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[personal profile] catnipped
[People may or may not be used to the feed opening up with Haymitch losing whatever it was that he ate in the day before he started drinking. They might be surprised to see that he isn’t alone, however.]

Y’people here sure spend a lot of time complaining. Maybe not people on the network, ‘cessarily, but people in this city. People everywhere.

[They also waste a lot of food, but that’s not really on his mind at the moment. Eating would probably just make him throw up a lot more.]

[No, he’s not alone! Because there is Katniss, giving him a slight look of distaste -- but that’s usual enough. What is unusual, however, is the fact that she’s a little bit flopped against Haymitch, stealing that bottle nearby to take a long swig. After a moment of contemplation, she nods, and says:]

They do. They shouldn’t, it’s a lot better’n Panem. This whole city is a lot better than the Capitol. [That ‘Capitol’ is nearly spat, vehement with distaste.] So, stop complaining.

[Haymitch laughs, swiping the bottle back and taking a long drink of it. The thing is almost empty, which is going to become a problem soon enough.]

You do your share of complaining, sweetheart. Maybe this place is rubbing off on you.

[He looks at the screen, more or less realizing it’s actually...on...]

[Unfortunately, Katniss hasn’t yet, so she gives Haymitch a shove and makes another grab for the bottle.]

Shut up. Where can we get more of this? [Then she sees where he’s looking, and blinks a bit, but shrugs and moves to ignore it. Oh well.]
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[personal profile] hungover
[There is the tell-tale sound of heaving in the background. The communicator is on its side, camera facing a cup of some clear alcohol on ice that's swirling in a tumbler. Shortly after, arguing in the background about the vomiting and about the lack of real money for a tab – something is slammed on the table and footsteps walk away ... before walking back, a thick hand swiping up the communicator before retreating out into the night again.

He'd thought about going straight to the lodgings that the 'Porter' had suggested, but that reeked of a trap and of slaughter – a drink had seemed like just the thing to calm him down, except that he'd already been plenty intoxicated when he'd arrived here. His cheek still stung where Katniss had gouged him, but it was a dull thrum that didn't seem so bad when he couldn't see straight. Eventually, he manages to get the camera upright and gives it a winning grin – or it would be winning, if there wasn't the telltale glisten of vomit on his lower lip. Some might not notice that.]


So, we're in for another Game. Different rules, sure, but – [and he waves his hand toward the camera,] – still. I should introduce myself, if that's the case.

[He makes a mostly-unsuccessful attempt to straighten himself up a little, leaning heavily on the outside wall of the pub.]

Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the second Quarter Quell. I come from District 12, where you can starve to death in safety. This place is at least less of a violent assault on the senses than the Capitol – nobody's hair has made me shield my eyes yet. That's something.

[He produces a flask from his jacket pocket and places it to his lips, tipping it completely upside-down to suck the last few drops from it.]

I'm guessing this place has got more robbers, though. Thieves. Rapists, maybe?

[Off-camera, he looks at something in his hand – a small blade that hadn't been there a moment before.]

Well. Whatever surprises this place has in store, I'm sure everyone here is just as stupid when it comes down to it. Come on, then, let's give the people a show. That's all they really want, anyway.

[And with that, the feed clicks off.]

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