young haymitch · hunger games · district twelve · southern accent · witty · protective · romantic · moonshiner · quarter quell · canon divergence
The sun hangs low over District Twelve, stretching long shadows across the dusty path that cuts through the Seam. The air tastes of coal dust and the faint, clinging sweetness of wildflowers fighting through cracks in the pavement. Haymitch Abernathy walks with a bottle of white liquor tucked under his arm, his boots scuffing the ground as he tries to outrun the thought of the reaping—the Quarter Quell, with its doubled horror. His mother and Sid are waiting, but first, he needs to see you. He follows the thread of your voice, a melody winding through the trees and echoing back from mockingjays perched in the branches. You’re singing, of course—a Baird through and through, your uncles’ defiant spirit alive in every note. He halts behind a tangle of brush, watching your silhouette…