Effie wakes me with her usual mantra. "Up, up, up, Haymitch! It's going to be a big, big, big day!"
She's right. It is going to be a big day. Not for me though, but for my tributes. The Capitol's first look at them in person.
After yesterday, I need food in my stomach. I enter the dining compartment to find Peeta and Effie at the table already, waiting on me and Katniss.
I take a seat at the table as Effie hands me a plate of rolls. I start cutting one as she hands Peeta his. "Thank you," he says. She smiles and shoots me a look.
"At least someone here has manners," she says.
"I'm sure he didn't want wig hairs on his plate, it'd be good manners to apologize for that," I say sarcastically. She started it.
She stands up with her black coffee and walks away, just as Katniss enters the compartment. "Sit down! Sit down!" I wave her over. The second she sits, our breakfast is served. Eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes. A tureen of fruit sits in ice to keep it chilled.
Katniss stares at a cup of hot chocolate, clearly confused as to what the rich, brown liquid is.
"They call it hot chocolate," Peeta says. "It's good."
While they work on their meals, I pick at a few rolls while I drink a cup of cranberry juice, spiking it with vodka from my flask.
"So, you're supposed to give us advice," Katniss says to me.
"Here's some advice. Stay alive," I say before I burst out laughing.
"That's very funny," Peeta says. Before I can even process what is going on, he slaps the glass out of my hand. It shatters on the floor, sending the blood red liquid running toward the back of the train. "Only not to us."
Huh. I wasn't expecting that.
I punch Peeta in the jaw, knocking him from his chair. When I turn back to reach for another drink, Katniss drives her knife into the table between my hand and the bottle, barely missing my fingers. I sit back and squint at them.
"Well, what's this?" I say. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"
Peeta rises from the floor and scoops up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. He starts to raise it to the red mark on his jaw.
"No," I say, stopping him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."
"That's against the rules," says Peeta.
"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," I reply. I turn to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"
She yanks the knife out of the table, gets a grip on the blade, and then throws it into the wall across the room. It lodges in the seam between two panels.
Impressive.
"Stand over here. Both of you," I say, nodding to the middle of the room. I circle them, prodding them, checking their muscles, examining their faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough. All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," says Haymitch. "But you have to do exactly what I say."
"Fine," says Peeta.
"So help us," Katniss says. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone —"
"One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," I say.
"But —" Katniss starts.
"No buts. Don't resist," I say, cutting her off. And with that, I take my bottle from the table and leave the car.
My day just got a lot more interesting.
While my tributes are getting prepped by their prep teams, I'm forced to do the same. Thankfully, since I'm not a tribute and won't be on screen, they keep it to cleaning and grooming me, instead of the excessive plucking, burning lotions, and whatever new methods they use on these poor tributes nowadays. It sucked when I was a tribute, and I'm sure it's only gotten worse. Although, at least they get cleaned in their own separate rooms now.
When I'm done being prepped, I meet up with both of their stylists. Both are brand new, in their first years as stylists, thanks to Plutarch. He's planning for something big next year, now that he's worked his way up the ranks, all the way to game organizer.
Cinna and Portia, both rebels looking to contribute to the cause. Both volunteered for District 12, since Plutarch's plan revolves around our district once more. Just like the 50th.
"Haymitch, it's a pleasure to meet you officially," Cinna says. "And thank you for meeting with us."
"Of course," I reply.
"What do you make of our tributes?" Portia asks. "We've been working on something, but we need it to be for the right pair. If not, it'll be a waste."
"I think District 12 might actually stand a chance this year," I say honestly. "But you'll meet them for yourselves. I think you'll both like them."
"That's what we wanted to hear," Cinna says. "I think it's time for District 12 to light up the opening ceremonies. What we have planned this year will make them unforgettable."
Not too much can be said in the open since President Snow has bugged every room in this building, so we make small talk for a little bit until it's time for them to meet our tributes.
I'm excited to see what they have planned for them. I remember my stylist, Magno Stift. How unprepared, and unconcerned he was for me and my district partners. At least Katniss and Peeta will have competent stylists. Hopefully, their big plans don't mirror some of the previous stylists my former tributes have had, with coal dust in areas it doesn't belong as a fashion piece. Those tributes stood no chance from the start.
I have a couple hours before the opening ceremonies. With no obligations until then, normally a couple of the victors meet for lunch to catch up. Not that much changes anyway. But still, it is nice to see familiar faces in a city none of us want to be in.
With us being celebrities in the Capitol, we can't really be seen in public, so normally, we meet in the Remake Center. This way, we aren't too far from our tributes, but still can enjoy ourselves.
Beetee, Wiress, Mags, Finnick, and Johanna all sit around a table. A group of rebels. Of course, topics of rebellion are still off limits, so this is just a friendly get together.
"How are you all feeling about your tributes?" Johanna asks after we all catch up, broaching the subject. Beetee and Wiress both shrug, apparently not too confident. Finnick smiles slightly.
"I don't think my tributes are winning this year," he says. Mags doesn't argue this. We all saw District 1 and 2's tributes. They look strong compared to any of ours.
"My tributes are close to incompetent," Johanna says. "The girl won't stop crying either."
"Sounds like someone we know," Finnick teasingly points out. Johanna rolls her eyes.
"She isn't faking it like I was. She genuinely will not stop crying," Johanna says. "How about you Haymitch? Is this District 12's year?" she asks sarcastically.
"It might be," I say. They all look slightly shocked. "We'll see how the ceremonies go. But this might be our year."
"That wasn't the answer I was expecting," Finnick says with a smirk.
"Well, these weren't the tributes I was expecting either," I say as I stand up. "I think it's time to go watch the show."
Cinna and Portia better hold true to what they've said. These costumes better make our tributes unforgettable.
We all make our way to the bottom level of the Remake Center, where our tributes have started being pulled in their chariots. By the time we make it, District 12 has already began rolling into the city.
I find Cinna and Portia pretty quickly and watch with them on the big screen as our tributes ride down the crowd-lined streets. The crowd seems to love their costumes. I don't think I've ever heard them this loud for District 12 before.
Cinna and Portia did an amazing job. He was not lying. Our tributes will be unforgettable. They seem to be leaving a trail of fire off their flowing capes. The crowd only seems to focus on them. I even hear them yelling their names, and not just "District 12!"
"Wow," I say. "I have to admit, these costumes lived up to my expectations after our talk."
"The second we met them, we knew they were the ones," Cinna says.
I see Katniss catch a red rose on the screen and blow a kiss back to whoever in the crowd threw it. They're doing well out there.
The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the City Circle. The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle. On the buildings that surround the Circle, every window is packed with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. The music ends with a flourish.
The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair, gives the official welcome from a balcony above them. It is traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the speech. But I can see on the screen that District 12 is getting way more than their share of airtime. The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off their flickering costumes. When the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a quick cut around to each pair of tributes, but the camera holds on the District 12 chariot as it parades around the circle one final time and disappears into the Training Center.
I make my way up to our District's floor before they can see me. While I am their mentor, I am not their babysitter, and I don't want the other district's to think that either. In the confinement of our floor is where I will coach them, and prepare them for what is to come.
Effie calls me out for dinner. I arrive just as it's being served, and since I haven't had a drink all day, I accept the wine when it is offered to me, deciding against any harder liquor. I made a promise to the kids that I'd stay sober enough to help them, and I meant it.
I eat my meal as the rest of our group eats theirs. Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef sliced as thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes. If there is one good thing about the Capitol, it is their food.
Dinner goes well. I even have a conversation with Effie without making any comments. It's easier when we have something that we can both agree on, and that happens to be the stylists' opening act.
The conversation turns to the kids' interview costumes. Cinna and Portia plan to play off of the costumes from today. They don't want to spoil anything, but they promise us all that it'll take our breaths away. I have no reason to doubt them after today.
A girl sets a gorgeous-looking cake on the table and deftly lights it. It blazes up and then the flames flicker around the edges awhile until it finally goes out.
"What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" Katniss asks, looking up at the girl. "That's the last thing I wa — oh! I know you!"
How would Katniss know an avox? And why would she say that out loud regardless?
An expression of terror crosses her face as she shakes her head in denial quickly and hurries away from the table. I stare at Katniss, hoping to portray on my face that she needs to tread lightly right now. Someone is most likely listening at this very moment.
"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox?" snaps Effie. "The very thought."
"What's an Avox?" she asks.
"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," I say. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."
"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order," says Effie. "Of course, you don't really know her."
"No, I guess not, I just —" she stammers.
Peeta snaps his fingers. "Delly Cartwright. That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly."
You're lucky Katniss. Peeta just saved your ass.
"Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair," she says.
"Something about the eyes, too," says Peeta.
The energy at the table relaxes. "Oh, well. If that's all it is," says Cinna. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut."
We eat the cake and move into a sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies that's being broadcast. A few of the other couples make a nice impression, but none of them can hold a candle to our tributes. Even we let out an "Ahh!" as they show us coming out of the Remake Center.
Watching again, I notice that they're holding hands. "Whose idea was the hand holding?" I ask.
"Cinna's," says Portia.
"Just the perfect touch of rebellion," I reply. "Very
nice."
Presenting them not as adversaries but as friends has distinguished them as much as the fiery costumes.
"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it," I say to the both of them. "Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."
They walk down the corridor to their rooms, leaving the four of us alone.
"I think we should emphasize their friendship," I say. "It not only sets them apart from the other tributes, but it sends a message."
"I can agree with that," Cinna says. "Their costumes matched during the parade, I don't see how we couldn't match them again for the interviews."
"Perfect," I say. We chit chat for a little bit before we each head to our own rooms.
This is the first time in twenty-four years that I'm hopeful my tributes can win. It's my job to make sure that happens.
As long as Snow doesn't pull any strings to change that.