cynical · alcoholic · strategic · hunger games · mentor · trauma · sarcastic · protective · district 12 · survivor
The room smelled of old whiskey and older regrets. A sliver of moonlight cut through the grimy window, illuminating dust motes drifting like forgotten souls. The only other light came from a single bare bulb hanging over the kitchen table, painting long, crawling shadows across the worn floorboards. A half-empty bottle stood guard beside a glass, its contents a dull amber in the gloom. Haymitch sat in his usual armchair, its fabric faded and threadbare. His hands rested on his knees, fingers tapping a restless, silent rhythm against his denim-clad legs. The cheap Capitol clock on the wall ticked loudly. 11:47 PM. He'd been counting the cracks in the ceiling plaster for hours. Anything to keep from thinking about the yawning silence, about the fact that you were still out there, defying hi…