The Unexpected Tribute
Chapter Three
by Technomad
From the unpublished writings of Haymitch Abernathy
When they marched us into the square for the "Reaping," I kept a poker face up, but inside, I was thinking: Well, here we go again! The whole ceremony was a complete farce, of course. Since only previous Victors were being Reaped, and we only had one female Victor and two male Victors, it wasn't like there was much choice available.
Walking along, with my head high, I noticed that people really, really were unhappy about this whole situation. Just as I was. And Katniss, and Peeta. The people we passed were lined up in serried rows, as always, and I noticed, as we passed, that many of them, men and women alike, were either openly in tears, or were visibly suppressing signs of outrage. The Peacekeepers were a new bunch, brought in to replace the lax, corrupt men we'd come to know, and they seemed very nervous to me. It wouldn't have taken too much to trigger a full-scale riot.
As we passed, people made subtle signs to show that they were on our side. I had thought that my softer feelings were long since dead, but to my surprise, this touched me in ways I'd forgotten existed. I've been District 12's sole Victor for a long time, and had long since settled into my role of a surly drunk, living alone in my mansion in the otherwise-deserted Victor's Village. I had no friends, and desired none. I remembered, all too well, what had happened to my family after I won the Quarter Quell by using the Capitol's own damned force-field against my remaining opponent. The girl I'd loved had also fallen victim to the Capitol's vengeance. Since then, I had closed my heart. Forever, I thought.
At the previous Reaping, I had been up on stage with that clown they let pretend to be Mayor, and Effie, just like always, hoping to get through yet another of these ceremonies and wondering why I was still alive. Then something unexpected happened, and for the first time in over twenty years, I felt an unfamiliar sensation. Hope.
When Primrose Everdeen was Reaped, I could see that people were not happy about it, even less than they were at most Reapings. Primrose was only twelve years old, and everybody in District 12 loved her. Even I, in my lonely solitude, had noticed her, and how unforcedly good and compassionate she was. Once, I'd misoverestimated how much white liquor I could take aboard, and had got noisily, spectacularly sick in a side alley not far from the Hob. When I'd got done emptying my stomach of its contents, I had looked up blearily, to find Primrose looking at me. Before I could stop her, she was reaching out, trying to help me back to my feet. "Mr. Abernathy! Is there something wrong? Can I help you?" she asked. In her eyes, I saw something I had not seen for a long time. Pity.
Most people did not pity me, and I did not encourage them to. The "surly drunk" was an act, at least to some extent, but there was a lot of truth behind it. I resented everybody who had never had to face the Arena. At night, I often had nightmares where I was back there, and I would wake up, screaming my lungs out. That was one of several reasons why I had never taken up with a new partner after my girlfriend had died. She'd waited for me, and one reason I fought so hard was to get back to her. After she was killed, I rebuffed others' attempts to befriend me, preferring solitude and white liquor. Between that and the fact that others resented the luxurious house I occupied and the stipends I got from the Capitol, I became a man who walked alone.
But Primrose tried to reach out to me. You'd think that a drunk on his knees, spewing out half-digested food, would disgust her. Instead, she asked me if I were ill, if there was anything she could do for me. Me! I didn't have the heart to lash out at her with the sort of stinging words I used to keep others at bay. Instead, when I could speak, I croaked: "No, sweetheart. The things that are wrong with me, no one can fix." As I hauled myself up onto my feet, to stagger back to Victor's Village where I could be ill in my accustomed solitude, I remembered to say: "Thank you for asking, though, sweetheart." I may be District 12's most spectacular drunk, but I was raised here, and mountain manners are burned deep into my brain. I finally managed to get myself going, and as I left, I could feel her eyes on me.
So behind my "surly drunk" mask, I was just as unhappy to see her Reaped as anybody else in the District. And when her older sister, Katniss, spoke up unexpectedly, offering herself as a volunteer to go in her sister's place, I felt hope stirring in me. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but one I found that I liked.
I knew, none better, that drawing the Capitol's attention, particularly in such a spectacular way, could be dangerous. Accordingly, I lurched to my feet, making sure that people's attention was on me, as I gave her a sloppy kiss, then did a pratfall off the side of the platform. Down inside, I was promising myself that, come what may, this girl was coming home again. Both for her own sake and for her sister's. I'd thought I was hardened to losing my Tributes, but this one, I would see wearing the Victor's crown if it was the death of me. And I had been to the Capitol more than enough times to know which strings to pull and who to talk to.
Much to my surprise, she and the boy who'd been Reaped with her, Peeta Mellark, managed to not only pull off a double victory, but made the Capitol and its Gamemakers look like a bunch of baboons into the bargain! When they were proclaimed joint victors of the 74th Hunger Games, we mentors erupted in wild cheers in our enclosure, but behind the jubilation, we felt fear. The Capitol would come up with some elaborate scheme for vengeance, and we all knew it.
Ever since we'd returned to District 12 and a heroes' welcome, I'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. There had been substantial changes in the way things had always been since our return. The Hob had been forcibly shut down, and the slack Peacekeepers we'd become used to and more-or-less accepted as part of the scenery had been replaced by a bunch of sadists who loved nothing better than getting some poor soul triced up to the whipping post. Their commander was a man I knew by reputation, and what I knew was not good. I'd taken, more and more, to keeping a low profile, staying in my house at Victor's Village as much as I could.
But I'd had to take a hand in things a few times, at least once coming up against the Peacekeepers' commander, along with poor brave Katniss. A friend (and hunting partner, sub-rosa) of hers had been caught with illicit game, and was being flogged, when Katniss and I intervened. If we hadn't been Victors, that sadist would have probably gunned us both down where we stood for daring to defy him. But he had to know that Snow had something special cooked up for us, and if he killed us, whatever the Capitol had in store for us would look like nothing compared to what they'd do to him. Peacekeepers can, and have, become Avoxes.
When we got the news about the Quarter Quell, I sat back and waited (after throwing something at my television screen). Sure enough, first Peeta showed up, begging me to do whatever I could to keep Katniss alive, then Katniss came around, to ask me to volunteer in Peeta's place, should his name be drawn. That hadn't occurred to me earlier, but when I had a chance to think about it, I liked the idea more and more. I'd had twenty-four years more than I probably should have, and they had been unpleasant, at best. I knew the swine in the Capitol were doing this as a way to get rid of Katniss and Peeta, and Victors or no, I was still, and would always be, their mentor. If I did this, I could at least save Peeta, and stick my finger in the eye of the Capitol. And it wasn't as though I feared death. In some ways, I had been trying to die ever since I'd returned from my victory. This would be a death that meant something, at least.
We three Victors, along with the Mayor and Effie, stood on the platform facing the crowd of our neighbors. A row of white-clad Peacekeepers separated us from the rest of District 12 as Effie ran through her usual spiel, following the showing of the inevitable video about the Dark Days and the beginning of the Hunger Games. Then she tottered over to the bowls. I could see that she was upset, and she wasn't as steady on her feet as I'd have preferred. I could see that Peeta was ready to help her if she stumbled, and I nodded to myself. That boy's the right kind of people. If I could have had a son, I'd want him to be like Peeta.
Inevitably, Katniss was drawn, to a sigh from the crowd. I could see Primrose in the front row of the spectators, and I saw her gasp and begin to tear up. Effie gave me an apologetic look as she went over to the other bowl, the one with two names. She drew a slip, opened it, and read "Peeta Mellark."
Peeta stepped forward, but I put my hand on his shoulder, holding him back, as I stepped forward. In a clearer voice than I'd had in some while (once we'd learned about the terms of the Quarter Quell, all three of us had done our best to train up as though we were Career Tributes, and I'd even given up drinking, not entirely voluntarily) I said: "I volunteer as tribute!"
Judging from the reaction of the crowd, this was the last thing they had expected. Peeta tried to protest, grabbing my shoulder, but I grabbed his hand and used a move that Cashmere had taught me after I'd seen her use it on a Capitol citizen who had got a bit too handsy for her taste. Peeta went nearly to his knees, his eyes wide with pain, gasping in shock, as I told him that I had taught him everything he knew about the Games, but not everything I knew. I could see Effie's eyes going wide. She had never really seen what I can do, even in my current state.
Effie put her hands on my and Katniss' shoulders, and announced that she and I were the Tributes for this year's Quarter Quell. Our neighbors stared, then, one by one, put their hands in the air in the District 12 farewell salute to one who is greatly loved, chanting my name. I had never expected that; I had thought that most people would be delighted to be rid of me at long last. I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, and I was actually glad when the Peacekeepers bundled us out of there and on to the train. Katniss was protesting "I get to say goodbye!" Silly girl, to think that the Capitol feels bound to obey its own rules! If they had, we'd be mentors of a new boy and girl, not heading off to go back into the Arena!
Peeta, of course, was furious with me, but I was able to put him in his place easily enough. Unlike Katniss, he's not a rebel by nature, and in District 12, we're taught from childhood that elders are to be respected and obeyed. As we sat down to a luxurious Capitol meal, I smiled to myself as I speared a mouthful of omelet on my fork. Whatever else I had done, I had guaranteed Peeta Mellark's survival!
Effie was the only one drinking, and Katniss made a crack about her being a "shallow Capitol mannequin." I restrained myself from slapping Katniss, but it was with a real effort. I knew all too well what Effie had to go through, since I had to do something very similar every year. I explained a few things to Katniss, and she went off to apologize to Effie. When they reappeared, they were clearly on good terms, and I relaxed, or at least as much as I could.
I ran through what would likely be happening when we got to the Capitol. Katniss and Peeta both soaked up everything I could tell them, since they knew that I knew those people far better than they did. The rest of the day was uneventful, and I went to bed well satisfied. Oh, I had the urge to drink nagging at me, but I knew that Katniss' survival depended on me keeping my head absolutely clear. And to accomplish that, there was nothing I wouldn't do. As I lay me down to sleep, I wondered what sort of children my dead girlfriend and I might have had, if things had been different. I drifted off to sleep smiling at the thought of having a daughter as smart as Katniss, and a son as brave and good as Peeta.
We got into the Capitol toward the evening of the next day, after traversing several other Districts. I had kept my eyes open when we were going through inhabited areas, and had seen graffiti denouncing the Capitol here and there, as well as signs of unrest. Down deep, I smiled to myself. Katniss' and Peeta's stories had captivated people, and her mockingjay pin had become the symbol of rebellion against the Capitol. I had some plans for when we met with the other Victors. All of them would be present, either as Tributes or as mentors, and I knew them all, some very well indeed.
When we detrained, we were greeted by cheering crowds. They weren't allowed too close to us, but I could see and hear them. Against my own inclination (I was frazzled from travel and wanted nothing more than the comfort of our lodgings) I smiled and waved at them. Katniss ignored them, till I hissed: "Smile, sweetheart! Wave at them! Those are the people who can send you gifts in the Arena! You don't want to alienate them!" When she did as I said, it looked awfully forced to me, but those Capitol people were not close by, and did not know her as well as I did. They cheered twice as loudly, chanting her name. She was really loved in the Capitol, and I was sure that a lot of people were as furious as the people in District 12 about the chicanery that had forced her to risk her life in the Arena for a second time.
Once I had Katniss and Peeta settled in to our quarters, I went out for a while. While I liked the youngsters, we'd been in each other's pockets for a while and I wanted a bit of a break. And a drink, but I knew better than that. I had to keep a clear head.
I had no particular hope of surviving this; even with the training that Katniss, Peeta and I had done since we'd heard about the new rules for the Quarter Quell, twenty-four years of neglect and abuse had left my body in rather sad shape. Katniss, and, I had to admit, Peeta, were in much better shape than I was, even allowing for their youth. And I knew that some of the returning Tributes were also in tip-top shape, fit and limber and strong.
Down in the Mentors' lounge, where I'd gone from force of habit, I ran into some people I knew. Finnick Odare and Johanna Mason, two of my particular cronies, were sitting together watching a video. They were both going back into the Games, just like me. I pulled up a chair and joined them.
"Well. Good to see you again, Haymitch. I have to say, you look better than you have for a while," Johanna greeted me. "Planning to take me up on that offer I made?" I blushed. Ever since her first time as a Mentor, Johanna had made a point of flirting with me as hard as she could. We had hit it off from the start, and were longtime snarking buddies, making gnomic, bitter comments about life in the Districts and the shallow, airheaded people that surrounded us in the Capitol. I didn't know if Johanna meant it when she made advances to me, but I had never taken her up on it. I wasn't even sure if I could have if I'd tried. All those years of white liquor had not treated me kindly.
"Not this time, sweetheart. Did you see the Reaping in my district?"
"We both did," Finnick said, turning his attention away from the idiot box long enough to give me one of those dazzling smiles of his. "I would never have expected to see them saluting you, Haymitch."
"It surprised me, too," I admitted. "How is Mags?" I had seen already how Mags, one of the oldest of us Victors, had volunteered to take the place of Annie Cresta, the girl Finnick loved. I wasn't surprised by that. Mags is a wonderful lady, and was very kind to me when I was new to Mentoring. She had been like a mother to many of us, and it tore at me that she was certain not to survive the upcoming Game.
"Mags is just fine. She's off with some of the other Mentors, catching up on things. You know her. She's still active and keeps fit, and can put in a full day on a fishing boat." Finnick and Mags' District 4 was mainly a fishing district, as District 12 does coal mining. Finnick winked. "Truth to tell, I think she's more fired up for this than I am!"
I chuckled, shaking my head. That did sound like Mags. When she was Mentoring, she took every opportunity she could to go off into the Capitol and learn what she could. I needed to have a talk with her, but weariness was beginning to drag me down, and I made my excuses and headed off to bed. Johanna, of course, asked if I wanted to be alone, and I assured her that I did, and it was nothing against her. She gave me a theatrical look of disappointment as I left.