One Man's Rebellion
Chapter 6
Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.
Haymitch Abernathy is waiting inside Reinhold's Steak House for me. He's dressed well, in a rather conservative outfit by Capitol standards, but he could easily pass for one of the Assistant Gamemakers. I try to see the place through his eyes, to see what a man from District Twelve would see.
The very subdued nature of the restaurant's exterior breathes exclusiveness. It's a little place near the park where I talked to Seneca briefly, about a block north of Gamemaker Central. It's not flashy or glitzy, and your eye easily passes over it when looking for the bright green park, or the prestigious clothing store next door to Reinhold's, which stretches above the restaurant and virtually demands your entrance with a bright silvery exterior and eye-catching fashions in the windows.
Inside, it's cozy and dark. The server robots are a polished black color, and the human maitre d' is wearing a black silk double-breasted suit with white pants. His royal purple tie adds a dash of color. The tables are well-separated from one another, with ample room for privacy shields to be activated at a moment's notice.
I've been here before, though not with Seneca. Dannon and I sometimes eat when we want to catch a quick break after hours of monitoring the Hunger Games.
All this must be a bit daunting, and I can see Abernathy's eyes darting around a bit warily as he stands up to approach me in the entryway. I nod briefly and say, "Hello. Thank you for coming."
He shrugs. "You called, Gamemaker Heavensbee?"
"So I did. Let's get a table first," I reply.
The maitre d' gives us a small double take, but says nothing as he escorts us to one of the tables at the far back, away from the door to the kitchens. Abernathy takes the chair closest to the wall, and I sit perpendicular to him at the square table.
"Wine?" I ask.
Abernathy shrugs dismissively, though if I'm not mistaken he's still a bit nervous. "The best they've got."
As I press the button on the center console of the table to have the wine brought out, I evaluate the other man more closely. His eyes don't seem too bloodshot, and he was walking pretty steadily when we made our way over to the table. He's probably only half-drunk so far.
Deciding to take it slowly and surely for now, I say, "Permit me to reintroduce myself. I'm Plutarch Heavensbee."
I extend my right hand, and Abernathy takes it and gives me a firm handshake. "Haymitch Abernathy. But I guess you knew that, since you sent your assistant with a message saying to meet me here."
Good. He's keen and observant when he wants to be.
He scowls. "Speaking of which, why?"
I shrug diffidently. "Gamemakers can't always get ideas from inside their own heads, now can they? I'm here to pick your brains about arenas."
Haymitch doesn't look too happy. Luckily, before an awkward silence can descend, a server robot wheels smoothly out to us with a wine bottle and two glasses. The expensive white wine's nice and chilled, and I pour out a rather healthy cupful for Haymitch, and a modest amount for me.
Before I can offer the requisite toast, Haymitch has already taken a large gulp out of his glass. Trying not to wince at the faux pas, and remembering the Districts are different – not inferior, just different – I half-heartedly raise my glass and say, "Cheers."
I take a small sip of the wine; it's excellent. Just right to go with a good steak.
After I set the glass down, I open the discussion. "In all seriousness, Mr. Abernathy, it's fair to say that you would be involved with the arenas one way or another for a long time to come."
He grunts. Takes another sip. Grudgingly, he mutters, "Until I die, I suppose." He looks at me appraisingly and more loudly, he says, "Can't help you too much, though. I was in only one of your arenas."
"True, but there are always... ideas about the usefulness of our plans for the future." Just a bit loudly, I say, "And of course, Gamemaking is all quite confidential."
I stab the button for the privacy field and take another sip of my wine, willing Haymitch to pick up what I'm trying to get at. He's scowling again, but this time he does seem curious, too.
Guardedly, he says, "Are you here on your own, or is it really Gamemaker business you're after?"
I can't keep the field up for too long or people will start wondering. I lean in, looking Haymitch directly in the eye. "What would you say if I told you that I don't think the Games need to go on forever?"
"You?" he scoffs. "There's twenty of you, plus a President. And a whole Capitol. You're shitting me, aren't you?"
"The Head Gamemaker and I see eye to eye on this matter, Haymitch. We need your help," I plead. Damn it, I can't be seen sweating in this restaurant and try not to notice my heart slamming in my chest.
The shimmering figure of the maitre d' is hovering outside the privacy shield, and I sit up straight, raising my finger to my lips. I compose myself and deactivate the shield. Haymitch is hiding his expression behind the glass he's drinking from.
"How is the wine, gentlemen?" he asks solicitously. He usually does this if he wants to remind me to order my food.
We murmur compliments, and the maitre d' says, "You will need to place your order soon. In the meantime, here is some bread as an appetizer."
I notice there's more people in the restaurant, and some are already staring.
He places a bowl of steaming bread on the table, along with several dips; even amidst the tension, I can't wait to have some of it.
Brusquely, I nod and say, "Thank you for letting us know."
"You're welcome. Gamemaker Heavensbee."
As soon as the maitre d' steps away from the table, I stab the button to re-establish the privacy field. I say lightly, "What do you feel like having? I'm going to have a steak, well done."
Haymitch shrugs. "The same."
I quickly punch the order in for two steaks plus the side dishes, then pour us both more wine, Haymitch more than me.
To stall for time, I take some bread, dunk it in the provided spiced beef broth, and enjoy the taste as I chew. I gesture to Haymitch and say, "Try the carrot and tomato dip. It's pretty good."
Actually, it's Dannon's favorite. I tried it once and went back to the beef dip. There's also eggplant bruschetta, balsamic vinegar, what-have-you.
Haymitch tries it out, and he nods as he swallows. "Not bad." He washes it down with more wine, then sets the glass heavily on the table. He sighs gustily, then looks me in the eye and leans towards me. "Okay. I'm in. What now?"
I let out a sigh of relief. "Right now, not much. It's... it's going to be slow. But it's a long haul thing. Can you hold out that long? For an end that's not going to be next year, or the year after, but I promise it will be some day."
"Do I have a choice?" grumbles Haymitch.
"Not much of one. You can leave here and forget I ever said anything... but do you really want to go back to that now that you know a Gamemaker thinks the Games are wrong?"
Haymitch grimaces. "Okay. I get it. I can kind of try to talk to Chaff, you know, from Eleven. Roundabout, if you know what I mean. But don't ask me to stick my neck out any more than that, okay? If they catch you, I don't know you from anyone else. I'll say I drank too fast and don't remember anything."
"I understand." I'm left with nothing else to say. We'd just retread more ground. I deactivate the privacy shield again, hoping the food will be ready soon.
Uncomfortably, I fiddle with the knife and fork as the server robot, laden with our plates, seems to take forever to get to us. I look around the restaurant and see that some of the tables have filled up with happy, laughing people. Several are excitedly looking at me and Haymitch. I'm just hoping we don't spark an autograph frenzy right here.
I try to keep the somber expression off my face as the robot reaches our table. Its mechanical arm sweeps the empty bread basket and dips off the table, and sets the steak dinners in front of each of us.
I immediately begin digging into my dinner. When Haymitch gives me a worried look, I say near his ear, "We need to look like we've finished talking about confidential Gamemaker stuff now. Too much longer and they'll start thinking I'm tipping you off about the upcoming Games."
Haymitch's glare could probably melt ice, but all he does is woodenly begin eating. Damn it, I shouldn't have mentioned that.
The rest of the dinner passes without conversation between us, punctuated only by Haymitch eyeing the televisions flickering to life, showing the chariot ride recaps. Thankfully, this begins to draw attention off us.
Haymitch's eyes shift to the people loudly laughing at District Seven's trees, and being astonished at District One's marvellous beauty. I see a young guy, not much older than the tributes by his appearance, leer at his friend across the table and hold his hands out in front of him. He must be talking about District Four's female. Not hard to guess what he's appreciating.
This can't be easy for Haymitch. The more I'm just around this man, the more I realize why our interactions with most Victors are so carefully controlled. Would I quickly become cynical like him, if I had to spend even just a year in his District? If I had to live as they, think as they, be as they?
That way lies a lot of thinking and probably philosophy.
But for tonight, I need to make concrete arrangements. Once we're finished, I let Haymitch have the last of the wine, which he savors with distinct pleasure. The maitre d', having obviously noticed I've signalled for the bus-robot to take the dishes away, comes up to have me cover the bill. I leave a generous tip and thumb the portable authenticator, then request a copy of the receipt.
I'm going to hit up Seneca Crane's authority over the Games budget for this one. My little way of sticking it to the Capitol.
The only sign that Haymitch has had most of a one and a half liter bottle of wine is the slight unsteadiness in his steps as we make our way past the other tables. I quickly say loudly to Haymitch, "Thanks for the excellent ideas for future arenas!" I clap him heartily on the shoulder, eliciting a sour look even as people point and gasp.
Once outside, under cover of the cars rushing by, I say, "The park next door to this restaurant is usually safe. It's only a block from Gamemaker Headquarters, and if you're staying in the Training Center or anywhere near it, you can walk over. Let's meet after the interviews are over. The City Circle will be full of people and we'll look like just two more walking around at night."
Haymitch nods, then quickly begins walking back to the Training Center without even a good-bye.
I heave a sigh and look up at the clear black sky, then begin walking as well. I can't exactly blame him. Even though I'm on his side, he's basically still acting according to someone else's whim.
One day. One day this will be over and nobody will ever have to feel obligated to someone else like that again.
Author Notes: Thanks go to SkyWriter9 for the beta work, and prodding me to get a chapter out for this fic. :P