Last Time in Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged:

"Didn't I just say that?" He pauses. "Just don't buy people or anything that smells of lilacs." He doesn't offer any reasons.

The thought of purchasing animals, even if they're ultimately Haymitch's, swims into mind. But I'm not done bargaining. "I get your leftovers."

"Girl. You can have whatever you want. It's not like I been spending my money. Could buy the whole district with what I've got stocked away. Just don't buy any people. Or lilacs."

I don't know why he hates lilacs so much, but I'll remember that. "I won't. Then we have an agreement. I'll be your housekeeper."

"Great! You can start immediately."

oOo

Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged
by RoseFyre & FanficAllergy

oOo

Chapter Seventeen: Life is Hard Work

oOo

"Luck is great, but most of life is hard work."
― Iain Duncan Smith

oOo

The next morning Haymitch takes me to the Justice Building to sign the paperwork, registering me officially as his housekeeper. There's the contract which spells out everything from pay to job duties. He's responsible for any household charges and any tools I need to do my job, which is good, since I can't afford those. Even things I never thought of are covered: like what happens if I get injured working for Haymitch to room and board deduction if I end up living with Haymitch for whatever reason.

My head spinning from the complex language, I finish reading over the final contract. While I do that, Haymitch makes sure to tell the clerk that I'm now in charge of his Victor's rations, which is apparently a lot more than just food and the house - although there's both of those too. The registration leads to a long lecture from the clerk on how the card Haymitch gave me works. Apparently I have to go first to the Justice Building and tell somebody called 'Teller' how much money I want. They'll swipe Haymitch's card and fingerprint me before giving me coin and telling me the balance. Additionally, there's something called 'a mandatory minimum deduction' that Haymitch has to withdraw every month. Five hundred coin. Five times what my father earned working in the mines.

My mind boggles.

Seeing how much Haymitch gets as a Victor suddenly makes the whole Career mentality that Districts One, Two, and Four have make sense. If I didn't have my family to consider, I might contemplate volunteering for the Games myself.

But I do, so...

After we're done with the contracts clerk, we go to the teller and Haymitch walks me through the process, registering my fingerprint as an authorized party. Considering I'm just one person, I don't think I'm much of a party.

Haymitch looks at me and says, "You're lookin' kind of scrawny. You want an advance on your first paycheck?"

Do I?

Yes!

The answer is an unequivocal, unabashed, yes. The twenty five coin he hands me more than doubles the money we had.

But as soon as the teller reads off Haymitch's balance, I know I made a mistake. I should have asked for more money. A lot more money. Haymitch wouldn't even have noticed it. I don't think I've ever heard of an account having that many zeroes. And I can't believe he's giving me access to it.

Before I have time to process this, Haymitch herds me to the supplies clerk to register me there. It's the same clerk that I go to to register for tesserae. The woman's eyes flick over me as if I'm nothing, landing on Haymitch with surprise. "Why, by President Snow's garters, you're here! You never come here!" She surreptitiously straightens her purple and green streaked hair.

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, felt like a change."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Abernathy?" The woman positively has stars in her eyes. It's like she's got a crush on the old drunk, something I can't even fathom. Capitol people are weird.

"I'm here to pick up my stuff."

She presses a hand to her chest. "But you're early! Well, I mean, you can pick it up! Of course you can pick it up! It's just, you only ever pick it up once a year, when Effie Trinket comes and gets it!"

"Yeah, well, felt like a change," he repeats.

"Oh this is marvelous! It means we can store more tesserae rations!"

What? He can't have that much, can he?

The woman glances at me before gazing at Haymitch again. "Is this your helper? She doesn't look like she'll be able to carry that much."

"This is my new housekeeper." Haymitch claps a hand on my shoulder. "She's going to be managing my rations from now on."

The stars in the woman's eyes die as they slip back over to me, lingering on my ill-fitting and shabby clothing. It's normal for Twelve, especially the Seam, but she's Capitol. "Isn't she a little young to be a housekeeper?" Venom drips from her tongue.

Haymitch shrugs. "She was the only applicant."

"Oh. I see." She eyes me as if I were a cockroach or a worm. "If you had just told me, we could have made a posting! I'm sure that loads of people would just love to be the housekeeper to the illustrious Haymitch Abernathy!" There are those stars again.

Something the woman said niggles at my brain. "How much stuff are we talking about?"

"Oh, the usual." The woman glanced down at the screen in front of her. "Several hundred pounds of flour, fifty gallons of oil, a hundred pounds of dried beans, a hundred pounds of potatoes, several cases of canned goods, twenty pounds of coffee, fifty pounds of sugar, fifty pounds of salt, about a hundred pounds of sausages, ten wheels of cheese, a crate of toiletries with the usual hygiene products…" The list goes on and on. Everything from more food to fabric to cleaning supplies, even clothing, has been piling up, filling up the district's tesserae warehouse.

Part of me wonders if the reason it was so hard to get tesserae in the dead of winter was because of Haymitch - there wasn't room in the warehouse, so the stores ran out faster than they could replenish.

"Oh!" She smiles at Haymitch again. "And your talent supplies."

"Remind me again what my talent is."

"Why, cake decorating of course! You made the most marvelous Arena cakes I've ever seen!"

"Oh." Haymitch scratches his armpit then sniffs it. "Yeah. Right."

"I see you haven't picked that up either." She bats her unnaturally long eyelashes at him. "Did you want an accounting of what's in that?"

He waves it away. "I'm sure it's fine. Old Coriolanus isn't about to stiff his favorite Victor, now is he?"

"You're right! My mistake." Her flirtatiousness drops away as she regards me again. "So how are you planning on transporting this all?"

"I'll figure something out," I say in the same nonchalant tone as Haymitch. "Thank you so much for your time."

The woman glares at me before saying in a breathy voice, "Anything for Haymitch Abernathy."

When we get outside, I steal a sly glance at my new employer. "So what was that about?"

"Beats me." He pats his pockets looking for something. Probably alcohol.

"You know that woman has a crush on you."

He rolls his eyes. "She's an idiot."

"That goes without saying. The question is: why does she have a crush on you?"

Haymitch shrugs. "Victors are popular in the Capitol. You should know that."

"Yeah, but it's you."

"I'm still a Victor, sweetheart."

I acknowledge the point. He is. And that's the only reason why I'm willing to put up with the man.

oOo

I don't bother going to school.

I mean, I should. School's mandatory in Panem. You can get away with missing a few days here and there, but if you have too many unexcused absences, you get in trouble. And the only people who can excuse absences are Peacekeepers. My mother used to have to fetch one whenever she'd diagnosed someone with the measles or some other long-lasting contagious disease. It's why Darius's excuse went so far.

But I just don't see the point.

Not today.

I've got so much to do at Haymitch's, too much, and for some of it I need daylight to do it. Like de-icing and shoveling his porch off so I don't fall when carrying out the trash. Haymitch's house is a disaster zone, both inside and out, and as I walk from room to room, I see just how much work I've signed up for.

I should have demanded more money.

Other than shoveling the snow, I'm not really sure where to start. It's overwhelming. Do I start with the floor? The trash? There's little paths worn away where Haymitch walks, but other than that the floor is littered with trash and who knows what. Bathrooms? Haymitch wasn't wrong; none of his bathrooms are fit to be used. Why, my outhouse smells better than his six immaculately tiled bathrooms. Laundry? I'm not sure what's laundry, what's rags, and what Haymitch even can fit into. Some of the clothes shoved at the bottom of the closet look like they were meant for a much shorter and thinner man.

I really should have demanded more money.

Well, too late now to worry about what I should have done. I might as well start with the kitchen. There's a back door to the outside leading to a large kitchen garden and shed. Amusingly, the shed itself is in pristine order. Nothing's been touched inside of it, and I take that to be a good sign.

The ground's still hard, so I can't put in a garden just yet. But that doesn't mean I can't section off an area in the far corner to be my compost heap. I make an internal note that the next time I'm in town, I need to find out about purchasing a couple of pigs and goats. Based off of the list of items I have yet to pick up, I can guarantee there's a bunch of food that's not fit for human consumption that a pig or a goat will eat happily.

I rummage through the one box I picked up from Haymitch's storage. Cleaning supplies. I'm going to need them. Armed with broom and dustpan, I start digging my way into the room. Soon, the area by the back door is clear and I can actually start working inside. I widen a path to the nearest counter and then clear it off so I can set the many empty but unbroken liquor bottles on it. The sink and the stove are piled high, almost to overflowing, but, opening the cupboards, I realize I have absolutely no place to put any clean dishes, let alone the rooms of food waiting for Haymitch at the tesserae warehouse. The cupboards are stuffed to the brim with packaged and canned food, many of the labels either missing or falling off.

Haymitch comes in behind me. "You're movin' slower than I thought."

"It took you years to accumulate this much mess. It's going to take as long as it takes to get rid of it."

"I'm hungry." He sounds so much like my little brother it's uncanny.

I open the nearest cupboard and wave my hand at it. "Help yourself."

He wrinkled his nose. "I'm goin' out."

"Oh no you're not." I catch hold of his untucked shirt and force him into the lone chair without crap on it. "I need you here to make sure I don't throw away anything I shouldn't."

He scratches his chin. "Can't you just make a pile of things you got questions about and we can go over it later?"

"You mean when you're falling down drunk?"

"That's the best time to ask me questions. Just don't ask me anything while I'm sleeping. If I'm sleeping or passed out, you keep a wide berth."

"Why?"

He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out an object. With a flick of his wrist a knife pops out, and he brandishes it in front of him. "I never go anywhere unarmed. No Victor does. I sleep armed too. And if anything startles me, I stab first and ask questions later. Ol' Prissy Britches learned that the hard way."

"Effie Trinket? You stabbed Effie Trinket?" I know Effie Trinket would rather work anywhere but Twelve, but it would've gotten around the district if him stabbing her was the reason why.

"Nah, I ain't stabbed the princess. Yet." He flicks the knife closed and puts it back in his pocket. "Give her time. Nah, the escort from before you were born. Fuckin' waste of space. Old Coriolanus should've thanked me for thinnin' the herd a bit."

"Did you kill him?" I should be horrified, but I'm not.

"Almost. If he weren't Capitol, I woulda. But they were able to do some kind of magic hocus pocus and a hovercraft spirited him away to the Capitol just in time." He barks a laugh. "He ain't left since." Then his tone hardens. "But you keep yourself away. You and that kid brother of yours and anyone else that you hire to help. If I'm sleeping, stay out of the room."

"What if I need to wake you up?"

"Throw somethin' at me. That's what Effie does." He pulls out a small pouch that's bulging with coin and hands it to me. "Since you can't cook for me on account of my kitchen bein' a literal dump, how 'bout you go into town and rustle us up some grub and pick me up a couple of bottles of white liquor while you're at it?"

I don't argue. I could use something to eat, especially considering the amount of cleaning I have left to do. And I can stop by home and pick up Aven's wagon. I know Haymitch won't care if I help myself to some of the older canned goods. And I need places to put things if I'm going to get any cleaning done.

oOo

It feels strange walking through town with Aven's wagon with no intention of picking up tesserae. That's been the number one use for it this year.

I need to pick up food, but there's other things I should do too. Like talk to the glazier about taking the glass from Haymitch's broken bottles. When I stopped at the Hob, Ripper told me she'll take back some of the empty bottles for a ten percent discount on bottles of white liquor, but only those that are completely intact. But even she won't take them all. Haymitch has accumulated several decades' worth of the things - or at least I hope they're decades' worth - so there's too many for Ripper to use. I can use some for bottling maple syrup this weekend, but even if we tap every single tree perfectly and collect all of the sap, I'm still going to have hundreds of extra empty bottles.

And those are just the intact ones. I don't dare bring Aven with me to work until the broken glass is dealt with. I already failed with that once, and I'm lucky he didn't get hurt. I know better than to try a second time.

Twelve isn't wasteful, like the Capitol. The mounds of trash in Haymitch's house need to be sorted and organized for reuse. He's got empty cans that, even racking my brain for hours, I can't think of a use for all of them. I know that the dry goods owner gets his stock from the Capitol; maybe he's got some kind of arrangement with them to take back the empty cans. I don't feel comfortable simply throwing them out.

The list of places to stop multiplies. The goat man to pick up a goat or two. The greengrocer for fresh fruit and vegetables. The butcher for fresh meat and something ready to eat. The baker for bread and maybe a little treat for Aven and Prim. I haven't told my sister the good news yet; I didn't want to jinx anything until it was real. The list goes on and on.

I don't want to linger though. It's the middle of the day, and technically I should be in school. I've managed to avoid the Peacekeepers so far, but there are more in town. More who know that I should not be there. And there are people in town who might report me. People like my uncle.

I need to be strategic. Plan my route.

My first stop is the butcher's. Rooba seems surprised but pleased by my news. "Good for you, girlie. I knew you had smarts."

Emboldened, I ask, "Are you selling any of your pigs? Or do you know of anybody who is?"

"I'm not, but you could try at the baker's. They keep pigs year round."

I shake my head. "Anywhere else?"

"You'll have to ask at the Justice Building. I get most of my stock from them."

It's more information than I had before. Not wanting to bother Rooba anymore, I take my purchases and leave.

My next stop is the greengrocer, and I'm in and out before my uncle, or worse a Peacekeeper, stops me. I didn't get much, just a few apples and some cheese, but I know they're good for staving off hunger and are quick eating.

The dry goods store is next, but as I'm about to enter, I see a few Peacekeepers through the window. I dart over to the general supplies store next door. I can't let the Peacekeepers see me.

The diversion's a positive one, though. I pick up several specially constructed bins to organize all of the trash and several cleaning supplies so I don't have to hunt through Haymitch's mess to find his or use up mine. I even pick up a can opener since I don't know if Haymitch has one or, if he does, if it's still usable.

Purchases made, I place the bins in the wagon and head back to the dry goods store. The Peacekeepers are gone, thank goodness, and the owner looks unsurprised to see me. "I was wondering if you were going to stop here. Congratulations on your new job."

"How did you know?" I only started this morning!

The owner just raises his hand. "Here and there. It's about time Haymitch hired himself a housekeeper. Just figured it'd be someone from town."

I don't bother asking why. Being the housekeeper of a Victor is a high-status job. My social worth just jumped from peasant to peer in less than twenty-four hours. That wasn't my intention - I need the money more than the prestige - but if having a higher social worth means I can trade with greater ease with more people, I'll take it.

I get straight to business. "I don't need to buy anything, not until I take stock of what Haymitch has. But I do need to get rid of all of the cans and Capitol packaging, you know what I mean." I wave to a few of the top shelf items he has behind him.

"Ah. You mean plastic and steel. The Capitol definitely wants those back. It's illegal to throw those away."

I stare at him. I didn't know that. It's not posted anywhere. It's only sheer luck that I reuse them to hold things like grease for cooking or other things. "So what are we supposed to do with them?"

"Bring them back here. I've got an arrangement with the Peacekeepers, and they pick them up and ship them someplace for… whatever, I suppose. Wherever they make the things." He pauses and smiles at me. "In fact, you just missed my pickup." That explains what the Peacekeepers were doing there.

I thank him for the information and move on to the bakery. Out of habit, I go around to the back and knock at the door.

Mr. Mellark opens it, his eyes widening when he spies me. "Katniss! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

Crap. I can't tell him about the job. Too much chance of him reporting me. "My mom's sick," I say instead, pulling out my prepared excuse. "But she's napping right now. I figured while she was doing that, I could slip out to pick up a few things."

"What can I do for you?"

I shift on my feet. "I don't have a squirrel today, but Mom was saying that she was really craving some of your bread. The kind with nuts and fruit." It's a lie, but a necessary one. "I can give you coin."

Mr. Mellark makes a face. "My wife's in charge of the cash box. I can't slip a coin in without her noticing."

My heart falls. Mrs. Mellark doesn't like selling to people from the Seam. She hasn't made any attempt to hide it. Worse, I don't know if I can trust her. The baker's right; I should be in school. And I have to be careful with how many times I use the 'my mother's sick' excuse before someone, likely a Peacekeeper, comes to investigate.

The baker watches me with a knowing expression tinged with sadness. "I'm sorry."

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything. "Thanks anyway," I mutter, trying to keep my bitterness under control.

"Wait," he stops me. "I can't take coin, but nothing says that you have to leave empty-handed." He pulls a loaf off of the drying rack and pushes it at me. "Here."

I push back. "I can't take charity."

He shakes his head. "It's not charity. It's a gift." He pauses, as if wanting to say something, but decides against it. "If someone asks, just say it's from an old friend." He lets out a laugh filled with self-loathing and mutters, "It'd actually be the truth." He shoves the bread into my hands. "Just take it."

I do, fleeing before he can say anything else. Merchants are weird. I don't understand them. It seems that, as Haymitch's housekeeper, I'm going to have to learn a whole new set of rules, and fast, before I make a mistake I can't recover from.

oOo

By the time I finish all of my errands, including purchasing a goat for myself and one for Haymitch, it's almost noon.

When I return, Haymitch's hands are shaking, and not from the cold. He snatches one of the two bottles I bought and downs a huge swallow.

Without really thinking about it, I tear off a hunk of the loaf the baker gave me and hand it to him. "Eat," I say, my tone brooking no argument.

"I got my lunch." He shakes the bottle at me.

"Yeah, well, in about two hours' time, your lunch is going to be all over your floor, and I don't want to clean it up. So eat. And maybe, if you're good, I'll give you dessert." I'm treating Haymitch like I treat my younger siblings, as if he's a child to be cajoled and controlled, not my employer.

With anyone else, I'd be fired. But with Haymitch, it seems to work. He snatches the bread out of my hand and downs it, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue to prove he's eaten the food.

I bring out the promised reward: an orange from the greengrocer.

Haymitch's eyes widen. "How'd you know I like oranges?"

I didn't, but I'm not about to tell him that. Instead, I shrug mysteriously and pull out a small penknife to start the peel. "I'm good at my job," is all I tell him. I'll save the rind to candy later. It'll make a special treat for my siblings when I get home. I hand him the peeled orange and he takes it, shoving the segments into his mouth greedily. It reminds me once more of my brother. The image of Haymitch superimposes itself over Aven's face, and I can't help but laugh at the incongruity.

Haymitch raises his eyebrow, silently asking what I find so funny.

"You remind me of my brother."

"Ah." There's an ocean of meaning in that single syllable.

It makes me uncomfortable. I shift slightly, trying to figure out what to do next. Part of me wants to flee Haymitch's presence, but another part, the part that instinctively knows when Prim has a nightmare, tells me that the old Victor needs me to stay.

After several long seconds, Haymitch begins to speak. "My ma used to save up for months to buy me an orange for New Year's. It was my treat. I had to eat it quickly. If I didn't, my father - the bastard - would take it. I learned that the hard way a couple of years." His voice is distant, as if he's trapped in the past. "Say. I don't suppose you know how to candy orange peels. My ma used to do that. She'd candy them and slip little slivers to me when times were bad. It was our little secret."

"Your ma sounds like a good woman."

Haymitch downs a long pull of white liquor. "She was." He stands up and stumbles up the stairs.

I let out a sigh of relief, then another sigh of resignation as I survey the mess around me. Time to get back to work.

oOo

AN:
Written: 9/3/18
Revised: 9/23/18

This is another one of those "set everything up" chapters. No Peeta, not a lot of action, but it's stuff we needed to happen for later. And it's stuff we can't handwave, not without it coming back to bite us in the ass.

You can get more information about our original writing here:

Website: RoseLarkPublishing

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Until next time! Thanks for reading!