capeandcowl | First shot; wobbly video

[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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It might be televised, but it isn't -- a show.

[He's watched dozens of kids die under his watch, no joke. :|]

Yeah. Not here.

Good.

[Not that he believes her, really.]

So much for the sex job thing, I guess.

Are you drunk too?

Not enough.

It's never enough.

You'd think one person in this stupid city would have a never ending bar-tab power or something.

[...huh. Is that what this is, this knife appearing from nowhere in his hands?]

Powers, you say? What's your power?

[With the straightest face.]

Love.

[And now he's -- mocking her.]

Is that some kind of a sex thing.

If you do it right.

[He squints at the tiny screen.

Not sure if serious.]

And if you do it wrong?

Horrible death.

By cute, fuzzy animals.

[His lips twitch into a smirk.]

It's not fair to mess with drunks, you know.

[A answering smirk pulls at her lips.

And then a raccoon scampers up to sit on her shoulder and peer at the screen.]

Who says I'm unfair.

[Hey, it's a raccoon --

-- that shouldn't make him hungry. Too long in the Seam.

He's scrutinizing the creature for any abnormalities. For all he knows, it's a muttation.]

I do. Does that thing have titanium claws, or am I seeing things?

Nah. Eduardo just has an unquenchable thirst for human blood.

And Mojitos.

Then I should consider myself in peril.

[His blood is probably the ideal mix of both those things by now.]

Mm. Just don't look him in the eye. He senses blood alcohol levels like that.

[He's still not sure whether she's joking, so he avoids the eyes for good measure.]

Note.

[That gets a tiny snort of a laugh.]

Oh my god. You're in trouble.

[She's laughing, so it was probably a joke. It isn't his fault the women he's been around have no real sense of humor to speak of, okay.]

Am I, now?

Mm. This city is powered by boredom and irony. And booze, I guess.

As long as it's really powered by booze, I'll get by.

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