he says. His voice sounds muffled.
Rory is passed to him and is set up right next to the wagon. Vick. Prim. He carries Posy in his arms as I jump down.
"You can come and get their baggage, Finnick. Now, come along, children," says Effie. We follow her up the porch, which squeaks under our feet, and through the door.
Effie flicks a light and waves a hand. "Welcome, children!"
The kitchen is open behind a foyer. A few sofas are set up. A coffee table fills the top of a rug. A radio is on it. Paintings all hang about the walls. And then torn pictures, with glass missing from their frames. Effie is the housekeeper, who seems to be a nitpick. How can those pictures be like that?
Effie claps her hands and says, "Now, I shall give you all a tour after supper. Just follow me into the kitchen and I'll have Annie get you all something to eat."
Finnick leaves us as he slips Posy onto a chair. The kitchen is cozy, despite the large house. I can hear the radio play music and see many patriotic signs hung up everywhere. The dishes are set out on the table already as we slip in and see a young girl over a stove. Her hair is pulled back with a kerchief and her lips are a bright red. She smiles shyly as Effie grabs her arm and says, turning to us, "Annie, these are the children I was telling you about. The ones from the city."
"Hello," Annie says. She sounds so soft and deliberate, like she thinks over each word before she says it. Her gaze on me is shifty, her eyes not able to focus in on me.
I nod and Effie says, "Take a seat, children!" and she gets to talking to Annie. Good. The cook will have to suffer as I help the children into their seats, not daring to look around the house except the chairs around the table. I feel out of place, for I'm intruding a stranger's house. Having to take what's not mine. And for the thousandth time I'm doubting myself as to making this decision. For now not only am I owing for myself, but for the four children.
Soup is served. Bread and fresh milk. It's a feast compared to our usual crackers and canned goods. Effie explains there is a cow they have here, but no one hears her. Everyone is eating their food. Not slobs, though. Spoons and the like. Effie looks relieved, like she thought we'd be animals.
She goes away to another part of the house and Finnick comes in with the last of our bags.
"Where would you like these?" he asks.
Oh. He's talking to me. Doesn't he realize I have no idea what the layout of this house is? And then I realize he's talking to Annie, who's starting to clear away the dirty dishes from the now lethargic children.
"You can put them in their rooms, Finn," she says. The dishes are put on the counter. She turns to me and says, "Would you like me to show you where the rooms are?"
I nod, spare a glance at the children. They're all sleeping against the table. Prim's yawning. I will be right back.
So I follow the two, carrying two little bags. Annie walks behind Finnick in the narrow hallway, answering his question of "Where did Effie go, anyway?" with "I believe she went to wake up Haymitch and tell him of the new arrivals."
Finnick lets out a barking laugh. "That's a bad idea. Last I saw him, he was passed out in his office."
Passed out? I can only assume my new host drunk himself incoherent. Just in time for our arrival as well. I'm feeling more unwelcome by the moment, only increasing the sense as I glance around the house. Neither of the two ahead of me point things out and tell me what they are. So I decide things for myself.
The room we pass that's dusty and filled with ancient bookshelves: library. The little closet with the toilet with a little chain and a porcelain sink: bathroom. The sitting room has two couches and rugs and large statues that are meant to be beautiful. They're not. They're just stone and naked.
We go up a set of stairs and suddenly the air grows cold. At the top, as we turn on the landing, I can see out a clear window that there is more snow falling on the ground. Delicate, crystalline flakes that sail down and hit the ground and melt.
And then I hear a knock on a door. I turn and see Effie rapping on a door, saying, "Haymitch, you cannot just turn me out like this! Mr. Abernathy!" and her fist turns white and then pink against the wood.
"Katniss," I hear. Finnick. He and Annie are in front of two doors in the hallway, looking at me expectantly. I follow Finnick into one of the rooms. It's grey, with three wooden beds with white lovely sheets and quilts. A dresser with a white bowl and pitcher. Two pictures lining the wall.
"I'll take it this will be the girls' room," Finnick says. "This all the baggage?"
I count them. Nod. "Yes. Those are all the girls'. "
"All right. I'll have all the boys' in their room. It'll be just right next to yours," Finnick says. "So you can find them quickly."
I stare at him for a moment. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." But he makes no move out of the room. I can still hear Effie's insistent knocking, and wonder why Finnick won't leave. I don't want him here. Can't he see that? He must want something. But what? I have nothing to say to him. I want to avoid him.
Suddenly his hand is wavering next to mine. "Come on. Shake it. It's how you make friends." His accent sounds so teasing in his voice.
I smack his hand away and he catches it with his other. "Sorry 'bout that, luv," he says, sounding a little annoyed. "Didn't know you don't like civil movements."
"What do you want?" is all I can think of to say.
He puts his hurt hand down. "I wanted to see if we could become friends, especially since you don't like me very much, but it seems that you're holding your opinion of me very close and want nothing to do with me."
Wait. It's not like that. He—I don't know what to think of this man. He seems very different from the grinning man at the train station. He seems almost . . . humble, quiet. He watches me for a reaction with dark green eyes that don't waver, waiting for an answer.
Suddenly my hand is out and shaking his. He nods and steps back and out of the room. I watch him walk down the hall, Annie joining him from the boys' room. She looks a little dazed as he catches his hand in hers and squeezes it. Their fingers interlace. And suddenly I know why I'm not attracted to him. He and Annie are together. And I'm perfectly fine with that.
I hear Effie sigh. Her attempt at getting to our host has failed. She stalks down the hall, muttering under her breath. Haymitch irritates Effie. Now I have to meet this man. This perturbable man that can set his housekeeper off and not meet his guests but passes out in his study.
So I step up and boldly knock on the door. There's nothing that can stop me. He won't meet me. He won't. So I have to meet him, for I cannot live in the house of a man that I know nothing of, whether personality or even appearance.
I get a grunt. I lean my ear against the door and knock harder, maybe to jar him out of whatever state he's in. "Mr. Abernathy?" I call. No answer. Knock again. Nothing. Yell harder. "Haymitch. I'm coming in."
And I realize that the door is unlocked when I try it. Did he unlock it for me? Was it never locked? Did Effie just come out and knock? Maybe she was being polite. But am not polite. I enter his study; everything is covered in shadows and cobwebs, dust motes fly in the air, paralleling the snow falling outside the uncovered windows.
And I notice the figure in the corner. A body draped around a carpeted chair, a bottle hanging lazily out of one hand by the floor, dripping liquor onto the scratched up floor. Dirty blonde hair. Literally. The smell of liquor and cigarettes fills the air and I say loudly into the room, "Haymitch?"
There's a grunt from the seat. That must be him. Which is a little disturbing, seeing as he rises like a giant that's drunk. He has to move the hair out of his face just to see me. Even then, he has to squint in the bare light.
"Who're you?" he says. He sounds drunk, but his voice isn't slurred.
"Do you want me to turn on a light?" I ask, ignoring him.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind it, if I just knew who was asking." Sarcasm. I can work with that.
"Katniss Everdeen. I was in the message sent to you."
"Oh. The refugee trying to get away from the London Blitz, huh?"
I hold in a sigh. "Yes."
His voice takes a turn for the gruff. "Why are you in this room?"
"I was looking to meet you. I wanted to know what my host looked like," I say, folding my arms over my chest.
He stands up fully and stretches out his arms. "Got a good look, sweetheart?" His arms go down. "Now get out."
"Don't you want to meet any of the other kids?" I persist. This was probably what Effie was trying to get him to do. Even though I know I have less eloquent persuading skills, I can pursue him with arguing.
"No. I don't. Wait. Oh, great; there's more?" He sighs and the liquor in his bottle sloshes over the floor.
"I'd say there is. Four more children," I say, annoyed that his alcohol has made him lose parts of his memory.
Haymitch swears and smacks his bottle onto a desk. It doesn't break, but his hand is shaking as he draws it away, a trickle of blood running down it.
"Do you want to meet them?" I ask, though I do not feel as if any of them should ever meet him.
"I—I'll see them tomorrow," Haymitch mutters.
"You'll be hungover tomorrow."
"Yeah. That'll help."
With that, I throw him a burning glare and slam the door behind myself. When Effie hears and asks for an explanation, I say, "Mr. Abernathy," and she instantly bombards me with questions about what I was doing as I wake the children to get them to bed.
I don't answer and she eventually stops.
Well, what do y'all think? Please review!
