stay alive

Patience had never been a skill that Gleam had possessed. Mentoring never felt right to her, nor did she believe she could help guide two tributes to survival. Despite coming from District One, and with all of the training the academy provided - Gleam still wouldn't have made the training experience enjoyable for the tributes. It had been easier to opt out as a mentor altogether. "One will survive out of twenty-four. Are the odds ever really in anyone's favor?" Aside from the added fact of exposure and sickness - Gleam only saw the Hunger Games as a way to torture twenty-four children. The victor's torture was only prolonged for the rest of their lives. Being forced to watch year after year the same thing happen over and over. "It's easier when you're not mentoring." Though, she knew Haymitch didn't have the luxury. "Though, watching it play out the same way year after year begins to take somewhat of a toll."

"For some more than others." The Career kids got to have the advantage of training in their Academies. What did the kids in the other Districts have? Either way, all the kids going into the Arena still suffered in some capacity, no matter how prepared they thought they were. None of them were prepared for the years of trauma and nightmares they had to endure when they survived. That was all it was, in the end. No victors, only survivors. "Sure does," he agreed and watched the bartender refill his glass. "Even when your favorite wins, it's not winning, right? They still gotta live with what they went through, go to the parties, deal with the nightmares. Then it's onto the next year. New year, new Victor. Rise and repeat."

Title: A Drink Among Comrades For: Haymitch | @hxabernathy

Honestly, Haymitch didn't care what he was drinking as long as it kept him drunk. Even if it tasted horrible, as long as it gave him some sort of buzz, it was good enough for him. Especially in District Twelve, he took whatever he could get, even though he had the funds to get whatever alcohol he wanted. But once the more expensive whiskey was set in front of him, Haymitch reached out and took a look at the bottle, giving an impressed whistle.

In all honesty, Gleam hated game season. It just served as a reminder that they were all moving pieces in the game that the capitol controlled, and she couldn't stand it. Mentoring had been something she long opted out of. The last thing the blonde wanted to do is continue to play the role the capitol had laid out for her, despite being from district one. The bar was a frequent stop of hers, though most of the time she would rather stay behind the safe(ish) confines of her home. Away from the cameras and the public. Gleam wasn't much of a people person these days.

"Don't blame you, it's why I'm here." What was the point of getting invested in the Tributes this year when all the other years since his Games, he never brought home a Victor for Twelve? When he tried, he failed. So what did it matter if he was at the Training Center or not? Either way, he knew he was going to be bringing home two dead Tributes. Again. "Way I see it, even if I was there, they're both still dead. Might as well make better use of my time here doing what I do best." He finished the rest of the whiskey in his glass and set the glass down on the bar top. A twitch of his fingers and the glass was nudged toward the bartender for whenever they were able to refill it. "Hard to completely keep your distance, though, when you have to be here."

Buck was no stranger to the bar. Often times he spent more time on a bar stool than he did on his couch. No surprise there. Alcohol had provided a comfort that he couldn't find anywhere else since his games. Training had gone as expected, and every year he had to remind himself why he put himself through the torment of watching two tributes go out in an attempt to survive sudden death. He deserved it. His own hands took a life, despite it being out of an act of saving. Besides, ten needed someone to help give them a fighting chance.

"Pretty much," he agreed, bringing his glass to his lips to take another pull of the whiskey he ordered. Buck had won the year after Haymitch had, and the two often found themselves at the bars in and out of Games seasons over the years. With what they had experienced in The Games, who could blame them? Haymitch definitely didn't; would have been really hypocritical if he did. Besides, it was nice having someone that understood the Capitol's absurdity and the darker side of being a Victor and Mentor to drink with. "At least we're staying consistent here with everything else, right?" He chuckled at his own joke, but was it even a joke when it was the truth? "How'd training go?"