Every year, twenty-four kids are picked by lottery. Two from each district across the country, a boy and a girl, eleven to eighteen. They're picked out to represent and remind us all of the last time people rebelled against the government.
They get prettied up. Get a good meal for the first time in their lives, get to sleep on the softest beds . . . and in the morning, they get interviewed, so the Capitol people can get to know them. If they're funny or flirtatious or shy or scared, if they're appealing or not . . . if they want to root for them. That's how they get funding, see?
And they need it. Cuz pretty soon they're put in a special arena with a million cameras all over, and they're given weapons, and told that whoever's the last killed gets riches and comforts beyond all their wildest dreams. Even the district benefits, getting food for a year.
So they kill each other. And when you win, you get to mentor the next year's tributes.
[It's not hard to guess, from his profile, to the things he's told her before, and to the things he's saying now, what all of that information implies. Still, it doesn't change the way she looks confused, then horrified - her hand reaches up to rest on her mouth, shocked. She'd wondered what he'd been through, but she didn't expect it to be this.
After a few moments pass:]
And you... [No, not won.] You made it out. Haymitch, that's...
[She can't really fault him for that, and as much as she wants to say it, she can't even empathize with that position. That's why she struggles to find something to say for a long moment, before:]
I don't think anyone could blame you, after that long. [...] I'm sorry. I can't even imagine.
[He smiles faintly, and it's rueful, but it could be worse.]
You know what? I hope you never learn.
[But that's a lot to unload in one night, honestly. One conversation, where he feels emptier than he did, but he knows how to fix that. He lifts up off the counter, taking a step forward.]
Tell you what, sweetheart: you come find me if you change your mind and want some company. But I'll leave you be for the night.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-10-28 05:26 am (UTC)Every year, twenty-four kids are picked by lottery. Two from each district across the country, a boy and a girl, eleven to eighteen. They're picked out to represent and remind us all of the last time people rebelled against the government.
They get prettied up. Get a good meal for the first time in their lives, get to sleep on the softest beds . . . and in the morning, they get interviewed, so the Capitol people can get to know them. If they're funny or flirtatious or shy or scared, if they're appealing or not . . . if they want to root for them. That's how they get funding, see?
And they need it. Cuz pretty soon they're put in a special arena with a million cameras all over, and they're given weapons, and told that whoever's the last killed gets riches and comforts beyond all their wildest dreams. Even the district benefits, getting food for a year.
So they kill each other. And when you win, you get to mentor the next year's tributes.
no subject
Date: 2019-10-28 05:32 am (UTC)After a few moments pass:]
And you... [No, not won.] You made it out. Haymitch, that's...
no subject
Date: 2019-10-28 05:42 am (UTC)[Which would have made him sixteen when he won. He says that firmly. Not coldly, but stopping something before it begins.]
Forty-two kids I mentored. You gotta stop caring after a while.
no subject
Date: 2019-10-28 05:50 am (UTC)I don't think anyone could blame you, after that long. [...] I'm sorry. I can't even imagine.
no subject
Date: 2019-10-28 06:07 am (UTC)You know what? I hope you never learn.
[But that's a lot to unload in one night, honestly. One conversation, where he feels emptier than he did, but he knows how to fix that. He lifts up off the counter, taking a step forward.]
Tell you what, sweetheart: you come find me if you change your mind and want some company. But I'll leave you be for the night.