"So laugh away!"
I've never seen someone so gracefully run away in high heels. It's mainly because no one can afford more than one or two pairs of shoes, and the ones that can rather not wear them in our sooty little city. It's almost the equivalent of wearing white into the mines.
Watching Effie dances her way out of the room, in an odd combination of pink and green, I can't find it in me to resent her.
The room smells horrible, and the sight of Haymitch falling face first into his vomit is almost too much for me to bear. He futilely flounders around on the ground, hands slipping as they try to push his body up.
It all turns my stomach, making it more difficult to seem strong. And right now, that means a lot.
Petrified at the reaping, crying for the cameras- there's an old saying, three strikes you're out. I think it was for some type of game, but we don't have many of those in district 12.
I glance over at Katniss, wondering how she's handling our mentor's latest drunken act. Part of me hopes she cries and darts from the room like Effie. I've already dug myself a hole and this could be the perfect moment to redeem myself. Offer to take care of the sloppy Haymitch, and show Katniss that I do indeed have a masculine side. That I'm stronger than that little girl from 11, who didn't even shed one tear.
However, she doesn't look any more uncomfortable than I do. Damn it!
She meets my gaze, as if trying to measure me as well. Without a word, she bends over taking one of his arms, I quickly copy her. This must be one of those wordless conversation things her and Gale mastered out in the woods- I'm not him, but I will help her without being told to do so. We end up half walking half dragging Haymitch back to his room. His soiled fingers grip at my sleeve.
"I tripped?" he grumbles, eyes half open, but staring at me. "Smells bad."
I would imagine so. I swallow hard, watching as Haymitch wipes his face. Every inch of skin below his eyes is now covered with vomit.
"Let's get you back to your room," I say indifferently. "Clean you up a bit." A lot.
When we step through the door, we hit the second dilemma. Should we throw him in bed, and let Haymitch wake up in his own filth, or be good human beings and help the inebriated victor? We chose the highroad.
The room is set up similarly to mine and maybe Katniss', too. A different color scheme, and furniture, but there's a bathroom. I guess it wouldn't be difficult for anyone to find- two doors, and one of them we just walked through. Although it was an option, personally, I never considered setting Haymitch on the bed- it seems a bit childish to torture the poor, comfy covers with an even more disgusting version of the victor.
I have the strange urge to hurl our mentor into the bathtub and forget about him. He would wake up disgusting even on his own level of awful, and better yet- he probably wouldn't remember Katniss and I were even here.
We set him down, and I turn on the shower head. He sputters a little as the water hits his face.
Katniss stands wide eyed behind my shoulder. I know she doesn't have the strength to leave, but she doesn't have the will to stay and see what Haymitch Abernathy looks like- and I don't see a way around stripping him down.
"It's okay," I tell her. This is going to be a very long and scarring night. "I'll take it from here."
"All right." I'd feel relieved, too. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."
He might be a victor, but Haymitch isn't one of them. The attendants won't treat him kindly. The Capitol pays for them to live comfortably, but forces victors year after year to join the fun once more, and have teenagers' blood thrust upon their hands. I'm starting to see why vodka would sound heavenly. "No. I don't want them."
She nods, maybe thinking the same thing. Put aside the fact I've liked her for five years- I have no idea what she thinks.
I wait until I hear the door click closed, before I begin the arduous task of cleaning. To my surprise, although he has warm water spraying against his skin, Haymitch is most definitely sleeping.
After a few minutes the shower alone seems to have gotten rid of the worst, but not everything.
As I unbutton his shirt, I begin talking to distract myself. It's bad enough seeing my brothers run around exposing their "modesty" to the world, but this is much, much worse.
"This is the first time I actually talk to her, and it's about getting vomit off of you. Perfect. I mean, I couldn't say a single word to her for years. Now, we're stuck together, so I thought I should make the most of it, you know? At least leave her with some impression of me before one of us dies."
It feels kind of good to vent, even if my audience might as well be on a different planet, snores rippling free from his chest.
"Delly used to ask me about her. Somehow-" Eban "-she found out I liked Katniss and went on a tirade trying to set us up." I was really happy that escapade failed. There was no way I could compete with Gale Hawthorne. I wonder if Alek's girlfriend wasn't his ex, and he didn't make eyes at Katniss, if I would like him…"Who would have thought the Hunger Games could actually have a good side?"
There's still too much horrible to compete with any silver lining- after all, what is talking to her for a week, compared to being pit against one another all too soon?
At first, I'm a little hesitant to experiment the shower's workings on my mentor, but I get over that quickly. I press a random button, and pink foam spits out mainly coating Haymitch's head and chest. I quickly wipe the suds away from his eyes and mouth. The water washes the rest of the soap and the filth away. It may not be perfect, but since I can't see anything gross on him, and Haymitch smells like roses instead of spirits- I'm going to have to remember that button…the small, red bubbly one.
Overall, it's good enough.
"Did you ever feel that way?" I ask, not expecting much of an answer. I just I want to know, I'm not the only one who doesn't look at this an irrefutable death sentence.
I turn off the shower and throw a towel over Haymitch, quickly patting his upper body dry. I'm not planning to be thorough.
…Though, if Haymitch had any ounce of optimism in him it's been hiding in sobriety. "Probably not. It's been almost twenty-five years, right?"
He moans, blinking until his eyes open. Before I realize it, he throws a fist into my stomach- I gasp out of surprise rather than pain.
There's a moment, where he looks around disoriented. "Where's my knife?" Haymitch finally grumbles, clutching his wrist.
Was he trying to stab me? "No idea." And I'm not going to look for it either.
He begins to push himself up. "…Where's the girl?"
I blush, surprised that he was even aware enough that there were two of us. Let alone, Katniss is a female. "I told her to leave," I say, putting an arm around my shoulder again, and hoisting him up.
"I'm not even going to ask about my clothing…" he says, giving me a strange look.
Without answering, I almost run into the other room, and pull out an outfit. I don't care what it looks like. Does he think I stripped him down for the hell of it? Even so, it should be obvious what was going on since I didn't have the gall to remove his pants. Those suckers are wet as can be; still clinging to Haymitch's swollen legs.
"Here you go," I say, gingerly passing him the clothing. "You can get dressed by yourself, right?"
"Why? Would you help me?" he asks, laughing. Something about his tone rings with hostility- probably because he hates the fact I'm nearly babying him. Maybe not the best way to offer a helping hand, but I just don't want to wake up in the morning to find Effie yelping about how Haymitch slipped and bashed his head on the sink. He'd be no use to me- us- then.
"…Yes. I would," I resolve. He may be a far cry from what we need, but if something he can tell us will help either me or Katniss in the end, I'll do whatever it takes.
He gives me a long look, through half closed eyes. After a moment, he nods smirking through his fading stupor. "Well then, keep up the good work," Haymitch says, only grabbing the shirt. He finally manages to slip his arms through the sleeves after a little bit of difficultly. "Help me to the bed, and you can go."
He regained his footing quickly, which makes my job a lot easier. However, the trek back to my room is short, but it feels like I've been walking forever. My gut swells with dread.
And what did he mean, with keep up the good work?
Was that supposed to be advice?
My head only spins in circles- too busy to fall asleep, too tired to focus.
The only thing I can do I sit on the foot of the bed, remembering the faces I've met over the years. Those times I've spent in district 12 seem like distant fantasies as we silently drift closer to the Capitol. And it's for that reason I lock each name away, save for those closest to me. Dad, Joey, Alek, Eban, Delly. Katniss.
I wonder if this is how every tribute before me has felt. Maybe not the first years- they were probably horrified at the end of the war, and thought "The Hunger Games" would be a joke. Each district had fought together, so I think they might have thought those ties would hold through. It never does. There has and will always be one winner standing alone over a field of blood.
I'm not too sure if I want to come back from this anymore. Keeping my life sounds great, but if I have to kill someone else, how could I wake up each morning like nothing happened? Clearly Haymitch changed from his teens, unless he drank himself senseless making the other tributes think he was already dead or dying. The smell probably would have helped in his favor.
What can I use? I'm not quick. I don't know how to use any weapons.
At some point during the night, while I was recalling past years, and their victors tactics in my head, I drift off. Not every year is the victor a beast of a child with amazing skills- sometimes the winner is just the luckiest. The last thing I remember is the image of a dam breaking, releasing a large gush of water over the remaining tributes. A twelve year old boy being thrown backwards into a tree…
I blink and it's morning again. We're still moving. Outside my window, the world has changed from the uneven, green wilderness I'm used to seeing just beyond the reaches of the fence, to a flat treeless plain.
For the first time, I open my own drawers. Different colored dress shirts, pants, and well, that's about it. Everything is made of expensive fabric- I don't know much, but it doesn't feel like the clothing in district 12. I grab a plain white shirt and a dark pair of pants- it's the closest I'll have to normalcy in the Capitol.
Somehow Haymitch woke up early- probably out of some system he and Effie decided long ago- and comes to retrieve me. "Wake up," he says, pounding on the door. "Come on, boy. It's time to eat."
I follow skeptically this time. The prospect of food sounds amazing- after last night's banquet, I can't imagine what they have waiting- but eating with Haymitch after last night…
Please throw me into the arena now.
"So why did you send the girl out last night?" he asks, after we've been served.
Hardboiled eggs- every time I try to take the shell off one, the white inside breaks- slices of ham, light colored buns with flat tops I have no name for, piles of fried potatoes. After last night, I take my time eating, savoring the tastes rather than filling my stomach.
I look down, taking a long sip of hot chocolate. Why? Because there was the chance I had to strip you down to nothing? Because even though I wanted someone else to help, I felt I should do it myself? "She's a girl- I couldn't do that to her."
He laughs. I get the feeling; he finds the fact that I don't think Katniss is exasperating, interesting, and therefore hysterical. It's a good thing he doesn't know I have feelings for her. "You two on friendly terms?"
I shrug. "…I don't mind her."
He laughs through his nose. "She's a sweetheart, isn't she?" Haymitch gives me a look, and I begin to wonder if he's pretending he didn't hear what I said last night.
"You look terrible," Effie grouses. "May I have a coffee? Black, with sugar," she tells an attendant when they come to her side.
Haymitch smirks, looking at his shirt. "Do I? The boy picked this out."
"Last night after you left, Katniss and I brought Haymitch back to his room," I explain when Effie looks clearly lost.
"Did a lovely job of cleaning me up, too."
I grab a roll from the basket and keep my eyes down, focused on eating.
"I meant your face. We'll have to someone to take care of it."
"You mean, I can look like you?" he says, eyeing her hair. "Pink isn't really my color though." Haymitch laughs as Effie's face turns beat red.
She stands up, grabbing her cup from the man, and turns to leave.
He doesn't stop laughing until she leaves the room- of course, as she reaches the door Katniss walks in. "Sit down! Sit down!" he says, waving her to the table.
Katniss' eyebrows furrow, but she walks over taking a seat across from me. When they place a platter in front of her, her eyes glaze over with childlike excitement. Everything about Capitol food is almost worth the difficulty of sleeping. She blankly stares at a bowl of biscuits- they're similar to things we make back at the bakery.
I smile, taking a large bite of bread. I wash it down with hot chocolate. The warm, chocolaty, liquid version of heaven heats my body from my stomach outwards.
Her eyes continue to sweep around, until an attendant gives her a cup of her own.
"They call it hot chocolate," I say. "It's good."
She doesn't question it, and quickly empties a cup. Then a second. Meanwhile Haymitch is back to downing spirits. At this rate, it'll be another assisted shower tonight.
We're silent for a while; Katniss happily gorging herself, Haymitch joyfully drinking, and I'm battling the urge to eat myself sick. After finishing off half a plate of mixed fruit, I go back to hot chocolate. I found out the bread tastes even better when I dunk it.
"So, you're supposed to give us advice." Katniss stares at him.
"Here's some advice. Stay alive." Haymitch bursts out laughing. Does he honestly think it's funny that we're going to die? I don't care what Effie said about him being our only hope- they should bloody well give us a different victor how would at least give a care!
When Katniss meets my eyes, I completely lose it. She actually has a family that relies on her to survive. A lot of people rely on them. Katniss for the meat she brings to the hob, and her mother for healing the sick that can't afford better medicine.
Besides what does Haymitch have to lose? He's stuck here with the rest of us for the time being.
"That's very funny," I say shortly, glaring at the glass of spirits clenched tightly in his hand. Drinking is more important to him than trying to help save the lives of others. My hand shoots out knocking it away before my brain processes what I've done. Still, I regret nothing. "Only not to us."
For the love of-! This is the second time! This time it's knuckles against cheek-
Wait a moment. I don't remember falling from my chair.
I hear a low thud against the table, and Haymitch stops moving.
"Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" he demands.
I stand up, biting back the tears. It doesn't hurt enough to cry, but just enough to affect my tear ducts. Even though I'm no medic, I know enough that ice would help, so I take a handful. The cold tingles my palm, turning my skin numb before it reaches my face.
"No," Haymitch orders; I stop. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."
How is that good for me? If anything, that will make the gamemakers angry. "That's against the rules."
"Only if they catch you," he says conspiratorially. "That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." He looks at Katniss with a wicked glint to his eye. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"
Katniss doesn't smile, but I can tell she's angry. Even more, she wants to prove her worth. But what Katniss will never understand, is she doesn't have to try or prove or convince others. She rips it out of the wood, and with a quick flick of the wrist sends it flying into the wall. It hangs there, stuck between two panels.
Eban was right- she's going to kill me!
Haymitch smiles in return.
"Stand over here. Both of you," he says, and this time I listen. Maybe it's because he seems more sober than I ever have seen him, but if I can get a minute of well thought out advice from a victor- I'll take it. He walks around, poking my arms, staring at my legs, putting his nose right in our faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."
Sure. Call me Finnick Odair.
"All right, I'll make a deal with you." He gives me a hard look before continuing. "You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you."
I never expected to get this much. "Fine."
"So help us," Katniss demands. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-"
He scrunches his eyes, as though her voice is giving him a headache. "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."
"But-"
"No buts. Don't resist." Before either of us can say another word, Haymitch grabs a bottle and leaves the car.
The car is submerged in darkness as we head into a tunnel. It's so quiet and with the lack of light, becomes somewhat eerie. I start to wonder if this is what the mines are like.
The train begins to slow, and bright light floods the car, blinding me for a moment. Once I get my eyesight back Katniss and I run to the windows. The Capitol is different than what I've seen on TV. The buildings are taller than trees, and sparkle in the sunlight. People walk down the road, and I smile- Effie seems tame compared to most of them. Deep purples, bright pinks, women with exaggerated puffy sleeves, men in full suits. This is another world, where everything is brilliantly colored, and wonderfully crafted.
When people notice the train, they point and wave. One man has bright orange hair, and I wonder briefly if I would look like him if I lived in the Capitol. But as soon as I try to picture myself in his pink suit and tattoos, I can't help but laugh. They don't scare me. They're ridiculous, but if it takes popularity to win…
Katniss gives me a strange look as though I've gone crazy for waving. I almost forgot she likes to talk using expressions… "What are you doing? You know they're rooting for you die. That's why we're here." I think it's along those lines.
A little girl sitting on her father's shoulders catches my eye. They start out so young, being transformed by the Capitol's fashion. She has green hair- brighter than any normal hue- and crazy looking clothing, but she looks so happy. Even if they're minds are in the right place, their hearts can't be all bad. "Who knows. One of them might be rich."
Compared to us, they're all kings and queens- I just hope their favor turns the odds in ours.