Thank you for continuing to read Haymitch's story and for all the reviews I've had. You are all awesome!
I do not own the Hunger Games nor its characters.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mags has taken me to this restaurant quite a few times, it's almost like an old haunt for us, now. I bet she's been coming to Alfred's for decades, with various young male victors, no doubt. I tease her about this but I'm usually met with a solid punch on m my arm.
I've been spending the last half hour retelling the story of my failed marriage. She came looking for me as soon as I reached the Capitol but, of course, I was passed out in my room and had been ever since I got on the train in 12. Marsella was furious, as always, although it's hard to tell now that her face has been pulled even tighter.
Mags promptly woke me up and dragged me out of the Training Centre and in to the centre of the city, telling me I needed to sober up. I always need to sober up.
"Well, maybe it's for the best," she finally says. "She can have that family she always wanted, now. Don't you want her to be happy?"
"Of course I do!" I snap, "But I want her to be happy with me." The statement hangs in the air for a while; the statement that epitomises my selfishness. I want, more than anything in the world, for Vieve to be happy and it's only just starting to dawn on me that that won't be with me.
Mags gives my hand a friendly squeeze across the table. "What about your tributes? Have you got any fighters this year? That might motiv-"
I snort before she can continue, my tributes are skinny kids who don't seemed to have stopped shaking since I met them on the train. I'm just hoping that's because of the Hunger Games and not because of me.
"I do understand, Haymitch," says Mags, softly and I nod. I know she understands better than anyone; she's seen every horror the Games has ever produced and the consequent victors, not to mention the things she has been through herself. It's easy to see why her and Titam were so eager to overthrow Snow.
Before I can even bring up the topic of rebellion Plutarch walks in laughing with a group of Gamemakers, I assume that the rest of their gang are watching over the tributes in the Training Centre. They quickly spot us and walk over, grinning at how brilliant they think they are.
"Hello, Mr. Abernathy," one of them says. He looks about my age and I think he's called Seneca Crane but I'm not sure how I know that. "Mrs. Shore."
We both graciously say hello with our best fake smiles.
"We were just discussing the arena," he continues, "You're going to love it!" The rest of them chortle in sick amusement, I sincerely doubt that I'm going to love anything about it.
"Well, we haven't got much time before we have to get back," Plutarch interjects, "It was nice to see you both again." He holds out his hand to me and I take it, although I don't think we've ever shaken hands, before and we've known each other for a few years, now. He's looking directly in my eyes and smiling but I can feel something sliding from his sleeve in to mine so I play along and smile back. Once the Gamemakers sit down at their table I slip the piece of paper Plutarch has given me in to my pocket.
I don't say a word to Mags in case someone hears us and I don't open the folded paper until I'm back in my room in the Training Centre. I can hear the avoxes placing the food for dinner on the table so I have to be quick.
The note reads: The Rock, tomorrow, 2pm. Finally, something to look forward to! He must want to discuss something about the rebellion, why else would he be so secretive? I almost jump off the bed and head in to the dining room for dinner.
My tributes, Keelie and Trist, are already sitting down, amazed by the plethora of food before them. I ask how training went but they seem shocked that I'm speaking to them, I can't say I blame them as I have been avoiding them for most of the time. I've developed a perfect technique to not get hurt when my tributes die and that's not to get attached to them, not that it always works. Seeing any child died makes me angry and upset, whether I know who they are or not.
I jump in a taxi the next day and ask to be taken to 'The Rock', which is apparently a restaurant on the outskirts of the city. I'm guessing the name has something to do with the previous name for the mountains that surround the Capitol but either way, it's a stupid name. This whole place is stupid.
Plutarch and Mags are already sat at a table when I arrive and when I pull up a chair they genuinely look happy to see me.
"Are we waiting for anyone else?" I ask, "Chaff? Beetee?" I haven't spoken to Chaff much since I got here, although he seems to have spent most of his time with a wine bottle. I think something bad has happened at home but I don't want to pry.
"No, it's just us," replies Plutarch, "We don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves." It's only then that I notice that Plutarch is hunched in the corner as if trying to hide from everyone. I forget that he's taking as much of a risk by being here as we are. Still, it's very hard to be sympathetic to a Capitolite.
"So why have you summoned us O Great Leader," says Mags, as witty as ever. Even Plutarch smirks.
"We need to start talking strategy, even if we may be decades too early. Who knows when we may need to act." We both nod, "I've slowly been recruiting more victors but I've had to be careful, some of them are very loyal to Snow as we know."
"So who have we got so far?" I ask.
"I thought you might ask me that. All I'm going to say is: how many bright stars could love want?" He placed great emphasis on the last sentence but Mags and I simply look at each in complete confusion. "Think about it," he says.
"How many bright stars could love want?" I whisper to myself. What has this got to do with the members of the rebellion? I mean, I can understand why he doesn't to say the names out loud in case someone hears but…I've got it!
"You mean," I begin in a low voice, "Haymitch, Mags, Beetee, how many bright…" Plutarch cuts me off with a nod before I can continue and Mags gasps with realisation.
"You really are a clever boy!" She chuckles. I don't think I've been a boy for a very long time, now, but Mags seems to think that everyone is a teenager.
"Anyway, back to strategy," says Plutarch, "I think it's clear that we need all of the districts on our side and the only way to do that is to organise an uprising in every one of them."
"But how do we do that?" Mags asks.
"They need a leader, someone who they can trust and will be happy to follow," I reply, "And possibly die for." They both nod, there's no way all twelve districts would just rebel for no reason. "I could do it," I say, "I've got nothing-"
"Oh shut up!" Mags snaps, "You're just feeling suicidal right now because of Vieve. No one will follow you, anyway, they all think you're a mess."
I laugh a little louder than I expect to. She's right, I'm not thinking straight right now, and I'm just desperate to prove that I'm worth something. I'm also the laughing stock of Panem, who would realistically risk their life for me? Stupid Haymitch.
When I get back to the Training Centre I think about the riddle that Plutarch said earlier: how many bright stars could love want? I know the first three and I think 'stars' means Seeder and 'could' is Chaff but the final two are confusing me a little bit. The only victor I can think of beginning with 'L' is Lucas, one of the morphling addicts from 6 but what use would he be? The same goes for 'want,' which I'm pretty sure is Beetee's friend Wiress, who also happens to be a tiny bit insane. If this is Plutarch's dream team I really have no idea how we're going to overthrow Snow.
When I see Chaff on the first day of the Games I carefully hint at my ideas about who's in the rebellion and he's as equally confused, although he can't think of any other names to match so I must be right. I hope Plutarch knows what he's doing.
We each have a shot of white liquor and then I sit down at my station and wait for the Games to begin. I was right, I hate the arena. There's mountains everywhere I can guarantee that most of those are volcanic. The tributes rise up and within minutes Keelie and Trist are gone. All I can do is give out a long sigh before grabbing my bottle of booze and leaving the Control Room.
I thought when I arrived back in 12 I would feel relief but I don't feel anything. Vieve isn't waiting for me at the station and there's no one for me to visit, it looks like the only people I have now are those that I see once a year. I can't even blame Snow too much for this one, most of it was my doing.
I spend most of the following weeks in bed or on the sofa with only knife and a bottle of liquor for company. It should be boring but I'm barely conscious for most of it, I dread to think how awful I look. The cushion that Vieve was stitching lays on the sofa and I really want to tear it to pieces but I can't, it's too beautiful and it's all she's left me.
I'm awoken from my haze one day by a very loud knocking on the door. I reluctantly answer it and, to my great surprise, Drake is standing in the doorway.
"I'm so sorry," he says. "Are you all right?"
"It's just the same as every year," I say and take a swig from my bottle. "Come in."
"No," he says, walking in to the living room. "I mean about Vieve. She seemed really nice but just getting married like that only a month or so after you broke up-"
"Whoa! What? Did you say Vieve got married?"
He nods his head. "Yeah, a couple of days ago. I assumed you knew."
"Who?" Is all I can manage to say, I can't even look at Drake whilst he's talking to me.
"Some boy she grew up with. I don't think anyone believes she loves him but he's besotted with her."
I know what she's done, I guess she was a lot more desperate to have a family than either of us thought. I remember when we first met and she was adamant that she didn't want children and now she's married the first man she can think of just so that she can have that. I should hate her. Maybe part of me does. But I don't, I can't.
"I'm sorry, Haymitch."
"Yeah, me, too."