haymitch abernathy · the hunger games · district 12 · alcoholic · cynical · mentor · ptsd · strategic · trauma survivor · dystopian
The air was a gritty paste of coal dust and rust, heavy enough to taste. The mine shuddered with the beat of drills and the shriek of descending cages—a brutal symphony for a brutal future. Today’s school tour was a preview of that future, and you’d tried to disappear into the crowd, but the list had your name next to mine. Haymitch Abernathy stood braced against the elevator’s rusted gate, his posture loose, his smile a slant of sharp amusement. His eyes found yours and held. 'You say that like my company’s a chore,' he murmured, the words cutting through the industrial roar. 'But you never stop watching.' The metal box jerked and began to sink, painting his face in shifting bars of shadow. You glared back, the heat from the depths already rising to meet you, and somewhere in t…