WHEN: Late Afternoon WHERE: Three

...

Silver turned down her request to meet in the stairwell which is why she’s tucked into their room in Three.

It’s the first time she’s actually been inside the accommodations, but it seems fitting enough given what she knows about both the District and the Victor. What doesn’t seem fitting, is the almost sheepish way they’re replying to her intentionally baited questions. Griffin reacted similarly. There must be something in the air.

Half of her understands the hesitance that came from Caesar’s probing questions — they hit a little too close to home — but the other half of her wants to capitalize on their mutual rage. She can feel it in the hallways, hidden behind doors — stalking, waiting, growing. She isn’t faced with that same hunger now as she sits too properly in a chair, with her hands folded in her lap like some sort of proper lady.

Seriously. What the fuck is going on?

She’d scream it in an alternate universe. She’d shake their shoulders. She’d push and shove and demand the gasoline needed to fuel her fire.

WHEN: Early Afternoon WHERE: Various (Walking)

...

Wren wanted to talk to Hudson. Alone.

Fava tried to not be hurt by her request, but it left an ache in her chest when the door closed with her on the other side of it.

Regardless of how she felt, she knew it was better to leave the suite than wait for their conversation to be done. She trusted Hudson as much as she trusted Wren, so it’s important not to take it personally. She’s just scared. That has to be it. Hudson’s ability to center someone is unmatched. Wren just needs a little bit of that calming energy.

She headed to Four on a mission to occupy Robyn’s time. It’s been a couple of days since they last spoke and a lot has happened since then. Especially since they’re running out of time; The Games are only a blink away.

Fava arrives unannounced and unexpected. She knocks on the door, intentionally hard. She can feel a shock shoot from her wrist from hitting her knuckles the wrong way. She rubs at it while asking for Robyn with the best smile she can manage. Which isn’t much. There isn’t really anything to smile about.

WHEN: Very Early Morning Post-Interviews WHERE: Twelve

...

She had too much adrenaline pumping through her system to sleep. You can ask Hudson — she tossed and turned all night, finding it impossible to get comfortable.

At some point, The Girl on Fire left her room to check on Wren, who was sound asleep in her bed as if nothing was happening, as if the worst wasn’t waiting for her in the form of Caesar Flickermann. If her own interview is to be used as the base of comparison, Fava can’t even begin to fathom what her sister will be asked. There’s a part of her that still has hope; she’s seen him guide younger Tributes through interviews before. Maybe he’ll take mercy on little Wren Thornewood.

She doesn’t want to think about it, but she can’t help imagining her sister dressed up and looking so small in that chair, squinting against the brightness in order to see her translator. Fava’s already vibrating with anticipation. Or maybe it’s the cup of black coffee she forced herself to drink ten minutes ago in order to stay awake. Alert.

The sound of a door opening draws her attention down the hallway. Her hands are wrapped around a mug — this one is filled with hot water, with lemon, to ease her stomach.

She exhales a sigh of relief when Nelly rounds the corner. Fava was expecting worse — Crane — so the escort is a welcome change of pace.

A birthday here, a wedding ring there, and now suddenly The Girl on Fire is a woman. The distinction was made quickly. This time last year she was just a girl from Twelve with an unexpectedly high training score and a chip on her shoulder. Well, the chip is still there and she's certain that her score would be even higher this time around had she been given the chance to save her sister again, but that would defeat the purpose. The point.

The Hunger Games is about sacrifice and Fava didn't sacrifice enough the first time around.

Never mind the blood on her hands. Never mind the lives she was forced to take in order to see her sister again. None of that matters now that she is a married woman. A wife.

Fava remains calm, her smile practiced to the point of sincerity, though she allows her eyes to roll. Banter is important with Flickerman. He always likes a bite -- just not too hard. "I'm not going to answer this question the way you want me too, Caesar." There is a communal aww, a reaction enhanced by Caesar's dramatically disappointed reaction. Fava giggles. She giggles. "I simply can't pinpoint one thing, is all. Hudson is romance personified." Fancy word. She learned that from one of the stylists just two days. "Hmm, let's see... I would say it's the understanding. Hudson understands me better than anyone else. I feel seen when I'm with them. Heard. There is nothing more than romantic than being truly understood."

When she walked onto that stage, she made a point to be pleasant. Her smile ( albeit fake ) was wide and she waved to those that cheered for her arrival. She even blew a kiss or two; intentionally polite, prim and perfect. She even greeted Caesar properly, with a peck on either cheek, before settling in for her first interview as a Mentor.

Interview.

More like interrogation.

The question comes fast and it hits hard, but her smile doesn't falter. "Starting with a bang, aren't you, Caesar? I can't say I'm surprised. You always get right to it." The laughter shared between them is natural, though hers peters off into a sigh. Her shoulders rise and fall dramatically. "I can't explain how terrible it feels. Really -- there are no words to describe how... dreadful this is." She glances to the audience with a look that could only be construed as sorrow. They should know how hard it's been for her, for all of them.

"People have been asking me if I regret volunteering for Wren last year, knowing what I do now." She shakes her head slightly, allowing her focus to fall elsewhere for a moment. "And the answer has been the same: absolutely not. This last year has been the best year of my life. I fought, I survived, I fell in love..." She hesitates, expecting the usual reaction of oohs and aahs that usually followed their declarations of love. "Winning the Games has afforded me -- and my family -- the comfort of security. I wouldn't have traded this last year for anything."

WHEN: Late Afternoon-ish Before Her Interview WHERE: Twelve

...

It's too much for anyone to deal with, the weight of the world. And yet every year, mentors feel nothing but that. It isn't their world necessarily, but the world of the tributes, the weight of an entire District's grief and despair should things not work out in their favor. And it usually doesn't. Not for families on the Seam.

This year is different. This year comes with the additional pressure of reaped loved ones and missing stylists -- it comes with rolling death. How many have lost their lives already? The Games haven't even started yet.

Trick question. The Games never stop.

Regardless, she understands Griffin better now. The weight of the world is no joke. She's been tempted to drink too.

He is sitting at the table by himself when she approaches him, only this time there's nothing in front of him. No spaghetti, no chocolate eclair, no glass of whiskey. There's nothingness and it speaks volumes. She doesn't sit across from him. No, she drags a chair directly beside him and sits on the very edge. Her eyes implore him to start the conversation, but he doesn't. She can't blame him for that. What is there to say?

WHEN: Genuinely As Close to Fava's Interview as Possible WHERE: Right By The Stage GodDAMNIT

...

Her heart is in her throat and her fingers have gone numb. She rubs them against her palm in the hopes that she'll be able to feel something, but she can't envoke an emotion other than all-encompassing anxiety.

People are talking to her -- too many people are talking to her. Directions are coming from every which way, but Fava doesn't take any of it in. She focuses instead on breathing in and out, slowly and deeply like Nelly taught her, and runs through the rolodex of answers that she and Hudson discussed when they were alone. What she wouldn't give to be on that roof now, tucked into their side and safe. Her eyes search for them, content only when her gaze is reciporcated and a hand squeezes hers.

It is Griffin that pat-pat-pats her shoulder -- at least she thinks it's Griffin -- but it's not him that calls her name. It's someone else. Dawn.