@emrybaxwll
DETAILS: the courtyard, afternoon of day three
Some have hinted that there are people in every District that are ready to stand together. Blythe has told her directly that there are specific people she should turn to with an offer of trust. One of them is missing in action. In some ways that confirms their allegiance. It makes things more dangerous, more palpable, in others.
Fava doesn’t know much about District Eight apart from the fact that most everything she wore in the Capitol had fabric sourced from them. Her wedding dress was likely made with their blood, sweat, and tears. She wishes she could apologize to those that worked on it personally. She never wanted it anyway. (Would that make it better or worse? She never knows.)
It is strictly by chance that she sees Emory Baxwell in the courtyard on the way to the Training Facility. With a belly half full of lunch half eaten, she jogs to catch up with her, calling her name in the process. When she turns to look at her, Fava realizes that she has nothing concrete to say.
“Emory,” she greets lamely, “I — I watched your Games. I just wanted to say that I was really rooting for you, so I’m glad to see that you — made it out.” Fava swallows hard after that, wishing she could crawl into bed and sleep for the next two months straight.