They left the safety and isolation of the river and ducked down one alley after another, losing a tail if there was one. Haymitch hoped he could get a taxi from wherever they were going. He didn't know this part of the city.
Finnick guided him to a quiet row of townhouses. They entered the foyer of one with a white, painted facade.
Once they were inside, Finnick grabbed Haymitch around the middle and pulled him close. Haymitch locked arms around him and they pressed their foreheads together. It felt good to be close to him again.
Finnick sighed. "I wish you had been sober enough for me to violate last night."
Haymitch chuckled. He pulled back and looked up into Finnick's eyes. "You're too young, District Four. And you've got Annie, now."
Finnick frowned and looked away.
"What happened to Annie?" He felt his heart double its rhythm. Anyone could turn them in, anyone. And while Haymitch no longer cared for his own life, he couldn't countenance the destruction of someone Finnick loved.
"She's all right. I mean...well, you know. As all right as she can be."
"Then what gives?"
He watched Finnick sigh again and close his eyes. "I feel so dirty when I'm with her."
"Ah." Haymitch rocked back on his heels. "I see."
"She's an innocent and I'm…"
"Has she made you feel this way?"
Finnick opened his eyes and looked angry. "No, of course not."
"And how would she feel if she knew you were feeling this way?"
His eyebrows rose, and his face cleared a little. "Oh," he said, and the ghost of a smile appeared. "I get it."
"There you go. Annie understands. Let's just be glad it's you Snow's chosen and not Annie."
Finnick laughed lightly.
"What's funny?" he asked.
"Snow tried. Once."
"With Annie?" The thought made him sick.
"Uh-huh. Tried to sell her to an ex-Head Peacekeeper trying to get a job running his security."
Haymitch couldn't figure what was amusing Finnick about this story, but found he was smiling in anticipation.
"Took days to sew him up. Last I saw, he was wearing the cloth of a scholar."
Haymitch and Finnick roared with laughter. Only eunuchs became scholars. Usually, they were chemically altered by the Capitol if they did well enough in school. But there was at least one scholar there who wouldn't need to worry about sitting on himself as he got older.
"I have to go," said Finnick. "Let me introduce you."
They walked up the stairs to the second townhouse and knocked.
A very handsome young man opened the door, and smiled when he saw Finnick. He was wearing a suit with little lights racing each other in zigzagging patterns across the lapel, down and around the buttons, along the hem, and back up. It was hard for Haymitch to tear his eyes away from the lights long enough for Finnick's introduction. As Finnick made his goodbyes and left, Haymitch realized again that he was very hungry.
"Please," said Cinna, "Come in, sit down."
Haymitch stepped inside, looked around. It was narrow, but nice. Most Capitol apartments were overdecorated. Knickknacks everywhere, gold leaf on everything, spindly little tables with spindly little plants. Or they were almost empty, polished concrete floors, white walls and one dark, uncomfortable sofa. Cinna's place wasn't like that.
The furniture and decorations were spartan, but the real decorations were the fabrics and drawings draped and tacked to any surface that sat still long enough.
"My apologies," said Cinna, "Let's take this to the dining room. Coffee?"
"Only if there's whiskey in it."
"Ha! I like your style, Abernathy."
Haymitch sat down at a gleaming dining table. The sun coming through the window behind him shone on the gloss of the darkly varnished table. It felt warm in here. The walls were a deep, rich red, the color of his favorite kind of wine, very nearly purple.
Cinna came back in a few minutes. He had taken off that jacket, and that was good. Haymitch was feeling lost between woozy and giddy. He needed to get another one of these special cigarettes from Finnick before he left.
Cinna set a cup of coffee in dense white china on the table in front of him, and sat directly across from him with his own cup. He crossed his left ankle over his right knee, leaned back in his chair, and took a sip. He was very pretty. Maybe as pretty as Effie.
"See something you like?"
Haymitch felt himself grin and...was he blushing? He hadn't blushed since…
He looked down at his coffee. "Sorry. The boy gave me something for my hangover and it's hard not to look at good-looking...stuff."
Cinna laughed. He looked happily surprised. "I've never met a funny victor before, except maybe Chaff."
Haymitch chuckled. "Yeah, Chaff can have his good days."
"Seems you can too."
They both drank quietly for a minute. The whiskey perfectly complemented the coffee. It was probably a special blend, or the whiskey was cured to be drank with coffee.
"Good coffee."
"Don't be a dick."
Haymitch chuckled again and looked at Cinna, who was scowling.
"You know, for once I wasn't trying to be."
"Oh, come on. You come in here, from District 12, and expect me not to know when you're taking a crack at me for things that I get for being a Capitol citizen? I'm not stupid."
Haymitch shook his head. "Finnick would never introduce me to someone he thought was stupid without warning me about my manners first."
That made the scowl drop away, and laughter to flirt around Cinna's eyes and lips. "Okay, then." He took a deep drink from the ivory-white cup and stood up. He walked around the table until he stood directly beside his chair. Haymitch hoped Cinna wasn't some unhinged lunatic. He felt weirdly vulnerable, like he was newly formed, and couldn't stand the thought of shouting and hitting. He thought it was really too bad District 11 didn't grow this stuff. The Capitol could make a killing.
Cinna brought him abruptly to the present moment by placing two fingers under his chin.
Even this light touch caused Haymitch to jump, his pulse suddenly erratic. His hand was halfway to his knife when Cinna said, "Shh." Haymitch looked up into his eyes, and let his hand drop and his shoulders relax. "Please, feel safe. "I'm just a stylist looking at a tribute that survived. A victor."
Haymitch hated that word. Still, Cinna's dark brown, coffee-colored eyes conveyed his meaning successfully. It was meant as a compliment. The Capitol used it as a sneering reminder that Haymitch would never be anyone other than the kid who survived the Quarter Quell. Cinna was possibly trying to flatter him.
"See anything you like?" he asked.
Cinna looked delighted. He leaned down, his face just inches from Haymitch's, his hand on his face. "Yes, I think I do," he said, his lips just about to brush Haymitch's each time he said a word. Then he stood, let his hand fall from Haymitch's face. "Come on. I want to give you a shave and a haircut."
Haymitch blinked and even shook his head like a swimmer returned to land. He said okay without knowing what he was agreeing to. He followed Cinna into another room, with a mirror and the special, spinning chairs prep teams used to style hair. Haymitch sat in the room and looked anywhere but the mirror.
As Cinna worked, Haymitch talked. He talked about his kids, about the Seam. He talked about Finnick, and Annie, and even Johanna Mason. For the first time in years, he talked about Terra.
Cinna asked intelligent, empathetic questions. He worked his fingers through Haymitch's hair, cut and styled it. He would playfully lean in close to his face when the conversation was light, and he gentled his touch when it wasn't. He shaved the five days' growth from Haymitch's cheeks and chin and neck, then placed a hot towel over his face, and gave him the best shoulder massage he had ever received.
Haymitch hardly recognized himself when Cinna removed the towel. Not in the way prep teams left him – like he was suddenly 10 years younger, but with very bloodshot eyes. No, he looked 40, he looked like himself, but he looked like a version of himself that never drank and had learned to care for himself.
"Wow. Thank you, Cinna. I guess I don't have to be embarrassed to walk back to the Training Center."
Cinna beamed.
"All right," he said. "I'll help. I've been hearing about mistreatment of the Districts for a long time. Hell, I've seen their tributes. The year I saw my first district kid pre-prep, and not just on a reaping screen, I knew. Whatever the Capitol told us about them, whatever their reasons for the Games, it was all self-serving lies."
Cinna had been standing behind him while he spoke, so Haymitch could see his haircut clearly in the mirror. Now, he came around and stood in front of him. The thing he had smoked at Finnick's was starting to wear off, he could tell, but Haymitch got lost in Cinna's eyes anyway.
"I'm just a stylist. Or, I will be next year, so I'm not even that yet, really. I don't know how to shoot a gun, or involve myself in political intrigue. But I know the Capitol citizenry. I know how to create a story with nothing more than an outfit. And I know how to turn a person into a symbol. That's what I can bring to the cause." He paused and smiled as he tilted his head. Haymitch realized he was also smiling and tilting his own head. "Will that be enough?"
"I'd bet on it."