Haymitch Week Day 1 : Youth
His Father's Son
(10 years old, 16 years old)
Lachlan Abernathy was a tough man, hardened by his circumstances. It closed him off and as a result, he wasn't a particularly expressive man. At times, Haymitch found himself discouraged and disheartened when all he received for his enthusiastic stories and good marks was a series of grunts and nods, sometimes a pat on his shoulder.
Lachlan imparted the same indifference attitude towards the world on to his son. He thought Haymitch to be tough, to get back up each time he fell but because Haymitch was small for his age, Lachlan taught him to use his mind and not his fist.
"They broke your nose already. They ain't breaking nothin' no more. There are other ways to win, son."
So he sat a ten year old Haymitch down in front of a chessboard and taught him to figure his way out, to win without bruising his knuckles. He taught Haymitch to solve puzzles and showed his son the scars from his youth to discourage the boy from fighting.
"If you can outsmart 'em, you've got the upper hand," Lachlan muttered under his breath one day.
"Wouldn't it be a whole lot easier to just throw a punch or tackle 'em to the ground, and run off before they know what's hit 'em?" Haymitch asked with a frown.
"I didn't raise no coward. Only cowards take the easy way out. You a coward, boy?"
"No, sir," Haymitch mumbled and looked away, embarrassed by that.
Haymitch missed his father, now more than anything. The old man wouldn't have much to say. He wouldn't even offer words of comfort like his mother would. Lachlan would keep vigil by his bed with a bottle in hand, quiet and watchful. It was all Haymitch wanted.
But his father wasn't here. His mother wasn't here either. The victor from Eleven, Chaff Johnson, had been keeping him company together with Mags but they weren't his parents. They were still strangers to him and he was alone in the Capitol. His stomach had been stitched up and he was drowsy on morphling.
"Are you awake, Abernathy?"
Haymitch blinked. It wasn't his father. That voice was off. His father's voice was deeper and gravel. Still, Haymitch pretended.
"I did it, dad, I outsmarted the Capitol," he whispered, his mind a cloudy haze from the medication. "I won the way you taught me."
It was only two weeks later that he wished his father had never given him that advice because it cost him everything. Haymitch lost the only people who meant the world to him and he was alone, just as he had been in the hospital.
It's Haymitch's week and I'm very excited for this. Time to fuel my haymitch feels :))