Chapter Eight- We Deal In Death
I stop off at The Hub to give Finnick a thumbs up before I decide that I really do have to have a sustained sleep pattern and head back up to the 7th Floor.
When I let myself in I can tell that something is different. There is the strong smell of liquor in the air.
Two men are sat opposite each other at the dining table. One slurps his soup and the other bellows with laughter.
They are both middle-aged and paunchy, one with dark curly hair and the other with lighter brown straight hair that tickles the tops of his ears.
The dark haired one sees me and raises his glass,
"The stripper has arrived Blight!"
I roll my eyes and flick him a rude hand gesture.
"What are you two louts doing here?" I ask, taking a bread roll from the pyramid in the middle of the table.
"We drank the 12th Floor dry," the brown-haired one, my old Mentor Blight, explains before hiccupping loudly, which sets his companion off laughing again.
"Well take whatever you want from here and go back there. I'm going to sleep," I say curtly, taking my bread roll to my bedroom.
I can still hear them from my room, laughing and shouting. Does Blight know that Alder and Camellia are dead? He must, otherwise he'd wonder why I wasn't still in The Hub. Why is he laughing then? Maybe alcohol is the right way to numb the pain then.
Despite my exhaustion I find it hard to settle in my man-eating bed and soon get up, putting a robe on over my silky pyjamas.
"Right!" I announce, flouncing out of my room and sitting down heavily on a dining chair. "If you can't beat them, join them."
The men cheer and pour me a glass of purple liquid.
Some time later, I don't know how long, my eyes start to droop. My head slides down from where my hand has been propping it up, to the table.
"Haymitch, help me carry her to her room," Blight says.
"I'm still awake you know," I murmur. "And capable of getting meself…myself to bed." I struggle to my feet, deem it too difficult and flop back down again. "I don't know how you do this all the time. It makes everything so difficult!" I declare.
"You're too young Johanna." Blight's voice sounds sad.
"No I'm not!" I say defiantly.
"Yeah, she's not!" Haymitch backs me up. "Look at her, she's aged ten years in the past two!"
"You shut up Abernathy!" I push my unsteady index finger against his nose. "It's your fault!"
"Oh yeah?" He's pouring another round of drinks. "How did you work that out?"
"If it weren't for you and this…disgusting…" I eye the purple liquid "…but occasionally delicious stuff I wouldn't have to be doing all this on my own." I turn to Blight now, "Did you know that Calder and Amellia…I mean Alder and Camellia are dead? Did you care?" I down my glass. "Did you care that I watched them die by myself? You think I'm too young to handle this stuff but I can handle death?"
"Of course you can," Haymitch pitches in. "You're a Victor, we deal in death. We're rewarded for murder, punished by life endangerment. Everybody has his or her way to cope with it. Just be thankful Blight's not a Morphling. Just be thankful you have someone in the first place."
I feel sorry for Haymitch. It's been just him since he won 23 years ago, District 12 is not renowned for it's warrior children. The Coal Mining District tends to produce skinny, malnourished children with wide, terrified eyes. Most of them have lost at least one family member to a mining accident so they all have a haunted look about them that really doesn't inspire fear or even respect in the other Tributes.
As a district, they're a bit of a joke to the rest of us. It's cruel but in District 7 we threaten ungrateful children with a life in District 12. We could never follow through with the threat due to strict 'No Inter-District Travel Without A Proper Permit' rule but just seeing the standard of the District 12 Tributes gives a strong indication of their hardships.
Haymitch doesn't exactly do his best being the face of his district. Rambling around drunk at the Reapings, falling asleep and snoring in the middle of the Live Interviews, it can't give the Tributes much confidence in their ability to survive when he's the one in charge of training them.
He picks up the almost empty purple bottle and pairs it with a full pink one.
"I'm going to see if Chaff is back yet. Coming Blight?"
Blight shakes his head and Haymitch stumbles to the door, tripping over a couch on his way.
Blight sits there staring at his fingers.
"I'm sorry Johanna…for leaving you to do this yourself," he mumbles.
"It's ok, it wouldn't be the first time I had to do something by myself." It comes out harsher than I mean it to.
"I'm sorry about that too…you had us all fooled though." He almost smiles. "I really thought you'd wobble off that pedestal and be blown-up before the Game even started."
"I know." I've never apologised to Blight for lying to him, for making him believe that he was going to fail at keeping his Tributes alive again. "I'm sorry for putting you through that Blight."
"It's alright." He reaches out and pats my hand. "You're here, that's all the apology I need. You survived." He chuckles. "The beautiful flower that stung like a nettle." He stands up, albeit with the support of the table in front of him, and makes his way to his room, but not before ruffling my mismatched hair. "It's getting long again."
"Some of it is you mean," I say, fingering the length difference of the shorter bits and the longer bits.
He smiles and shuffles off to bed.
I yawn, finally.
