#lysander130

Viola sighed and flopped down into a seat near some Gamemakers, hastily chugging some water. Her tributes were on a break, so she was going to take one too. She needed it, felt her bones aching and her thoughts racing. In truth it was her mind that bothered Viola more than her body. She needed to stay focused on the training. She needed to do her job. She leaned her head back and looked over at Lysander.

Approaching Lysander in the midst of the welcome reception felt more natural than approaching her tributes. At least Viola could hate Lysander for what he’d actually done, and not for a hypothetical future death that he didn’t ask for and had no control over. Looking at him though, she couldn’t hate him - she never could, even when he was a petulant eleven-year-old and she was tasked with trying to make sure he didn’t burn down the tower in his father’s absence, and she was fairly certain he’d gotten pretty close to doing so on a number of occasions. Viola sighed, and gave a wry smile.