Annie Odair

She hated these things, the balls. They made her uncomfortable, and even with most of the other people around her being victors, she still didn't feel at ease. She stuck to the corners of the room, to the shadows, and tried to avoid everyone -- but Plutarch Heavensbee seemed intent on hounding her. He'd aggressively cornered her and she'd been nothing but shocked at what he'd discussed with her through their small dance, whispered in her ear as he spun her around the floor. From the way her cheeks were flushed, people probably thought he'd been flirting with her inappropriately, but the reason she was sweating was her sudden set of nerves.

She wanted to help, of course -- what else did she have to live for any more, really? She knew Mags was getting old, and it was hard for her to relate to anyone other than the other victors any more. She toyed with the golden flame bracelet that Plutarch had slipped on her wrist during one of their particularly close dips, and looked for someone else with a similar pretty bangle.

The man her eyes settled on made her bristle internally. She knew it wasn't his fault that Finnick had fallen, he hadn't even been the one to slay him, but ... still, he'd been there and he'd been the one to survive. She'd always made a point of being only distantly polite to him, but that was apparently going to change. She cleared her throat and tapped his shoulder with one hand, lightly.

"Come on, let's get some punch."

You have reached Annie Odair. This is where you're supposed to leave messages, so you should -- do that.