the ironic juxtaposition of the city girl and the seam boy
Summary: why fall in love when she ends up dying?
a/n: i slaughtered Haymitch Abernathy's personality. It is official. *hangs head in shame*
Either way, this is for Dani-Chan.
Review, please. This is my first piece for The Hunger Games fandom.
the ironic juxtaposition of the city girl and the seam boy
*why fall in love when she ends up dying?*
"Maysilee, MOVE IT!" Haymitch shouted in fear and a slight twang of annoyance, as the blonde haired girl dodged a bullet that aimed to kill. The girl from District 6, the shooter, simply hissed in fury. Maysilee Donner grinned as she ran past her ally, Haymitch Abernathy, leaving him to deal with the gun-wielding tribute.
"…ugh, I hate you." Haymitch growled, as he whipped around, dark eyes facing the black-haired tribute from District 6. The sharpshooter simply grinned malevolently as she aimed her pistol, with not so great intentions.
Haymitch simply shook his head as he fell to the ground as soon as the girl pulled the trigger. He dodged the bullet and the girl screeched in indignation. She quickly aimed once more, pulled the trigger…and found out that she was out of ammunition.
"Oh shit," The girl looked around, for her prey. Haymitch was nowhere in sight. She let out a sigh in relief, and began to sprint away.
Not before Haymitch swung a fist to her side, making contact with the girl's ribcage. She let out a shriek as she fell to the floor, writhing in pain.
"That…was a cheap…shot…" She wheezed, clutching her side. Haymitch shrugged and pulled out his dagger, out from his brown hunting boot.
"Sorry, sweetheart, but you got to go."
One blood-curdling scream later, the deed was done. A cannon was fired, revealing the once-pretty face of the black-haired tribute from District 6. The fanfare played, and Haymitch let out a sigh.
Then, another cannon was fired, the face of the girl disappeared and was replaced with the face of a boy tribute from District 2. A Career tribute.
Haymitch cocked his head to the side, confusion flashing in his gray eyes. Career tributes don't die easily...especially with few of them still in the Game. From forty-eight contestants, Haymitch found himself in an area filled with only nine competitors. Well, seven, now that two of them were dead. Three Careers, a girl from District 5, a boy from District 7, Maysilee and then…Haymitch; they were still alive and well…well, well enough in an arena where everyone wants to kill you.
Haymitch turned around slightly, to see Maysilee approaching him, her blue eyes flickering with some unknown emotion. Haymitch couldn't decipher what went on in the girl's eyes, nor did he want to. She was a city girl, he was from the Seam. That cultural difference did not end when they arrived to the Capitol.
"Ruthless, cruel? Sweetheart, we're in a war." Haymitch smiled sarcastically as he wiped his dagger on the plastic grass beneath his feet. Maysilee shook her head, matted and dirty blonde curls covering her ultra-blue eyes for a second. She clenched her fists, and swallowed down the feelings of guilt that tended to surface every now and then.
"It's…inhumane." Maysilee managed to choke out, replaced her sad smile into sarcastic one, matching Haymitch's. "Let's make camp."
So the two tributes from District 12 did as planned. They made camped and took shifts sleeping, in order to protect themselves from the other five tributes, roaming the beautiful, but deadly arena. Haymitch hated it. He hated the arena, oh so much. It was tantalizing; he wanted to enjoy the sun, the fresh air, the water, but he knew that the sun would dehydrate him, that the fresh air would be poisoned sooner or later, and the water was already poisoned. Joy to the freaking world.
During the dead of their artificial night, Haymitch allowed his gray gaze to flicker towards his sleeping ally. Maysilee was curled inside the sleeping bag they shared, shivering and shuddering. Haymitch pitied the girl, young and naïve, without any knowledge of the wild and outside world. She was used to living in her plush and comfortable environment.
But…she was smart. Cunning and quick, those were the traits that had brought her this far into the Quarter Quell.
Quell. What an odd word, Haymitch mused as he fell on his back, gray eyes staring at the artificial stars. Quell, to quench or to repress. The Quarter Quell was a fitting title for these Games. They repressed any thought of rebellion through making the Games much more painful to watch, with harder challenges or difficult handicaps.
Just Haymitch's luck, to be reaped for these Games; he always said, back home, that karma was going to get him soon enough.
Haymitch had reason enough to be there, but Maysilee? Unable to contain his feelings much longer, Haymitch got back up and walked towards the sleeping girl and crouched next to her, brushing his callous fingers against her once-porcelain perfect skin. It was still soft to the touch, and Haymitch swore he saw a smile on the sleeping girl's face.
Then he tensed and got up in a rush, walking back towards his previous post. No. He was not about to get attached to this girl he barely knew. There was no time for friendship in these Games, much less…love.
Love, how pathetic. Haymitch closed his eyes and ran a hand through his dry, brown curls. He had a girl back home in District 12.
It was better that she didn't exist. Haymitch shook his head and fell back to the floor, burying his face in his hands. What was he to do? He was going to die, anyways. Why not enjoy his death sentence to the fullest and allow himself to fall in love with another girl? It wasn't like he was going to see her ever again.
"…ugh, I overslept, didn't I?" Maysilee's groggy, sleepy, question echoed in their camp site. Her blue eyes were glazed over, as she attempted to slide out of the sleeping bag, without much success. Haymitch walked towards her, took her hand-much to her surprise- and helped her out.
"No, sweetheart, you barely slept. Now, get to your shift. I'm going to get some shut-eye. After all," Haymitch drawled, while letting go of the girl's hand, "someone needs to protect us tomorrow." He quickly climbed up a tree, settled on a branch, and closed his eyes as soon as he was comfortable.
Maysilee scoffed as she sat down on the grass floor, shaking her head. "As if I need protection…" She murmured, while fiddling with a golden pin, resting on her black shirt. It was a Mockingjay, a family heirloom, passed down to her. She loved the pin, it was beautiful, so elegantly-crafted, and it made her feel special. She felt like she was part of something that involved things other than politics and money. She felt…important whenever she wore that pin.
"Don't be so sure, sweetheart." Haymitch's voice wafted down from the tree, causing Maysilee to scowl, her perfect features painting a picture of discontent.
"Stop calling me sweetheart. You don't mean it."
Haymitch did not respond to her retort. He contemplated the girl's response to his nickname for her and about every girl he came in contact with. Didn't mean it, huh? A very interesting notion; Haymitch was learning little bits of information with each sentence she uttered. She didn't like terminology unless you actually meant it.
"Hmm." The teen from District 12 felt himself actually getting tired.
Maysilee felt herself stiffen, as her mind calculated the number of tributes and her chances of survival. They were high…but…
"We need to split up."
The request caught Haymitch off-guard, but he quickly regained his icy cool composure. "That's nice. All right, the road is yours."
Maysilee directed a small smile towards the brunet before continuing. "I don't want to be the one to kill you."
And then, she disappeared into the mass of trees.
And with that, Haymitch finally let himself rest. His subconscious mind was a raging clash of madness, thoughts crashing into others, the impact creating a new one. The only constant was a pair of blue eyes, blue eyes that stared at Haymitch with some kind of…emotion that Haymitch thought was…anger? Sadness? Remorse?
It was an emotion he did not like being directed at him.
In the distance, he heard a scream.
Haymitch fell off his tree branch, gray eyes desperately looking for the blonde girl that was supposed to be on duty.
Maysilee Donner was nowhere in sight. Maysilee Donner, the girl from District 12, the girl that he had developed some kind of feelings for-not love, Haymitch swears-, the girl Haymitch is chasing after. He's running through the trees and brambles, jumping over fallen logs, looking for the source of the screams.
Then he stops, and looks behind him, to see a swarm of creatures. Pink, feathery creatures.
Maysilee Donner was running in front of them, her blonde hair flying behind her, her legs carrying her farther and farther away from the killer birds. They were muttations, Haymitch could tell from the too-large beaks and eyes that seemed to mimic fallen tributes.
Dear heavens, it was a karmic death vehicle. Haymitch ran like a bat out of hell, as Maysilee was getting closer, and closer. Haymitch extended his hand out behind him, hoping that she would be able to grab it and they would be able to fall into the hole Haymitch saw in front of him. The hole would protect them, for a while at least, from the birds that would go straight.
Oh damn. "Maysilee, take my hand, dammit!"
Maysilee's frightened cobalt gaze locked with Haymitch's gray eyes, and Haymitch saw no hint of arrogance, pride, nothing. All he saw was a scared girl. A scared girl whose destiny was already written in the sky.
"Haymitch, I'm…" Maysilee reached for his hand, and Haymitch reached forward, their hands just inches apart…just a bit closer and they would be able to reach safety…
It happened in a split second. Maysilee stopped, in order to grab Haymitch's calloused, rough, hand, with her slender, small, hand.
In that moment, the birds' beaks made contact with her pretty ivory skin. The blood trailed down her arms, legs, and face, like crimson roses, the blood seeped to the floor, as Maysilee Donner screamed.
The birds pecked and poked, tore and sheared, every little bit they could. Haymitch watched as Maysilee flailed and thrashed, screaming his name.
"Haymitch…!" Her shouts became weaker, and weaker, as Haymitch ran towards her, his dagger quickly ending the lives of the birds nearest to her. He fell to his knees, as the bleeding girl stared at him, a sad smile on her rose-red lips.
"…I'm sorry, Maysilee."
"Win." Maysilee coughed out, blood coming out from her mouth, dribbling down her face, tainting her once-perfect skin. As her heartbeat slowed, Haymitch brought his head down, carefully brushing his lips against hers.
"I'll win, even if I die trying." Haymitch whispered, quietly, mostly to himself. The kiss was unexpected, unscripted. It was chaste, it wasn't out of love, but out of…whatever their relationship had been.
Maysilee died with her eyes open.
Haymitch closed them, as one final gift to the blonde-haired girl as the cannons roared.