"Good lord, Haymitch. You're worse every time I see you."

What time was it? The train from the Capitol wasn't supposed to arrive until noon. Rolling over onto his stomach, the mentor for District 12 reached out and groped blindly at his nightstand for his pocketwatch.

"It's half past twelve," the female voice informed him. "And I've got your watch."

Haymitch attempted to demand that she give it back, but the words came out garbled and incoherent. There was an exasperated sigh, and before he knew what was happening she had dealt him a stinging slap across the face. That woke him up. With a muffled roar he began flailing about, trying to hit her back without much success.

She slapped him again, harder this time, and snapped "Brush your hair and put on some decent clothes. I'm not having you looking like- like this at your own birthday party." Turning, the woman stomped out of the room.

"You're not my mother!" Haymitch called after her.

"You don't have a mother," she answered, slamming the door in his face. Through the wood he heard her add, "So somebody's got to fill in."

Standing there in a shirt and boxers, the mentor realized how glad he was that Effie had left right away. She'd never seen him cry, and now was not a good time to start. He wiped his eyes on the back of one hand, angry at himself for being so emotional. Then he went to his dresser and rummaged in it for a set of clean clothes.

He found a nice pair of trousers, a shirt he'd only worn once this week, and boxers that smelled fresh. As he pulled them on, the mentor wondered if Effie was forcing her Capitol accent just to annoy him or if it was just a result of being around people who spoke like she did. After all, there seemed to be no shortage of them in and around his house today.

In order to celebrate the fact that Haymitch was still alive ten years out of the arena, President Snow himself had arranged a special twenty-sixth birthday party. He had sent a whole train car of Escorts and Gamemakers, as well as enough food to feed every starving person in District 12 and then some.

Haymitch finished buttoning his vest and took a look in the mirror that hung on his wall. Brushing his long brown hair out of his eyes, he wondered why he even bothered. The face there never changed. Turning around, the mentor left his room and found that the president had arranged one last sadistic surprise.

"We're going to watch your Games!" chirped a pink-haired woman who was sitting on his couch. "Isn't that great?"