thevictorious

[thevictorious]

SWANN .​

They were too young, far too young to be thrown into this mess. Six years have no come and passed since her own games, but it never got easier seeing these new faces thrown into the limelight and tight grips of the capitol elites and socialites. At Fava’s age, she had fallen under the spell of luxury and attention. She had allowed herself to indulge in all of the frivolous gifts and compliments, adorned herself in jewelry, happily eaten only the finest of delicacies from the other districts, and downed drink and drink. Part naiveté and part desperation to feel anything other than the constant state of horror she had been living in since making it out of the games, Swann had realized all too late before the capitol had swallowed her whole and claimed her as their own. 

Though all she has known about the newest victor ( or one of the newest victors now that this year saw a duo ) has been through the lens of the Capitol’s media, something about Fava tells Swann that she won’t buy into all of as she had, but that doesn’t mean she’s immune to the capitol’s greed. They were always looking for the next great thing to satisfy their avarice, that deep desire for more.

❝ That’s right. They’re not for everyone that’s for sure, but I find them quite lovely, ❞  she replies, looking at them for a moment and considering taking one, but choosing to refrain. Swann had never been able to hold her food well when nervous or on edge, and these parties always had quite an effect on her.  ❝ It’s not a problem in the slightest. They tend to love indulgence, or really I should say, overindulgence. Water would only dilute that… ❞  her eyebrows hike upwards, a bemused smirk pulling at her lips as she leans in slightly to whisper,  ❝ … in more ways than one. ❞

It isn’t until the younger woman makes a slight jest at her mentor’s expense.  ❝ Ah, well good is broad term, no? Either way, he may have an untraditional way of showing he cares, but… if you haven’t figured out by now, I’d stay close to him. Griffin is lovely in his own way. He’s been in this a long time, and he’s helped me navigate this life more than I care to admit. ❞  Granted, most of those times were spent with the two passing back and forth a bottle, but her statement still applied regardless.

--

Victory came with a promise. Those who won the Hunger Games were never supposed to worry about food or shelter or warmth ever again. Victors were granted special permissions and protections that other people of the districts were not permitted. But now that she’d won the Hunger Games, Fava realized that the promise was a lie...

These new riches came at a cost. Perhaps their lives were spared and they had more food than they could ever eat, but they were no more free now than they’d been before. In fact, she felt less free now. Every little move that she and Hudson made was carefully scrutinized now. The people of the Capitol were watching, wanting desperately to learn more, but the people of the districts were watching too. If they could not convince Snow, if they could not convince the people of the Districts, the people that they loved would be killed. 

Fava had provided for her family for years now, and yet she’d never felt such a weight on her shoulders. She wondered whether she should have just allowed Hudson to win... Perhaps she could have prevented all of this. Raab would have taken care of her family and she hoped that Hudson would too...

But it was far too late for that line of thinking.

Now she had a role to play, and that meant convincing everyone around her that she was a silly, lovestruck young woman.

And yet, there was something about Swann that made her feel a little bit more at home. Fava did not expect to relate to her, the young woman was a Career tribute after all, but the kindness that she’d shown so far had touched her. Ever careful, however, Fava wondered whether this was some sort of trap.

She allowed herself to feel content, to feel comfortable, but decided that she would have to watch her tongue. It wasn’t too hard to play the part. As Swann leaned in and teased about the people of the Capitol, Fava found herself smiling slightly. It wasn’t hard to laugh at the people here. They were ridiculous, after all. “I’m... not sure I want to know how.” She confessed. She didn’t have enough knowledge of alcohol to know that water diluted it, but it seemed that somehow water would spoil all of the fun. 

Fava was more sure now than ever that it was the only thing she ought to drink in the Capitol.

Swann’s favorable opinion of Griffin only made her more certain of the young woman. She would still be cautious, but if she was a friend of Griffin’s? Surely, that meant she was a friend of Fava’s and Hudson’s. “I can’t thank him enough for all that he did when we were in the Arena,” she told Swann honestly, “I don’t... know that Hudson and I would have made it out of there without him.” Hudson especially, his injuries had been bad enough that even the Capitol couldn’t save his leg. “But don’t tell him I said that, would you?” She smirked slightly. “It’ll go right to his head.” 

[thevictorious]

HUDSON .

They can’t hesitate. They can’t act like they aren’t sure of their welcome with Fava. Especially not tonight, when there are even more eyes on them than there were throughout their Victory Tour. When it feels like it all—their first test on stage immediately after the Arena, the way they never quite felt alone and unobserved even back in Twelve, every step in every District Square along the way—was leading up to this, their biggest test yet.

One moment of hesitation feels like it could be enough to make this all come crashing down. They need to be convincing, they need to be easy with each other.

Everything depends on it. The safety of their families. Fava’s family, after she so bravely stepped into the Arena in her sister’s place. Hudson’s family, too, who they were finally able to give something of worth to, in the form of their winnings, their house in the Victor’s Village. Griffin and Nelly’s safety, too, who they’ve made their accomplices, whose fate will forever be intertwined with theirs, now.

But still, it feels selfish sometimes, to let Fava do these things. To do them themself. And they fear, too, crossing some line, not knowing that they’ve crossed it. They worry, always, about Fava growing to resent them for forcing her to act out this charade. But it’s not just Fava. They worry, too, about growing to resent her in turn, even if they shouldn’t.

It’s not as if she doesn’t care for them. She could have killed them in the arena, Hudson wouldn’t have fought her. Because she was her, but also because Hudson had so little fight left in them, at the end, could hardly even stand on their own. She could have cut them down and been a sole Victor, and her path now would have been easier because of it. But she defied the Capitol, and she saved them. No matter what their heart wants, asking anything more of her after that just feels—greedy.

Hudson never had much occasion to practice dancing in District Twelve, but this feels like one: they make small movements towards each other, as close as they can get to asking for permission; Fava takes one step, Hudson takes another, until they’re much closer than they were before. “Please,” they say, resisting the urge to look around and see who’s witnessing this little display, keeping their eyes on her instead, his expression as besotted as he knows how to make it. “What would all the Capitol papers say tomorrow if I was caught looking like a fool at this very fancy party?”

-- 

She wasn’t used to relying on anyone else. Having grown up in Twelve, she’d learned to feed herself and her loved ones by taking up the bow and arrow, and she sold anything extra at the Hob to gain a bit of extra money. It was because of her that they were able to afford thick blankets for the winter and firewood and even the occasional treat.

After her father’s death, Fava had become incredibly independent. She had to be. But now, standing here amids the people of the Capitol, she found that she had to trust in Hudson.

Had she wanted to remain independent, to be entirely unbound to anyone but her own family, Fava would have needed to kill them in the Arena. And after all that they’d been through? She couldn’t stomach the thought of watching Hudson die by her own hand. To hunt was second nature, but to hunt humans? It had been her desperate need to get home that propelled her to kill the Careers that got in her way. Hudson was different entirely. They’d saved her, she’d known them for too long, she couldn’t kill someone who was such an integral part of her story. 

And so, she would continue to rely on them. They would have to continue this charade in public until they were old and gray, but if it meant that they all were allowed to stay alive, wasn’t it worth it? She wondered whether Hudson thought so... Was this what they would have chosen for themself had she bothered to fill them in on the plan?

They stepped toward her and she readied herself for whatever was to come next. She was not one for soft moments, for hugs save for her younger siblings or gentle touches, but this was the game that they needed to play to keep their loved ones alive. She forced herself to relax, hoping that the partygoers would believe in them.

She smiled up at them, meeting their eye with an unspoken agreement. A small part of Fava felt that she ought to apologize, that she was doing something that she shouldn’t, but those were not words to be spoken now. What if, somehow, they were overheard? Fava reached up to wipe the frosting away from Hudson’s face, touching gently at their chin and their cheek. At last, she smiled up at them. “There,” she grinned up at them, allowing her fingers linger behind for a moment before she let them fall at her side again. “No one else has to know. It’s our little secret.” She teased.

At last, Fava glanced over her shoulder. Everyone seemed to be lookin at them and she turned her attention back to Hudson. She felt overwhelmed. Fava was still not used to being the center of attention, but it seemed that they were still the Capitol darlings. “Well, maybe not just ours...” she offered them a sheepish look. Was this good enough? "And if they caught it, they’ll say we were enjoying the food here.” It’s not like Capitolites expected the people of Twelve to be particularly well-mannered anyway.

[thevictorious]

SLATE .

He was certainly poking the bear to see what beast would come out. As he seemed to be finding, it was just an angry teenager. There were whispers of a teenage mastermind. That wasn’t entirely the case here, now was it? Certainly, anger was a dangerous thing, but he didn’t see it as so dangerous in this case. Maybe just a girl with rebellion placed upon her.

There was a flash of pity. A girl given a death sentence, even if she wasn’t aware of it. To die for a hopeless cause.

Her firm handshake pulls him out of it and he’s back to studying her every movement. When she asks about the minds of those around her, Slate can’t help the amused huff as he looks at the other Capitol residents that are in attendance of this party. “No one here actually keeps their made up mind. But their hold their certainty with ferocity, until they’re told to believe something else. I think right now,” He turns back to Fava. “They are made up about the beautiful Girl on Fire with the beautiful love story following behind her. Harrowing, is it not?” He hums, sipping his drink. It’s a little vomit-educing on his end. “And are there any issues with minds being made up over that?”

He knows she wont take the bait. She’s smarter than that, obviously. But he couldn’t help to leave it out there. To see if there might be so much as a flinch. Her act of love got the head game-maker killed, after all. Surely she’s aware of the implications on her back.

-- 

The beautiful Girl on Fire? Was that how the people here saw her? Fava was so, so many things. She was clever, she was strong-willed, she was an excellent hunter and trackers, she was loyal, and she was willing to sacrifice everything for the people who she cared for. And that was how they chose to see her? It was almost amazing how the people of the Capitol were able to see the winners of the Games not as monsters, as murderers, but as some cute little pet to be adored.

Fava Thornewood was so much more than a pretty face. But she certainly wasn’t going to say that to Slate. She doubted that he’d understand, and even if he did? She sure as hell didn’t trust him. This man was not one of her people, and she knew better than to put her loved ones at risk to make a statement.

Once again, she was playing a precarious game of survival, but this time her life was no the one on the line. The stakes were even higher now.

She forced herself to smile as Slate explained how the people of the Capitol saw her, as though she was pleased with the assessment. “Harrowing?” She asked, considering the word carefully. Fava had been terrified when she’d been dropped in the Arena. The fights and blood and mutts still haunted her dreams, but they’d made it out alive. “It was at the time, but now...” She considered her next words carefully. “I’m glad that the people here think so highly of us.” A lie, she didn’t really give a damn, but she couldn’t tell him that.

But why ask her that question? Perhaps he saw beneath her act. Fear pricked in her chest. If Slate could see that she was acting, surely Snow could too. For now, she tried to swallow her horror.

Besides, there was something in what Slate said that caught her attention. “But... their opinion changes?” She’d seen some of this on the television from far, far away. A victor was adored one year and seemed to fall out of favor without much explanation, but she didn’t know what went on in the Capitol. “Why?”

[thevictorious]

ROBYN .

ROBYN DOESN’T MASK the pride that swells in them when their victors, Swann and Roux, are mentioned. Granted, most expressions never end up looking particularly emphasized on their face to begin with, but the fact that they choose not to downplay this one is a testament to their satisfaction. Swann is their joy, their masterpiece, as magnificent a person inside as she is outside. Roux, they suppose, had been more Harbor’s project than theirs, but they can’t deny the affection there either, estranged as they had become since their win. Still, whatever it is Robyn feels about either doesn’t change a thing; under their watchful eyes, Swann and Roux had won back-to-back, bringing pride to District Four two years in a row.

“My brother and I did,” he clarifies, returning Fava’s slight smile. There’s a small twinge in his chest as he says this, but Robyn’s quick to get back on track. As soon as the internal rewards of being recognized ( and the mortifying ordeal of remembering their brother’s disappearance ) die back down, they return to observing her. In almost any situation, they never gush, if they can help it. And anyway — this isn’t about them. As good as it feels to be reminded of their achievements, this conversation is about Fava Thornewood, and Fava Thornewood alone.

“Mm, I can picture it,” they say, nodding along to Fava’s words as she speaks them, watching every look and every gesture that she makes. Their face looks genuinely, albeit subtly, interested, and that’s because they are. There are brief flashes of the girl in the arena, hidden beneath the layers of make-up, and thick as those layers are, they know she’s there. And they see just how hard she’s trying to hide it away. “Is it, really?” Robyn tilts his head. “Amazing, that is. I would imagine it’s far too excessive for your liking.”

--

They’re hard to read, she realizes as she watches the smallest shift in their expression. She expected a big smile to spread across their face or their chest to puff out, the way that she’d seen so many Capitolites react. The people here were not at all guarded, they saw no reason to hide the cotton candy thoughts running through their mind. They’d been fed propaganda from the time that they were small, and she knew they’d never fathom saying anything negative about Snow or the Capitol.

But this person, why was it that they kept what they felt to themselves?

She tilted her head ever so slightly, curiosity in her expression. Perhaps she’d not given the people of the Capitol the credit that they deserved. Just as the people from Twelve could not be summed up in a sweeping statement, the people here were more varied than she gave them credit for. Or was there something more beneath that look?

Regardless, she smiled at them. “You must be proud. I had the pleasure of meeting Swann,” and she was every bit as elegant and charming as she’d appeared on television. Fava was touched by the water that she’d offered. It was nice to know that some of the victors looked out for one another.

She tried so hard to fit the mold that has been made for her, but it’s hard. Charm isn’t something that she has to deal with on a daily basis, and the people of her district know Fava as the girl who carries far too much weight on her shoulders. She’s not meant for silliness and too big smiles. This act isn’t particularly easy, but she knows that her family’s lives depend upon her success. There is absolutely no room for error. 

Their question caught her off guard. She pauses for a moment, wondering if she said something that she shouldn’t have, and then understands their question. Fava laughs lightly in response. “But this is the Capitol,” she reminded them with a little wave of her hand. “It would be a bit... much for Twelve,” Fava wondered if she was treading dangerous ground, “but it’s perfect here.” And then, she gambled. Her smile became a bit sharper, a smirk appeared and she gave them a look. “What, you think people from Twelve can’t have taste?”

[thevictorious]

HUDSON .

When Hudson told the world that they were in love in Fava, they were only thinking about the Games. Thinking about getting sponsors. Thinking about how it was something they could do to help both of them, even if only one of them could make it out, and everybody knew who had the better odds. They never considered this, and they’re not even sure if they can say that was short-sighted of them. It’s not like there’s precedent for this, after all.

But it still sometimes feels like a cruel joke they played on themself. Because they imagined this, even if they never imagined it quite like this.

Back in Twelve, even before Fava stood up for Grace at the reaping, everyone could see how fiercely she loved her family. How fiercely she loved Raab, too; anyone lucky enough to be close to her. And it was hard, Hudson thought, to see that and not imagine what it might be like to be loved that much. To be loved by her.

But the Capitol had never featured in those imaginings. How could it? Hudson had never been there, never thought that they would go there. Everything they imagined felt smaller, quieter. Being in Twelve, having a place and a person to go to that was outside of their family. Maybe being brave enough to sneak under the fence, something they’d never done when it was just them alone, even though they wanted to.

So maybe that absolves them of some of the guilt. Whatever it is that they’re trapped in now, it’s so far from anything Hudson had ever dreamed of.

And Fava surprises them, sometimes. It’s a relief, honestly, that it’s not just Hudson leading this charade. They’ve never been much of a leader. But Fava is putting her all into the show that they need to put on. And she’s good at it: she’s a good actress, when she wants to be—there were times when Hudson believed her, in the Arena, though maybe that was also partly them wanting to.

Maybe it’s absurd, the two of them smiling over desserts with the Games still only just past, but it’s what the Capitol wants to see. “I always am,” they say, taking the offered dessert from her outstretched hand and matching her playful tone. “On three? One, two—” And it’s good, of course. Like almost everything Hudson’s tried in the Capitol, it’s one of the best things they’ve ever tasted. But it’s messy, too, complicated and layered. “Do I— ” they ask with a laugh, “do I have it all over my face now?”

--

Fava was an excellent competitor.

Surely, the Capitol had not realized just how deadly she was when she’d volunteered in place of her younger sister, but she was every bit as skilled and strong as the Career tributes. What’s more, Fava was scrappy. She’d learned how to live with hunger in her stomach, with bitter cold, with loneliness and loss. She had an edge on the whole lot of them, and the Gamemakers had seen that when they’d announced her score.

And yet, there was a part of Fava that knew she wouldn’t have made it home without Hudson. Their admission, that they were in love with Fava, had changed everything. Griffin had said it himself, Hudson had turned the Capitol’s attention to her. Without them (and Cinna too), there were no gifts and certainly not the adoration that the people here obviously had for her.

She could turn on charm, she could be likable when she had to be, but Fava had learned that sharp edges better suited her. Certainly, she was not the sort of person that people would root for.

Here they were, even though they knew that her love had been something of an act, even though they knew that she had used them to get home to Grace, still smiling at her despite it all. It was a damn good thing that Hudson seemed to be so damn good a love, at building a love story, because she knew that she could not do this without them either.

She smiled back when they retorted that they were always with her. In a sense, it was true. Their lives were forever fused together by the Hunger Games. Given what President Snow had said, there was no future in which they did not end up together. Part of her resented the thought. She was free, she had fought, she had won, Fava should be able to do whatever the hell she pleased.

But this was not just about her.

There were other people to consider, and in truth? Hudson was kind and she’d genuinely started to care for them. She raised the little dessert that she had in her hand, as if to toast them, and ate it at once. It was small, only intended to be bite sized, but the flavor... There was so much about the Capitol that she hated, that she despised, but the food was always a pleasure. It made the food in Twelve look rather bland.

“Mm,” she hummed happily, opening her eyes only to see the frosting on Hudson’s face. Oh, they were really good at this. Perhaps she was not clever enough to fool President Snow, but Hudson? Wasn’t this the sort of thing that lovers did? Fava chuckled and tilted her head up at them. “It must have been good, you’ve got some right here.” She motioned to the corner of their lip. The teasing remained in her tone. She wasn’t usually playful, save for her siblings, but this was what she’d seen silly school kids do when she was younger. Playfulness and teasing were all part of affection.

She reached for a napkin on the table and held it up. “I’ll help if you want?” She offered, leaning closer ever so slightly. Or, if they did not comfortable (she wouldn’t blame them in the least) they could take the napkin from her.

[thevictorious]

[thevictorious]

ROBYN .

“ROBYN GAZEL,” THEY answer with a curt smile and a single but firm shake of the victor’s hand. “Tribute Escort. District 4.” They recognize her touch, having felt the same from all the other tributes and victors they’ve had the pleasure of interacting with in the past. It’s one that’s unlike anything anyone born in the Capitol could ever have. These, Robyn knows, are working hands — hands that have done much and yet have never seen a day of rest — and coddled as she may have been by her stylist for this event, no amount of massaging and scrubbing would ever be able to hide it.

“I understand that seeing a single house this large can come as quite a shock,” they add, their dark eyes watching Miss Thornewood like a hawk, sharp and piercing in their silent observation. “Take comfort in knowing that you aren’t the first. Many have found themselves lost inside the president’s mansion on their own victory soirées.” 

Nuances in emotion, they don’t bother to read, but body language? To Robyn, it’s plain as day.

They see her discomfort in that dress, and the unease with which she carries herself as she stands amidst the crowd. It’s the look on her face, despite the smile that she gives him, and the slightest slouch in her posture. Onlookers continue to gawk at her, to point and whisper, to grin and coo at her outfit, but they do so from a distance, acknowledging her preoccupation with the escort from four. Robyn can’t blame them; there’s simply something magnetic about the girl, something that makes one want to keep watching.

--

Fava cocked her head ever so slightly to the side. She tried to place their face, to remember whether or not she’d seen them before. There had been plenty of chances, be it at the Tribute Parade or when she watched the Reapings from the Capitol, but she couldn’t remember. She’d met so many people in the past few months, and their names often failed her, but Fava didn’t often forget a face.

No, she was fairly certain that she hadn’t run into Robyn before. 

She smiled at them slightly, wondering if they’d look at her the same way that Nelly had in the beginning. It was no secret that Nelly had been appalled by her behavior (and still was), but they’d warmed to each other in time... Even if neither of them would admit to it. “It’s good to meet you, Robyn.” They must be good at their job, wasn’t that how it worked? The best stylists, the best escorts, the best trainers went to the districts that the Capitol favored. She paused. “Did you escort Swann and Roux, by chance?”

She was from Twelve, she had no real attachment to the cousins from Four, but she remembered the way that the Capitol had taken to them. Surely, they’d be proud of that accomplishment, and the more that she allowed Capitolites to gush about their own achievements, the less time she actually had to speak for herself and answer the prodding, uncomfortable questions.

Each time she tried to imagine this place as someone’s home she was taken aback. She thought back to the tiny home that she, her mother, and her twin siblings. How could someone live like this? This place hardly felt like a home. “There’s nothing like this in my district.” This home was larger than the Justice building... She couldn’t make sense of it.

But their mention of people getting lost piqued her attention. She glanced up at them, wondering if there was a story behind those words. “I don’t think I could find my way out of this room...” She was lost enough. Already, she’d ‘misplaced’ her people and couldn’t find her way back to them. A pause, and she realized that it might sound like she wanted to leave. She did, it was true, but she was supposed to be on her best behaviors and she hadn't the slightest idea to whom they were loyal. “Not that I have any reason to leave. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

[thevictorious]

GRIFFIN .

He doesn’t have to turn his head from the conversation he’s having with a collection of strangers he might recognize to know when Fava’s entered the room. Her presence these days is usually accompanied by a gasp of some kind, maybe a scream of delight or fascination, and almost certainly an undercurrent of whispers. It’s her right. She’s earned it.

But Griffin knows her well enough by now. The room turns towards Fava. Griffin takes another sip of his drink and pointedly does not – it’s better if she’s sure that no one will be coming to rescue her from the socialites that lurk in the crowds like sharks in tall waves. So he waits. Bides his time. Finishes one drink and moves on to the next, and it is only when she is whisked away and redeposited somewhere else near a table with an elaborate spread of food that he seeks her out.

He feels some responsibility for her, after all, and Hudson, too, although he’d lost track of Hudson fairly quickly. He squeezes himself in next to her, points at a dish full to the brim with what appear to be oysters. “Don’t eat those, you’ll be sick all night. Tried ‘em once, overindulged, and, well–” an almost meek shrug of the shoulders, “–never again.” 

Instead, Griffin grabs a pair of tongs and picks up one small cake close to the oysters, sets it on her plate, and then goes for a second with his fingers. A few partygoers eye this move with obvious distaste, but don’t say anything. They’re well aware of his unsavory manners. If it hasn’t gotten him killed yet, it certainly won’t tonight. He plucks the pastry into his mouth, chews, swallows, and then gives a decisive ahem to clear his throat. “Barely here five minutes and you’re the star of the show,” he murmurs, nudging Fava with his elbow. “I’m very proud, kid.”

--

“There you are.” Fava glared up at him.

She had been on her own since she’d arrived at the party, and she knew she wasn’t much good with people. Sure, she had the whole “Girl on Fire” thing going for her, but that was Cinna’s doing. He was the one who’d drawn people’s attention to her, not her own charm or charisma. She was not like Hudson, whose kindness allowed them to make friends seemingly without trying.

Her frustration was born of fear. She worried that without Hudson to do the talking or Griffin to coach her, that she might make some grave misstep in this new world and endanger the people that she loved. 

And the only reason that she dared to glare at him, was because she trusted him. Griffin had gotten her out of tough scrapes before, and she knew that he could do it again... if only he was around. She glanced at the drink in his hand and turned back to the plate that he’d motioned to. Fava wrinkled her nose.

“They look like they’d make you sick,” she told him honestly. Hell, they looked as though someone had already been sick. Fava couldn’t stand the thought of eating one of those things, but apparently he’d liked them well enough to have too many. But as always, she would take his guidance. He was one of the few people in this room that she trusted. 

Griffin had held her life in his hands a few months ago, and sure enough he’d gotten her out of the Arena. He’d proven that he deserved every bit of it. Not... that she’d tell him that, of course.

She picked the pastry off the plate and bit into it curiously. The taste was marvelous, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes. The food here was like nothing she’d ever known before. In Twelve, she’d eaten to survive, but here? The people of the Capitol ate for the pleasure of food, and she could understand why. Nothing that her mother made, nor anything made in the Hob, ever tasted like this.

His compliment actually made her perk up, however. Fava’s expression brightened slightly, but she shrugged a shoulder as though it didn’t impact her at all. “It’s our party,” she reminded him with a little wave, “we have to be the center of attention.” Though, he’d been to more of these than she had. Perhaps Griffin knew better. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud of herself in response to his pride.

Griffin’s praise meant something to her, though she’d never tell him as much.

[thevictorious]

ROBYN .

who: fava thornewood @thevictorious​​ when: the victory tour, grand soirée where: main reception, snow’s mansion

FAVA THORNEWOOD AND Hudson Overgrove: Robyn’s never seen anything quite like what those two had done. Despite his work as tribute escort, a task so close and so pivotal to the Games themselves, Robyn has never been one for the kind of brutal savagery that takes place within them. He’s always preferred to look elsewhere during the broadcasts, distracting himself with something more worthwhile and choosing only to return once the days were done to check in on which ones had managed to hold on and which ones hadn’t.

It’s impossible, however, to deny just how much those final days in last year’s Games had the whole of Panem glued to their screens, and Robyn’s certainly no exception to it. The two tributes from twelve had made the Games more compelling to them somehow, and they’ve been intrigued by the pair since. It’s only right, then, that they swoop in to approach the aptly named “Girl on Fire” the first chance they get. 

“Fava Thornewood,” they begin, gently and with a practiced grace. Just as she’d been separated from her companions, Robyn had sauntered right over, a flute of champagne in hand.  “It seems your companions have misplaced you — or is it you that’s misplaced them?”

--

Fava wasn’t sure she would ever get used to being the center of attention. Despite the Games and the Victory Tour, she still shrank away from the spotlight. It had never suited her. She was the sort of person that existed out of sight and out of mind to people like these, and yet here she was surrounded by them.

It seemed as though she and Hudson won over the people of the Capitol with their gesture. They saw it as an act of love, when in reality it had been...? Well, in truth, Fava wasn’t entirely sure why she’d done it and the incessant questioning only made her feel more and more confused.

She’d managed to slip away from a swarm of excitable, chattering Capitolites and she ducked into the crowd. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be able to find her here.

But where had Hudson and Griffin gone?

"Fava Thornewood,” they said. She turned at the sound of her name and came face to face with a beautiful Capitolite. Stunning as they were, she couldn’t help but feel frustrated. Fava wanted to find her friends, but it seemed as though she kept getting pulled further and further away.

Still, she understood her place well enough to smile up at the strange. She knew what was expected of her, that she had to be a good girl or risk having her loved ones killed because of her foolishness. “There’s plenty of room to get lost here,” she gestured at the room around them, all of its glittering lights and shining people. “This is nothing at all like Twelve.” Even Fava, who’d learned to track animals in the forests of her district, could not find her people here.

She paused and returned her attention to the person in front of them, offering her hand. “I guess you know who I am, what’s your name?”

[thevictorious]

ALDERA .

As Aldera stood awkwardly with the new victor, she could remember the times her father had told her to always hold some sort of respect for those from District 12. She knew they were the most poor district, that they hadn’t any better than she had it as a child. It was all so rage inducing, and she took in a deep breath to keep her mind from stumbling in that direction as she sized up Fava at this party. 

Not knowing how to act, though, she snatched a goblet from a passing server and threw it back. She felt like her anger could burst from her at any moment just standing near Fava. She couldn’t help the way her eyes turned into a glare, how her hand gripped the glass so tight that her knuckles turned white. She was bitter with misplaced anger and jealousy. 

At the girl’s question, she rolled her eyes. “Do you watch TV at all?” She growled out, tipping her empty glass to Fava. “If I can’t get out of these fucking events, might as well be that thorn in their side as they will always be mine.” She had caused scenes at different events after winning her games. Always drunk, spouting hate, indecencies, and generally terrorizing some of the Capitalist pigs until someone escorted her from the party with some excuse of how she can’t hold her liquor. It was why some Capitalists eyed her cautiously now, although, she hadn’t caused quite a fuss after being strictly told to cut out her shit a few years ago. “You grew up in District 12. I assume you can fucking figure out the answers to your own questions.” Growing up in District 11 had made it nearly impossible to stand anything within the Capital. She hated all of it, just the same, to this very day. “I can’t stand this fucking place, so I drink. I drink until I can’t think of what the all this glamor and elegance hides anymore.”

She felt free to say any of these controversial statements, unafraid of who might overhear and sure that no one would care much should she let her tongue be so loose. Aldera had made it this far without being killed, plus, it wasn’t as if she actively did it in rebellion of the Capital. She merely hated it, not that she believed that it could all come toppling down in some way. No, she had never allowed herself for any dreams or hopes of anything good and greater for a future. The world was how it was, and Aldera accepted this, but it caused her much misery. “Fuck, I need another drink.” 

--

Every resident of District Twelve had access to a television. It was a requirement, of course. The citizens were expected to keep up with the Games, to watch alongside the rest of the country as children were reaped and subsequently murdered. Participation was not optional.

But television sets only worked for a few weeks every summer.

In the months that followed, as the sky darkened earlier and the days became colder, the televisions were largely forgotten about. People in Twelve typically only got power for a few hours everyday, and if they bothered to turn the television screen on it was filled with salt and pepper static.

Judging by the snarl in Aldera’s voice, however, that was not the answer that she was looking for. There was some sort of expectation in her tone, as though Fava should have known this already.

And, in a sense, she knew that Aldera was correct. She’d seen enough of the Capitol during the footage of the Games that she understood what they were like. Still, she wondered whether every corner of this godforsaken place was this way or if this was merely the crown jewel that Snow was willing to show the rest of the nation and its victors?

Evidently, the Justice Building here was not dressed just once a year and made to sparkle for the television cameras.

She wasn’t sure what to say. Fava knew better than to speak ill of the Capitol, she knew just what was at stake, but Aldera’s fire was the reason that she respected the young woman. There was something worth looking at, an anger that she felt in her bones, but she’d never expected that it woudl be directed at her. Was she like this with everyone? Or was this ire because she’d won where the other tributes in Eleven had lost?

Though she’d seen bits and pieces of Aldera’s games, it was so long ago (and she’d been so young), she couldn’t begin to imagine exactly where this anger was coming from. 

She stiffened at once when the young woman turned on her. Fava straightened, drawing herself up, proud as ever and she frowned at Aldera. She could figure it out, she’d figured out so much before, but she’d hoped... It had been stupid of her to hope. Stupid of her to ask. She felt strangely disappointed. This was the one victor that she thought she might relate to. “I’ve figured it out so far,” she replied cooly, “I’m sure I can do it again.” 

Fava hesitated. She wanted desperately to know what the Capitol was hiding beneath its glamor and elegance, as Aldera claimed, but she knew that a question would be met with another snarl. Still, what did it hurt to ask? “What it hides...?” Like she’d said before, she would figure it out on her own, but she would rather know firsthand what she was getting herself into before it blindsided her.

Her mention of another drink made Fava step back and she gestured to Aldera. She was welcome to leave whenever she pleased, this interaction had gone on long enough. She understood better now.

[thevictorious]

SLATE .

Of course, he knew that eggs were going to be extremely uncommon where she’s from. He can’t get eggs in two. Even if he had a special connection. It’s not like there are any egg-laying animals around the mountains. He’s lucky if he can get anything beyond some buck, cabbage, and whatever canned goods he takes from staying within the Capitol.

Maybe it was cruel, to poke at her like this. Like an animal in a cage. She’s a child, he has to remind himself. Then again, this child might be trying to cause the collapse of a nation.

The poking is merely investigation.

“Neither do chickens but they come from one, don’t they.” He points out as a passing through, reaching for what he assumes is a water chestnut wrapped in some type of meat. It’s times like these he likes to indulge in the offered foods, knowing that it wont be much of an option when he goes back to Two.

When she introduces herself, Slate turns to her and gives her a warm smile, chewing on the small piece of food, and looking down, only to extend a hand to shake. Once swallowing, he reciprocates the introduction. “Slate Hardcreek. Winner of the 44th Games from District Two.” It’s an entire thing. He’s not above thinking the girl doesn’t know him. He won long before she was born. 

But when he pulls his hand back from giving her a tight handshake, he snorts with amusement. “I think you’ll come to learn pretty quickly that it’s not your call what people deem worthy of you, Girl on Fire.” 

Though really, it was stupid nickname. But he knows it’s holding weight. Most things that do hold weight tend to be formed in idiocy.

--

He was playing with her.

Fava was on her very best behavior this evening. Snow’s threats hung over her head and she knew that she had to act the part, lest her beloved siblings suffer the consequences, but she’d spent enough time in the Hob to learn when people were messing with her. She’d learned long ago how to watch for little clues, to find the tells in their expressions, to know when they were offering a good price or were trying to cheat her.

Of course, Slate wasn’t trying to hide his teasing. There was nothing in this for him, save for a little bit of amusement, and she knew in the end that she’d probably look like a fool once this conversation had ended. This was not her world and she had absolutely no advantage.

“Nothing hatches from an egg that actually looks like an egg,” she replied with a soft huff and a shake of her head. It really wasn’t much of an argument, but she could see what he was getting at.

More importantly, she closed herself off a little bit more. Perhaps he was not a competitor, not someone that she would have to face in the Arena, but he was still a Career at heart. He would always be dangerous no matter how far removed he was, even without a weapon or a promise of riches. The best way to avoid a snakebite was to keep her eyes on the snake, to make sure that she kept her distance, and she figured that strategy would work well enough on someone like him.

She took his hand firmly in hers and shook, daring to meet his eye. "Good to meet you, Slate.”

Still, there was something intriguing about him. Dangerous as he was, she knew that he was correct. The people of the Capitol seemed to label victors whatever they pleased, and they had to live with the interpretation. No matter how bad, no matter how untrue, they had to play their part. It was why she was still pretending to be in love with Hudson, after all.

Now she was curious. "Their minds are already made up, I guess?” She asked. So what was she? The cunning rebel or the lovestruck teenager? Perhaps it was different depending upon the viewer. Could she still change minds?

[thevictorious]

SWANN .

Her inclination to introduce herself to the new victors aligned closely with her inability to not feel some sort of protectiveness over them as they entered into this new world of greedy capitol elites and officials. Fava Thornewood, however, was an interesting case. There was a familiarity there, found nestled between Swann’s perception of their shared need to sacrifice themself for those they care for and the rather surprising turn of events that led to the two victors this year. She had no question in her mind that Fava volunteered herself out of pure selflessness and love for her sister, but the nightlock? Now, that had been a twist.

With a glass of water in one hand ready to offer her, she stops short when it is Fava who instead speaks first. Swann glances at the delicacies before them, pausing for a moment to remember the name of each. Not one to be able to stomach much food at these parties, her eyes land on some familiar dishes which elicits a small smile.  ❝ I recommend the oysters or the crab. Courtesy of my district no doubt, so I might be a bit biased, ❞  she replies finally, pointing to each before offering her the glass of water.  ❝ It’s water. I promise. These parties always seem to have an absence of it, so I’d recommend taking it now while it’s available. ❞  Lips twitch slightly before falling into a small smile.  ❝ I’m Swann. It’s a pleasure to officially meet your acquaintance, Fava. I assume Griffin’s been taking good care of you? ❞

--

Their people had worked tirelessly for this party to come to fruition. The coal from Twelve and power from Five kept the lights on, Eight and One had supplied the beautiful fabrics and jewelry, and Four, Nine, Ten, and Eleven had come together to create a feast worth indulging upon.

As if any of these people deserved the labor that went into their meals. People in Eleven starved in the orchards, while Capitolites ate to excess and then continued to eat.

But this was not the time or place for such discussions. Not while President Snow’s warning rang so clearly in her ears. Fava had to make people believe, had to quell the anger in districts like Six and Nine, it was the only way that she could keep her loved ones safe. To speak ill of the Capitol now would be a death sentence for her beloved Grace and Burnet. No, she could not bear it.

Instead, she tried to be the Victor that she was expected to be. “Those?” she pointed at the oysters and tilted her head slightly. What a strange thing to eat. It didn’t look particularly appetizing, but Fava had eaten stranger things when she’d been desperate in Twelve. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so bad.

And then Swann offered her a glass of water and she couldn’t help but feel surprised. She’d seen the quiet grace of this young woman, and the ferocity of her trident, the very last thing that Fava expected of Swann was genuine care. Suspicion bit at the edge of her mind, kindness was a ploy to get something, but what did Swann have to gain? She was one of the Capitol’s darlings. “Thank you,” she said earnestly, meeting the young woman’s eye with a curious glance.

A pause, and then a look of confusion crossed her face. “I don’t get it, people here don’t drink water?” Was it possible that they survived on fruity cocktails and liquor alone? 

“Good to meet you,” this wasn’t what she’d expected at all, but she was pleasantly surprised. It seemed that many of the victors were put off by her or (also frustratingly) amused by her. This sort of interaction was a pleasant change. The mention of Griffin, however, made her scoff softly. “Good care...? I’m not sure I’d call it that.” She smirked slightly. “But he’s kept me in one piece.” She still wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing that she’d made it out of the arena.

But at least she had Burnet and Grace waiting for her back home. That love was real enough.

[thevictorious]

PISTA .

“i got sick, the first year after i won–spent the whole party throwing up.” he says quietly, with a shrug of his shoulders. there’s a part of him, deep within the fraying sinews of his muscle, his fissured bones, that thinks perhaps he should be cruel–tell her to figure it out for herself, because she’ll be eating off of golden plates until she drops dead in a feather bed somewhere, while the rest of us keep slowly digging our own holes in the dirt. he’d been ruthless once–he’d made things with his own two hands that had the express purpose of causing pain, of stealing the life from others so that he could live it better and without suffering, he could be as venomous as any of the gilded eagles that stalk this marbled nest, especially if it served him. 

but before she opens her mouth to speak, he studies her face and he knows–he knows by the way she keeps pulling at the fabric of her dress, the way her gaze keeps flitting towards a door, a nearby window, the way the skin around her mouth pulls just slightly too tight. a hungry kid knows another when he sees one. a kid raised on the wild, with only trains and the ground beneath his feet for company, knows another who craves open sky when he sees it. 

there will be time later for cruelty, and it will come worse from people above him–for now, he doesn’t see why he can’t uncurl his fists, why he can’t be the boy who from district six who was convinced he could outrun a train, that he could fly with wings on his ankle bones. 

“i’d spent my whole life up until then not knowing when i’d get to eat again, y’know? so i tried everything, to make up for lost time–almost out of spite for the way i’d grown up.” he smiles as warmly as he can, which he’s sure is a poor approximation–a clumsy imitation from someone whose face was never meant to pull in that direction. “after that i figured out that the easiest thing to do is hold it for a minute, move the food around like you’re interested, and then put it down somewhere. that way you avoid having to comment every district’s terrible regional delicacy.”

he offers a hand. “i, uh, don’t think i’ve congratulated you yet on the win.” 

-- 

Oh.

For the first time since Fava had arrived in the Capitol, someone spoke to her in a language that she understood. There was something in his words, in the hunger that he spoke of, that struck a cord. Yes, she did know.

Fava had never forgotten how hungry she’d been after Collis died. Her father’s death had been a critical blow to the family’s financial status (though it had always been rather unstable) and her mother’s work could not sustain them. Fava had been hungry all her life, but this was something new. She and her siblings were damn near starved before she’d learned how to trap animals, forage the forests, and to hunt with her bow and arrow. 

Fava turned to get a better look at the man standing beside her. Dark eyes searched him carefully, curiously, as if she was surprised by the presence of another like her. And, in truth, tucked away in this colorful crowd of crooning Capitolites, people like them were rare. Many of the other victors had never known the sort of hunger that he described.

He had won when she was very young, but she knew his face. Pista, if she remembered correctly. Fava offered him a small smirk. “Spite, huh? Were they horrified?.” She gestured to the people around them. Fava hoped that he’d thrown up on someone’s shoes. 

She'd eaten messily in the beginning, in part because she was desperate and in part because she loved the look of disgust on Nelly’s face. “I get it,” she told him honestly. “I’d never seen so much food in my life before I got to the Capitol. It’s...” Incredible? Astounding? Cruel? Disgusting? She kept the next word from escaping her lips. “I’m not sure what to make of it.”

She glanced down at his hand, hesitating slightly before she takes his hand in hers. Fava gripped it tightly, shaking the way that her father had taught her to. “Thanks...” but it’s a hollow appreciation. The horrible, unspeakable things that she had to do to get here will haunt her for the remainder of her life. “I was glad to go home to my family.” It’s the only positive thing that she can say about the experience. 

[thevictorious]

HUDSON .

It’s strange, being back in the Capitol. They weren’t really ready for it. Before, they were a tribute; now, they’re a Victor—but, in many ways, it doesn’t feel all that different. The stakes still feel so high, the consequences for a wrong move so huge. They still feel so unprepared.

But some things are different. When they saw the Capitol for the first time from the train, after being reaped, they felt alone. Griffin and Nelly were there, but Hudson didn’t know them yet. At first, they weren’t sure if Griffin even cared to try to save their life. At first, they looked at Nelly and saw just another brightly painted Capitol bird. They didn’t even really know Fava, then. Not the way that they do now.

Now, though, they’re far from alone. It’s comforting and terrifying in equal measure. Before, if they messed up, it would be in the Games, and it would only be themself that they hurt. Now, though, with a charade that was born out of Hudson’s childhood crush, if they mess up, it could hurt all of them. If anyone messes up, it could hurt all of them, but it would still be Hudson’s fault most.

They entered the party, and they quickly found themself alone, picked off from the rest of Twelve and handed from one curious onlooker to the next. A cynical part of them—(one that feels like it’s looking around the world with new eyes)—thinks they understand the game. Separate him from Fava, ask them both probing questions. Try to catch them in a lie.

Back in Twelve, before the Victory Tour, they’d tried to give Fava space. They tried to give themself space, too. So they didn’t have to pretend. So Hudson could remember what was real. But they’re back in the belly of the beast, now, and all they want is to cling to a familiar side.

Lucky for them, then, that at Fava’s side is exactly where everyone expects them to be.

“I couldn’t tell you,” they say, stepping up next to her. Close, playing the part, like they have no cause to question their welcome. “I’ve been too nervous to try anything, too. Someone did tell me there were twenty different kinds of soup, though. I didn’t even know you could come up with that many.”

-- 

Fava had been wary of Hudson at first. She’d never forgotten their kindness, the food that they’d offered her all of those years ago had given her the strength to continue on, and she was terrified of what might have happened if not for them. Starvation? Death? Would she have lost one of the twins? It had been just enough food to last them for a couple of days, but she’d found a new resolve. Fava would not let her family die and if that meant slipping through the fence in search of sustenance, Fava would gladly take that risk.

But growing up in Twelve had made her skittish of kindness. Warm smiles and sweet words came with a price, as did generosity. For years, she’d avoided Hudson. Fava feared that they might want something in return for the food they’d given her, but she couldn’t avoid them once they’d been called up on stage with her. The Reaping had tied them together whether she liked it or not.

For the first few days, she’d waited for their request. Would they ask her to be an ally? To give up her life for theirs if it came down to it? Fava knew that she owed it to them, they’d saved her from certain death, and she expected to repay what they’d done. Only, Hudson never asked... Perhaps that was why, in the end, she’d tried to save them anyway. 

It would have been just as easy to kill them, but she’d grown fond of them. It wasn’t love, not like she pretended that it was inside of the Arena, that had been a desperate ploy to escape, but it was a budding friendship. They’d survived so much together, and she knew that with them at her side they could get through this too. Hudson was one of the few people in the Capitol that Fava knew she could trust, and she felt relief at the sight of them.

Snow’s warning played in the back of her mind and she stepped closer to them. “Hudson,” she breathed, smiling up at them for a moment. But she felt immensely awkward in a second’s time and turned her attention back to the table of food. She knew that she was playing with their emotions, that she was making this harder for them, but this was what they had to do to survive. She couldn’t risk losing Grace and Burnet. 

Their mention of the soups genuinely amused her though. “Twenty kinds of soups?” Fava wrinkled her nose, unable to hide her distaste for the Capitolites around them. “The people here sure know how to eat...” She mumbled, her voice low so that only they could hear. 

And then an idea popped into her mind. “I think we ought to try something. Together.” In truth, she felt a little more comfortable with Hudson there beside her, and a bit of her daring came out. Fava reached out and snatched two brightly colored desserts from the tray and offered one to Hudson. “Are you with me?” In the back of her mind, she wondered if this display was convincing enough. Would anyone believe that she was so lighthearted?

[thevictorious]

ALDERA .

The victory of Fava and Hudson had created a bitter hate within Aldera. Ever since her eyes were glued to the screen, watching as they held those berries in their hands. She had spiraled into a depression, and at times random fits of rage, wrecking havoc and yet turning into a sobbing mess. It disgusted her that she had to attend to their celebratory party, practically being dragged to it by Riggs. She was grateful that she wasn’t wearing anything glamorous, a white blazer and trousers, with a soft glimmering effect on the exposed parts of her skin. She felt itchy, but refrained from scratching herself red. 

She hadn’t even been paying attention to the newly victors arrival, having been searching for any sort of alcoholic beverage to make it through the night. When she heard the gasping, oohs and clapping she huffed and rolled her eyes. She continued her search, pushing through the eager crowd of onlookers. 

Somehow, seemingly the world hating her, Fava Thornewood stood right next to her. Hearing her voice caused Aldera to almost jump out of her skin. Her eyes taking in the new victor and an instant anxiety spread throughout her body. Her hands shook, and she balled them into fists at her sides as she tried not to show it. Narrowing her eyes, she muttered, “probably shit made from the elevenian’s labors.” Straightening her back, and clearing her throat she tried to find anything else to say to the other but all her formalities escaped her, as they often did. She stood there, simply glaring at Fava and feeling that bitter resentment bubble with ever passing second.

--

Eleven and Twelve were far, far away from the glitter and spectacle of the Capitol. In some ways, it served the people of the outer districts, they were mostly unbothered and unnoticed by glitzy officials. Of course, there was a downside to their distance as well. They were the forgotten districts, and therefore they survived with what little food they could get their hands on and scraps of clothing passed on from one person to the next until they’d become threadbare. 

Even then, as long as they held together, those old clothes could be worn. 

How could people from the agricultural district starve to death? How could people from the coal district freeze in the middle of winter? Beautiful as the Capitol was, it was unspeakably cruel.

Aldera’s comment about the people of Eleven immediately made any hint of humor in Fava’s expression fall away. She was right, of course. The glittering apples and oranges, peaches and pears, had been plucked by her people and were merely used as decoration here.

“No doubt,” Fava agreed in a hushed tone. To hint at any sort of ill will toward the Capitol, whilst in the Capitol, was a bold move. And yet, that was why Fava had always admired Aldera. Fava didn’t like many of the victors, but she’d been something special. A reminder that people from the outer districts could win. Fava remembered her Game, the way that she’d won, and the fire in her that no polishing or pimping from the stylists could possibly hide. She was a badass. 

She hesitated, wondering if she ought to introduce herself, but she felt impossibly silly. This was a party for her and for Hudson, and Aldera certainly knew who she was. Should she apologize for what happened to her tributes? Fava had liked them, but in the end liking someone was not enough to save them. She’d managed to save Hudson and herself, she could not save everyone. Complimenting her on her Games seemed like an even worse way to greet a victor, she knew that now. Was she imagining the look that Aldera gave her? 

"Do you ever get used to all of... this?” She asked. Slate had mentioned something about getting used to the food, but Fava couldn’t imagine getting used to any of this. But Aldera knew what it was like in the poor districts, surely she’d know what Fava was going through. “The food? The people? The parties?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder for fear that the man who’d led her here might come back.

[thevictorious]

[thevictorious]

SLATE .

Of course, the celebrate youths of the evening had sparked some interest within Slate. He had no idea what to make of the two. Certainly, their story was endearing, if you liked that sort of thing. But Slate was far from convinced that their self preservation was an act of maddening love. And the one at the forefront— Fava. What to make of her?

Was she simply just pretending, hoping to get a friend out of the arena with her, and she was lucky enough to be in the Games a year that the makers were soft? She didn’t seem like she had a rebellious soul. Maybe a passionate one, but she didn’t seem intelligent enough to come up with a thorough plan.

Granted, Slate doesn’t think anyone is intelligent enough to do anything above basic human instinct.

Upon arriving at the party, and the cooing voices towards the lovebird teens, Slate waited for the right opportunity to find out more himself. And sure enough, his time had come.

He hadn’t even need to say anything. Just standing by to grab himself a small dish of egg and crust, he looked over to her with a raised eyebrow, then back down to the table. He chuckles, “Ah, the food is an interesting thing to get used to.” He nods, only to point towards the thing he was about to pick for himself. “It’s called a quiche. They’re quite nice. Does The Girl on Fire like eggs?” He smirks, popping one into his mouth.

--

“Does ‘The Girl on Fire’ like eggs?” He asked, and Fava gave him a strange, sideways look.

She had never expected that this was how she would be introduced to the other victors. She’d imagined something formal, something over the top, as everything else in the Capitol had been. But here she was standing side by side with Slate Hardcreek himself discussing eggs. Of all the things...

Her apprehension twisted ever so slightly, until she dared to scoff softly in response. Did she like eggs? What a silly question. Eggs were a lucky find in Twelve. Any bird that made the unfortunate choice of building its nest too close to town was sure to have its eggs stolen by a watchful scavenger. The people of Twelve were starving, poor, and desperate. They’d take sustenance wherever they found it, no matter how lowly the creature.

Quiche. Was that even a real word or was he messing with her? “Doesn’t look much like an egg...” she murmured, narrowing her eyes at the little round dish. It looked more like a pie, but the inside reminded her of the way that her father used to scramble eggs when she was little. She’d liked them best that way.

With quick fingers, Fava reached for one of the little quiches and popped it into her mouth just as he had done. Oh, and it was heavenly. Collis had made a great scrambled egg, but this? Food only ever tasted this good in the Capitol.

Did he resent her? She’d killed one of his tributes in the Arena, and she wasn’t sure if mentors got used to losing their tributes just as they’d gotten used to the food. Still, she extended a hand. “I’m Fava. ‘The Girl on Fire’ is a bit of a mouthful.” Besides, she wasn’t sure what she felt about a name like that, especially given the threat that Snow had issued.

If things went wrong in the districts, it would be her loved ones on the line.