Requested by typicalRAinbow: Ah what a good idea! look forward to the next. Please may I request Meeting Chaff for the first time as a tribute and then again as a victor?

Meeting Chaff Johnson

(16 years old)

The holding room was a riot of colour and for a pair of eyes so used to the grey smokes swirling from the mines, the dirty white walls of his house in the Seam and the cloudy brown earth where he spent sixteen years running and pounding his feet on, the colours hurt his vision.

Amara waltz up to them, giving out orders.

"I want a pair - a girl and a boy to a chariot – am I clear?" Amara instructed and when none of them moved, she gesticulated widely, waving her hand fan at them. "What are you waiting for? Standing around looking stupidly at me like that isn't going to make any of you a Victor," she laughed airily as if she had just made the funniest joke in the country before she fixed her gaze on Aster, the youngest tribute from Twelve this year. "Certainly not you, dear, you're too small. Your odds are stacked high up against you."

"Don't say that to her," Maysilee frowned.

"Get in the chariot, girl."

Maysilee recognised the dismissal and huffed angrily at being bossed around. She stepped up on the chariot followed by Allan which left Haymitch with Aster. She glanced up at him and smiled timidly. Haymitch sighed but with a gently hand on her shoulder navigated Aster to an empty chariot.

"Go on then," he nodded, "I'll join you in a second. I wanna look around for a bit."

It was an unconscious act but one that merited Amara's wrath, nonetheless. His eyes were itching so he swept his hand over them, trying to rub the irritant away when he was promptly and roughly hit on the head by Amara's fan which she had folded by now.

"Ow – watch it!" he growled.

"Do not mess your make up," she screeched. "Keep your hand firmly to your sides. Do not touch your face or that costume. Have you any idea how much that cost? Ruffians - all of you. I don't except you to be able to appreciate the finer things in life but the least you could do is not to destroy what we have put on you."

Haymitch bristled. He hated the way Amara made it sound as if he or any of the tributes here owed her and the Capitol any favours. He didn't ask to be draped in cloths that could probably feed half the Seam for weeks. He didn't ask to be scrubbed down and clean when he would rather spent another day with his brother with dirt under his nails.

"Nobody's gonna recognise us with this on our faces," he retorted, gesturing at his face. Haymitch had no idea what the stylist had used but all four of their faces were covered with black powder to signify coal dust. "Isn't it the point of this parade - for people to get to know us? They can't even see us."

"Don't be smart with me. I don't like your tone, not at all. You're miners, aren't you? Act like it," Amara glared at him, pursing her lips in annoyance and turned on her heels.

"Bitch," Haymitch muttered loud for his escort to hear and heard him she did for she threw him a disdainful look.

For a brief moment, he regretted it. He should probably try to be on her good side, he thought, until he remembered that escort could not seal deals with sponsors so he forego the niceties and stomped off in the opposite direction. Haymitch wandered around, moving further and further away from where Aster was still waiting for him at the chariot.

"You kissed your mother with that mouth?" a voice chuckled. The man pushed himself off one of District Eleven's chariot where he had been leaning with his arms crossed. "Been watching you – your fight with your escort is probably one of the entertaining highlight for tonight. I dare say even more entertaining that this tribute parade we're about to have. For me, at least."

Haymitch spun and watched warily as a tall, dark skinned boy who couldn't be more than four to five years older than Haymitch was, walked purposely towards him. There was a mischievous smile on his face but Haymitch stood there, tense.

"Relax," he clapped Haymitch's shoulder once he was near enough. "Amara's a difficult one. I'm not surprised you can't stand her." He leaned in closer and whispered inconspicuously in Haymitch's ear, "Though if you do win this, you're gonna be stuck with her for a while, for a long while."

"Chaff," Haymitch took a step back at the flicker of recognition, eyes trained on the Victor. "I know who you are - won the 45th Games, didn't you?"

"Aha, you ain't that dumb after all – good for you," he laughed loudly and extended his left hand, or what was left of his left hand for a handshake, on purpose. Haymitch visibly staggered back, his eyes flicked to Chaff's right hand – the hand he should have offered in the first place. It only made Chaff laugh harder before he dropped it, raising his right hand instead.

Haymitch shook it.

"Chaff Johnson."

"Haymitch… Haymitch Abernathy."

They seized each other up. At Haymitch's unwavering gaze as he stared down the twenty year old victor, Chaff broke into a guffaw.

"You're really something," Chaff waggled a finger. "I can see it in you. We'll see if that spirit can help you pass the cornucopia."

Haymitch stiffened, suddenly very attentive. "Cornucopia? What about it?"

Chaff winked. "That's always the blood bath, isn't it? You should know what to do or what not to do when you know where the blood bath's going to be. Everyone smart enough should know that. That's what I tell all my tributes."

Avoid it, Haymitch answered quietly. Avoid the bloodbath.

"Well, you better get back to your chariot," Chaff nodded when the District One chariot began moving out. "See you around," he winked.

For the first time since he stepped into the Capitol, Haymitch managed a genuine smile.

XxX

Amara Varvari peered down at him. Haymitch stared back at the blotched of purple clouding his vision.

He wanted to get rid of the colours. He hated the colours. Weakly, he raised his hand and tried to swat it away.

"Oh, how rude," the woman huffed. "He's trying to destroy my hair."

"Did you actually watch his Games? You're lucky he's not trying to kill you with the way you look right now. Colourful things aren't such good reminders for this year's Victor in particular."

That voice sounded familiar. Haymitch tried to place it but with everything else, he was finding it difficult to even discern where he was at the moment. He was groggy and his tongue felt like lead.

"I've no idea what you mean. Well!" she announced loudly, "In any case, Haymitch's awake."

Haymitch thought that this must be the first time that his escort had used his name, Reaping not included. Otherwise, it was always 'he' or 'the boy' or 'the tribute'.

"I shall arrange for an interview. A victor," she gushed, "a victor from this underdog district! My time has arrived."

"Oh, go away, Amara," a gruff voice interrupted. "He's barely conscious. Go make yourself useful someplace else. This is a hospital and your voice alone should have gotten you kicked out a long time ago."

The two raised voices arguing amongst themselves persisted for a little while longer before the room was suddenly quiet. Deeming it safe, Haymitch turned his head slightly to get a better idea of where he was but the movement only caused him to groan audibly in pain.

A hand pushed his shoulder down.

"Easy," Chaff said, "easy there. Hey, Mags, I think he's alright this one. He's fighting to sit up. Look at him, look at him."

Chaff sounded amused, maybe even proud. A second face swam onto his vision. It was a kind face with warm eyes and a friendly smile peering down at him.

"Oh, you poor boy," the woman, Mags, brushed his hair back. "Don't fight it. Don't fight it too soon. You wake up now and the vultures outside will get to you. Rest now, Haymitch, you don't want to meet them, not yet."

"Mama," he croaked. "Can I speak to ma – "

"When you're better," Chaff told him, pulling a chair next the bed and dropped on it. "We'll see about calling home for you. You got a family?"

Despite the haze of medicine, there was something in Chaff's tone that made Haymitch focused all of his attention on him.

Haymitch nodded. "Mum and a little brother."

Chaff exchanged a look with Mags which went unnoticed by Haymitch.

"Alright," Chaff patted his arm. "I'm sure they're excited to welcome you home so why don't you go to sleep, rest up so you'll heal faster. Bet you can't wait to go home now that you're a victor, eh?"

"I don't feel like a Victor," Haymitch mumbled, the sharp ache in his stomach was becoming unbearable by the minute.

How was he even alive? It was starting to come back and the first thing he remembered so vividly was the swing of the axe on to his stomach followed by the explosion of pain. He remembered clutching his innards and running, running as far away from possible.

"You and me both, kid, you and me both. In fact," Chaff leaned down to whisper in his ear like he had the first time they met, "nobody ever felt like a Victor but you keep that to yourself, eh?"

"It hurts a lot," he mumbled incoherently.

"I'd offer you a drink but you've got something better – you've got morphling hooked on you," Chaff chuckled. "I think I'll stay with him for a little while, Mags."

Amara is a pain but at least Haymitch got himself a friend. What do you think?