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Chapter Text

My heart hammers as the train pulls into the station. I would much rather spend the next month watching the atrocities of the games from my home, but when the capital calls, you answer—literally.

The call directly from President Snow was unexpected, to say the least. "I would hope our shining star would return this year as a mentor." He spoke determinedly, asking my opinion because I didn't have one.
"Really? I thought I would continue commentary and publicity work," I smile through the phone, sounding as sickly sweet as I can. Not directly putting kids to death was certainly a perk of my current situation. I bat my eyelashes, waiting for his response. If he could see me, he'd laugh or maybe think I was as stupid and sweet as I've played.
"Not this year, my dear. You will be a valuable mentor. The tributes from District 12 will be most lucky," he said. I remember glancing out the window to make sure I was still in my home in District 8.
"District 12?" I questioned.
"It's been brought to my attention that those children should have more than an abysmal drunk. I figured, why not send our bright ray of hope their way?" he lets me in on his plans. Ah, of course. Smiling joy and hope my only defense mechanisms against the capital. I became so disillusioned and so joyful to be in that hell that I captivated everyone. People from the capital believe I am truly so thankful for all they are. In the arena, I misguided my opponents and led them to believe I was weak and stupid. When the games began, I did what I had to with a smile. After proving I wasn't actually insane, I became the capital's sweetheart, and two years later, I am still smiling at their beck and call.
"If that's what you'd like me to do," I said, my voice never wavering despite the sweat forming on the back of my neck.
"Well, I know a bright star like you would love to mentor for district 8, but you're still too young to handle it alone, sweet girl," my skin crawled in a way that only the president can. "And District 12 could use the extra hand. I'll see you on reaping day." He hung up the phone before I could respond.

That's how I ended up on a train with Effie Trinket, her wig obscuring most of the window as she told me about the latest capital scandal. At least I think it's a wig—a very good one. Not like the ones the escort for district 8, Pista Druiscape, usually wears. It's silver; some pieces are holographic. It's pulled into two buns at the top of her head, except for long pieces that curl behind her ears. Sticking out of the buns are clear crystal rods that catch the light, creating a shimmering dusting of rainbows. Her whole outfit covers the train car in reflections and rainbows. A silver blue blinding skirt and a see-through top made of shiny fragmented glass covered her chest, her arms covered in reflective scales despite it being the middle of summer. I smile and listen intently as she tells me about the boy Caesar Flickerman was caught with last week.  "District 12 is dreadful," she quickly changes topics. It snaps me from my trance. "It's so dirty and bleak, and those people are so sullen. They never try for the reaping, it's up to me for theatrics," she huffs. I offer my sympathy. I know District 12 is poor. Well, poorer than District 8. Their tributes are always malnourished and die quickly. In a matter of days, I have gone from willing viewer to forced participant in the slaughter. With kids who have no chance at winning.
"And Haymitch?" I ask of my now partner.
"He is... troubled," Effie says carefully. "Drunk most of the time." I nod. I remember him at my own games, making a miserable fool of himself. "We've lost a lot of tributes," she sighs, for a moment, she is a human in garish costume.
"Hopefully not this year," I smile for real, for reassurance.
"Yes. Hopefully you bring us good luck!"  She claps. "I brought you a change of clothes!" She chirps. "Not that I don't love your choice of fabric." It doesn't feel like a compliment. I look down at my dress, running the cotton hem through my fingers. Small, delicate flowers are printed black across the light pink fabric. "I left it in your room," she gestures at the door. I smile a polite thank you and head to the next train car.

My room is small but opulent. A royal blue dress hangs on the compartment door that leads to the bathroom. It's subtle compared to the frills and ruffles and glitter and bows I'm typically forced into while in the capital. The satin fabric is soft and has a sheen as it catches the light- and I've spoken too soon. The underside of the high-low skirt is nothing but dazzling fine silver glitter. On the back of the dress sits a large bow also covered in glitter. I find silver heels and a matching hair bow on the dresser, both also covered in a fine layer of glitter, but it could always be worse. Last year, I went to a party dressed almost identical to the birthday cake. The gray concrete of District 8 begins to fade and morph into the desolate green of District 12. The spotting of green trees makes my heart jump. I crave nature while I'm trapped in my concrete jungle. District 12 is lush and green, albeit covered in coal dust from the mines. It is sad, or it looks poor. As buildings come into focus, they all look run down, being held up by well-worn supports. And I lived in an old gray box of rooms (apartments if you're being generous) for half of my life.
"Can you believe I'm doing this?" I speak to a ghost or a memory or a delusion, depending on who you ask. He never answers, which is rude, but the pangs of my heart reverberate his voice. "Maybe I'll buy another mug for the kitchen while I'm in the capital." How many mugs can one person have? One for me, one for memories, and one for Woof if he visits. I unlace my dress, letting it fall to the floor. The glittery fabric is surprisingly soft; something so beautiful had to be made in District 8. Carefully crafted by hands who've worked in factories as long as they could hold themselves up on two feet. The capital doesn't deserve things like this. Those raging blood-thirsty freaks deserve to be as filthy and naked as they came into this world. "But look who's talking," sarcasm drips from my voice.  I've done worse things than the average capital citizen, not that I'm proud of it. The reflection in the mirror doesn't surprise me. I'm used to not recognizing my own face staring back at me with big hollow eyes. Big, stupid, doll-like eyes that made the capital fall in love. I haven't recognized my reflection since I was dragged onto the train, perhaps even before that. Pulling up my curls, I secure half of my hair with the shimmering bow on top of my head. I didn't bring makeup- didn't think of much of anything after the call. So I will have to do without. Grabbing my heels, I return to the sitting room with Effie. The red carpet is plush beneath my feet. Everything is shiny and new, despite the car looking the same as the one I had a few years ago.
"Ah, gorgeous! I knew it would look stunning on you!" Effie cheers, insisting I twirl for her. "Did you try the shoes? Did they fit? I brought extra just in case." She looks at my bare feet.
"These will fit fine," I smile, slipping on the heels. They pinch my toes together, but the pain of my shoes is insignificant. "Thank you, Effie." I am thankful, I know I have to look a certain way for the peering eyes of the capital.  Frumpy cotton dresses won't cut it. "Do you know the theme of this year's games? Are we on theme or capital trends?" I ask. It's an honest question. You never know with them.
"On the theme, of course!" Effie is offended I've even had to ask. "And on trend, I pride myself on both." I laugh, genuinely. "There have been whispers that the theme this year is Ice Dreams, and if those rumors are incorrect, I know a dead man," she huffs. That's one thing about Ms.Trinket: she means business. Pista Druiscape only ever cares about her moment in the limelight. The year I was reaped, she had no issue using my arm as an ashtray the second the cameras cut.
"Ice Dreams?" I repeat. A play on words? A morbid foretelling? Who knows? Most people in the districts don't get to experience ice cream, let alone know what it is, or at least not how they know it in the capital.
"Opiter Varius is the head game maker this year; he's apparently been scheming this for years," Effie says, accepting a drink from an avox. "At least that's what Helvia Pulcher, the escort for District 4, told me. And she knows because her husband is a big to-do with all those gamemakers, he wanted to be one when he was young, he'll tell anyone who will listen." I nod along. She continues on about capital life, telling me about the inner circle of people surrounding the games.

The train pulls into the station. The coal-filled air of District 12 stings my eyes. We walk into the justice building, and I try to hold my head high, but everything is a horrid reminder of what I've done and the things to come.  The workers of the justice building keep their distance from us. Effie doesn't help, making a spectacle in her reflective clothes. She spots the sole District 12 victor standing with Plutarch Heavensbee, he's taking orders on how to react for the camera as names are called, but by the way he's sipping his drink, I doubt he's listening. Effie guides me over to him, and he takes the opportunity to get out of conversation with Plutarch. I don't blame him. The man gives me the creeps down to my bones.
"Good morning, Haymitch," Effie smiles politely. She drags the old drunk in for a hug, whispering in his ear. She pulls him by the buttons of his shirt towards me, introducing us with precision.
"Hey kid, Wel...come to District 12," he slurs.
"Hello," I smile politely, offering my hand to him.
"I remember your games... messy." He sips at a cup of amber liquor with a grimace. I pull my hand back. He's gone.
"Haymitch, I brought you a change of clothes. I want our new team to match." Effie breaks the tension. Team? Yikes, I doubt we're a great team. She shoves a bag into his hands. "Go change, and don't spill your drink on it!" She commands. He does as he's told, staggering away to the nearest bathroom. Haymitch returns in a dark blue button-up that shimmers in the light. His pants are deep navy. "You look handsome," Effie tells him, straightening the top of his collar. He brushes away her worried hands.

~*~
The anthem of Panem blasts through old speakers. They crackle and gurgle under the barrage of noise. Everyone stares ahead sullenly. I do my part, squinting in the sun and staring ahead at the crowd. It seems wrong to smile here, so I let the sun blind me, my lips pressed into something resembling a smile. "Ladies first," Effie chrips. Her hand swirls the bowl. She plucks a piece of paper and reads a poor child's death sentence. "Alyss Cleargrove."
The crowd parts. The girls turn in the 14-16 section. A girl steps forward. A deep purple dress, ruffles make up her skirt. It complements her tan skin and dark curls. Her hair is clipped up from her face with bronze pins. She meets my eyes as she climbs the stairs. Deep brown eyes, wide with terror. She swallows hard and turns to face her district, her head held toward the sky.
"And the male tribute joining her this year will be." Effie's manicured hand plunges into the bowl, grabbing a name. "Griffin Byrne." He's tall with broad shoulders, hopefully, he can fight. He stumbles forward. His clothes all too big, hanging off his frame. Dark brown curls brush at his shoulders. He wipes at his eyes. Deep in the crowd, a woman cries. A hard, resounding cry that comes from the chest.
"May the odds be ever in your favor!" Effie smiles. The crowd doesn't react. Not a cheer, not a cry, just blank stares for the children they will lose. I have to hand it to District 12, they don't let the capital manipulate them.
We head inside the justice building. The kids are led to their separate rooms for goodbyes. A woman comes up to me; her body is shaking. A small child clings to her clothes.
"Please bring my son home," she cries, gripping my wrist tightly. I sigh, meeting her weary eyes.
"I'll try," I press my lips together. I catch a glimpse of Plutarch and his crew walking towards us. "You should go," I lower my voice, "before they tape your tears." She nods, pulling her hand back. She and her family scurry out of the justice building.
"Best not to talk to 'em," Haymitch appears beside me. He's surprisingly silent for someone swaying on their feet. He grips an open bottle in his hand. "Wanna drink?" He extends the bottle to me.
"I don't drink," I say harshly.
"Oooo, she has morals," he mocks. "Kid, we all have our vices, whether you admit it or not." His breath is warm on my face and reeks of alcohol.
"We should head to the train," Effie calls. "What's going on?" She catches our tense expressions.
"Nothing we're coming," I respond. "Haymitch, I just want to give these kids a chance," I whisper. He looks at me for a long moment. His gray eyes dance across my face.
"They don't have one," he says, seriously. Haymitch grabs my wrist and pulls me towards the train.
"Get off me." I yank my arm free and walk onto the train. We wait for our tributes while Haymitch downs another drink. I bite my tongue to avoid saying something rash. The kids make their way onto the train. They sit across from us at the table as food is served. Their eyes are wide as they take in the amount of luxury the capital provides its pets. We eat in silence. Well, mostly silence. Effie is still talking at us about the reaping and the capital. Plutarch and his team have disappeared deep into the train to edit the footage of the reapings and spin his story together.
"What do we do?" Alyss asks nervously, her eyes darting between Haymitch and me. I glance over at Haymitch. He tips his glass to me before sipping the amber liquid.
"Well, right now you enjoy all the capital food you can," I smile, pushing a tray of sweets towards her. She takes a pastry hesitantly.
"She means, how do we win?" Griffin asks. Haymitch scoffs, and I slam the heel of my shoes into his foot.
"You fight and survive," I say slowly. "We can help you strategize and gain donors," I nod enthusiastically.
"But once you're in the arena, you're on your own," Haymitch interjects. Their faces fall.  Griffin stirs his stew slowly. Okay? How do I recover from that?
"My best advice is that anything can become a weapon," I tell them.
"Anything?" Alyss raises an eyebrow.
"Of course," I bite off my fork, scraping my teeth against the metal before slamming it into the table beside Haymitch's hand so it sticks up straight. Haymitch jerks his hand back. He glares at me.  The kids laugh softly. "Twigs, sticks, rocks, anything can be used to your advantage," I tell them. "Even the muts as awful as they might be."  I grimace thinking of the birds that wished to peck my eyes out. "But you can never stop fighting." Haymitch groans, clearly not agreeing with me.
"Choose how you want to die," Haymitch mumbles.
"Haymitch!" Effie exclaims. "That's not polite dinner conversation." My mouth hangs open. How could he look those kids in the eye and say that?
"With dignity? Quickly? With your middle finger raised to the capital? Decide before you set foot in that arena. The rest will make sense," he jumps up and stocks off deeper into the train. I expect them to cry, but both kids nod—deep concentration on their faces. Griffin has tears in his deep brown eyes, but doesn't let them fall.
"Kids, be sure to eat your fill and get plenty of sleep. I'm going to turn in early. I can't wait to change," I smile, standing from the table.
"What about watching the reapings?" Effie asks, gesturing towards the TV and sitting area.
"Go ahead without me, tell me the worst dressed in the morning," I smile. She laughs softly.
I return to my room and begin ripping off the dress and glitter. This is fucked, I can't lead those poor babies to slaughter. Tear roll out of my eyes. Last year, those kids basically went mad in an endless maze of overgrown greenery and traps.  I'm not sure what happened to the boy from 2 who was crowned Victor last year, I'm sure it's not good.  Haymitch is bitter and unhelpful. I can't learn to be a mentor with a pessimistic drunkard. I pull on my pajamas. I can't believe he told them to pick how they want to die. On night one! At least let them eat until they're stuffed before you turn and tell them to choose a swift death. Fucking asshole!

I march to his door, beating my palm against it. "What?" He roars, letting the door open. "What do you want?" "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I push him into his compartment. There are already several bottles littered around the room. How can a person drink that much without dying? His eyes widen, and his eyebrows raise. "You couldn't wait till we were in the capital? You had to tell them to pick how they want to die?" "Are you really that short?" He looks down at my bare feet. My blood boils. My heart hammers in my ears. I'm going to kill him. "Are you listening to me? We're supposed to prepare them for the games, not scare them out of their minds!" I shout. "What kind of monster are you?" He grabs me, tossing me into the wall and pinning me there. "I am not the monster," he growls. How the fuck is he so strong when plastered? "You should know who the monster is or are you actually that fucking stupid?" he spits in my face, literally. "I don't understand how you can look them in the eyes and tell them they are going to die," I snap. "Because it's the truth," he says. "Every year it's the truth." He releases me. "District 12 will never have another victor. Get it through your head now," he spits."I'm not going to give up on them," I shake my head. "It's not giving up, it's being merciful." Haymitch stares me down. "Learn to deal with it, it's better than false hope." He drinks. Of course, he drinks. I wish I was drunk off my ass to continue this abysmal conversation. "Go to bed, kid. I'll handle things in the morning." He opens the door. Part of me wants to claw his eyes out, start an all-out war here in the train compartment. But my problem isn't really with him. No, Haymitch is just a drunk made by the capital. And I am just a girl turned crazy by The Hunger Games.

Chapter Text

~*~

The Capital is just as sparkling and annoying as I remember from last summer. Pulling into the station fills me with a sense of dread, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. This is certainly different from coming on my own, well, not as a mentor, I mean. Looking out the window as the train comes to a stop, I can see other districts and their tributes lined up on the platforms. "Alright kids, Smile and keep your chins up," I tell them. "the people of the capital can be a bit overwhelming, but they mean well." haymitch scoffs somewhere behind me. "just focus on getting into the makeover center." we step out onto the platform, Haymitch and I once again in matching blues. Effie is in another sparkling ensemble that honestly could be worse. The kids step out in their new clothes and look around wide-eyed. "Remember to smile," I point to my own fake as hell smile.
"Hey Looney!" I'd know the voice of my own mentor anywhere. "You didn't say anything when you left," Woof yells despite me walking towards him. "I sent Jack over to check on you before the reaping, and he said you were gone. Don't do that to me, Looney." he grabs at his chest. His stupid nickname pulling a real smile to my eyes. While most of my other fellow victors have called me their fair share of rude names for seemingly going crazy after my games, Woof's has always been said with love.
"Sorry, President Snow called and I had to leave for District 12, I didn't have time," I explain.
"It's alright, I heard." Woof smiles. I have no hard feelings." He shakes his head. "Even Cecila and Jack were worried."
"I'll apologize when I see them," I say. Our fellow victors from District 8. We aren't close, but we are family. Jack and Cecelia are both older than I am. Cecelia has a family and life aside from the games, but she still mentors every summer. Jack is about her age and mentored for a few years after he won, but he had to send his own daughter to the games, and well. You can't recover from that. She was illegitimate or a bastard or an accident or what have you, but she was young, senseless blood. "I'll talk to you later, woof." I hug him tightly.
"You better," he gives me a toothy grin.
"Sorry," I return to my tributes and Haymitch, who stares at me wildly
"Come on, plenty of time to catch up later," Effie ushers us off the platform.
"Looney?" Haymitch asks as we walk behind the kids, Effie leading our pack.
"Yeah, it's a nickname," I tell him, "Because after my games I-"
"I remember," He nods.
"he means it in a good way, not like some of the others," I tell him. "Like it's a joke or something," I shrug.
"If you say so." Haymitch looks away, becoming more interested in the herds of capital citizens trying to jump the small barrier between us and them. We approach the remake center.
"Okay, kids, be good and listen to your stylists. They are here to help you," I tell them. "We'll see you during the parade. Remember to smile and wave. You'll do great." They both nod.
"You're not staying with us?" Alyss asks.
"No, we can't, I'm sorry." I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. "But they'll look out for you." They both cautiously enter the remake center, escorted by peacekeepers.
"Let's go to the parade, I want to get good seats," Effie smiles. She looks between us enthusiastically.
"Alright," I smile. Haymitch huffs beside me.
"You two must get along. We have to show unity as a team," Effie fusses with his collar. "People are watching," she sings. She's right. Eyes are on us and other mentors as we wish our kids well.
"Lead the way to the parade," Haymitch forces a smile, linking his arm with hers. The sight brings a genuine smile to my face, mostly because it's absurd after spending the past two days with him.
Effie brings us straight to the main hub of people. It's overwhelming to say the lease. People are shouting at us from every direction. Asking about us, our tributes, the gossip, everything. Effie is quickly pulled away, leaving haymitch and I to ourselves. I follow closely behind him, like his shadow as he escapes to the bar.
"Do ya want something?" he asks over his shoulder as he takes his own glass. I shake my head firmly.
"I don't drink," I tell him.
"Suit yourself," he sips from his glass.
"Hey, Sweets, how are you doing?" Finnick Odair throws his arm over my shoulders. Haymitch turns with a scowl on his face. "Hi, Haymitch, how are you?" his body tenses, but his charming smile prevails.
"Hi, Finnick," Haymitch deadpans, sipping his drink.
"Glad to see you're a mentor this year, I miss hanging with you," Finnick says, squeezing me against him. "This girl is so sweet," he looks to Haymitch, who couldn't care less. "I think it's because she loves all those capital sweets."
"Cool," Haymitch nods before turning and walking away. I laugh softly as he goes.
"Don't be offended. He's not the conversation type," I say.
"I know, I just figured you'd make it better," Finnick smiles.
"You have too much faith in me. It's only been two days," I sigh. And he's been drunk most of the time."
"Well, maybe you'll grow on each other, " Finnick grins. You could always use more friends, and I doubt he has any." Thanks. That was helpful.
"How are your tributes this year?" I ask. District 4 typically has strong contenders.
"Good. Good. The boy's strong, a great swimmer, and the girl is quick on her feet. It's scary." Finnick tells me, "They both have good chances, but they're scared shitless. Yours?"
"Same. They are sweet kids," I sigh.
"Aren't we all?" He grins and kisses my cheek. "You were looking a little grim, sweets." He tells me with a tilt of his head. Finnick has been my savior and protector since day one. When I met him on my victory tour, he made a promise as we looked out at the water that we'd be in this together. It was easy to cling to each other, both young and being fawned over. But while he is sexy and alluring, I am cutesy and naive. Sickening. Finnick offers his arm to me, and I take it. He leads me through the crowd toward the rows of bleachers for the Victors and Sponsors. A man dressed head to toe in canary yellow saunters up to us. He's large, round, and looks like a balloon with the way his face glows with sweat.
"Hello, my dear. I'm Richard Overthorn. We met last year, and the year before, I was one of your largest sponsors," he introduces himself proudly. Finnick's grip tightens.
"Hello, I remember you." I smile. I don't.
"Aw, you're so sweet," he pinches my cheek. "I want you to come talk with me about sponsoring your tributes this year," he smiles. "I trust you'll do good things and make smart moves to help them win." Okay, maybe District 12 will have a sponsor after all.
"I'm sure she will," Finnick cuts in. he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "We have to go find our partners, but it was nice speaking with you. Enjoy the parade." I wave as he pulls me away. I trip over my heels and stumble against him. "Don't you dare do anything stupid or agree to anything or get along with any of them," he whispers through gritted teeth, squeezing my hands. I nod vigorously. I know what he goes through, and I know he is smarter than I, and that's enough for me to trust him blindly.
"I'll see you later?" I kiss his cheek. Finnick smiles against my lips.
"Of course, sweets." he releases my hands. "Go find your drunk," he laughs. Heymitch is easy to find sitting alone in the bleachers with a drink.
"Is this seat taken?" I laugh, pointing at the seat beside him. he shrugs me off, but I sit anyway.
"Are you enjoying mingling?" he asks critically.
"Well, it's nice to see old friends," I say. not that I have many. "and I like the fashion of the capital." I lie.
"You do?"
"It's interesting," I say slowly. "Lots of different people to watch," i note. He only hums in response. The parade starts, and the people fill around us. Chariots pulling children ride through the city at breakneck speeds. I catch a glimpse of our kids on the monitor. I grab Haymitch by the arm, gesturing at the screen. He looks at me bizarrely. We watch as the parade continues toward us in the city circle. I grip his forearm, shifting forward in my seat. The kids fly forward in their chariot, both in dark charcoal gray. Alyss is in a deeply cut dress that flows behind her. Her skin is shimmering and glowing in the light, golden sunshine exuding from her skin. Griffin is sharply dressed, in a gray vest and suit pants. His hair has been streaked with gold that catches the light. They smile and wave as their chariot passes. I yell for them. "They look good," I tell Haymitch, nodding to myself. His eyes are stuck on me, an expression I can't place. His eyes dart down to my hand on his arm. "Sorry." I pull back, folding my hands in my lap.
"It was certainly better than when I was a kid," he scoffs. "Let's go pick them up," he says, offering a hand to me. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet. Haymitch places my hand on his inner elbow, leading me with his arm. How much has he had to drink?
"Aw, look at you two getting along!" Effie coos. Where the fuck was she?? "The children looked marvelous, didn't they?" she asks with grand gestures.
"They really did," I agree. We walk down to where all the horses are currently being corralled. Horses are not my favorite creatures, and I pull back when one neighs in our direction. Haymitch holds my arm close and steadies me on my feet. "I'm not a fan of horses," I mumble.
"Me neither," he shakes his head.
"Marvelous, children! You look stunning! You were glowing!"Effie fawns over them.
"Thank you," Alyss smiles, pulling at the neckline of her dress. Griffin's cheeks burn red. He looks everywhere but at Alyss. What a little gentleman. "That was crazy," she laughs softly.
"I know," I nod. "But you both did amazing." We walk towards the elevator.
"Will it always be like that?" Griffin asks.
"Probably," I chuckle. "But don't worry, you'll do great." Effie agrees enthusiastically. We get to our floor and the kids run to the window to look out at the city. Our floor is the highest and you can see the capital skyline.
"Welcome to the 12th floor," Haymitch says quietly, releasing my arm. I press my lips into a smile. I no longer belong to District 8. 

Chapter Text

They’ve survived their first day of training. Subsequently, I’ve survived being back in the capital for two days. Despite being plucked and polished and dusted with glitter, I’ve survived. The light blue dress I’ve been forced into has a hand-beaded corset that itches every time I move. But small problems. I walk out with fresh curls and find the kids sweaty and tired in the living room. “Did you have fun?” I ask, sitting with the kids on the couch. “Well, fun isn’t the right word,” I correct myself. “Did you learn useful things?” I ask, smiling.

“I stayed with the poisonous plants most of the time,” Alyss tells me. “Griffin, what’d you do?” The tips of his ears turn pink.

“I learned some traps and worked with knives and spears.” He says quietly, looking at the ground.

“Good, that sounds good.” I nod. “Haymitch and I have a sponsorship dinner tonight. Hopefully, we’ll be able to secure you some good sponsors.” I smile.

“12 never gets sponsors,” Alyss shakes her head.

“Well, this year may be different,” I grin. “Don’t doubt me now.” She smiles back halfheartedly. Haymitch saunters or stumbles from his room. A navy suit hugs his body closely. He cleans up well, at least.

“There’s my date now,” I smile, linking my arm with his. The stench of liquor wafts from his skin. “Are you drunk?” I ask critically.

“Me? Never?” His gray eyes meet mine with a mischievous light.

“Yeah, and the sky isn’t blue,” I retort. “Let’s go dazzle these sponsors,” I smile, earning soft laughter from the kids. We leave the training center and walk the short distance to the president’s mansion. The party is loud. Bright lights dance around the ballroom, reflecting off shining pieces of mirror that hang from the ceiling. It’s overwhelming.

“What, you don’t party either?” Haymitch asks, leaning into my side. I shake my head as my eyes dance over the room once again.

“Always the naive child, never a partier,” I mumble. “Cute, innocent, perfect, naive, golden, smiling.” I pin the smile to my cheeks, lips locking into place as they have almost every day since my reaping. Haymitch scoffs.

“Seems like you’re growing up,” he says, reaching for champagne. I watch as he tips the flute to his lips. “I’ll take my place by the bar, don’t get into trouble or do anything stupid,” he warns.

“I’m not actually a child,” I roll my eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he shakes his head, turning on his heel. He really does make a beeline for the bar. He can’t be a moment without liquor on his lips. It’s sad, really. But I can let his drunken pity party stop me from helping these kids.

I make my way towards Richard. Tonight, it’s an all olive green ensemble. Made of satin and silks, it shines in the light. A top hat adorned with olive feathers covers his balding head. “How are you this evening, doll?” He asks.

“Better now,” the words roll off my tongue.

“Would you like a drink?” He asks, already saving over a server. I nod with a smile, letting him order me something the capital party planners have concocted. It’s a bright, shimmering blue in a champagne flute. Taking a sip, it burns. Fuck does it burn like hell. Like drinking straight Bengay (Icy Hot), my stomach turns, but I smile and make polite conversation regardless. A swarm of men begins to gather, each buying me a fancy drink, which I take happily, trying to talk and flirt the money from their pockets.

“Tell us about your tributes,” Richard says, patting my thighs with his sweaty hand.

“Our kids are great this year,” I smile, leaning into Richard’s shoulder. “They might even stand a chance at winning.” I raise my eyebrows.

“Really?” His expression matches mine. The men lean in closer. All enthralled by me. This is going surprisingly well.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Haymitch’s voice is harsh in my ear. It sends a strike of fear down my spine. The men go scared and scatter with their tails between their legs. Even Richard takes a few steps back and falls into conversation with a nearby woman. I turn to face Haymitch, a scowl on his face.

“I’m trying to help.” I keep my composure, smiling up at him.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Haymitch snaps. My smile falters. I grab him by the arm and shove him into the nearest empty room.

“How am I a pain in the ass when you are an inconsiderate abysmal drunk? At least I’m trying to help and stay positive,” I snap back, every joyful safeguard failing. To my surprise, Haymitch laughs; he laughs in my face—the stench of alcohol heavy on his breath.

“What, by getting them killed? By putting targets on their back?” he chuckles. “This act, this fake positivity, isn’t helping anyone, kid,” he says, gesturing wildly. “It’s a slap in the face to those kids who are starting their death march,” he says. What? My heart falls. He steps closer. “Didn’t think of that, did you, sunshine?” My eyes snap to him. “Everyone else gets to call you something sweet, why shouldn’t I?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“I don’t care, Haymitch,” I sigh. I’m defeated. I drop my head, looking at the delicate beading of my dress. It’s what I’ve done to survive, but I didn’t consider what it must look like to the tributes. Am I crazy or in love with the capital’s propaganda? Neither is good.

“Don’t let them steal your spark sunshine,” he whispers.

“You just said it’s a slap in the face,” I sniffle more pitiful than I could’ve imagined. Tears sting at my eyes and threaten to ruin my makeup.

“Not the real you. Your real spark is brighter than Snow could ever imagine,” he says lowly. I try to speak, to understand. “The day on the train. Those kids saw it, I saw it. Hope. Genuine hope. Their smiles, their joy, their hope was real, you gave it to them,” Haymitch says, “that is what they want to break, never let them.” I meet his gray eyes. A fierce burning determination. His hand is rough against my skin as he wipes away the tears.

“Pull it together, sunshine, we have those kids to keep alive.”

“And if I can’t?” I ask quietly, feeling like I’ll never be able to put myself back together. The world begins to crumble around me.

“I’ll be right here.” The sudden change is jarring.

“How drunk are you?” I ask sarcastically.

“Not nearly enough,” he laughs. I lean forward, my head lands on his shoulder. He freezes for a moment.

“Maybe I did lose my mind in the games,” I grumble. “For a minute, I thought you were attractive.” I laugh. God, I’m wasted. Who the fuck cares? His hands are on my waist. The smell of whiskey and expensive cologne fills my lungs. I wonder if Effie bought it for him?

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” Haymitch whispers.

“More than I’ve had in the past two years combined,” I say. “Men want to see their shining star a drunken mess.” I echo what I’ve been told since the night I won. “Makes me an easier target.” His hands tighten around my waist.

“They’re trying to sell you?” He asks.

“No sex until the smiling, joyful little girl card doesn’t work anymore,” I say. “I’ve heard talk of selling off my virginity to the highest bidder.” I laugh like I’ve lost my mind.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, they have nothing to sell,” I laugh again, meeting his gaze. “It was taken before I was even reaped and given to save another, both dead now.” I shrug.

“You always spill your guts when you’re drunk?” He asks.

“I’m never drunk.” I shrug. A laugh bubbles out of my chest and echoes around the room. “Sorry,” I say through laughter, “I’m just an idiot.”

“Why don’t we get you to bed? It’s late,” Haymitch offers.

“We haven’t gotten any sponsors for the kids,” my laughter sours as tears well in my eyes. God, I am drunk.

“I’ll handle it,” he sighs. “I’ll make sure we can at least send them water. I know some people.” He pulls me closer to steady me in these stupid heels. “You just need to go to bed.”

“Kids first,” I mumble.

“Will you be able to stay on your feet?” he chuckles.

“Yes!” I pull out of his grip, walking towards the door. My legs sway, but I stay upright.

“Alright, can’t have the capital’s golden girl smashing her face in.” he wraps his arm around me, leading me back into the ballroom. He leads me to a group of prominent figures, a collection of wealthy, powerful couples dressed in bizarre costumes. I smile as Haymitch talks. I can’t focus on his words, just his warm hand on my skin as it drums against the beading at my waist. Finnick is across the room, smiling, laughing, and flirting with old women. I watch as he floats through the room on a cloud of fake confidence. I suppose we all do what we have to in order to survive. “Thank you for your contributions, you won’t regret it.” Haymitch squeezes my waist, pulling my attention back to him.

“Thank you,” I smile brighter, bowing my head to them.

“It’s getting late,” Haymitch notes, “this girl still has a curfew,” he jokes. I think. It’s hard to tell with him. “Goodnight,” he pulls me away, out of the party, out of the mansion, and back to District 12’s floor. He opens my door and lets out a loud breath. “You gonna be alright?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’m drunk, not dead,” I sigh. “I can handle myself from here.” I kick off my heels and flop on the bed. “Goodnight, Haymitch,” I smile. “And thank you.”

“Goodnight sunshine,” he grins before pulling my door closed.

Chapter Text

Apprehensively picking at the silver plastic sequins on my dress, I’m stuck watching 24 kids sell themselves. I suppose I never thought about it before now, how we lead the kids to the interviews and tell them basically to sell themselves or kiss sponsors and life-saving supplies goodbye. Effie is muttering beside me, I can’t focus on her words. I’m staring straight ahead at the kids sitting on stage, terrified for the next morning. The girl from District 8 has tears in her eyes. It’s no one I recognize, but I’ve become a hermit as of late. The boy from 11 has a tremor in his hands that he can’t control as he speaks with Cesar.

“Stop it, kid.” Haymitch grabs my hands. My eyes snap to him.

“What?”

“Effie said to stop ripping the sequins off your dress.” I look down at our feet, where sparkling sequins have found their new home. “Would you relax?” He whispers harshly.

“I am relaxed,” I snap back.

“Whatever you say.” He encapsulates my hands with one of his own, holding them firmly in place. He squeezes as Alyss makes her way towards Cesar.

“Fuck, I’m gonna be sick,” I mutter, feeling my stomach turn. Alyss is stunning in her shimmering gold dress, all her curls cascading down her back. The dress shows so much skin and leaves so little to the imagination, she’s 15 for god’s sake.

“No, you’re not, get it together,” Haymitch commands.

“So, Alyss, you got a score of 9. How did you achieve that?” He asks with a bright smile.

“I simply showed the judges all I had to offer,” it’s seductive and weird coming out of her mouth.

“Well, we all certainly want to see what you’ve got,” he eyes her up and down.

“Oh god,” I grimace.

“She’s doing what we told her. It’s an act,” Haymitch leans into my ear. “Put your smile back on.” I do as I’m told, muscles snapping into place.

“I’m sure you had plenty of boys chasing you in District 12. Did you leave anyone special behind?” Cesar asks. My own chest tightens, and breathing feels like sucking through a straw. I try to reach for my necklace, but Haymitch holds my hands tightly.

“Nope, nobody special back home,” she laughs generously, “I’d love to meet someone though.”

“Oh, maybe in the capital?” His eyes light up.

“Maybe,” she smirks. Why did we do this? Why did we make her this? She’s a fierce girl with a good head on her shoulders, not a sexy, conniving grown woman.

“I can’t watch anymore,” I grimace.

“Then don’t.” Haymitch tilts my head with his free hand. I bury my face in his shoulder. Cologne nd liquor filling my lungs. Nobody’s watching us; they’re too consumed with the dazzling, new toys they have to play with for another night. I listen as her interview ends on a high note, and Griffin replaces her. Our strategy for him was sweet, gentle, and kind because he is. He didn’t score well, but he has a good heart.

“Tell us about home,e Griffin,” Caesar prompts him.

“Home for me is my family, my mother, and my little siblings. They are my everything,” he says, his voice shaking. A chorus of awes ripples through the crowd.

“I’m sure you want to get back to them,” Cesar says.

“More than anything,” Griffin admits.

“What are your impressions of the capital so far? Different from home?”

“Yeah, very different,” he lets out a small laugh, “the capital is interesting, there is so much to look at and so many people.” He says.

“Fucking freaks,” Haymitch whispers. I nudge his shoulder, “What its the truth?”

“Keep it to yourself,” I whisper, lifting my head. Our faces are inches apart. Close enough for our breath to mix. We sit frozen for a long moment. “Best to keep up the act,” I smile again. Haymitch nods half heartily before turning back towards the stage. Griffin is ending his interview and returning to his seat beside Alyss. The tributes bow and file off the stage.

“They did marvelous,” Effie claps, “that Alyss sure has a way with the crowd,” she beams, turning to talk to us. Her smile grows as she notices our hands still interlocked. “I see you two are getting along.” Haymitch releases my hands.

“We’re trying to work as a team or whatever you’ve been saying,” he waves her words away, finishing his long forgotten whiskey. We go to collect the kids from their glorified corral. On the way to the elevator, Finnick catches my hand.

“Heya sweets,” he says, spinning me. “How are you holding up?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” I say, “I’m not a kid. And I’m older than you!” I snap.

“By a year!” He snaps back. Oh, he’s in mood.

“You all go in without me, I’ll be up in a bit,” I tell Haymitch and the kids, waving them to the elevator. Still holding Finnick’s hand, I pull him into a stairwell. “What’s up?” I push him into the wall.

“Why does something have to be up?” he grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, hollow and broken.

“Finnick, come on. Talk to me.” I urge him.

“Those kids,” he shakes his head, pushing past me to sit on the stairs. “The careers, they’re so big and blood thirsty.” He sighs. “It’s sick.”

“District four is typical careers,” I remind him, although it’s not helpful.

“Yeah, well, not this year,” he shakes his head. “They’re kids- actual kids.” He brushes at his pants. “Wimpy little kids that are gonna die tomorrow,” he sighs.

“I get it,” I sigh, plopping down on the steps beside him. “I don’t know how you started mentoring at 15.” I cross my arms over my chest, burying my head behind them.

“I had to; everyone expected so much from me,” he sighs. My heart pulls.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I tell him, bricks seem to fall on my shoulders

“It’s life,” he shrugs, “but like, what the hell are they feeding those kids in 1? They’re huge!” He laughs softly. He rests his head on my shoulder.

“I dunno, fertilizer?” I offer. He busts out laughing, and soon I am too. Two dumbass kids forced to be adults in this world.

“I needed that sweets,” he wipes at his eyes. “A good laugh and a better friend.” He stands and dusts off his pants. “I’m sorry,” he pulls me to my feet and into his chest in a bone-crushing hug.

“Finnick, you’re allowed to be upset,” I try.

“We have to keep up our appearances,” he tuts, “Victors are grateful for our lives and to the capital,” he smirks at his own lies. “We can’t be upset when kids’ lives are on the line.” his voice turns serious.

“I know,” I nod against him. Finnick releases me, collecting himself with a long exhale and a smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he nods determinedly.

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” I agree. He starts up the stairs. “I Love you, sleep well,” I call after him. Finnick turns and smiles.

“Love you too, sweets.” he leaves me in the stairwell. I eventually sort my racing thoughts and head for the elevator, returning to my new high-rise floor. Griffin sits in the window sill, looking up at the dark sky.

“Are you alright?” I ask, trying not to startle him. he nods, dipping his head. “You don’t have to lie to me.” I sit beside him. “I know it’s scary,” I whisper.

“Why aren’t there stars?” he asks, eyes returning to the sky.

“All the lights,” I tell him the scientific answer. “My mentor Woof once told me it’s because they don’t deserve to see them.” He smiles at the notion.

“My Ma would tell us stories about the stars, about the constellations,” his voice catches. “I’d give anything to be home with her right now.” I wrap my arms around him as he breaks down. “I was the oldest, I was supposed to be there. My Pa died in those damn mines, I’m all they have.” Frustration tenses his body. “She needs me.” I pet his hair, holding back my own tears.

“It’s alright.” No, it’s not. “Calm down.” He’s going to face his death or his worst nightmares. “Tell me your favorite memory with her, with everyone.” A painful distraction is still a distraction.

“I was young, maybe 10. My youngest brother was a toddler,” he begins. “It was winter and Ma has always had this this about us freezing to death so we could only play in yhe snow when she was watching. she was helping the little two build a snowman and my sister, Nilla, and I were just tossing snow at eachother and horsing around.” he laughs softly, sniffling. “Nilla threw a hunk of ice at me and I dodged out of the way, but she has a crazy strong arm and hit Ma square in the chest,” he laughs for real this time.

“What’d she do?” I ask.

“Ma Jumped up and ambushed us with a barrage of snowballs like i’ve never seen,” He grins, “We were soaked down to our socks, had to sit in front of the fire for hours to feel our toes again.” we laugh. “its been a long time since we played in the snow, not since Pa died” he sighs. “now I wish we had. I wish we didn’t lose ourselves in everything.”

“It’s part of growing up, unfortunately,” I sigh.

“Is this?” he meets my eyes with a look that burns itself onto my heart.

“No. Never. This is an abuse of power and compulsory performances from innocent kids,” I tell him honestly, not caring if Snow can hear me. Griffin nods, letting tears slide down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” I wipe the warm tears from his skin.

“You didn’t pull my name from the bowl,” he shakes his head, standing up abruptly. “Thank you for everything.” He forces a smile. In the dim light, it looks like he’s aged years before my eyes.

“Try and get some sleep, remember happy things,” I tell him. I roll onto my toes and kiss his cheek. “Fight to get home to them,” I whisper. Griffin nods, stalking off towards his bedroom. Once I’m alone, I can’t help it. I cry. I sit on the floor and cry. My heart aches. I shouldn’t be alone, but that’s all we are in this world.

Standing on shaky legs, I raid the bar and go to the only person I know will drink at this hour.

“What do you want?” Haymitch stares at me, half-dressed and bleary-eyed, in the doorway of his room.

“Care for a drink?” I hold the bottle up, feeling like a fucking idiot.

“Sure,” he lets me into his room. “I’ll be honest, you look like shit,” he grumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed. I bust out laughing. I’m sure I do. “What happened, Kid?” he sighs.

“I was talking with Griffin, he told me about his family and his life back in 12.” I sat beside him on the bed, pouring two large drinks of straight liquor. “All the things he’s leaving behind.” My voice cracks. Haymitch lets out a loud breath.

“Kid, they all have stories, they all have families, people who will mourn them,” he says, “We all did.”

“I didn’t,” I shake my head, downing a large gulp that burns as it slides down my gullet. “No one mourned, no one cared. i’m sure plenty were mad i won actually.” I stare at the wall. What the hell am I even saying?

“Whatever happens in the morning, however it happens, is for the best. You should know that his voice is softer than normal. Should I? “They will be okay.”

“But they won’t be,” It comes out strained by tears as they roll down my face. “Not really.” I shake my head at nothing, not even looking at him. “Is dead so much better?” My sobs choke me. I finish my drink, refilling my glass and sipping until the tears are from the sting of alcohol.

“Yes,” Haymitch’s voice is firm. His hand is on my shoulder. “Because then they would be us.” I meet his gray eyes. His brows are furrowed, the lines deep on his forehead from years of worry and dread and nights like these. “I certainly don’t wish this life on anyone,” he shakes his head.

“neithter do I” I agree, drinking again.

“I think you need to stop.” Haymitch grabs my glass. “Only one of us can be a drunk, and you’re too pretty,” he laughs dryly. “I’ll take you back to bed; you need to sleep this off.” I shake my head again, warm tears flow. “Okay, I’ll be honest. I’m shit at this.” He concedes. I can’t help but laugh again.

“I can tell.” I laugh.

“You’re supposed to be all happy-go-lucky and positive and shit,” he says. “Look, this will be over soon, and you can go home. I’ll make a scene and bitch and demand to never see you again, and you won’t have to mentor for a while longer.” Haymitch is gruff and honest.

“That’s not fair to you.” his eyes widen. “You can’t do this alone.”

“I’ve been doing it a long time,” he reminds me.

“Not anymore,” I shake my head, finding some resolve. I sniffle hard and wipe at my face. “Plus, those kids deserve more than your drunk ass,” I laugh.

“If you’re sure sunshine,” he smiles. “Let’s get you to bed now,” he pulls me to my feet. My tired, drunk, and stressed body wants nothing to do with it; I crumple to the ground at his feet.

“Just leave me here, it’s soft enough,” I laugh up at him, curling into myself.

“Absolutely not.” Haymitch bends down and scoops me up in his arms. I giggle like a little girl. “You’re drunk drunk,” his eyes scan my face.

“I told you I don’t drink.” I shrug.

“Alright, Fine, I’ll make sure you don;t choke and die in your sleep.” he sighs, throwing me onto his bed. Did I ask for that? “Scoot over,” He commands. I giggle and push up against the wall. He throws the covers over my head. “Now, get some sleep, Kid, you’ll need it for tomorrow.” I let the warmth of the alcohol and Haymitch beside me lull me into sleep.