Chapter 6

I'm up relatively early the next morning. Not only am I up early, but I feel really good. It's been a while since I went to bed that sober. Hmmmm…. I shower and dress in one of my nice Capitol suits, and I make it to breakfast in time to eat with Effie and my kids. All three of them look briefly shocked to not only see me there, but also looking so spiffy. I raise my eyebrow to Effie, and she immediately nods her understanding that I have potential sponsor meetings this morning, and she gives me a small wink. Sweetheart is her usual silent self, but the Kid gives me a small smile, in acknowledgement of my more serious and sober attitude. I guess he feels pretty pleased with himself. Whatever….

"Any words of advice for today's training session?" the Kid asks. Both their head swivel my way waiting for an answer.

"Keep on doing what we talked about yesterday. Stay together. Make it look like you… uhm…," I start. I know I can't finish this the way I want to – 'make it look like you are a couple' – so I state instead, "make it look like you are a team."

"Why?" Sweetheart asks. The Kid cuts his eyes to her and then down onto his plate. I can't help but think, 'come on, Sweetheart, don't make everything a question, chore, difficulty. And while you're at it, NOTICE HIM! Notice how much he likes you, and throw him a bone in what may be the last few days of his or your life. Hell, notice anything except your own self-absorption'.

But instead I say, "Because I'm working on a strategy for the both of you. This is part of it."

"What strategy?" she asks. Really… do I have to justify everything to her?

"Just do it, OK? If for no other reason than I am your mentor, and I've been a mentor since long before you were born, OK? Because, contrary to popular opinion in District 12," and I cut a look to the Kid, "I actually do know what I'm doing… OK?" my voice rising to nearly a shout at the end.

"Haymitch…" Effie whispers to calm me down. I take a deep breath and shake my head. Surely the three of them notice how much I am NOT drinking. It's painfully evident to me!

More quietly I add, "Just stick together and appear to be supporting each other. I have my reasons for asking this." I'm thinking that if I can have a victor this year, and I know that is the biggest "if" ever, I want to lay as much groundwork as possible for him or her to avoid Finnick's fate. This is one big television show after all, and the people of the Capitol love a great story. Well, I intend to give them one – I just haven't worked out all the details yet. That's what will get the sponsors on board as well. Looking over at Sweetheart I know that not only would she be a lousy actress, but also she would never agree to what I am planning, but she doesn't need to know all of the particulars. Hopefully, she will just slide into the role I am creating for her. I know the Kid will. In fact, I think it's almost time to have a good heart to heart with him. God, why do I always amuse myself with my internal puns?

Both of my kids sit quietly, strangely for the exact same amount of time, and then they are both nodding their heads in nearly perfect synchronization. If only I could get them to work this well together on purpose. Actually, secretly, I'm hoping that if they pretend to start supporting each other as an act, that it will become real for them and carry over into the arena.

Finally, they get up and Effie escorts them to today's training session. I have meetings scheduled with three potential sponsors today. I'll be meeting two of them in their homes, and the third in the Hunger Games Plaza. I have my spiel all worked out for each sponsor based on what they told me when I called them up. The first two seem genuinely interested in merely supporting my kids. The third, however, is one of those deviant sponsors. His name is Strato Highgrove. I've met him at several Capitol parties and events, and every time I've spoken to him I felt the overwhelming need to take a hot shower afterward. He oozes invisible malevolent shit from every cell in his body. His opinion of people from the districts ranks somewhere below a pet dog and above the slime on the bottom of his shoe. However, he is a huge publicity hound. Many in the Capitol see the worth of associating with Victors in terms of the attention it brings to them. He also sees Victors as something to use and toss aside. I wouldn't be talking to him at all if he weren't one of the richest people in the Capitol. Even so, he expressed a rather unhealthy interest in Sweetheart when we were on the phone. I'll need to play this just right so that I don't obligate her to anything beyond acknowledging his sponsorship publicly.

I'm organizing my sponsorship paperwork – my contact information and the forms that need to be filled out for a sponsor to donate money ahead of the games – when Effie returns from escorting the kids to training. We talk for a little while about the sponsor meetings she has set up for herself today, and I'm impressed with her efficiency in planning them. She asks about mine, and I tell her. When she hears the name Strato Highgrove, I hear her make a little gasp. I look up at her, and her expression is one of absolute panic.

"Oh, Haymitch… Do we really need someone like him?" she asks. Interesting… Even people from the Capitol find him disturbing.

"What do you know about him?" I ask, genuinely curious as to what the insider view of him is.

"Well…" she pauses. "He's rich to be sure. But he's… he's…" and then she whispers the rest, "not a very nice person." Then I notice tears welling up in her eyes. Wow, what did this asshole do? But then she continues, "No. No. I think you should talk to him. We need all the sponsorships we can secure. Just… Haymitch," she leans over and places her hand on my forearm resting on the table. "Just be careful about what you might obligate yourself or our victor to do." It is then that the tears slide down her cheeks leaving flesh-tone tracks through her pale makeup.

"Effie… what…" I try to ask her, but before I can get my entire question out, she gathers herself with a loud, deep sniff, and tear-tracks or not, her Capitol face is back.

"Oh how silly I'm being; do you realize that I just referred to 'our victor'?" she chuckles waving one of her gloved hands in front of her face, as if to erase her memories from the blackboard of her mind. "I do so hope that isn't the last time I say that. What time is your meeting in the Plaza?"

I look at her for a moment, taking in the absolutely real woman sitting across the table from me. I had always sort of thought of Effie as a cartoon version of a woman before, but she seems so, so real to me now. I don't know exactly what Highgrove did to her in the past, but his indiscretion goes onto my mental revenge list for the Capitol. However, if he's willing to donate sponsorship money, I'll take that, too. "My meeting there is at 3:00; I should be done around 3:30 or 4:00."

"I'll meet you in the plaza then. I just may see some people I know there who may also be potential sponsors…" she says as she tilts her head toward her right shoulder and gives me a genuine smile.

I nod my head, and I'm about to head out to my first meeting when her voice stops me just as I'm about to push the button for the elevator. "Haymitch, do be careful with what is said to Strato Highgrove. Really, really careful… OK?" I nod my head again, and push the button. I can't help but wonder even more strongly exactly what transpired between him and Effie in the past.

I arrive at the Plaza at around 2:45. My meetings so far today have been only moderately successful. The first potential sponsor stated that he would donate only if both of my tributes made it past the bloodbath of the cornucopia, and the second promised a modest sum up front. Not as much as I had been hoping for, but it's a start. Now for the truly difficult meeting with Strato Highgrove. I take a few deep breaths as I walk toward the over-sized "odds" board near the center of the Plaza. I notice the betting windows below it are already open and taking bets. I remove my jacket and sit on a bench near a family with two children. The little boy opens a cellophane wrapped plastic sword and starts chasing his sister with it. Oh good, they're playing Hunger Games, and their parents are laughing at their antics. After all, it's just good, clean Capitol fun! Right under the picture of the District 11 twelve-year-old with 45-1 odds. Capitol cretins.

I'm musing on all the things I would love to happen to those two spoiled Capitol kids and their parents, when an overly affected, oily voice greets me from behind. "Haymitch… I'm so very glad you could meet me here," declares Strato Highgrove. I look up over my right shoulder, and he's standing there on the other side of the bench. He's about forty years old, wearing a textured yellow jacket over a baby blue vest and pants, with a pale pink shirt. He's a vision in minty pastels. His shoulder-length brown hair is parted in the middle, with intermittent streaks of matching baby blue. In short, he is one of the most ridiculous looking men I've ever seen. And I've been coming to the Capitol for almost a quarter of a century, so I've seen quite a few ridiculous looking people. To add to the already strange picture he presents, his eyebrows both come to a point, crest, I don't know what to call it, in the middle of each one, and he has a diamond at both peaks. How is anyone supposed to take this asshole seriously? However silly he looks, he has the reputation of being one of the most dangerous men alive. So you better dismiss him at your own peril.

He gives me a bright smile, and I notice his front four teeth on the top and bottom are all baby blue. Not overly whitened by mistake, but honest to God baby blue. I'll have to work hard not to be just staring at them when he speaks. His fingernails are also painted a baby blue color. There is just so much color to look at! Come on, Haymitch, keep it together. Highgrove slides his ass onto the bench next to me, facing the opposite direction with his right shoulder next to mine. He's casting glances around the immediate area to see who is taking in his splendor. Any paparazzi? I may not be the most popular Victor, but with the upcoming Quarter Quell next year, there have been a few TV specials on the last Quarter Quell, which is the Hunger Games that I won, so my face has been out there more than usual. I notice him smiling, and I turn my head to follow his gaze where I catch a handful of photographers snapping our picture. Oh good, I think, I would hate for this numbnut to think his fashion efforts were wasted. And it must take a hell of a lot of effort to look this bad.

I finally respond with, "No, thanks for meeting me here. On the phone you expressed an interest in sponsoring my kids…" I figure I should just dive right to the point.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there Haymitch. Let's order a drink first," he states while holding up his index finger to summon someone on the local wait staff. A pretty redhead approaches, and he orders us each a drink. I have no idea what he just ordered for me, but I am getting really, really thirsty. As the waitress scurries away to get our beverages, he comments, "Quite the performance in the Tribute Parade the other night… Your kids I mean… The whole city is talking…"

"Yeah, they looked very good," I agree.

"They looked more than good, Haymitch. They looked downright… edible," he says turning his head to me with a smug leer. "I especially liked that they looked healthier than most of the tributes from your God-forsaken district. Such nice, firm, developed bodies. On both of them. AND such attractive faces…"

OK, OK, OK, I get it. They're both good looking kids. Everyone doesn't need to keep repeating it to me. But how on earth am I supposed to respond to this perv? "Yeah, I think they both have a good shot at becoming the next Victor. Especially if they get some really good sponsors." There, that was a relatively safe and innocuous response. Our drinks arrive and what do you know, they are pastel layers in clear glasses. They match his outfit perfectly. Who knew?

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Haymitch." Apparently Effie's not the only "tsk-er". "I hear from my sources in your district that the girl is practically the sole provider for her family. There's only so many ways a girl that young and pretty can accomplish that… Hmmm?"

I want to smash in those blue teeth. "She is quite resourceful, but not in the way you are thinking…" Why would he have sources in my district?

He chortles as if I have just said something really amusing. "Of course, she is… The boy, with his pretty blond hair, his square jaw, his pretty mouth. He's quite the looker as well." I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against same-sex relationships, but just the unctuous tone of this guy's voice is enough to set my teeth on edge. "I would be thrilled if either one of them won," he continues.

"So can I count on you to sponsor them?" Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes. I desperately need to get away from this vermin.

"I'll give you a great sum if you can sneak me into the training center before they go into the arena. I think a little three-way late at night might be just the thing to insure my sponsorship. I would absolutely love to be one of their last memories…"

I reach my hand up to his right eyeball and yank it out of its socket while he screams his bloody head off. I throw the eyeball onto the ground and grind it in with the heel of my shoe. …

Oh how I wish I really could do that! But I'll have to settle for fantasizing about it. This fantasy is good for me because it brings a slight smile to my face which totally belies my real feelings about this, this, … God, I can't think of a vile enough word to call him even in my imagination. So I respond to his request, "Sorry, no can do. There's not a more secure building in Panem right now than the training center."

"I suspected as much. Pity. I'll tell you what, if your tributes make it past the first week of the games, I'll make a sizeable contribution. For either or both of them depending."

Fuck my life… I was hoping for more from this asshole. I look at the rainbow drink in my hand. I haven't touched a drop of it. I'm thinking there are some things in life that are just too damn expensive. Not the drink, obviously, but this guy's sponsorship may end up costing too much to be worth it. Plus, if, as I suspect, my kids distinguish themselves in these games, I'll have better – less costly – sponsors lining up to support them. I've NEVER thought like that before. Just more evidence of how different this year is. I notice that he has already finished his pansy drink so I hand him mine. And he takes it! I stand and bow as deferentially as I can, and thank him for his time.

"You're leaving already?" he asks incredulously. Apparently he expected either more begging from me, or, more likely, more concessions to his requests.

This will fuck with his mind. "Oh, sorry, but my kids made such a splash at the Tribute Parade that I am completely booked up with sponsor meetings. Apparently, everyone who is anyone wants to hitch their wagon, as it were, to our rising stars. To be honest, I thought that was why you wanted to meet with me. Again, thanks for your time." I turn to walk away, and I see Effie leaning against a small bar on the other side of the Plaza watching me with a smirk on her face. Before I can get more than ten feet away from the bench, Dipstick Highgrove has swung his legs around to the other side of the bench, chased me down, and is pulling on my shoulder to stop me. Oh, I've got him now…

"Wait, Haymitch…" I can see the flash of paparazzi cameras in my periphery as he's chasing me down. Oooohhh, I can just see the picture in tomorrow's tabloids. Me with my back to him with him tapping me on the shoulder trying to stop me from walking away from him. This could actually work in our favor big time.

"I'm sorry. I thought you said you wanted to wait until a week into the games to make a sponsorship contribution. Did I misunderstand you?" I look at him with the most innocent expression I can muster, which admittedly isn't really all that innocent looking. Who's smug now? Don't over-play your hand, Haymitch…

"OK, listen. If both your tributes survive the opening at the cornucopia, I'll make a contribution. A sizable one. Just make sure I get the proper credit for it, OK?" I feel like pushing it; especially with this fellow.

"Define sizable…"

"50,000 to start with. If they continue to do well, I'll add more." I pull the sponsorship papers from my inside coat pocket.

"Thank you very much! Would you mind filling out this form so I can document your contribution?" I hand him the sponsorship form. He quickly fills it out, and I have just secured fifty grand if both tributes survive the cornucopia! Yay me! And I didn't even barf at his vulgarities. Win, win. I look away from him and return Effie's wink from this morning. Her smirk widens.

He hands me the papers. "I'll make sure you get the proper credit for this generous contribution. Again, thank you so much." He smirks as if he's won something big. I don't fucking care. My kids have some money. And the games haven't even started yet! This is a first for District 12 since I've been a mentor. I turn to shake his hand – as much as I find this guy revolting – and watch him walk away in the opposite direction. When he is well and truly gone, I turn and walk over to Effie. Between the sponsorship, albeit small, that I got this morning, the contribution from fucktwat Highgrove, and the sponsors that Effie has secured, we are off and running! I already have more than I have ever, ever gotten before, and the games haven't even started. Damn, that feeling of hope is now a bonfire in my chest. Keep it together, Haymitch, keep it together. Don't get ahead of yourself. Oh how I wish I could just enjoy this success. But such is not the nature of the Hunger Games.

Effie and I return to the Training Center just in time to greet our tributes as they return from their second day of training. Sweetheart shares a humorous story about the Kid's camouflaging skills. It seems his cake decorating abilities transfer nicely into the arena after all. I like that she's paying him more attention than she previously had. I can tell that something else of significance happened today, but they have closed ranks around it. Regardless, I like that they are acting as a team.

After they have showered – the Kid still smells like roses, could it be he's doing that on purpose? – we all meet for dinner. We laugh again about the camouflaging skills of the Kid, we talk about the shadow nature of the twelve-year-old for District 11 – I warn them against allies that do not further their odds. As much as it bothers me that this little girl is in the games, I'm trying to save MY tributes. Both of them nod, but it's clear that they both have overly big hearts, at least as far as the games are concerned. Ah well….

After a while it is time to talk about the Gamemakers' evaluation. "Tomorrow they'll bring you in one by one and evaluate you. This is important because higher ratings will mean sponsors." It's not the time for them to be involved in the mentoring/sponsorship end of the Games, but surely they understand at this point the importance of sponsors. An Avox tries to pour me a drink, but I hold my hand over my glass. This move does not go unnoticed by Sweetheart, the Kid, or Effie. I can see it on their faces. OK, yeah, I'm really serious here. Maybe now they get it. "This is the time to show them everything. There'll be a bow; make sure you use it. Peeta, you make sure to show your strength. They'll start with District One, so the two of you will go last. Well, I don't know how else to put this… make sure they remember you."

Again, they both nod to me in perfect synchronicity. I think the fact that I'm NOT drinking has now registered with both of them. It has certainly registered with me. I'm starting to feel a level of trust from them. They both walk to their rooms to retire for the night. Then and only then, do I take my first drink of the day.

I didn't even know I had this level of sobriety in me.