Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss get into the elevator and ride to the top floor, both of them looking at him covertly, plainly curious about the smile he's having such a hard time repressing.
The prep teams descend immediately, splitting up Katniss and Peeta.
Cinna and Portia come up on either side of him and loop their arms in his. Portia puts her hand on his arm, and when he looks at her, she smiles a kind, warm smile. "How about a haircut?" she asks.
Haymitch doesn't feel like arguing. Cinna offers him whiskey, and he asks for wine instead. Portia sends Cinna a message with a look, which he returns silently, but neither of them say anything and Haymitch is glad.
Portia starts on his hair, Cinna on his nails, then Portia starts telling a story. It's a funny story, and Portia, raised in the Capitol, is practiced in being a captivating storyteller. It's about when she was 19, newly out of her mother's house and in a flat with three other 19-year-olds.
Cinna follows with a story about growing up with three older brothers and the time-consuming, disgusting pranks they pulled on each other.
All three of them are laughing by the time he's done being prepped.
Flavius comes out of Katniss' room to get Cinna, and the front door opens to admit Effie. She smiles and walks straight toward him. Portia says she needs to check on her team's progress.
Effie throws herself into Haymitch's arms. He should push her away, but he doesn't. He can't help whispering some of his worry, "The next few days are gonna be dangerous. If we want to get them out of this alive we need to be so careful."
"Yes," she says quietly, and steps back. "Are you drinking wine?" He thinks she'll yell at him, and he can't help provoking her.
"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm drinking wine."
He expects her to laugh, or yell, but her eyes fill with tears. She turns away with a loud gasp, and stumbles to the bar. She pours herself a glass of wine and downs it in one.
"I don't know how we'll get through this," she says, sinking onto a barstool.
Haymitch joins her, refills their glasses.
"A lot of people won't. Last year's Games were a big, big fuck up. That sort of things means a lot of deaths."
Effie scoffs.
"What?" he asks, wondering what he could have said that would be objectionable.
"Well, last year's Games were such a success! Everybody loved our victors! I just don't understand why we're all being punished this way."
Haymitch drinks, reminds himself that Effie has never had reason to distrust information disseminated by her government.
"I guess the Capitol made some money off it," he says, "It's just this time the fuck up wasn't a money fuck up. It was the kind of mistake that a lot of different people make on a lot of different days, and a lot of innocent people end up suffering for."
He realizes Effie is sobbing as silently as she can, bent over her wine glass she's holding in both hands. He wants to say something, but also really, really doesn't want to make things worse. Maybe he's not very good at cheering people up.
He puts his hand over hers and just sits next to her while she has her first real heartbreak.
Of course, it's not all fun and games. Effie has apparently had the idea that he and Peeta need gold jewelry. Haymitch doesn't plan on arguing with her in the next few days if at all possible, so he lets her get ready to do that without comment.
He leaves 12 and goes down a floor. He can hear Chaff, screaming and breaking furniture. When he opens the door, he sees Chaff in the living room, but no sign of Seeder. Haymitch ignores Chaff as he picks up the coffee table and throws it at the window, where it rebounds and breaks two big urns before twisting as it falls and smacks Chaff in the backs of his legs. Chaff ignores him too.
He walks into Seeder's room to see her, washed and prepped, lying on her bed. He sits at the foot. Chaff is louder in the hall. The bedrooms' soundproofing are all very good indeed, to ensure the best accuracy for any recording devices.
"I had to leave my grandchildren and my children. And not so they could have more of the harvest while I found a field to lie down in. I had to leave them to murder my friends for sport."
Haymitch says nothing for a minute. He's leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looks at his hands.
"Is that how you die in 11?" he asks.
Seeder explodes with laughter, and kicks him hard.
"Oh, you boy, come here."
He lies down next to her, puts his head on her chest just like he did after his first year as mentor. She has one arm around his shoulders and is holding his hand with the other.
"I never thought I would see 60."
He thought for a second and remembered her birthday was last week. Happy birthday, Seeder.
"Not many do," he says. "I'm glad you did. I couldn't have done any of this without you."
"Shush," she says, holding tight to his hand. "You're a grown man now, District Twelve. And you got kids to save." She feels him tense and starts rubbing his back and neck. "You've had a hard time. The Games are a sorrow to 11, too, you know I know how it feels. I know how you're feeling even now. You're one of very few people that know me so well. You'll always have me."
Haymitch doesn't realize he's crying until her stylists show up to prep her for the chariot ride.