ᴀʜ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅ ᴍᴇ

Meet AVEN ROSESAND. Click HERE for her stats, bio, playlist, and other shit. Aven is emotionally unavailable and gay. She is deeply sad but doesn’t want to show it, so she Lite-ly bullies her weenie friends instead. For years, she’s been on a mission to un-weenie herself and has been trying to spread the vibe to her other pals as a way to distract herself from the deep, dark void in her soul! Bio is another long boi, so TLDR under the cut!

It was a lot to wrap his head around. He heard whispers of the rebel activity. They certainly hadn’t been quite since all of this began with the trains and the wedding and everything. But they’re actually getting out? Now wasn’t that a shocking twist. Still, he had a role to play and he was trying to decide what to give Aven. He was beyond thankful for this. It touched him that even after everything, she still wanted him to know. But can he give himself away, even though this is the then. “I have no doubt they’ll find me.” He confirms, nodding his head. His hands rube together nervously, and he blinks over his clouded faux eyes. He then adds. “I still have things to do. I have a responsibility I must follow through on.” Hopefully it was enough to reassure her. That he wasn’t abandoning her but that he couldn’t walk out yet. Besides, he has to see Dawn first, make sure he knows.

• • •

SLATE REMAINS CRYPTIC, and Aven won’t deny that she feels a little disappointed by the fact that he still refuses to drop whatever this ruse of his is, but she lets it be. His answer, vague as it is, seems placating enough, she thinks. He trusts Silver to find him too, one way or another, and hopefully with more details than Aven can provide ( she knows she’s putting a lot on them even when they haven’t spoken yet, but it’s hard for her to believe that she’d know about something as important as this and they wouldn’t ). But he mentions something about responsibility, about having more to do, and Aven knows there’s nothing more she can add to this. All she can do is trust as well that Slate’s received the message loud and clear, and that he’ll keep in mind how important the next few hours are. She can’t exactly expect immediate action when there are no specific directives she can give him either.

“All right then,” she says, pulling back now and deciding to end the conversation here as well. “I understand.” In truth, she doesn’t, not entirely, but she doubts she’ll be learning more about it any time soon. Aven gives him one more lingering look before nodding and standing, ready to take her leave and maybe find Silver next. “I’ll see you, Slate.”

Leaving. What in the world does that mean? Slate wishes he could see the expression on Aven’s face to understand more. What kind of “leaving” was this? By the sounds of it, with the urgency and the grief, it sounded like it wasn’t just leaving the room, or leaving the building. “You’ll have to give me more, Aven.” He says carefully, with a bit of skepticism. “Where on earth would we be going?” Where was there to go? Surely not to their districts, right? It would be far too unsafe. But she mentions Silver and he knows they would probably also have answers, but Aven was the one to bring this up. Aven had told him. It hits his chest that she cared enough, even after recent developments, to make sure he knows.

• • •

THE SKEPTICISM ISN’T lost on her. She knows how easy it is to doubt a story like this with absolutely zero details. She certainly knows how much of a lunatic she must sound too. No matter. “I told you Slate, I don’t have the details. But I was told by… by someone I didn’t at all expect would be helpful... that I had to make sure my friends were ready. We’re getting out, Slate. Out of here.” Wondering where else they would go is a question she’s been asking herself over and over since that sudden moment with Heron, and it’s only fair that he’d ask it of her too, but Slate’s going to have to accept that she won’t have any satisfying answers for him. “I don’t know where or how, but I assume the details will come in time,” she says, voice still hushed, hurried. “Once I’ve met up with Silver, maybe we can figure it out together. I don’t doubt they’ll come to you too once things clear up.”

WELCOME TO EMBERS HIGH! MEET YOUR NEW ALGEBRA TEACHER, AVEN ROSESAND!

It’s common knowledge that Math is no picnic, but something about Ms. Rosesand’s no-nonsense tone, arched eyebrows, and piercing gaze makes her Algebra I and II classes much scarier than they’re meant to be. Though Math wasn’t exactly her favorite subject growing up (Literature was a good deal more interesting to her), Aven was good at it even then, getting top marks for it in class, and winning interschool competitions left and right. College saw her trying for creative writing courses, as well as countless workshops that never really got her anywhere she wanted, but after several unfinished manuscripts and failed writing projects, Aven decided to return to where her talents were most needed. After taking post-graduate classes in mathematics, she took her licensure exam, and returned to her alma mater for a position as a high school math teacher, as well as Embers High’s tough but fair mathlete team coach.

WHERE YOU CAN FIND HER: Holing up in the library or the mathlete club room with her laptop, record book, and several bundles of tests to grade while everyone is in class; it’s too noisy in her desk with the younger, newer Math teachers gossiping incessantly just a cubicle over. Also denying extra credit work when she knows some kids just don’t deserve it, then blankly consoling upset parents on PTC day.

WHAT IT’S LIKE IN HER CLASS: Intimidating is the word. Aven explains concepts well and tries to make Math as accessible to kids as possible during her lectures, but her drills and practice activities are trickier and more challenging than anyone feels they’ve been prepared for. They’ve also been known to make a few grade-conscious students cry.

WHERE SHE IS AFTER SCHOOL: Driving her wife Aurelia to and from the city hall, taking yoga and meditation classes three days a week for mental and physical wellness, dropping by to visit Slate, Twig, and Silver in their respective home workshops, and visiting the cineplex every two weeks to see what’s showing. Also, ignoring and pretending not to see students when they spot her outside school; the only exception to this rule are her mathlete kids.

He was just preparing himself to go back out onto the Games floor and jump back into it all with everyone. Then the door opens and Aven’s voice is ringing out. Not only that but she’s rushing beside him and his body jolts by the quickness of it all, head turning in the direction of her voice.

“Things?” His hands play with the folded cane in his lap, twisting it with nervousness. He hoped it wasn’t another mess. That there weren’t more people dying. “Tell me then, Aven.” His eyebrows knit together with seriousness, hoping to get it out of her sooner rather than later.

• • •

SHE CAN’T HELP but feel so ill-prepared right now, but this is exactly how she’d felt with Emory too, and if Emory could take it, then she has to believe that Slate will too, even without the details that could make this more acceptable than she knows it’s going to sound. “I don’t have the details right now, but...” She pauses, swallows, briefly considers taking his hand but of course decides against it at the last minute, knowing they’ve never been like that. She’s never been like that. “We’re leaving very soon.” Her voice is low, hurried, hushed. “I — I can’t explain how I know, I couldn’t begin to tell you how it’ll work, but... I was told to make sure my friends were ready.” She lowers her voice even more. “Because we’re about to leave this place.”

It’s so hard to tell with those new eyes of Slate’s just how he’s taking this information, but she adds another name in, to maybe help the news a long, like water for a pill that’s taking quite a bit of effort to be swallowed. “I’ll try to find Silver, see if they know anything about this too, but I just want you to be prepared in case... whatever this is just starts happening.”

SILVER, UNFORTUNATELY ISN’T where she’d thought they would be, and not necessarily having the time to hunt them down, she decides to go straight for Two in the meantime, mind still reeling after the vague information she’d learned from Heron ( things she’d then promptly passed down to Emory, but without specific information, she would have to stay put in the meantime anyway ). He’s thankfully still there, almost as if he hasn’t moved at all in the last times she’d been here to try and get him to say something to her beyond the usual pleasantries. As soon as she arrives, Aven doesn’t wait. “Slate, we need to talk,” she says, hushed a little frantic, as she sits down beside him. “I... things are happening, Slate, and we need to be ready.” This is a gamble, and she knows it; she hasn’t heard from anyone about exactly what is going on with Slate, but he’s still her friend, one of her longest, and if Heron is telling her to let her friends know, then he has to be included in that.

"Honestly, I don’t know what the hell is happening with you right now, but I need you to know about this.”

HEADCANON: AVEN & SILVER, RIGHT AFTER ROBYN AND SILVER PART UP AGAIN ( @losinqtouch )

It doesn’t take long for Silver to find one of the other names on their half of the list. As soon as they see Aven, they lead her away into the familiar hallway’s blindspot they’ve been using. Still, they’re careful, using the code that she’s made fun of them for many times in the past. They convey everything they’ve learned to her, and tell her to head to the spot soon, worried for their old friend’s safety, wanting to know that she’ll be there waiting when they arrive, but they understand that she has her own obligations first, too, and don’t tell her not to go find Emory, and Slate. They do tell her that they intend to find Slate, too, though.  In the course of the conversation, she tells them about the talk with Heron, and they make Plutarch’s message clear to her, that Heron was a friend of Aurelia’s, and that she’s on their side; that, if she’s going to seek anyone else out before leaving, Heron should likely be one of them. After mentioning their plan to try one last time to send Zero aid, they know they need to leave, having spent too much time talking already, but they find it hard to say goodbye to Aven, the worry deep, the image of Zero leaving Nilla clear in their mind. Neither of them are big on physical affection, but they can’t help but give her a quick hug before leaving.

Over and over again since arriving back in Three after the end of last year’s Victory Tour––something that feels like decades away now, something they have to hope isn’t going to happen at all this year––they’ve wished that they could all speak plainly and honestly. It feels like such a disservice to be unable to give all of their thoughts to the people they care about in times such as these, but it’s felt even more hopeless the past few weeks, the need to be even more careful so evident they can hardly even find a way to offer each other hope, when things as intangible as that don’t feel like enough anymore, watching loved ones die, knowing the danger they’re all in outside of the Arena, too. They’ve always been used to hiding their true thoughts and ideas, of course, came up with the way to do just that years and years ago, but now even that’s been taken from them, and they find themself wishing so deeply they could simply write Aven one of their old coded messages now, give her all the details they know, even if they’re not certain any of it can happen any longer, so at least she could find hope in those facts, the dim sliver that they’re holding onto, too. But the Capitol took that from them, too.

Silver lets out a little breath, eyes moving down to their gloved hands in their lap, static much too loud to think clearly just now. It’s all so exceptionally cruel, and they hate to know that Nilla’s death, or their fingers’ loss, or any of the other cruelty and pain inflicted by the Capitol isn’t nearly the last of it, even if the plan is still in place. Luckily, Aven’s voice distracts them from that thought. They can’t help but let out a little wry laugh. “There’s a great deal that I need, but I don’t think we’ll find it here. But you’re right, perhaps we could do with some caffeine. Keep us going until things are clearer, and we figure out how to keep marching forward,” Silver says with a nod, looking over at their friend. The next words are something of a compulsion, as much for her sake, as for their own, as if saying them out into the air, even quietly, a secret exchanged between two old friends, might make it the truth. “Things will change, Aven; I promise there’s still hope left. But first, tea, I suppose.”

• • •

JUST AS LITTLE as Silver can say to provide any real comfort in the midst of sudden grief, there’s even less that Aven can do to help them with their plans. They say it bluntly, telling her that there’s so much they need — to be doing, to be arranging, to be thinking about and planning for — but that they won’t be able to find it here either, and Aven had known as much. Still, while partaking of refreshments together is the least they could be doing right now, it seems like it may be the most helpful if they want to stay sane on some level. So Aven nods as well and pushes herself up and off the couch, hands immediately getting to work on setting the cold mugs from earlier aside on a separate tray. The Avox nearby gets to work right away, taking that away for her and, having listened well enough, begins to make preparations for tea. Aven doesn’t have the heart to stop them and say she’ll do it herself. 

She wants to believe in what Silver is saying. Promising, rather. There’s still hope left, they’d said, and she wants desperately to think that. She doesn’t want to imagine what would happen if there wasn’t any hope left at all.

“Yeah,” she says, much later than she’d intended, when the Avox from earlier has already begun setting things up. “Yeah, tea sounds good.”

“You must leave.” Heron says, her voice hollow and sharp. “You can’t stay here, you have to find your friends.” Her glances around, looking to the table to find a coin sitting there.

She moves forward, her flowing dress trailing behind her as she picks up the coin. “You didn’t use this?” Her hand wraps around the coin, and she brings her arm by her side. In a moment, she looks long, and gangly, and awkward, she can’t even look you in the eyes and her pale skin turns pink. “Plutarch says I tend to be cryptic.” Her fist clenches around the coin and she starts to make her way back to the door. “No matter, another day, another day.”

Her legs are moving quickly and she looks like a ghost, pale and ethereal but fleeting. “Find your friends. It’s time to leave this place.” And with that, the door is shut swiftly behind her and she leaves.

NONE OF IT registers when it should, and as useless a response as it is, Aven is left to say a simple, “What…?” One moment, she’s avoiding the blonde bird, and the next, that very bird is here, telling her to leave, to go find her friends. That had been surprising enough, but the revelation about the coin, the very same one Aven had been stumped on this whole time ( but had had to push aside in the stress of the Games and her own cousin’s death, naturally ), is what ends up sending her brain completely off kilter. The what is not responded to, because why would it be, when there’s clearly not enough time, and Heron, or whoever the hell she really is, has chosen to remain enshrouded in mystery in whatever limited moments they have left together. Everything happens too fast for Aven to process, and the coin is taken away, the Head Gamemaker is mentioned for some reason, and with one final, cryptic adage, she’s urged once again to find her friends.

“Wait, I…” But the door has closed, and Aven is once again alone. She doesn’t know what it is she’s meant to be focusing on first. Does she figure out how Heron is involved in all this? Does she question the truth behind Heron’s words? Does she try and figure out what her connection to the coin is? And what about what it means? What about her involvement with Plutarch? Now Aven is being asked to find her friends so they can all get ready to leave, but where are they meant to go? What’s next? What’s about to happen? It’s been four days since the start of the Games, and she’s been lethargic the entire time, and this... well, this gives her a boost of energy, but where to put it? Where to head off to first?

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, before shaking her head and stepping out of there to do as she’s told. She can’t keep this to herself. The people closest to her have to know.

Naturally, Heron has long gone by the time Aven steps out into the hallway.

She thanks them, but they don’t feel like they’ve done nearly enough to deserve her gratitude when there’s so little to say, or do to make any of it feel any better. They’ve always preferred to deal in facts, in concrete numbers and figures, they’ve always used those sort of details to make others feel better, in their own way, using logic to help others find calm, or hold onto reality, just as they’ve done with themself for years. The issue, of course, is that here the raw facts don’t help. Nilla is dead, and she died telling Zero to keep going, telling him to leave her behind, accepting her fate. Whatever plans that she and Zero had made, she won’t be there to see them through. There’s no comfort in that, even if they have faith that what she did will help Zero help the rest of them when it comes down to it. That’s the rub, though, they suppose. None of it is fair, no matter what good it might do in the end, because none of them should have been put in this situation at all, not Nilla, not Zero, not Aven, or themself, or anyone else. So perhaps all they can offer just now is their presence and the silent understanding, silent reassurance that at least Aven is not alone in what she’s feeling.

The air is quiet for a moment, as Aven clearly considers their words. They’re glad to hear that she’s been considering it in that way, too, even if it’s just a small consolation when the ultimate choice was death. But at least she made her choice; so many others aren’t given a moment to accept that fate, to make the choice to help push someone else to survive. The way Aven speaks of her choice, frightening, makes flashes of their own Games rush to mind, how convinced they had been they were going to die, too, the way things had changed once they were in the Arena…the knowledge that they would have made that choice for Thalia, had they been given the chance. “As am I. At least she was allowed that much. So few are in the Games. At least she had a moment to make that peace. And she knew what she was doing for Zero. That’s something to hold onto,” they nod slowly. It doesn’t make it easier to stomach, though, they know it doesn’t undo any of the pain that Aven is feeling right now for her cousin’s fate, but it’s a thought to hold onto.

• • •

"YES, IT IS,” Aven says with a solemn nod. On one hand, it feels like it’s hitting her so hard everywhere all at once that she’s become completely numbed to it, but on the other, it’s as if the reality of her entirely innocent cousin’s needless and unnecessary onscreen death still hasn’t fully hit her either. Hard to tell which it truly is in this moment, but she’s glad she isn’t alone, glad she’s got somebody else with her to figure out how to deal with this exactly. Silver has no other words to say beyond the ones they’ve already told her, and she can tell they haven’t any more, but Aven accepts this. They’ve thought it several times over now, and they’re thinking it again; they don’t expect any more from Silver than they’ve already tried to give her. Their company is enough, even when the two of them end up having to sit in silence for a time. Their presence, the fact that they had chosen to come here so quickly, likely even heading here first immediately after the broadcast, is enough. 

After yet another moment of silence is shared between them, Aven shakes her head and sits up just a bit straighter. She turns to her friend and sees how tired they are, their face lined and weary, even more so than usual, worse than on those sleepless nights they’ve spent together all these years as friends, just talking — worse than when she’d go to them and they’d be busy working, busy jotting things down with that code of theirs inside that journal. “Is there anything you need?” she starts softly. “We could get some snacks ready. Tea, or some form of caffeine?” Aven purses her lips and shrugs. “Feels like these next few days are going to be sleepless ones for all of us.” If they all even make it for that long, Aven finds her mind, unhelpfully, muttering right afterward, but she quashes that negativity. This can’t be it. There has to be a plan.

He could use a break from trying to be his old self. Not that Slate can fully let himself be open with Aven, unfortunately, but he doesn’t have to put it on so thick in front of her. He’s tried, he’s beat down, he’s not even sure if there will be an opportunity for him to make all of this worth it. So he takes the offered seat. He unfolds his cane to navigate closer to the direction of her voice. He feels for a place to sit, and lowers himself. It still doesn’t feel right. He still feels weak, having it search for a seat. But at least Aven wouldn’t be one to judge.

“Thank you, but I’ll pass on the drink. Not looking to have anything clouding judgement right now.” An inebriated man in this state would likely do something stupid, and then he’d be good as dead. 

He clears his throat uncomfortably, then folds his cane back up to put beside him. “I could ask you what your plan is now… or if you’d prefer we can sit in silence.” He still doesn’t really know what the way to navigate this is.

• • •

WHEN SLATE PASSES on the offer for hydration, a thought immediately enters Aven’s mind, and she has to fight not to jokingly snap back like she used to. She’s not sure if they’re in that state just yet, or if they’re in that state anymore, or if they ever will be; she’s not sure how he’d react to something a little more dry when there’s that coldness and distance. But when she looks at him, listens to him trying despite not knowing how to do any of this, and sees the slight discomfort on his face, she decides to go ahead with it anyway. Though he doesn’t see it, a small smirk briefly graces Aven’s face, disappearing just as quickly as it had come. “Drinks aren’t just alcoholic, you know,” she says quietly, the tiniest, softest hint of amusement in there. It’s nothing like how they were before this unexpected rift, but Aven had thought that maybe, just maybe, it would do to lighten the mood a little.

Now that she’s let it loose, though, she’s not so sure anymore. She feels a bit of that awkwardness start to seep back in, and she clears her throat as well and looks elsewhere, as if refusing to be perceived, even though Slate can’t perceive any of this at all. She goes back to plain sincerity. “But thank you. For wanting to stay for a bit,” she answers, staring once again at the mugs of coffee. They’ve gone beyond lukewarm by now, she’s sure, and beyond room temperature too; those things must be chilled at this point. She thinks about her answer to his other question for a moment before deciding to go with the truth once again. Whatever it is Slate’s doing, whatever his plans are, and wherever his true alliances lie, it can’t possibly hurt to just tell him what she means to do in the coming hours and days, if need be, right?

“I’m... I intend to help Silver with Zero, I guess. I don’t have many connections at all, but in case they need it...” Trailing off, she shrugs, even when she knows he can’t see. Force of habit. “Maybe it’s what Nilla would have wanted.”

Grief is not something that they’ve experienced much of in their life, despite all of the pain and death they’re surrounded by constantly. Only recently has grief played such a major role in things for them. They don’t remember most of their childhood, after all, memories replaced by static and distortion, they don’t remember their parents’ deaths, what their grief was like then except for the vague feeling that being reaped was only appropriate, believing they would die soon enough, too. After their Games, there was no time for grief, even if they wish they could have mourned Thalia better, mourned their childhood, their mind, better. In the absence of dealing with that grief the past twenty-three years, they’re not sure how to handle these feelings now, not sure what to say to help Aven when they feel lost themself. It’s not okay, of course, but they understand what she’s saying, they understand that she’s telling them that she understands there’s not a way to make this feel any better for either of them in this moment. Perhaps for now just being here together can be enough, although they’re not certain anything could be enough after such a show. 

“I’ll stay as long as you want. Or if you’d like to come down to Three, get away from everything here, you know you’re always welcome,” they say, voice quiet, and it feels like so little to offer, given everything that’s happened, but they have nothing else at the moment. There’s a pang of guilt at her next words, that now she can give whatever resources she has to Zero instead. It makes their chest tighten uncomfortably, makes Nilla’s last moments play in their mind again, side by side Thalia’s. But there’s a hint of something else there, too, because Nilla made the choice, she looked at Zero and told him to keep going, despite his offers to try to keep helping and likely end up dead with her. It’s a small consolation, but it’s something to hold onto; Thalia hadn’t had the choice in their Games. And as cruel as it feels to consider it now, they have a strong feeling that, given the circumstances, Nilla would have Aven make sure that choice wasn’t for naught. “Thank you,” is all they can manage to say at first, although that feels strange to say in and of itself. “She made that choice, in a way. I know it doesn’t make it any less horrifying, or unfair, but at least it was her choice.”

• • •

“THANK YOU, SILVER.” It occurs to Aven that Silver is trying their best to find the right words, and she wants them to know that she appreciates the gesture, but it’s clear to her that at this moment too that there isn’t quite much to say that will make them both feel better. She gives them that gratitude anyway, happy to hear them offer staying around for as long as she wants, happy as well to hear them offer for her to go with them down at Three for more company. She doesn’t intend to take them up on either, of course, knowing first of all that Silver’s got quite a lot to do and she mustn’t monopolize their time, and second of all that Gazel is with them down at Three, and she’d rather not intrude on their time together. Additionally, Digit is likely still skulking about somewhere down there, and Aven’s not so sure how ready she is to see that kid’s face; she barely even knows how Silver and Gazel both manage it. All the same, she’s glad to hear these offers being given; they’re a form of reassurance too, in their own way.

She doesn’t comment a response to that, hoping it’s enough for them to know that she appreciates them giving her this comfort. Instead, she focuses on what they say about Nilla, on their thanks, on the guilt that had, for a moment there, been written clear and plain on their face. Aven gives their words some time to settle, the air quiet between them for just a little less than a minute, before she nods and adjusts in her seat. “I’ve been thinking of it that way too. I’m... glad that her agency, at least, wasn’t removed entirely.” She swallows, breathes in to calm her nerves a little more, before continuing. “It was a tough and frightening decision to make, but she made it, in the end. To help... to save someone else.” Someone that’s very important too; she and Silver and Nilla herself all know that. “None of it was in vain. I... I know that.” Of course, knowing is one thing, and believing is another, but Aven wants to think that if she keeps telling herself these things again and again, she’ll come to fully believe and accept it too.

He wants to do better for Aven. He wants to be the friend that she needs but regardless of all of this, Slate’s not really been the man to come to someone at their time of aid. He’s not properly equip for tenderness and warmth. That was so much more fitting for Dawn. Something he always respected about the other man. And now something he truly wished he had for himself.

He takes a few steps closer, following the direction of his voice. It’s harder, too, when he can’t see someone’s face. Having to rely on their emotions purely by how they sound. He’s have a hard time judging the emotion in the room. Does she even want him here, or not?

“People shouldn’t have to feel their grief alone in they don’t want to.” He says, and he’s trying, he’s trying so hard. This is not his territory, though. “I don’t want you to feel alone right now, Aven.”

• • •

HIS EXPRESSION REMAINS unchanged for the most part, and Aven wonders if she should be more obvious about how she feels, put it a bit more in her tone so he can tell that she does appreciate him being here. But she doesn’t quite know how to do it when she feels so numb, doesn’t quite know when he seems so formal himself. He continues, though, and when he speaks again, Aven this time can’t resist the twinge of pain in her chest. He’s trying, as hard as he can. Whatever it is that’s keeping this distance between them, whatever it is that he has to do, whatever it is that’s forced this sudden coldness in their relationship, he’s trying so, so hard to push past it somehow. If only Aven knew the full picture.

“Thank you,” Aven says again, allowing a bit of warmth to settle into her tone now. Warmth isn’t common territory for either of them, which is another thing that’s making this conversation so difficult to have, and it’s clear there’s so much more preventing Slate from really showing that other than just ineptitude, but Aven is willing to try more for the both of them. “Do you... Would you like to sit?” She looks around, then, and sees mugs of now-cold coffee on the table, things to help keep her and the others here in Five awake and alert the whole day. “If you want something to drink, I can... I can have it prepared too.”

Situations like this aren’t something they’ve ever been good at handling. Things have changed over the past year, though, and they’ve found themself clinging more to their emotions than they ever expected they might, telling themself that keeping their head up and facing them instead of burying them is a strength, even when it brings pain, and they have to tell themself that same truth now. Aven needs that from them, not just support, but also honesty, the permission to feel it all, something they know she’s just as bad at doing as they are, in favor of repressing and pushing on. So they sit next to her, when she finally acknowledges them, they stay close, even as they look at the screen, too, not truly taking note of what’s going on just now. They wish it didn’t feel like they had given her false hope, had pushed her into believing things could be different, only for the Capitol’s cruelty to bite back tenfold at once, but the distortion is loud, and they keep seeing Thalia’s face next to Nilla’s as she told Zero to keep going. The feeling of panic and upset that comes with it makes it hard to do anything but feel that.

“None of it is fair. I know it never is, but…” they trail off, too, unable to drop the habit just now, with how things are. There’s no need to put the unspoken into the air, to admit that they hadn’t expected this, that they had hoped against hope that perhaps things would move along faster, that Plutarch’s aid they’re not even certain is still viable would appear sooner, and Nilla and Zero would be the two to help figure out how to get the rest of the tributes out of there. Now, though, they’re losing more and more of them, and there are just as many hurt. Now Nilla is gone, and none of it was ever fair, she shouldn’t have been there in the first place, just as Zero shouldn’t have been forced into this position while having so much riding on his shoulders, just as he shouldn’t have been forced to relive Silver’s own history, to watch his one friend in the Arena die for him, nothing he could do to stop it. Aven shouldn’t have had to watch her cousin die because of their shared family, and nothing more. “I’m so sorry, Aven.”

• • •

THERE’S LITTLE THAT Silver can say in this moment, and it seems the two of them are painfully aware of that. They trail off too, the way Aven herself had done just moments before, and she’s fine with it. They’d come here of their own accord, to support and give her their sympathies during this trying time, but they were under no obligation to, and she doesn’t expect them to make her feel better and solve her worries either. They’ve had a way of doing that before ( they had, in fact, done just that earlier today ), but it’s alright that they can’t now, when it’s clear they’re at a loss too. At the cost of making sure Zero gets to go first, that Zero survives — and they’ve already spoken at length about how important it is that he does — Nilla had made that decision. She hadn’t panicked at the last or forced Zero to stay so he could help her up. She willed him to go, and made peace with the decision to stay behind. Aven’s sure that scene had affected Silver too, that it must be what they’re focused on now. She thinks there could be guilt there, and perhaps that’s why it’s so hard for them to find the words now.

“It’s okay,” she whispers at some point, after a lengthy moment of silent passes, her eyes trained down on her hands. None of it is, of course, and she feels like she'll end up losing all physical feeling altogether for how numb she is, but this instance, right now, where Silver can’t spin it in a way that’ll make them both feel better... it’s okay. They’re not her therapist, they’re not her problem-solver, and as much as she may have wanted their presence and their uncanny intelligence and reason to bring her comfort, sometimes that’s just not how it is. “It’s enough that you came by,” she adds, before shaking her head and sighing. She watches her thumb gently pick at the tiny tear on the lap of her trousers, tugging at the opening, the loose threads. “I guess that means I can sink whatever resources I have left into making sure Zero makes it, then.”

Slate couldn’t be so heartless as to fully ignore Aven in this time of great grief. She had taken the moment to come to him, and extend her condolences, even when he’s pushed her away and shrunken himself away back to the life he used to be living. The one that so many of his friends are rejecting.

He finds himself alone, on Five’s floor, entering the room. He has no idea is Aven is by herself or if others are in the room. But he stands there, folding his cane and tucking it under his arm as he lets out a long-held breath. “My deepest sympathies, Aven.” His lips press together in a thin line. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” Well, they had both suffered loss, but Slate wasn’t quite sure he had any right to his grief in a way that Aven did. 

• • •

SHE SHOULD’VE EXPECTED him, having just come to him earlier today to do the same thing, but it’s a surprise anyway when she sees Slate standing by the doorway, here in Five for a visit after her last Tribute’s onscreen death — her cousin’s onscreen death, rather. For a few moments, she’s unable to speak, and when Slate does it first, Aven keeps her silence for a little longer. He sounds extremely stiff, as though pushed to say these condolences by forces outside of himself, and everything is painfully formal, tortuously awkward. But at least he’s here, she tries to tell herself. At least he’s here.

“Thank you, Slate,” is what she manages after almost a minute of silence. Her mouth mimics his, lips also pressed together in a line, and her tone is curt, clipped. Formal and awkward, just like him. The way he speaks is making her want to push the overwhelming emotion back, making her want to just keep a mask over her grief. Slate looks so much like he’s here to extend his sympathies on assignment, and it hurts a little, compounding with the pain of loss, but it’s better than nothing. “It means a lot to me that you’d be here.”

TALKING TO SILVER has had a significant impact in Aven’s mood, she’ll say that much, but it’s one thing to be talking to them face to face and hearing their advice and their calming, sensible words in real time, and another to be alone once again, left to face the gravity of the situation on her own. Despite the lightness she’d received from their company, it’s easy for Aven to sink back into even just a bit of that despair from earlier on, knowing so many people in Five are disappointed, knowing her own family is disappointed — likely even angry at her for letting this happen in the first place. Aven knows, too, how ridiculous a thought that is when she’d had no control on who the Capitol would choose to torture her with, but what is logic in the face of this much grief and pain? Nothing changes the fact that Nilla had deserved absolutely none of it. She was a good, kind person, better than Aven herself, and she didn’t deserve any of what had happened to her at all.

So she sits there again, silent now after Silver has left, eyes trained at the screen but not necessarily looking or seeing, hands fidgeting on their own, nails picking it a tear in her pants. Unlike the first time, though, with Silver, she notices this instance when someone comes in, and she sits up immediately, turning to face whoever it is.

There’s a great deal to consider just now, their mind racing with thoughts, pulled in what feels like a dozen different directions, given the amount of problems presented on screen in the past few hours. A glimmer of hope turned to ash on their tongues, cruel as it is, but just like the Capitol to do something of that sort the moment things seem to be looking alright for anyone. They do want to stay with Robyn, especially given Harbor’s state after the monkeys, but they both understand there’s a great deal to do at the moment, late as it is. They leave them with a long embrace, and a soft kiss, a promise to do what they can to help their twin, too, as they begin to try to find a way to get everyone together. And then they’re off. There are two names at the top of their mind, and in this instance they can’t help but choose personal matters first, to head to Five, before seeking out Griffin to discuss movements, and also what they’re going to do whatever the outcome of the unbroadcasted Gage and Chrysanthe standoff is. 

The guilt only truly begins to hit once they’re let into Five’s suite, when they step inside and see Aven sitting completely still, staring blankly at the screen still. For a moment, the static grows, distortion closing in, and all they can see is Thalia’s lifeless body covered in blood, all they can feel is the panic of trying to pull her away, all they can think of is Zero offering to carry Nilla. “No,” they can’t help but mutter, trying to push through it, focus on Aven. They take a few halting steps forward, a little unsteady, knowing there’s nothing they can say to make this better, knowing they have to try to say something anyway. “I’m so sorry, Aven. I thought she would…” be safe feels like a cruel thing to say, but it’s true, they had thought she would be safe with Zero and Holly. Instead they settle on something they know they both feel. “It shouldn’t be like this.”

• • •

SHE DOESN’T HEAR them come in. Aven is so wrapped up in staring blankly at the screens, mind replaying Nilla’s death, her final moments, the last shot of her face, even as the cameras have long moved on to other Tributes, that she doesn’t notice at all until Silver speaks. She blinks, as if returning to reality from out of existence, like she hadn’t been there at all moments before and is returning only now. She doesn’t even have it in her to be surprised that they’d come in, entered through the common area of Five’s floor without her realizing it. Instead, she stares at them, a little out of it, rather unsteadily. “Silver,” she says, and she knows she should be thankful they’re here. She is. She doesn’t know if she can face any of this alone, and Emory is, clearly, still recovering from her own loved one’s death. But she can’t bring herself to feel much of anything, and gratitude is a bit hard to hold on to at a time like this.

It isn’t lost on her, though, that Silver hadn’t expected that result too — had, in fact, assumed things wouldn’t end that way for her, knowing who her companions were. Silver thought she would be safe; that’s what they mean, and Aven knows it, even when they don’t continue it, don’t say it aloud. It’s exactly what she’d thought too. But it’s clear they both thought wrong. “No, it shouldn’t,” she practically sighs. The Capitol’s cruelty knows no bounds; it’s almost as though they’d been listening to Aven and Silver strategizing earlier on and did this in response. “None of it feels fair.” She purses her lips, stares blankly down at nothing. “We all knew that coming in, but...” But they had hoped things would find a way to turn out for the better. Hope... makes everything hurt so much worse, Aven is finding.