milliways_bar | (no subject)

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elle

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Haymitch Abernathy is not getting along with the new girl. He's not sure how anyone could have glasses that rose-tinted, but seriously, she's getting on his nerves. At least most of the previous girls eventually figured out that not one single person from Twelve was happy about the Games, and toned it down a notch.

He's not sure if this Effie girl comes with the ability to tone down.

So it's an irked Victor that wanders into the bar, his shirt untucked and his feet bare (he's taken to being even more slovenly than before when not trying to work just to annoy the girl), a bottle dangling from his fingers.

Huh.

Well, at least he won't have to hear about the games being a wonderful opportunity for a while.

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Elle's sitting on the edge of a nearby table, her hands held up in front of her as bright blue sparks idly snap between them.

The sparks don't stop when she looks up to Haymitch, and then down to the bottle he's holding.

She didn't forget this, at least.

Though Haymitch is almost a couple decades older than when he last saw her, he doesn't much look it - there's some loss of muscle (he is steadfastly refusing to exercise, and a diet of alcohol and more alcohol doesn't exactly help keeping body and soul together), a sense of tiredness instead of rage. Other than that, the stylists have done a good job preserving their Victor against the ravages of time.

He blinks at her, clearly trying to figure out why there's a sense of familiarity.

"... I should know you."

"You don't have to."

She looks back up, a few more sparks snapping between her hands.

"But I remember you." So the familiarity isn't for nothing, anyway.

"... Must've been one of the bad nights." He only comes here, it seems, in two particular states - mildly drunk and worried about the fate of the kids he has to watch go through hell, and drunk as hell after they die.

The sparks stop, and she lowers her hands to the table.

"Is tonight bad?"

He makes a vague hand gesture with his free hand, and shrugs.

"Who can tell anymore?" This year he has an asthmatic and a girl who hasn't stopped crying since her name was called. It's not going to be a good year.

"That means it's only been bad ones." She discerns it, but it's not really a question.

"And so it goes." He's... resigned is the wrong word, but somewhere along the way he's stopped hoping that this will be the year. He just tries to make sure their last days before the arena aren't actively awful.

He's not doing to good on that front either.

Her eyes drop back down to the bottle.

"Do you need more of that?"

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