Chapter 4
They exit the elevator looking around at the place that will be their home for the next week or so. It's the same way every year. The tributes from 12 have never seen anything like this. If they aren't too terrified after the treatment from the prep teams and stylists, the overblown spectacle of the tribute parade, the thousands of Capitol citizens already celebrating their imminent deaths, then they are agog as they enter this fantasy land that they never even knew to dream of. The garish colors and designs, the sparkling light fixtures, and the textures and art work are enough to enthrall anyone who has only seen the coal dust-coated wooden hovels of District 12.
Effie, ever aware of the lower-class nature (in her mind, at least) of all citizens of District 12, leads the way, "Come on… this is the living room… I know, I KNOW! Now your rooms are around…"
And by now I've completely tuned her out. I need a drink. I need to think. This is great. This is terrible. What am I going to do? The girl was stunning in the parade. And, if I'm honest with myself, so was the kid.
I watch them go into their respective rooms and shut the doors. They are so quiet; they still seem a little in shock, though a little less than most of the tributes I mentor. I'll see how they stand up to the first day of training before I get too optimistic. I may just be reacting to the tremendous designs of their new stylists. How did District 12 get so lucky? This doesn't make sense, but it's fucking great! I go straight to the liquor bar and fix myself a double bourbon and sit on the sofa in the living room that Effie had just pointed out to my kids.
I'm just taking my first full mouthful of the glorious tawny liquid when Effie's heels come click-clacking down the hall. She's in high spirits, "Well, well, well, that couldn't have gone better! They were magnificent. I really feel good about this year's tributes, Haymitch! She's a bit dour, but she's very pretty, and he's so very polite. Such great manners… not to mention how handsome…"
I chuckle at her enthusiasm. The shallow standards of Capitol citizens – attractive and polite – as if that will help them win in a barbaric fight to the death. Don't get me wrong; those qualities will definitely help attract sponsors, but when push comes to shove in the arena, those things don't count for much.
"Don't you think they have a good chance, Haymitch?" she asks expectantly.
"I think that if this were some cosmic etiquette contest, we'd definitely have the advantage. At least with the kid."
"Tsk, tsk." Seriously? Did she just "tsk" me? Who does that? "You've got to admit that these tributes are head and shoulders above what you usually have to work with. I mean, really, Haymitch. I've been your district's escort for fifteen years, and this is the first time I've felt so positive about the possibilities."
So… It's not just me. There is something amazingly, damningly, hopeful about these two kids. "Me too," I whisper and look straight into her eyes. She returns my gaze with an intelligence that I've never seen from her before. She gets it. She knows. There is something very different about these kids. Her look also tells me that she knows far more about the reality of these games than she has ever let on before. That just maybe I'm not the only one losing kids year after year.
I'd always thought that I was in this all alone. But for a long time she's been there too. She's been pulling names out of the reaping bowls and basically condemning kids to death. Maybe I've been too drunk in the past to notice that the death count is taking its toll on her too. My, my, my… is there actual substance to Effie Trinkett? As much as I hate to admit it, I've seen hints of it in the past. I've actually caught her crying when a few of our tributes have died in the arena – especially if they were particularly young or especially sweet. But then she would always collect herself and recite the Capitol party line about the need for the Hunger Games. About the need to prevent future wars and save lives, but she never crossed the line into celebrating the "fun" of it all. Maybe, just maybe, that was what she needed to do to hold on to her sanity. And maybe, just maybe, Effie isn't quite the Capitol troll I'd always thought her to be.
"We're going to play this a little differently this year," I tell her. I need to think about our strategy. She looks me straight in the eyes again and nods.
"Just let me know what I can do to help," she adds. With that, she gets up and goes off to her room, and I'm left to my own devices. I lean back onto the sofa and loosen my tie. Huh… what to do, what to do, what to do… Once or twice in the last twenty-four years I've thought I had a somewhat promising tribute, only to watch them die horrible deaths. Holy God, if I'd known when I was in my games that I would not only lose everyone I ever cared about, but also have to do this mentoring thing once a year for the rest of my life, I would have leapt happily off of the disc I was standing on when I was lifted into my arena before the clock ran down. I would've died instantly and spared myself all these years of torment. Ah well, you know what they say about hindsight…
I take another deep drink from my glass. I'm not nearly drunk enough. Actually, I'm thinking that I may take the kid up on his "threat" and stay relatively sober for these games. This is the first time I've felt a reason to do that.
The phone in our suite rings. I walk over and pick it up, "yeah, " I shout.
"Nice phone manners," Finnick says on the other end of the line. "What are you doing now?" he asks. "Can you come down to four?"
"Sure, why not?" I respond. "I'll be there in a few minutes." I pull my loosened tie and toss it onto the sofa. Then I replenish my drink and head toward the elevator. Don't want to get down there and find there are no refreshments.
When the elevator alerts me to my arrival on the fourth floor, I stand straight to enter their suite. I'm surprised, and yet not, to find that Chaff and Seeder (from District Eleven), Cecelia (from District Eight), Beetee (from District Three), and Johanna (from District Seven) are there with Finnick and Mags (both of the mentors from District Four). "Hey, Haymitch, good to see you," says Finnick, who seems remarkably more sober than he was this afternoon.
"Yeah, this looks like quite the mentor gathering. What's going on?" I ask. This is getting a little spooky, but I don't want to let them know that I'm apprehensive. Although these people are all my friends, as long as we have kids alive in the games, they are also strangely my enemies, so to speak.
Beetee speaks up, "We couldn't help but notice that your kids made quite the … ah, impression in the parade. I guess we wanted to talk to you about that."
Cecelia adds, "I couldn't help but notice your girl's pin from earlier in the day – very pretty – like a bright, shiny Coin."
I look immediately into Cecelia's eyes, and she's giving me a very pointed look. All of them are giving me a similarly pointed look. Well, well, well… So they've heard from District Thirteen about this. This is huge. I nod my understanding to them. We are all very aware of the listening devices around each apartment of the Training Center, so our conversation will have to be so, so careful. "I can ask her where she got it, if you'd like one like it," I respond as nonchalantly as I can.
"Oh, I don't think it would suit me as well as it suits her," Cecelia responds. Hmmm, so they think my girl may be the symbol we've been waiting years for. If they only knew how sullen and bad-tempered this particular girl is. Are they telling me that they want my girl to win?
"Yeah, it looks good on her… She's a little… er… shy… but she's very strong. My boy, however, he's the real charmer…" I reply, not letting on about my knowledge about the girl's true skill at hunting. Hell, even the girl doesn't know that I know about that. The boy may want the girl to win, but I haven't completely written him off yet. I have a little plan formulating in my head. It's absurd to think it might work, but maybe I can pull off the impossible.
"They're both very pretty kids," Finnick adds with another pointed look. They must be since this is about the fiftieth time someone has said that to me today. "If only this were a beauty contest, your kids would win hands down," he adds.
"Are they a couple? I mean are they dating or fucking or anything?" Johanna asks.
They will be if they aren't now, if I have anything to say about it. Dating I mean; I don't want to know about them fucking. "I don't rightly know, why do you ask?"
"The way they were holding hands in the chariot. I don't remember anyone ever doing that before," Johanna responds.
"And when we were watching the recap of the reaping at the bar today. That look she gave when his name was called. You saw it, too," Finnick adds.
"They're from different parts of the District, but they go to school together. I think they are in the same grade." I know he definitely has a thing for her, but I don't tell them that. I'm starting to think that my plan for the kids may suit all of these rebel/mentors as well. "I get that my kids made quite the splash, pardon the pun, Finnick, but why all this interest? Why this little impromptu mentors' meeting? And where's the bourbon?" Everyone snickers. Chaff grabs a bottle and refills my glass. I mean he really, really refills it. Now I remember why he's my best friend. Beetee responds to my questions.
"No official or formal reason. We were just interested in learning more about your tributes. Er… nothing that we could tell our own tributes… You know what I mean…"
"Actually I don't. Know what you mean, or know all that much about my tributes, yet. Besides the fact that he's the son of the local baker in Twelve."
Finnick decides to change the subject, "Lighten up, Haymitch. Their entrance in their fiery glory was the most interesting thing to happen in a while. We just wanted to get together and talk about it. Come on, everybody, drink up. This is my last day to drink for a while." He promptly goes around the room filling everyone's glasses with some unknown purple substance. Chaff and I stick with bourbon. Finnick slips several folded pieces of paper into my coat pocket while giving me a little shake of his head. He doesn't want me to read them here or anywhere there may be cameras. I give him a small nod back that I understand.
I spend about another hour in the suite with them, put away quite a bit more bourbon, and when I feel sufficiently buzzed, make my excuses to return to my own floor. I make my way straight to the bathroom in my room. Finally, I pull the papers from my pocket. There's one slip of paper for each of the districts that were represented at our little drinking party, and each slip is written in a different handwriting. There are lists of names on the slips along with personal details about those names. The names are of rich Capitol citizens. Basically, Districts Three, Four, Seven, Eight, and Eleven have handed me the names of known sponsors of the Hunger Games. Damn, but that feeling of hope in my chest just got a lot bigger. I change into pajamas and stuff the slips into the shirt pocket of them, and I button the flap. No one's getting this list away from me. I then stumble into my bed and pass out.
I wake to sunlight streaming through my window the next morning. I check the clock on the bedside table only to discover that my tributes will be going into their first day of training in about fifteen minutes. Fuck! I hurry as fast as I am able, which admittedly is not all that fast, into the bathroom and throw water onto my face, then I run my fingers through my bed-head hair. I grab my robe while slipping on my slippers before I exit my room. Effie is the first to notice my approach to the dining room.
"Oh, Haymitch, I was just about to escort Katniss and Peeta down to the training room. Do you have anything to tell them first?" she scolds with a severe look in her eyes. I notice that they are already standing beside the chairs they occupied while they had breakfast. The kid is looking at me expectantly while she is looking at me with her angry gray eyes formed into slits.
"Good morning Sweetheart," I say to her with a smirk, then nod at him, "Kid. Here's what I want you two to do today. Spend a lot of time at the survival stations. Remember what is in each survival station – especially the ones dealing with plants – because that may be a clue to the kind of arena you will be dealing with. Watch the other tributes and see what they're good at. Learn a new skill – if you've never thrown a knife, try to learn how. You probably won't become an expert in the time you've been given for training, but every little bit can help. And this is very important, under no circumstances are you to practice what you may already be good at. We don't want the other tributes to get that kind of information about you, so you will save those skills for the private training sessions with the gamemakers. Stick together as much as possible; let people see you together. We'll talk more tonight when you get back." Both of the kids nod their understanding.
I look over their heads to nod at Effie, and I realize that her face is registering slight shock. I've never given this kind of advice to the tributes before they begin training. Hell, I'm not usually even awake when they leave for training. She then huddles the kids past me toward the elevator, giving me one more look of wonder over her shoulder as they pass into elevator.
I sit at the empty place-setting at the head of the table and start fixing a plate with breakfast. I don't remember being this hungry at this time of day before. That may be because I'm rarely up at this time of day. The food is delicious and the privacy is even better. All too soon I hear the ding of the elevator returning – with Effie no doubt. I knew this was too good to be true. Sure enough, her heels are hitting the marble of the foyer, and she returns to the dining room.
"Well… Haymitch. You gave them advice before their training began. That's a first for you," she states while leaning on one foot and examining her nails. "What's up?"
"Like we discussed last night; I think these kids have an actual shot at victory," I answer. I narrow my eyes and look at her. "I'm working on a list of potential sponsors. I may want you to look it over to see if you know any of them." I look at her, and she seems shocked… again. "You said you wanted to help."
She shakes her head and sputters, "I do… Of course, I do. Just let me look over that list when you've got it." She walks over to the table in the foyer and pulls a pen and pad out of the drawer. She brings it back to the table and hands it to me. I look at it and then her with a question in my eyes.
"For the list, silly. Get to working…" She smiles at me, and for once, I smile back at her.