where: district thirteen medical wing
when: day sixty-three
who: violet & haymitch (@caardews)
arms are crossed, but lines on his face are harsher. from hair to toes, he's gray. just weeks ago, he had been held within the same bleak walls of the underground medical facilities. something about peeta mellark's cell-like room feels particularly cruel. not that anybody seems to care, not when he sprung feral at the girl. no, the mockingjay. between the schedule outlined dramatically on arm, he had split time between running between boy and girl as well as talking with the lady in their shared room. eyes are sunken from limited rest. and as much as abernathy finds an usual ease in complaining, he cannot find the words to do so now.
his fellow victor doesn't look anywhere near as ghostly as haymitch. she never did, peacocks rarely do. except unlike finnick odair, the man from twelve never really warmed up to violet. perhaps, it's all proximal to their closer games. perhaps, it's because he is a bitter man, getting more sour by the day. maybe it's something else altogether. and unluckily for violet, he takes a huffed exhale before beginning to talk. " they put ya on hospital duty ? wouldn't've guessed, " jab is surface level. most winners of the hunger games are just utilized as full time rebels here. " do ya know if anyone can give the boy somethin' stronger for all'at pain ? "
