ext_1171 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
arsenicjade.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2012-06-01 11:40 am
arsenicjade.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2012-06-01 11:40 am
Entry tags:
Nowhere to Stand and Now Nowhere to Hide by Deathmallow (Mature)
Fandom: THE HUNGER GAMES
Pairing: none
Length: ~43k
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deathmallow
Author Website: AO3 page
Why this must be read:
Because it's pretty much the most brilliant construction of Haymitch's backstory in the universe, and it is so, so much more. Deathmallow goes back to the year after Haymitch's victory and very subtly threads the undercurrents of a rebellion already beginning into Haymitch's tale. She also shows us what it means to be a victor, a mentor, and the lone person who has to go back to his District with two dead tributes every year.
She's writing a sequel dealing with the 3rd Quarter Quell that's already over 130k. I am waiting until it is done, but I am so excited I can't EVEN.
Without the sequel, though, this story is exceptional on its own, stark, cutting and somehow, underneath it all, sweet.
When he opened the door, he recognized the visitor. He’d been seeing her on the television for years, after all. Margaret Robichaux was a legend, and if her hair was more storm-grey than red now, those green eyes were still keen as the girl who’d won the 8th Games. She had to be near to sixty now and she looked like she could still probably harpoon something if called upon for it.
Standing there with her looking at him he had that uncomfortable awkward feeling like when he’d been at school and knowing he was in for it for something he’d gone and done. He wondered what he was supposed to call her anyway. “Mags” seemed too familiar, never mind the announcers on television used it. She was old enough to be his granny and he’d gotten swatted enough that like any other kid in Twelve, he respected his elders. “Miz Robichaux,” he tried.
“Just call me Mags,” she returned immediately. He nodded, absorbing that. “So it got pointed out to me that as you’re our only victor from Twelve you might not exactly know the way of things. Go on and get yourself ready, we’re all having lunch together and you ought to be there.”
It honestly took him a few beats longer than he liked to decipher his way through her thick district accent, during which he was probably gawking at her. He also noticed the use of “our”, the way she already included him. “OK,” he said. It took only a minute to go back to his room, and grab his wallet. He debated grabbing the old waxed canvas jacket that about set Terricia hysterical every time she saw it. She’d given up when he told her if she got rid of it he’d just keep buying a new one. It was his woods jacket. It was a piece of home. But no, Mags had been in shirtsleeves, so it was probably too warm for it. Shoving the wallet in the pocket of his trousers, he headed out.
They walked in silence for a little while. Finally it dawned on him why he felt like he was waiting with such awkwardness and trepidation. She’d mentored last year; he knew that. He’d seen her at the Training Center and at the studio for the interviews. She mentored pretty much every year, as experienced as she was with it. “I’m sorry about Esca,” he blurted, feeling like he had to get that out of the way. Whether or not Mags had been specifically Esca's mentor, they were both from Four. That had to mean something.
“So you remember her name.” There was nothing in that tone of voice, no clue at all.
He couldn’t look at her. “Yeah.” She’d been the first person he’d killed, the first one who’d lunged at him in that clearing. He still remembered her choked grunt as he stabbed her, the way her fingers pawed at him like she was either trying to claw him or grip on to hold herself up. He remembered her family in Four looking at him with such weariness while he gave his prepared lines about bravery and honor.
A low sigh from Mags and she said a little gruffly, “You killed them clean, boy. Only doing what you had to do. We don’t hold with giving blame for that.” Her hand gripped his shoulder for a moment, squeezed.
Nowhere to Stand and Now Nowhere to Hide
Pairing: none
Length: ~43k
Author on LJ:
deathmallowAuthor Website: AO3 page
Why this must be read:
Because it's pretty much the most brilliant construction of Haymitch's backstory in the universe, and it is so, so much more. Deathmallow goes back to the year after Haymitch's victory and very subtly threads the undercurrents of a rebellion already beginning into Haymitch's tale. She also shows us what it means to be a victor, a mentor, and the lone person who has to go back to his District with two dead tributes every year.
She's writing a sequel dealing with the 3rd Quarter Quell that's already over 130k. I am waiting until it is done, but I am so excited I can't EVEN.
Without the sequel, though, this story is exceptional on its own, stark, cutting and somehow, underneath it all, sweet.
When he opened the door, he recognized the visitor. He’d been seeing her on the television for years, after all. Margaret Robichaux was a legend, and if her hair was more storm-grey than red now, those green eyes were still keen as the girl who’d won the 8th Games. She had to be near to sixty now and she looked like she could still probably harpoon something if called upon for it.
Standing there with her looking at him he had that uncomfortable awkward feeling like when he’d been at school and knowing he was in for it for something he’d gone and done. He wondered what he was supposed to call her anyway. “Mags” seemed too familiar, never mind the announcers on television used it. She was old enough to be his granny and he’d gotten swatted enough that like any other kid in Twelve, he respected his elders. “Miz Robichaux,” he tried.
“Just call me Mags,” she returned immediately. He nodded, absorbing that. “So it got pointed out to me that as you’re our only victor from Twelve you might not exactly know the way of things. Go on and get yourself ready, we’re all having lunch together and you ought to be there.”
It honestly took him a few beats longer than he liked to decipher his way through her thick district accent, during which he was probably gawking at her. He also noticed the use of “our”, the way she already included him. “OK,” he said. It took only a minute to go back to his room, and grab his wallet. He debated grabbing the old waxed canvas jacket that about set Terricia hysterical every time she saw it. She’d given up when he told her if she got rid of it he’d just keep buying a new one. It was his woods jacket. It was a piece of home. But no, Mags had been in shirtsleeves, so it was probably too warm for it. Shoving the wallet in the pocket of his trousers, he headed out.
They walked in silence for a little while. Finally it dawned on him why he felt like he was waiting with such awkwardness and trepidation. She’d mentored last year; he knew that. He’d seen her at the Training Center and at the studio for the interviews. She mentored pretty much every year, as experienced as she was with it. “I’m sorry about Esca,” he blurted, feeling like he had to get that out of the way. Whether or not Mags had been specifically Esca's mentor, they were both from Four. That had to mean something.
“So you remember her name.” There was nothing in that tone of voice, no clue at all.
He couldn’t look at her. “Yeah.” She’d been the first person he’d killed, the first one who’d lunged at him in that clearing. He still remembered her choked grunt as he stabbed her, the way her fingers pawed at him like she was either trying to claw him or grip on to hold herself up. He remembered her family in Four looking at him with such weariness while he gave his prepared lines about bravery and honor.
A low sigh from Mags and she said a little gruffly, “You killed them clean, boy. Only doing what you had to do. We don’t hold with giving blame for that.” Her hand gripped his shoulder for a moment, squeezed.
Nowhere to Stand and Now Nowhere to Hide
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
She's probably about the only one in THG who's taken enough levels in Witty Snark and Grouchy Armor to match up to him.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Also, AHAHAHA, that icon wins at life.
no subject