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Cashmere is incredibly hungover and the afterburners from Remake aren't doing nearly enough to dull the headache and nausea. She left Gloss and the tributes still sleeping in the apartment, but because of the stupid 'Mentor Commentator' obligation, she has some scheduled bullshit starting at 8AM, so she goes up to the mentor lounge at 7:30 to try to find some breakfast, or maybe just get drunk again to try to cure her hangover that way.
She's annoyed when Johanna isn't there. If she's being punished like this, it feels only right that Johanna is too. She's extra annoyed when Haymitch Abernathy arrives in the mentor lounge instead. Of all the people she wants to talk to before the sun is fully up and when she has a major throbbing headache, he's at the bottom of the list.
"Where's Jo?" he asks, sitting at one of the stools of the bar and pouring himself a white liquor and orange juice. "She said she would meet me here before you left this morning."
She scoffs. "I don't keep track of her."
He finishes pouring and takes a long swig, and then drops his gaze, looking at her more seriously. She hates it, the fact that she can't just pretend he's a complete drunk. She likes the image of him passed out in Illyria, incoherent, a vestige of the Quell, not this man with actual perception. "I saw that photo," he says. "You were there, weren't you?"
She has no idea what photo he's talking about. She's purposely not looked at the tabloids, something that's new to her in all her years in the Capitol. But she can imagine it well enough. She and Seneca Crane leaving Illyria, laughing and drunk and beautiful and alive, getting into a limo to go to the Metropolitan Hotel. She sneers at him, and it's not forced at all. "You need to stay off the drink, you're inventing things now, old man."
She distracts herself by unwrapping another afterburner from the little waxy paper wrapper, and sucking on it. This one is menthol flavored. She doesn't know what they're supposed to be doing today, just that they needed to leave early. Film something, probably, or schmooze some of the Games sponsors. Whatever it is, she is not leaving until they drag Johanna along.
"She was there too, wasn't she?" It seems Haymitch is following her train of thought somewhat, and she feels embarrassed, and her embarrassment fades to anger, to defensiveness, like it does every time.
"Oh, now you care?" She meets his eyes again, daring to stare him down. "Is it an age thing, or do you just have a thing for scrawny narcotics addicts?"
This seems to do the trick, as he breaks her gaze first, taking another sip of his drink. He doesn't reply right away, and when he does, it's as he's standing to go, so she feels satisfaction that she's won. "Be careful," he says.
She wants to laugh, because what kind of advice is that? Everyone knows to be careful in the Capitol. It's the most dangerous place in Panem, fuck what people said about the mines or the forests. She can't even look at him as he shuffles away. She hates him. She hates everything he represents: a hopeless district and a hopeless rebel cause, the most miserable Games and the woe being a victor amounts to if one didn't take the steps to actively prevent it.
And she hates him on a personal level. Because why does he look out for Johanna and Finnick while she and Enobaria and Gloss had to fend for themselves? Not that she wanted the protection of a useless lush, but she was also a kid when she showed up here, didn't she also suffer? But she wasn't from an outer district, so it didn't matter.
Johanna arrives in the lounge at 8:05, and holds her palm out. Cashmere hands her an afterburner and a juice, and they go and find the hired car to take them to fuck knows where.