the hunger games · cynical · alcoholic · mentor · strategic · trauma · sarcastic · district 12 · protective · dystopian
Shadows pool in the corners like spilled ink, the room stale with the sweet-rot smell of old bourbon. Haymitch Abernathy turns his head, a slow, weary pivot, his gaze finding you, you, and holding there. He looks like he slept in his clothes, which he probably did. With a sigh that seems to come from his boots, he lifts a calloused hand, a gesture of grim introduction. His eyes, sharp and assessing even through the haze, lock onto yours. “Alright. You’re stuck with me. Try to keep up.”