Chapter Text
No matter what, your day can always get worse. Especially for Haymitch Abernathy. He wakes with a start, unshod tears blurring his vision as he blinks away the sight of him feeding his girl another gumdrop. Oh, Lenore Dove, how could you ever forgive him? You’re gone, and he’s still here. And it’s his fault.
Haymitch sits there for a moment, and it becomes increasingly obvious that the liquor he drowned himself in the night before is wearing off, leaving a heavy migraine in its wake.
He rolls out of the bed and heads through the too-empty halls of the house until he reaches the kitchen. Numbly, Haymitch opens a cupboard and looks for a new bottle.
He feels around for a moment until he comes to the conclusion that he is out of alcohol, and has to now deal with the hangover he’s left himself with. Amazing.
Well, Haymitch figures, if he’s going to be sober he might as well do it right.
He trudges back through the house until he makes it to the bathroom, where he has what might be the first bath he’s had in a good few days. He goes into the bedroom to find clean clothes. Of course all that is there is the damned champagne jacket, suit pants and bloodstained button shirt.
Just his luck.
With a sigh, Haymitch puts the outfit on and stares blankly at himself in the mirror.
Granted it’s better than usual, but he still looks half dead regardless. His eyes are adorned with heavy bags and his hair falls over his face as if even it can’t find the motivation to curl how it used to.
No wonder Burdie and Blair were worried.
They shouldn’t bother, Haymitch thinks. He isn’t worth their time and effort, not anymore. He can’t afford more people that are close to him getting killed just so that Snow can have the last laugh.
First Louella, now Lenore Dove. When does it end?
Wyatt.
Maysilee.
Lou Lou.
Ampert.
His doves.
Ma.
Sid.
He can’t go on like this. Haymitch doesn’t want to remember. Not how he wasn’t there for Ampert in his final moments, or Wellie. Or how the names of all 47 (49 including Lou Lou and Woodbine) will haunt him until his death.
One second, Haymitch is rubbing his temples, a feeble attempt at trying to lessen the pain pounding his head.
The next, he is standing in the middle of an empty room with a circle of armchairs and couches. They surround a table with a singular book on it. A fireplace crackles in the corner of the room, the only current noise in the space apart from Haymitch’s ragged breathing.
Barely five minutes pass of Haymitch lying across a couch and staring at the ceiling until five new figures appear.
Haymitch sits up, looks around at the faces of Burdock, Blair, Asterid, Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber, and decides he is too hungover for whatever this is.
He falls back into his position as everyone else takes in their surroundings.
Burdock breaks the silence. “Sooo… any idea what’s going on, Haymitch?”
“Don’t know, honestly too tired to care.” He responds, turning to watch Asterid and Blair pace around the edges of the enclosed room.
“I would also like to know what's happening,” Clerk Carmine adds.
Haymitch gives a half-hearted shrug, not bothering to make eye-contact. It’s not like he would want to see him anyway. Not after Lenore.
“I believe we have a note,” says Tam Amber triumphantly. Everyone looks over in surprise to where Tam Amber stands at the table, note in hand.
He clears his throat and reads:
“Dear Haymitch and co.,
As you very well know, the Capitol has a habit of ‘editing’ the truth and hiding what actually happened from the public. What is shown on television is bullcrap and you all know it. What you will find in this book is the truth and it is the whole truth. This is something that has to be heard in order for something to be done.
When you open this book, it will read to you the full story of how Haymitch is still sitting with you today.
You will not be able to leave here until it is finished.
Haymitch, I now write specifically to you.
What you will relive is not going to be pleasant, and I understand that. But for you to move on and make a difference you have to hear it. You can’t push everyone away forever.
Regards,
The author
PS: To emphasise the reality of what happened, each souvenir of the experience will be identified as it is read.
Good luck.”
Blair sighs. “Well shit.”
Burdock rolls his eyes at Blair as he collapses onto an armchair to the left of Haymitch’s couch.
Clerk Carmine walks over to the table and picks up the book in question. It looks relatively normal nor a book, except, of course, the cover. It is a deep purple with an image of Haymitch’s prized possession taking up the majority of the space. The words ‘sunrise of the reaping’ are plastered across the top of the page.
“Are- are we going to listen to it?” Asterid hesitantly asks.
“No.”
“Well, we kind of have to, Haymitch,” says Burdock. “We don’t really have another way to leave.”
Haymitch considers this as he watches Burdock and Asterid sit together on the couch to the right of him. Tam Amber and Clerk Carmine sit on chairs opposite him, next to Asterid.
Deciding to completely ignore what Burdie said, he brings up a different question floating in his mind.
“Why is there another empty seat if it was only going to be us here?”
Blair shrugs. “Maybe just so we had room to spread?”
That’s when Effie appears.
She appears unsurprised, as if she was expecting to be kidnapped and put in a room with no doors surrounded by six people from district twelve.
“Hello, Haymitch! Did you get a note too?”
“Yep.”
“Lovely! Personally, I don’t think that there is much we could hear that hasn’t already been shown in the games, but I’ll be happy to watch you win again!”
Tam Amber coughs into his hand. “And- who is this?”
Effie turns towards him and smiles. “I’m Effie! I took over being district twelve’s stylist when the normal guy didn’t show up, you might have seen me when Haymitch was crowned victor.”
She bounces over to the empty seat left of Blair.
They are silent for a while until Burdock gets up and plucks the book out of Tam Amber’s hands. “We’re going to have to listen to it eventually, we might as well get started now.”