ataraxion | 001; Voice;

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001; Voice;

[In a sea of panic, in a sea of blind finger-pointing, and mystery-solving, and hackers hacking, and people screaming, and red text being creepy.

There is one man

who still believes

in alcohol.

Which is to say that Haymitch has limped his way to the kitchen, found himself some vodka and poured himself a drink. Not that you can see this if you're just listening in on the network, hunting down any clues. But if you wanted a cryptic message.

Well. You're getting one.]

Waste of time.

[Panem Filter]

Any of you still alive?

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What was that?

Which part?

Reason is a rarity amongst those aboard the ship.

The fear gas. But I have to admit I'm curious about the cryptically foreboding text message, too.

Got that right.

Scare tactics, both. All it is. Didn't know any better, I'd wonder if they were trying to provoke a fight.

And I'm sure whoever sent that message isn't counting on exactly that.

Was hoping they'd give it another month before sending us into an all-out war.

Wars are fought by even sides. This ain't a war.

[Honestly, Haymitch isn't the only one who went straight to the vodka. So through out his little cryptic message he might just have one nation leaning up against a counter, glass in hand watching with amused violet eyes. Really, it was far more useful to let people run around and figure things out and point fingers until it wore down.]

That'd be why you're here, wouldn't it?

Could it be a response to all the rebellion talk?

Alternatively, it's exactly on which they're counting. Examine the results: Absolute chaos, and discussion and gossip galore.

If it's the goal, it's thoroughly succeeded. Doubts spread like wildfire.

Is she?

Doubt it. We're not on that list going around. Don't know anyone who is, save for the man who started the first mutiny.

And that's about when people start killing each other.

Right. Worse than that, then. Wouldn't even call it a fair fight.

[Haymitch shifts, trying to take the weight off his gunshot wound, but otherwise avoiding drawing attention to it. He's just sprawling. He's a sprawler. Nothing to see here.] I'm here for a drink. [He is just ever so casual as he tilts his bottle in the man's direction. Because real men don't use glasses.]

Assume she's fine. [IS THAT WORRY. No... It's very clearly indigestion.]

What do you know about him?

[Oh clearly, sprawling before a drink provides the best experience! Russia's eyes flicker towards the bottle and he chuckles. Real men might not use a glass, but he's trying to ration his vodka out. Otherwise it'll all magically disappear. But that's not the here and now, so he simply raises his glass to his lips and smirks.]

The best course of action, really.

Slaughter's on the optimistic end.

[Of course it is. Peeta will be here completely buying that.] She hasn't contacted you?

Precisely my insinuation. You don't seem too concerned to do anything about it.

What is?

Thinks he's a mastermind. Might be, for all I know, but he's not exactly effective.

[There's a pause, like he's considering not even commenting on this part, but oh well. Might as well... Let Finnick know.]

Also, he's blue.

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