Disclaimer is attached to the first chapter.
III. Wasn't That a Party
It seems the only respectful thing to do is to get totally wasted.
The small group of celebrants walk meandering circles through the lower story of the house, going from kitchen to dining room to den, stopping by the bathroom as needed, and ending up back in the kitchen to refill their glasses. Most of them drink only moderately, and none of them are used to drinking this much. But each one feels that they, personally, deserve to poison themselves. And a couple of the partygoers would not mind if they drank themselves to death tonight in this haunted house.
The entire store of liquor bottles is set out on the kitchen counters, along with orange juice and carbonated water displayed grudgingly for those who can't drink the hard stuff straight. In addition to what had been left, each of them bring a final offering.
Finnick sets down a large bottle of cinnamon flavored whiskey and smiles around at the others in the kitchen, meeting their eyes. For just a moment Katniss manages to summon the old fire to flash out at him from her eyes; then she shrugs and looks away. She just doesn't have the energy, and what does it matter? Peeta speaks in a tired, flat voice: "Thanks for coming." He doesn't look up from the counter. It's unclear whether he even recognizes Finnick, or cares who he is.
Johanna smiles at Finnick, winks, and downs the rest of the drink she'd been holding so she can pour a generous tot of the cinnamon whiskey into her glass. "He'd have liked this," she says, taking an approving sip.
"He hated cinnamon," Peeta says, surprising everyone in the room. "You people are all horrible."
Katniss puts a commiserating hand on his arm and then measures out a half-and-half of white liquor and orange juice and presses it into his hand. "Drink this," she insists, not unkindly.
Peeta doffs the drink without hesitation because if there's one person left he should trust it's surely Katniss. Except sometimes he wants to kill her. And then it's clear to him that there's nothing good in this world and only his cowardice to keep him here.
Johanna produces a gallon jug of rum from a canvas bag she tosses carelessly into the corner. "It's what Chaff liked," she reminds them, and they nod.
Katniss and Peeta had both brought more white liquor. It's the harshest poison they know.
There's silence as each of them fills a glass. Peeta fills two, adding a splash of carbonated water to the liquor and orange juice in one of them. Still unspeaking, the four of them drift into the dining room. They stop around the table. One chair is half pulled out; a full glass sets next to a mostly full bottle. Katniss picks up the glass, takes a swallow, and hands it to Peeta. Peeta takes a deep breath and forces down a gulp of the liquid, shutting his eyes. It's their third pass through the dining room. Finnick ad Johanna look on, and when Peeta offers the glass they each take a sip from it. Finnick sets it back on the table and Katniss refills it from the bottle. They all look at the still-life represented here: the scarred table, the pulled-out chair, the glass and the bottle.
"He was brave," Johanna offers, all the irony and levity bled out of her voice.
No one else says anything, and after a moment they wander on into the den. There Peeta approaches the two armchairs facing the fire and hands the second glass to the etiolated woman watching the flames.
Effie is wearing a plain dark blue head scarf and a half-hearted nod toward her elaborate make-up of old. The powder she has applied just increases the impression of a pale and silent ghost. She's quite drunk. She takes the glass Peeta offers her with a breathy sigh that might have started out to be a word of thanks. She sips from it and then dips a finger into it and uses the moisture to trace out invisible words on the arm of the chair. Her other hand roams over her newly flat belly. "I shouldn't…" she sighs to no one.
"It's okay, Effie. Drink up," Katniss says for the third time. Effie obeys, still looking into the flames.
The four others keeps circling, keep observing the ritual of the table, keep drinking and bringing Effie drinks. It's miserable and it gets worse with each repetition, each time they cough and swallow back their gorge. In spite of this they all start to laugh as they stumble through the house. Johanna grabs the bust of some unknown ancient god from the shelf in the entryway and carries it along with them, jeering at it and threatening to dash it against the wall if it won't drink. They all find it hilarious, though Johanna seems to be really angry even as she laughs. Effie passes out, but Peeta keeps bringing her drinks and lining them up on the table next to her.
Round about her seventh drink, Haymitch speaks up as Katniss is following the others out of the dining room. "Sit down, sweetheart, before you fall flat on your face."
Unsurprised, Katniss turns back as the others continue on and leave them alone. "You're one to talk," she snorts. He isn't even sitting at the table, though he waves a hand at the chair across from the one they've pulled out for him. Haymitch is under the table, lying on his side and propped up on one elbow, grinning sardonically up at her.
"I moved down here after Finnick spilled half my drink on the chair last time through." He shrugs. "Seems safer. Do you realize, if I get pneumonia now I'll probably have it forever?"
"Finnick's drunk," Katniss says fuzzily, dropping to her knees and crawling under the table to lie facing him.
"You're all drunk. And you're the sorriest bunch of lightweights I've ever seen, by the way. And, wasn't I supposed to be trying to stay on the wagon? You people are making that a little difficult."
Katniss gives him a blank look. "You're dead, Haymitch. Drink as much as you want."
"Yeah." Haymitch exhales in what's almost a sigh and rolls onto his back, looking up at the underside of the table. "Katniss, listen, the Games-"
"Shut up. They deserve it."
"I only backed you because I thought I sensed you were going to do something." He turns his head to look at her. "You were, weren't you? I always used to be able to tell with you."
Katniss doesn't answer immediately. She reaches up to the table, searching around until she encounters Haymitch's glass. Retrieving it, she takes several long swallows before pushing it across the floor towards him.
"No, you just keep right on drinking it for me," he says bitterly.
"I was going to do something," she admits. "I just… there were always too many people to protect."
"Yeah," Haymitch agrees. "S'okay. You did what you had to do."
"I'll be along soon," Katniss tells him. She suddenly feels way too sober.
Haymitch nods up at the table. "Shoot straight, Katniss. And… bring Peeta with you."
When she looks over he's gone. Katniss finishes his drink and goes to get her gun.