#embersevent

Her friends looks absolutely glowing. Yes, Diose did an extraordinary job on her dress she has practically begged Nelly to wear, but what truly makes the whole outfit shine is how happy Nelly seems to be. Honestly, it brings a bit of peace of mind to Diose because she knows better than anyone how badly Nelly needed a break and a chance to have a good time. 

The dessert table looks adorable, which makes Diose wonder if Nelly was allowed to help when it came to planning the wedding. She has so many things to talk to Nelly about, she takes advantage of the fact that Griffin isn’t by her side approach her. “

”Everything looks beautiful. Besides a few... rather unbecoming individuals begging for attention, this seems to be a lovely event.” 

She can’t lie, it’s hard to pay attention when Fava and Griffin are on the center on the dance floor. She risks getting another earful from Nelly and leaves her table when everyone is supposed to be quietly sitting in their seats and marveling at the sigh before them... But Blythe doesn’t give a fuck. She’d even take another one of Nelly’s monologues if that meant she wouldn’t have to think about her own father.

Blythe needs someone she knows will calm her down, she so makes her way towards Eleven’s table and takes a seat next to Aldera. She waits for her friend to turn around to see who’s decided to pull a faux paus so early into the ceremony, and when she has Aldera’s eyes on her, Blythe sticks her tongue out. Clearly, Blythe is the queen of maturity that night.

“How much you want to bet Griffin ends up stepping on Fava’s feet at least once.“

Every day seems to bring new whispers. Someone else has disappeared. Someone else has returned. Someone else hasn’t. So close to their wedding, and the chaos that came at its conclusion, they can’t help but feel that they bear some of the blame. They tried to play the Game, and this is what they get from it. The Capitol takes its cost; the Capitol still wins.

There’s another guilt there, too: that their victory with Fava put so many people in danger, people that they don’t even know. People that they never got a chance to really meet, and maybe now never will. People like Halle.

Back in District Twelve, Hudson watched the Games alongside everyone else, corralled into the town square by the Peacekeepers. But they tried to keep their head empty, their eyes turned away, tried to keep the horrors from sinking in. They didn’t commit the names of the Games’ architecture to memory—the escorts, the stylists—because they didn’t think they would ever need them. They didn’t think they would ever be reaped. Not from District Twelve, where their family was proud to not take Tesserae, not like so many of the rest. Not like Fava.

Even from across the room, Hudson can see that Pista looks tired. Drained. Hudson can relate: they were missing someone too, today, missing Cinna’s careful care before each and every Capitol event, making them into someone who could move in this world. “Pista—“ they say, not entirely sure where to begin, their tone softer, more serious than their words suggest. “Have you seen all the hats? I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many fancy hats in one place in my life.”

Every other year, Twig hasn’t minded the full slate of events and social activities that accompany the Games. For a long time, he even looked forward to them: his life in Seven had grown so small that it sometimes felt like he hardly existed at all in between the Games, like the Capitol just put him on a shelf until it was time to pull him out again.

This Games season has been different. They have less freedom to leave the Tower, to engage in the kind of gatherings where Twig usually thrived, greeting old friends and sealing new deals. This Games season has been different, too, because Twig hasn’t wanted to. Because it felt futile, even before the wedding showed him exactly how much.

He still has the mark on his palm, the bite of broken glass from the wedding, a reminder of what he’s already given up this year. He regrets it, but he’s not sure if he regrets it enough. He’s not sure if he’ll live long enough to reap the consequences of burning his bridges. If there will be more Games, more Tributes, for him.

This year already has a body count, after all, and the Games haven’t even started yet.

Tea doesn’t feel strong enough, but maybe that’s for the best. Better to keep his head, even when his head feels like the last place he wants to be. "Well this is—” he says, rolling the word around in his mouth “—quaint.”

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.

There’s a sick feeling in her stomach, the kind that rolls around every year she attends a Presidential event, but strangely, it feels different from parties past. Dawn has never been immune to a love story and there was something so terribly compelling about Fava and Hudson’s devotion to one another. Truly, she wants nothing more than to fall into the throes of romanticism alongside them, but Dawn knows better. If the rumors are any indication, Fava and Hudson are anything but mere star-crossed lovers, not that she really minds. After all, despite all these years, there’s an undeniable part of Dawn that would burn it all down to ground if she could. 

But that was neither here nor there. 

Tonight was about playing her part and working within the system that she despised so much. With a Quell on the horizon, she knows there are soon to be tributes who need her, just as much as she needs them. She needed to be prepared for whatever was to come. And so, Dawn smiles, shielding her constant, inner fury with a pleasantness so unshakeable that golden sun rays might turn green with envy. 

“It’s such a lovely evening, isn’t it?” Dawn muses, sipping from an elegant flute of champagne, as she spots a familiar face, “I would be remiss not to stroll around the garden, if you would care to join me.”

HOLLIS OVERSEE AESTHETICS: fudson wedding

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?”