Here's my advice: stay alive

[juststayalive]

WHO: Haymitch Abernathy
WHERE: The fountain and nearby
WHEN: May 23
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Probable mentions of torture, murder, death, alcoholism, all the sunshiney Panem stuff

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The Fountain (closed to Finnick)

"You and a syringe against the Capitol. This is why no one lets you make the plans." He barely has time to finish what he's saying before the scene is shifting around him, and he's not on a hoverplane anymore, but in some location he can't identify. Is it water? Where did that come from? Or perhaps a better question is, how did he end up in it?

These are questions he doesn't have time to contemplate. Every instinct he has kicks in and he's pulling for the surface, or at least the direction that's lighter than the rest, because that must be the surface, right? He barely notices the backpack or heavy-duty boots weighing him down, which is some kind of minor miracle because he's not exactly in swimming shape. Even before, when he'd been young and fit, he hadn't really known how to swim. Not like some other tributes.

How he manages to break through the surface of the water he'll never figure out. It might have to do with his incredible desire not to die. At least not here, like this. That would be letting them win.

He's out of the water and over the edge of the fountain before he even knows what he's doing. He has no time to pause, to assess his new location, to analyze the situation. The images are creeping in again, although they're not images of water, and he can't afford to let them. He needs to get somewhere safe before he gives in.

He takes one stumbling step, then another, in a direction that he hopes leads to safety. Or at least somewhere he can sit down.

The Village (open to all)

It might be unwise to go to the center of the activity -- there was always a blood bath at the Cornucopia, after all -- but how else is he going to figure out anything about this place? Once he's away from the fountain, he heads for the more populated area, but still making sure to stick to the trees along the edges. He's not as good at defending himself with weapons as Katniss, or as good at blending in as Peeta, so he'll have to make the best of it.

Satisfied that he's in no immediate danger, he creeps closer through the trees, aiming for the edge of the village. He hasn't forgotten the tricks for making it out of an arena, although this doesn't feel quite like any arena he's familiar with. The longer you avoid drawing unnecessary attention to yourself, the longer you stay alive. Hence the creeping.

It doesn't take long for the aching of joints and shortness of breath to convince him of one thing: he's too old for this. There's a reason that the tributes were teenagers, after all. All the years of idleness make a difference, too. Not going back into the arena was the one thing he was supposed to be sure of, as a Victor, but that promise had already been broken once. Why not again? Is this some sort of punishment for his involvement in the nascent rebellion?

He finds an unused building to use for cover and leans his back against it, so he can look over the trees behind him. If he were younger, he might attempt climbing one. But he's not, so he'll do what he can. Once he's sure that there's no one behind him, he turns to look around the building toward the village on the other side.