Hunger Games: The Second Quarter Quell - The Story of Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 3: The Capitol

The four tributes woke to the rattling of rails and the screeching of Capitol birds. 

Well, Haymitch, Quince, and Maysilee did, all emerging from their chambers at once. Zinnia Verne was nowhere to be found in the bedroom carriages. 

Euphemia Trinket greeted them in the corridor outside their rooms the moment they arose, standing in an awkward little pose as if she was hiding a big surprise from their view, before beckoning the four to follow her into the first carriage and take a seat at a table heavily adorned with precious China plates, excessive gold things, and the most food Haymitch had ever seen in one place in his life. Good food, too. 

Zinnia Verne lurked anxiously in the corner of the room, her lips tucked into a tight scowl, though Haymitch disregarded her presence, his mouth watering at the sight of the bread pudding, an extremely rare yet favourable dish in District 12. 

But this one wasn't like the one from home. It looked... amazing. 

He immediately leapt forward, taking his seat with a start and reaching straight for the bread pudding. As he scooped himself enough to feed an army, the clinking China quietened just enough to hear Zinnia murmur, 'Alright, pig. None of us really wanted it anyway.' 

Haymitch paused for a second, before dropping his fork back down onto the table with a clatter and turning to Zinnia.

'You should try it too. The sugar would do wonders for your attitude,' Haymitch snapped, biting down on a sly smile as he continued to shovel spoonfuls of warm, rich pudding into his mouth. 

He took a small moment to glance back at Zinnia, who frowned, scowling down at him from where she stood. Of course she deemed herself too cool to sit at the table beside him. 

Haymitch wanted to remind her that, for one, she lived right by him in the Seam, so really, someone who could barely afford a bundle of herbs had no right to be talking like that, and two, she'd been at his door, only last year, delivering a rabbit in the rain. Which tasted awful and tough, if it added anything. But he said nothing more. 

Somehow, he knew bringing up memories of his past would only hurt himself. 

Ignoring Zinnia, Haymitch turned back to his food, the smell of which had been taunting his nostrils for minutes now. Hungrily, he dug in, spooning the last of the bread pudding into his mouth as if he hadn't eaten for days. He didn't care what stupid Zinnia Verne thought, really. After all, they were District 12. They were all going to be dead in a week.

After breakfast, all four tributes were ushered into another compartment which housed a television fancier than any Haymitch had seen in 12. 

There, Euphemia brandished an intricate remote, where one tap of a touch-pad directed them to a channel broadcasting a recap of the reapings all over Panem. 

Haymitch felt a sense of comfort at the amount of tributes who'd partially – if not completely – humiliated themselves as their names were read out, and he hated that feeling. Is that who he was going to be in the Games? The heartless Twelver who feasted on people's misery in order to gain supporters? Most likely, yes. 

The four of them watched in curiosity as their soon-to-be rivals were called forward, scrutinizing the very way they walked onto the stage and judging their strength based on their reaction. 

As each district went by, Haymitch ruled out contenders in his mind. 

Satin Wilnee, of District 8, had cried so hard she had to be escorted onto stage by a total of seven Peacekeepers. No threat. 

Root Berthold, of District 7, managed to make it all the way to the stage before attempting to run away, the whites of his eyes somewhat like a spooked horse.