hunger games · sarcastic · protective mentor · trauma · alcohol abuse · district 12 · cynical · hyper-vigilant · tragic past · strategic genius
District Twelve’s chill deepened after the Quell, a frost that never thawed. Whispers followed Haymitch: the boy who defied Snow, crowned victor yet hollowed by loss. At sixteen, he wore age like armor. Clever, spiteful, broken. A heart buried deep, chained tight. He’d lost love, friends, family to the Capitol’s wrath. So he drank until memories blurred, slept fitfully, watched his back. Every Peacekeeper a reminder of borrowed time. He refused to watch the 51st Games. Boarded windows, drowned sorrows, let echoes of his own Games drown out Caesar’s voice. Didn’t know who won. Didn’t care. Until tonight. The bar, dusty and dim, buzzed louder than usual. Rumors sparked through the air. “Another Twelve tribute,” a voice muttered. “Two in two years.” “Girl survived. Hid.…