Sixth Drink

[wastheexample]

[Given all the things that have happened to Peeta in the last week, it's not been a fun time for Haymitch. Somewhere between chugging the remaining booze in one night and arriving in the castle, he's ended up in the clinic. After all, he's only human and his liver tends to not like it when he punishes it to these extremes.

So he wakes up in a clinic bed, the journal beside him catching a quick rustle of bedcovers because Haymitch does not like waking up in places he has no idea how he ended up in]

Oh. Great. Still in this place.

[He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, grimacing as his stomach protests at all this movement. He belatedly realises that his hand hurts. A lot]

...Did I punch a wall? [No...no wait. Fuzzy memory, coming back] ...Or maybe Daniel's face.

[He notices the journal, picking it up and flicking through it. He really should apologise to Daniel for the face thing]

He probably asked for it. [Or not] How long have I been out?

Comments

[linguistical]

[ Excuse you, teenage drama you have been forgotten for now for something more trivial. ]

What? How? [ Haymitch, are you still drunk? ]

[wastheexample]

You remind me of someone back home. [Yup, that is ALL he's going to offer]

[linguistical]

[ A pause. ] Yay? [ Daniel seriously has no idea how to take this. THANKS HAYMITCH. ]

[wastheexample]

...'Course, he is dead now.

So take that as you will.

[linguistical]

Ah. [ ...Silence. ]

I've done it twice. [ Daniel. ] Dying. [ Wow, way to make this conversation a little more awkward. ]

[wastheexample]

[...Wat]

You're talkative. For a corpse.

[linguistical]

Obviously, I got better.

[wastheexample]

And here's me thinking you stayed dead.

[linguistical]

Death really isn't all it is cracked up to be.

[wastheexample]

Who'd have guessed.

[linguistical]

It's a real surprise, there's no fluffy clouds and giant white gates. Or angels. Or beer for that matter.

[wastheexample]

No beer? Well, count me out.