#c:haymitch

[joshshacklebolt-blog]

Então você é o cara que a Cata não me deixa conhecer?

[capitolweaponarchive]

Dearly Beloved,

     Peeta didn't need to be prevailed upon to take care of Haymitch. The night before, during dinner, his mother had brought him up. She referred to him as a drunken bastard who was ruining the santity of twelve. Peeta was left silent, wondering what had happened to the man that ruined him. He was a victor, life should have been easy. He had seen those houses in the Victor's village and was envious of their size. How could anyone be unhappy when they basked in luxury? The more Peeta thought about it, he realized that something terrible had happened to Haymitch. He wasn't sure what it was but something made him the broken shell of a man he was. Every year, at the reaping the district would watch Haymitch stumble onto stage and berudgingly accept another set of tributes. Too often he had watched him fall on stage, while everyone looked on in horror he looked on in concern. After dinner he formulated a plan. He would take it upon himself to tend to the victor, solely out of the kindness of his own heart. It wasn't fair to leave the man to his own devices., He just needed fresh bread, a bath and a nurturing touch.

     By the time Peeta starts out of the house, the first sparks of dawn, pale orange and chilly, are reaching through the bare trees around the district. He carried with him a basket, filled with various baked goods he had made the night before in secret. Mrs.Mellark would've never approved of his cohorting with a drunk. Shyly he stood at the entrance of the Victor's Village. Only one house was illuminated, while the others sat dark and abandoned. It gave the place an eery feeling. At least he would know which belonged to Haymitch. He started up the steps of his house before timidly knocking. When there was no reply he glanced through the windows to see if he could detect any signs of life. Peeta stepped back infront of the door and knocked once more before the door creaked open, giving him entry. Would it be impolite of him to trespass? Of course it would be. He had bread! He doubted Haymitch would be angry at him for bringing him cheesy bread and sweet rolls. Throwing caution to the wind he opened the door fully and stepped into the home. Immediatley his nostrils were assaulted by unpleasant scents and he was able to see in the dim gray all of the trash that littered the floor. He definiltey had his work cut out for him.

     Peeta moved through the house carefully, not wanting to step on anything or accidentally step on Haymitch if the victor had decided to nap on the floor. He peeked into the living room, finding it relatively empty before poking his head into the kitchen. His feet sift through the trash on the floor, finding it much thicker in this room than the others. Peeta spots Haymitch on the table, head down and passed out. Peeta started toward a window and opened it, allowing fresh air to intermingle with the powerful stench of the Victor's home. Peeta stood for a moment, allowing his nose a short reprieve before attempting to wake Haymitch up. He places the basket on the table, “Haymitch?” He starts, clasping his shoulder and shaking it. “I don't know if you can hear me or not, but I brought you something to eat. Something good. I made it myself.” He boasted, a bright smile adorning his face as he spoke to the dozing man. When Peeta realized he was out cold he attempted to shake him with a bit more force, trying to wake him.