sour cherry

WELCOME TO EMBERS HIGH!

CLOCKING IN...!

The language department has a new student teacher and it's none other than absolute legend FAVA THORNEWOOD!

Known for her savage skills on the field, Fava was able to lead her team to victory her senior year of high school. That's right, that state championship banner hung up in the gym is all because of her tough love and pep talks. She received multiple scholarship opportunities for soccer, but decided to stay close to home in order to help take care of her younger sister, Wren.

She is getting all of her general education studies out of the way first, but she plans on majoring in American Sign Languge in the hopes that she'll be able to secure a position as an intrepreter / translator for public events. Or concerts. That would be really rad, wouldn't it?

WHERE YOU CAN FIND HER: walking around outside for fresh air a break from all of the questions // drinking hot tea in the library in between classes // hanging in the teacher's lounge, hoping a certain someone asks her if they want to go over homework for one of their college courses // asking the nurse for another round of ibuprofen because, yes, she does -- in fact -- still have that headache // chilling in her car during lunch break, certainly blasting music and catching up on all kinds of teacher gossip

WHAT IT’S LIKE IN THE CLASSROOM: honestly more chill than you'd expect // fava is really dedicated to helping these students learn the beauty of sign language // she also tries to make it fun lbr // she is constantly remind people to keep their eyes up though & that she can definitely see them when they're texting and not paying attention // honestly fava is the kind of teacher that won't let cell phones be in her class lol she'll keep them at her desk until class is over // this is a visual thing people!! visual !! // fava is probably anti-homework tbh??? but she will give them videos to watch and quiz them to make sure they watched the videos // but they'll be fun one okay lol she'll try to make them fun

okay so... long story short??? fava has that interaction with snow and is desperate to find griffin because she needs help / is stressed but griffin is busy talking to nelly so she has to wait her turn like the impatient daughter she is but then BOOM they are able to chat and fava goes first because she just blurts out everything that just happened to her and griffin is all like ??? why the fuck is snow here ?? but also listen fava we gotta go bby and please don't fight me on this because we need YOU and fava... FOR ONCE IN HER LIFE... won't fight him or anyone she'll just agree to do whatever he needs to get safe / help the others that are relying on her (even if she's scared and wants to go help gather people but you know one step at a time)

tldr: fava is like omg snow wants to kill me and wren!! and griffin is like all the more reason to leave now!! please don't argue with me just go!! and fava is like ok just this once dad!

i'm going to keep this very brief because we all know that fava and hudson are ultimately there for each other in all aspects of life because of #traumabonding and #love and this quell has been no different for them!

they have been with each other as much as possible and have checked in / caught each other up on everything that's happened around them whenever they have the opportunity. are they sleeping? not well, bitch! but at least they're suffering together??? idk pros and cons. they make a point to have moments together that are full of quiet understanding and long, much needed hugs.

post gage's death, however, hudson -- admittedly -- checked out of the games for obvious reasons and fava's been doing her best to be there for hudson while also still very much panicking over her sister. but obbviously hudson is having a hard ass time and can't bring themselves to watch so fava is doing a lot of "do you want me to tell you what happened?" at the moment but they're gonna get out of this together!!

deezee and fava weren't able to see each other again after they showed their asses with a big baby food fight. every time they happened to cross paths, someone quickly ushered one of them away in an attempt to "keep the peace" so to speak. but they had a lot of silent conversations with angry glances across the room at each other when they were able to do so.

lil hc wrap-up w/ @silverostro

silver and fava have not had a moment to speak at all. now fava has TRIED to locate silver but damn oh damn is silver always doing something fam. here's hoping they'll be able to reconnect in ablaze because fava has some things to say. also because fava wants her actual friends to be safe lol

lil hc wrap-up w/ @dcwnhardin

nelly & fava have obviously been together on/off this whole experience -- most notably when fava needed help making herself look good before she went to go talk to potential sponsors. during those moments together, they took the time to check in on each other. nelly reminded fava to be soft and personable and fava gave nelly some pointers on how to compartmentalize in order to try and make all of this feel less overwhelming.

“Hasn’t this year been full of surprises?” He says mindlessly, keeping her gaze out the window as you step further into the room. “I wont bother you for long, Fava, I imagine you’re very busy trying to keep your sister alive.” He tilts his head, glancing her way. “I just came to share that I’m greatly disappointed in you.” He presses his cane into the flooring, and pushes himself up. “We would have made such a great team. But you’re young and reckless and I should have taken that into account more.”

He’s stepping closer to you, the smell of roses is becoming overpowering. It’s beginning to make your stomach lurch. “So I will do everything in my power to make your sister is not one to make it out of that Quell alive.” As he brushes past you, his hand wraps around your shoulder, gripping with the full weight of iron, before he releases you, and leaves the room with his peacekeeper.

//

The stench is overwhelming. It’s thick in her throat before she even sees him. He looks so pompous, sitting there without a care in the world.

Now’s your chance, her brain so kindly reminds her. Her chance to end it all – more like a chance for a swift death. She doesn’t have any weapons on her; she only has her fists and determination, neither of which would do her much good when there’s Peacekeepers lurking in the shadows.

He starts with pleasantries, pleasantries that go unanswered because Fava knows that the question is rhetorical. She doesn’t shrink beneath the weight of his insults – his disappointment. She digs her heels into the ground and stands tall, like she knows she should. How many people get the honor of being under the President’s skin?

As he stands, she snaps her jaw shut and bites against her teeth. The fragrance is all around her, all consuming, and she chokes back a cough. And then –

the bomb drops.

They’ve been so busy trying to do things for their brother and for Abe, so busy trying to look assured and stable, that the only time they’ve ever really allowed themself to just be is at the end of the day, with Silver— and even then, he’s been getting worried that he’s depended on them far too much that they always take care not to overwhelm them with his feelings. To hear her offer this place and her time for vulnerability as well has them releasing a shaky sigh. They nod, swipe at something beneath their eyes, and take a long, deep breath before looking back up at the young Victor again.

“Thank you, darling,” he says softly, the smallest of smiles breaking on his face as a hand moves up to brush a strand of her hair from her face. Overcome by the emotion of such an offer, they gently pull her into another hug once again, pressing tight for a moment as their shoulders shudder, the vestiges of what would have been a sob rippling through their upper body, but they keep their control well enough. And against her ear, they whisper, as quietly as they can, so no one else in here or anywhere close by can hear.

“We’ll get out of this, Fava.”

//

Robyn could lead meditations with a voice so soft. When they pull her in for another hug and whisper words only meant for her, Fava feels undeniably safe. Comforted, even, and she allows herself to close her eyes and truly take in the serenity of the moment.

So much is out of their control; so much is being moved around by strings invisible to them. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed, easier to slip into the spiral of cynicism or overbearing sadness or both, but it’s interactions like this that urge to keep her head above water and vice versa.

There might come a time where their siblings are separated — unfortunately, it’s more likely that not — but until then, they have each other; a mirrored reflection of how Robyn and Fava have united over the course of a year. She desperately hopes that Wren will be given the same opportunity to make friends with those born in the Captiol. To learn that they aren’t all monsters. No, some of them are friends.

FIN.

He’s fucking ready to go out in a blaze of glory, and all the better if he’s got someone else by his side to make his point clear, someone who understands the anger and doesn’t ask him to run from it, when it’s the only thing that makes sense after watching the people he was meant to look after die.

DeeZee waves his hand vaguely, roughly, and scoffs. “Well, that’s easy, you’re lucky you ran into me. I’m a fuckin’ pro at making sure people know how upset I am,” he says, as he considers what the best place to do just that is gonna be. They don’t need a plan, and he’s more than willing to take the blame here for whatever happens, to let Fava keep pushing on after a moment of catharsis, that’s a thought that makes him all the more ready to let go of the rage bubbling up in his chest.

“You been down to the main bar yet? That’s where they all are this time of night, drinking their pretentious cocktails, eating hors d'oeuvres, betting on who’s gonna last the night. I think we can make a point there,” he explains, disdain clear in his voice. He’s already riled up enough, but thinking about them doing that as Bire was killed fuels the anger, makes him ready to break more shit. So he claps Fava on the back and starts leading her that way, ready to make a mess and a statement.

//

While anger — if not rage — is a word often associated with DeeZee, passionate seems to follow Fava around like another sibling.

Caesar brings it up constantly; her fiery personality is a result of her passion, no doubt. The Girl on Fire, a woman ablaze because of how much she feels, how much she fights — Fava wouldn’t have chosen the word herself, but she knows it’s a good word to have on her side. Her bigger reactions could be blamed on a show of passion, a desperate need to feel and feel strongly. Loudly.

So, running into DeeZee comes with pros and cons, but it’s the former that she focuses on. There’s no one else she’d rather have at her side in this exact moment (regardless of there being better choices).

She shakes her head minimally, eyes pinned to something behind Dee before she forces herself to make eye contact again. “I haven’t been outside of Twelve today.” She couldn’t stop watching the screen, couldn’t bear it if she missed a single moment of Wren’s journey.

They’re walking before she has a chance to process her decision. Every step makes her feel bolder, every step makes her fists curl tighter. “Dee,” she baits, “what if they detain us?”

What does it matter? They’ve already taken so much.

“They want to see that fire in your eyes, Fava,” he answers her most pressing question. What is it that they want from her? She could beg, and they likely still wouldn’t budge. Griffin doesn’t believe that; he doesn’t believe that begging should be her next recourse either. “They’re looking for that little spark they’ve come to love about you the most. That blunt confidence.” He tilts his head and gives her a look. “Securing sponsorships are still very much part of the game, you and I both know that, and it’s important to these bigwigs that you put your best foot forward, even when they already know how willing they are to help you.”

He goes on even after that, wanting to be as concrete as possible, wanting her to know that he’s here to help her, but that he won’t be holding her hand through it entirely. Griffin didn’t make her after all; what the Capitol masses like about her is something she’s made herself. “Making rounds with Hudson could work, but that could raise questions about priorities too. Gage and Wren are… I wouldn’t want to say on opposing sides, but…” He briefly trails off; it’s not something either of them want to discuss right now, not when Griffin is still trying to wrap his head around the what ifs and the guilt surrounding that particular situation.

“Try on your own first. Make them remember who you are even without Hudson by your side.”

//

She’s been doing it wrong. She’s been playing the desperate sad sack, the broken-hearted. That isn’t her.

(Well, it is her, but not the her they want to see. They want to see the spark, The Girl on Fire that won’t take no for an answer. God, she wish she knew that earlier. She would’ve been telling people what she needs instead of asking politely.)

Fava averts her gaze in order to think. With a furrowed brow and a tight jaw, she silently repeats what Griffin said. Remember who you are without Hudson by your side. It’s been ages since she’s been asked to be an individual; months since anyone asked her about anything other than what her life was like with her partner. Star-Crossed Lovers: the ultimate love story, the story that changed the game.

It was Hudson that planted the seed of romance, Hudson that made her look desirable enough to fall in love with her, but it Fava that refused to play by the rules; Fava that gathered those berries in her hand and brought them to her lips in an act of saying ENOUGH —

How could she have forgotten?

She looks back to Griffin with an intensity in her eyes and a question on her tongue. “Where have I been?” It is spoken in a soft murmur, a question more for herself than her mentor — though maybe he can offer some direction. (Caught up in the Games, I suppose.) “This isn’t me.” She gestures to herself broadly; her, the whimpering, simpering fool. She’s never been that girl. She’s always been a powder keg.

Fava asks if there’s anything she can do for him, though, just as the two of them step into the threshold of Twelve’s Common Area, and Robyn thinks about it for a moment, before shaking their head. It’s too early to act now, they suppose, when groups are still forming, and people are still recovering from the chaos of the Bloodbath. There’s also the issue of having his own Tributes to watch over, of course, in knowing Abe and Marina need to have their support too. They’re hoping they won’t have to end up choosing between them and Harbor in the end, if there’s a way they can all make it to safety, but… they can’t think about it now. They can’t afford to complicate things further in their head.

“No, I… not right now. It’s quite early in the Games, I suppose. I can manage for now, I’ve connections to go to, people to ask in case…” In case something goes wrong is what his mind immediately starts with, but he’s too horrified of the thought to even consider it, despite knowing they’re in the Games, someplace where it’s impossible to avoid something going wrong. He decides to frame it a different way, choose different words. “In case it’s needed,” is what Robyn says instead, lowering their voice slightly, a silent whisper, a silent plea into the ether that things won’t come to that, that things shouldn’t have to come to that. Even though, realistically, they know they will. In the Games, it’s nigh impossible to bank on the opposite.

//

It’s cheesy to say that there’s strength in numbers, but it’s the truth — it’s only strange to think about in comparison to Fava’s tendency to find comfort in isolation. Learning to lean on people — especially in times of deep vulnerability — is essential to surviving the Games. She should’ve known that; it’s the same advice Griffin gave her back on the train one year prior.

When Robyn’s voice catches in their throat, Fava feels a bolt of something run through her. (Is it concern or understanding? Is it both?) She still doesn’t know what to do in these moments and with a hug already checked off their list, the teenager does the only thing she can think of:

“We’ll make sure that Harbor is taken care of,” she says with a solemn nod.

His safety is not guaranteed — none of them are guaranteed a clean ticket out of there — but Fava will do everything she can to keep people talking about those names on her list. She’s made promises to people, promises she intends to keep. If only there was another way out of this.

“Robyn,” she begins softly, “you can always come to Twelve if you need to — talk. I’m not sleeping much these days anyway and it’s — better than keeping it all inside.” That’s rich coming from her, but it’s a start. An offer of kindness can go a long way.

Wren isn’t alone anymore and she’s thankful for that, but there’s still so much work to be done. So much begging to do. Which is exactly why Fava is sitting on Nelly’s bed as the latter works to hide the dark circles that formed from her lack of sleep.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how heavy it feels,” she says of the make up. “Maybe if I wore it everyday, but…” In what universe would that happen? She would pay to be barefaced and back home in Twelve. (With her family in one piece and less traumatized.) “It’s like battle armor for you, isn’t it?” The realization comes suddenly and Fava tilts her chin higher to look at Nelly. “It makes you feel put together, so it’s easier for you to fake it.”

It takes longer than expected for it to move past that in any meaningful way. In a familiar way. The way his rage had felt searingly cold in his own Arena fifteen years ago when fucking Halle had sent him that sponsorship. He doesn’t really feel like waiting any longer, doesn’t really feel like there’s much of a point to hold back now, since he’s already failed Archer, already failed Ten, since even if the so-called rebels swoop in out of nowhere and save the day, he won’t have anyone to save from that Arena any longer. 

He downs a half empty bottle from the bar cart, then tosses it against the wall, because of course he does–– it doesn’t really make him feel anything when all he can see is Bire’s death, all he can hear are his screams––then picks up the biggest shard of glass and tucks it in his boot, not minding the cuts it leaves behind, too much blood on his hands already. Then he leaves, despite the protests he does hear.

There’s no plan in his mind as he walks down the halls with purpose, without even knowing where he’s heading, just the white-hot fury, and the need to do something about it. And then suddenly someone rams into him, and he’s about to unleash that fury gladly, when he realizes just who it is. It feels like a sign, especially considering the fury in her eyes, too, as he goes over and all but pulls her up from the ground. 

“Yeah, well, you’re no feather pillow, either, kid,” he scoffs, but he’s glad she’s here, glad it’s her, and her words just confirm it. “My thoughts exactly. Was just thinkin’ it’s about time to make a bit of noise. You have something in mind?”

//

His words give her pause and she averts her gaze elsewhere, thinking. She hasn’t gotten that far. She has no idea what to do with the anger that bubbled up inside of her, no idea what could possibly make her anxiety subside for even a second — and yet here DeeZee stands, ready and willing to go along with whatever she suggests without so much as batting an eye.

One could argue that he’s a bad influence — she’s been trying to behave — but Fava views it as something else entirely: freedom of choice. And how often do people from the Seam get to choose anything?

The Girl on Fire crosses her arms over her chest, but all she comes up with is, “I don’t know.” She’s too aware of the fact that her actions will directly influence Wren’s survival rate in the Games. Which honestly only angers her more. Good; fuel for the fire. “But I want people to know how upset I feel.” Her eyes, intense and confident, return to the Victor. “I want people to know that we’re in pain too.”

When he arrives, the first thing to greet him is the sorry, upset image of Fava on the couch, buried beneath two blankets. The expression on her face is sour, and he doesn’t even have to hear her words to know what she’s feeling. It feels redundant when she tells him anyway, and right away, Griffin shakes his head as he makes his way over to her and sits down next to her. “No one’s in a good mood, kid, and unless I were some insensitive, tone-deaf Capitol sponsor, I wouldn’t assume that either,” he says, clearly exhausted as he settles down and leans forward, elbows on his knees. There’s a bit of silence before he deigns to speak again.

“I briefly saw you downstairs, with the sponsors,” he says. No one’s in the mood for this, but it’s something they’ve got to talk about anyway. If they don’t now, there won’t be time left. “It’s clear they’re interested, you know; you’re the Girl on Fire after all. But there were no deals closed, were there?” He gives her a sideways glance. It’s not a blaming sort of look, but it’s one that makes it clear he wants a conversation, and not more moping. “They’re looking for something more from you, something extra—but they’re ready to shell out the money, we all know they are. Your sister’s no pariah, and you aren’t either.” It’s the truth, and they’re both aware of it, hard as it is to hear and stomach; sometimes, in order to break a few rules, they’ve got to learn to play by them a little more first.

//

Griffin tells it to her straight — no one’s in a good mood, kid — and she huffs in response, allowing herself to sing further into the cushions of the couch. This is when her age starts to show; she wants to cross her arms and stomp all over the place until someone sends her to her room because she infected the whole place with her attitude. But Griffin doesn’t do that. He simply sighs as he sits down next to her and puts on that particular tone of voice that Fava can only describe as fatherly.

(It’s amazing how that tone voice makes her behave. Imagine if she had it her whole life.)

(She probably would’ve had more friends for one.)

“I don’t know what else they could possibly want,” she says with a sigh. “I’m practically begging. I’d get on my knees if that would make them send her stuff.” Maybe that’s the problem, actually. Maybe she needs to be more authoritative; inspire them to help her sister under the guise of helping her. Politics has never been her strong suit. It just makes her angry.

WHEN: Evening of the Big Separation (sad face)

//

To be frank, Fava found talking to be exhausting enough but begging? Her personal layer of hell. Being personable has never been her strong suit. She has a distinct warm up period. Just ask Griffin. Or Hudson. Or literally anyone.

She knows she has to get over her social block regardless in order to help Wren. The other members of Twelve – and Districts in general – can’t be the only people lobbying for her sister. It would be most effective coming from her, but she can’t get out three words without a frog in her throat. Quite honestly, she’s a mess. She’s stuttering and sniffling like a weak little toddler and she hates it. She hates the fact she can’t utter Wren’s name without panic soaking her every feature. Even through the makeup that Nelly carefully applied in order to make her look more, well, approachable.

It’s been hours since Wren has been on her own, hours since Fava’s been on her feet and talking to anybody that would lend her an ear. What does she have to prove for it? A half-eaten sandwich and a mug of tea, untouched. She’s on the couch, piled under two blankets, when Griffin enters. (She’s freezing today. Can’t seem to regulate her temperature. Is that a symptom of stress or is she finally dying?)

WHEN: Shortly After the Big Separation (sad face)

//

This is the worst case scenario — Wren, alone.

Stationed in front of the screen, it feels impossible to breathe. She feels an immense pressure in her chest as if the world – her world – is caving in around her. Tears well up in her eyes and she hates herself for not being able to control the flush of panic that she feels. There are other members of Twelve talking and she can feel their eyes on her, but she can’t hear them. It sounds warbled and wrong, like they’re underwater.

Fava dislodges herself from Hudson, only then aware of how tight she was squeezing their arm, and apologizes under her breath. She needs space. (They understand. They always do.)

She registers that she should stay, that she isn’t the only one that’s hurting by what just transpired, but can’t just sit there; not when the fear is licking at the pit in her stomach, not when the voice inside her head is starting to make the bad decisions sound like good ones.

So, she runs.

She runs fast.

Fava doesn’t know where she’s going, she’s just tearing down hallways and staircases like they’re the familiar streets of home. Home, a place where she’d like to be if only to wrap her arms around her mother and bond over the trauma of a lost sister. Her mind is racing and her heart is in her throat and then: stars.

Her back hits the ground and her head rebounds slightly. She closes her eyes tight, the light of a common area blinding her. Some gasp, but no one crowds her. Someone does help her up, but she doesn’t realize who it is until she braves the fluorescents.

It’s DeeZee. Looks like her body knew where she was going after all.

Ginger is dead, and Bire is alone with no supplies, and DeeZee’s pretty damn sure the Capitol could decide they’re tired of his bullshit at any minute, after the warning during his interview. So it feels a little hopeless, and it feels a little like the only catharsis might come from fucking things up a little, letting the emotion overwhelm him until it feels possible to breathe again. Who cares what it gets him, after all, if he’s a goner anyway?

“Yeah, it really fuckin’ is. It’s like they didn’t even listen to anything we said. And we know we’ve been there before, we know what it takes to get out,” he says, the anger still right there at the surface, clear in his words.

She makes him look at her, whispers, trying to figure out how to calm him down, but he doesn’t know the answer here. It’s a fifteen year old tradition, after all, his infamous tantrums when his tributes die, some years worse than others. He thinks it’s only deserved this year would be the biggest, considering the personal connections. “Let me fuckin’ break a Capitolite’s jaw, that’ll help me,” he hisses through gritted teeth, hands curling into fists. “It’s your first year on this side, and what a fucked up year for it. But you haven’t seen how it goes. Everyone fuckin’ sits here like watching people die is normal, I remind them it’s not.”

//

HC END: