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Peeta
unexpectedly
laughs
.
"
He
was
drunk
,
"
says
Peeta
.
"
He
's
drunk
every
year
.
"
"
Every
day
,
"
I
add
.
I
ca
n't
help
smirking
a
little
.
Effie
Trinket
makes
it
sound
like
Haymitch
just
has
somewhat
rough
manners
that
could
be
corrected
with
a
few
tips
from
her
.
"
Yes
,
"
hisses
Effie
Trinket
.
"
How
odd
you
two
find
it
amusing
.
You
know
your
mentor
is
your
lifeline
to
the
world
in
these
Games
.
The
one
who
advises
you
,
lines
up
your
sponsors
,
and
dictates
the
presentation
of
any
gifts
.
Haymitch
can
well
be
the
difference
between
your
life
and
your
death
!
"
Just
then
,
Haymitch
staggers
into
the
compartment
.
"
I
miss
supper
?
"
he
says
in
a
slurred
voice
.
Then
he
vomits
all
over
the
expensive
carpet
and
falls
in
the
mess
.
"
So
laugh
away
!
"
says
Effie
Trinket
.
She
hops
in
her
pointy
shoes
around
the
pool
of
vomit
and
flees
the
room
.
For
a
few
moments
,
Peeta
and
I
take
in
the
scene
of
our
mentor
trying
to
rise
out
of
the
slippery
vile
stuff
from
his
stomach
.
The
reek
of
vomit
and
raw
spirits
almost
brings
my
dinner
up
.
We
exchange
a
glance
.
Obviously
Haymitch
is
n't
much
,
but
Effie
Trinket
is
right
about
one
thing
,
once
we
're
in
the
arena
he
's
all
we
've
got
.
As
if
by
some
unspoken
agreement
,
Peeta
and
I
each
take
one
of
Haymitch
's
arms
and
help
him
to
his
feet
.
"
I
tripped
?
"
Haymitch
asks
.
"
Smells
bad
.
"
He
wipes
his
hand
on
his
nose
,
smearing
his
face
with
vomit
.
"
Let
's
get
you
back
to
your
room
,
"
says
Peeta
.
"
Clean
you
up
a
bit
.
"
We
half-lead
half-carry
Haymitch
back
to
his
compartment
.
Since
we
ca
n't
exactly
set
him
down
on
the
embroidered
bedspread
,
we
haul
him
into
the
bathtub
and
turn
the
shower
on
him
.
He
hardly
notices
.
"
It
's
okay
,
"
Peeta
says
to
me
.
"
I
'll
take
it
from
here
.
"
