#chapter four.

WHEN: (Mid) Reception

Truth be told, when Fava Thornewood woke up this morning, she expected today to be one of the worst days of her life. Not because she didn’t love Hudson, but because this wasn’t how she wanted to do it. It’s too flashy, too fake, for the depth of what she feels. The ceremony was grueling and void of what made them individuals, but the reception? The reception has been a whirlwind of emotion. And, dare I say it, fun.

With all the requirements (first appearance, importance dances, cake) out of the way, everything left is whatever she wants to make of it. It’s been at least an hour since she’s seen her partner, but she hasn’t stopped smiling since the second glass of champagne hit her system. She’ll go for a third once she stops spinning in circles with her lady dressed in red.

There is so much she wants to say to Blythe, but now isn’t the time nor the place to say such things. Instead, she focuses on the feeling of excitement that sits in her chest. It’s been ages since she’s felt this weightless, since she’s felt this young.

WHEN: (Late) Reception

They’re set to leave, but Fava asked for more time. Just ten more minutes -- fifteen tops. I need to talk to Perri before we go.

Her feet are aching when she interrupts a group of Capitolites in order to selfishly steal the blonde away from the conversation. She isn’t rejected, of course, because no one says no to the bride on her wedding day. (As long as her requests are within what’s allowed or expected of her, that is.)

Fava selects a vacant table off in a back corner of the reception hall. She doesn’t know who sat there before them -- hell, she doesn’t know half of the guests in attendance -- but whoever was here left behind a perfectly fine glass of water. Good. She needs more of that and less champagne. She helps herself, aware now of just how hot she is. Her sip is more of a desperate gulp. She wipes her lips with the back of her wrist shortly after to remove any lingering moisture. Nelly would scold her about her manners if this were any other day.

WHEN: Father & Daughter Dance (Reception)

This wasn’t the first time that Griffin and Fava danced together in this capacity, but this time was certainly more nerve-wracking than the last. There’s more eyes on them this time and more judgemental people in the crowd. Neither of them are particularly smooth dancers either; her mother commented as much after they laughed themselves off of the dance floor at her wedding back in Twelve.

As he leads her to the floor, she can feel her heart beating frantically against her ribs. Suddenly, her mouth's as dry as the desert and her vision is blurred around the edges. The smile that Griffin gives her encourages her to relax just a tiny bit. The look in his eyes reminds her that they’ve done this before, that none of this really matters anyway. She nods solely and rolls her shoulders back to perform the dance to the best of her abilities. She didn’t practice this one half as much as she practiced the one with Hudson.

The first few steps are what they should be, but she loses count after thirty seconds or so. Her embarrassment slides onto her face before she can manage to hide it. She chuffs, her eyes rolling at her own stupidity.

She keeps her voice low. No one needs to be privy to their conversation.

WHEN: Before the Ceremony

Hudson narrowly escaped Nelly’s wrath.

Not two minutes after they left, Nelly’s familiar rhythmical knock echoed through the room. Fava yells for her to come in, once again taking her position on the small pedestal that she’s been standing on for what felt like hours. (The styling team hired to get her ready was far more unforgiving than Cinna had been. She wonders if she’ll have bruises on her ribs from how tight they pulled the bodice of the gown.)

When Nelly’s figure appears in the reflection behind her, the bride gestures lamely to the side. There’s a gasp of a reaction, of course there is, but Fava doesn’t know if the look warrants such praise. Then again, someone like Nelly would appreciate it as it was made for Capitol eyes.

WHEN: Before the Ceremony

They say it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, but Hudson and Fava don’t have to worry about such superstitions because this ceremony is only for show.

Fava stands in a large dressing room complete with marble counters and floor-to-ceiling mirrors that show every angle of her form. Her reflection makes her feel uncomfortable. This is not her. This is who they want her to be -- a glossy, overproduced version of the girl that outsmarted them with a handful of berries.

The dress is suffocating. It is too high on her neck, too tight around her waist, and heavy, too. Intentionally so; it was meant to remind her of the grip that President Snow has on her. Make one wrong move and suffer. She will take her steps slowly to not lose balance. She will take her steps slowly and remember to breathe. If she made it out of that Arena with her life (and most of her sanity), she can make it through anything. Publicized nuptials should be a piece of cake.

Emphasis on should.

A knock on the door draws her attention away from the unfamiliar reflection across from her. She expects Nelly to be on the other side, but she’s wrong. It’s her “partner-to-be”. Her face softens when she sees them and she breathes a sigh of relief. That means they have more time.

She waited until Wren was dreaming to beg Hudson to run away with her in a tone so light that it was misplaced given their current circumstances. Though she knew they would follow her to the end of the Earth, she only had one destination in mind.

Back before they were just scared little Tributes, she and Hudson would climb to the roof when sleep evaded them. Fava found great comfort in it; she considered it a place of privacy, of security. Up there, the moon and the stars were the only ones that could hear them. It’s why she asked Blythe to meet her there. It felt safe. She owed Hudson for that.

(She owed Hudson for a lot of things. There are too many to mention.)

Fava laced their fingers as they sauntered to their old spot. On her tongue, an excuse if they were to get caught. Can’t a woman spend some time with her fiancé without an audience of supervisors and siblings? She’d put on a show for good measure. She’s good at that now — complying when she needs to.

It isn’t romance that she is interested in talking about, but rebellion. Hopefully the stars don’t break her trust too.

There’s always a chill up there and so Fava curls against Hudson’s side, her head resting gently on his shoulder. “I have to tell you something,” she begins, “but it sounds crazy.” She holds her tongue. Do you trust me?