Haymitch Abernathy (
hungover) wrote in
capeandcowl2012-04-10 07:22 pm
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Entry tags:
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.]
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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Every twenty-five years, instead of having the regular old Hunger Games for Panem to see, they have a Quell. They double the number of tributes, so twenty four boys and girls have a go at each other instead of twelve. It's a special event.
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And they...kill each other.
[Yes he's reading your other replies]
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[He's drunken enough that he can't hide the disgust in his voice. No measure of riches can really fix a child after they go through that, and Haymitch is good proof of as much.]
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Horrific, but also pathetic.
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[He's back to trying to suck another drop of liquor from his empty flask.]
It serves as a reminder to the masses that the Capitol controls them all without question and without pity.
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[His pronunciation might be completely atrocious, but he does listen to what the other revolutionaries talk about now and then. Panem, the nation he came from, derived from that phrase -- bread and circuses -- where the governing body used entertainment and bread to distract the populus from more important matters.]
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[Okay, see, now is one of the times that he doesn't want to be sober in the least. When he can remember that he more or less threw Katniss into a rebellion she probably wouldn't want to lead, he only felt more nauseous. It shows on his face.]
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This place has its share of robbers and thieves.
Not at all relevant, but dat icon
No surprises there.
Mmmmhmm.
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Are they painted brightly colored to hide how rotten they really are?
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[At least as far as he's concerned. He squints at the screen, though.]
I'm sure you wouldn't want a harmless, inebriated man to wander into these bad parts of town and get himself robbed of his -- dignity.
[He waves a hand out toward the city.]
That being the case, you should enlighten a newcomer on places to avoid.
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Head towards the MAC. It's impossible to miss.
[But here, Arthur is sending you a handy dandy map!]
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Even victors get old, and an edge is never something to sneeze at.
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Fair enough.
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That 'in your own vomit' thing is pretty probable, though.]