Look at me, sneaking this upload during my class time. Lmao I'm lucky I'm in a publishing course and it's manuscript time. But here we are, dinner chapter! After this it's the night before, and then we're at the bloodbath. SCARY SCARY!

31 - Dinner and a Show

Avita Clements-McMillan, 15, C-District 11

Everything sucks.

Avita really can't describe it any other way. She's meeting the President, she's looking cute as hell, and her interview wasn't a disaster—but it still sucks. She has no allies. No one wants to talk to her, and even with her relatively peaceful standing so far she's gone under the radar. Jareth got more attention than her after their interviews. (Not that he got a lot, she reasons. They're still the underdogs right now.)

She pouts as they both sit at the table, waiting patiently for the President to take her seat. Across from them are the Twelve tributes, to their immediate rights the Nine tributes. Even when having dinner with the President Avita is held more than an arm's length away. This is why outer Districts are the worst, she thinks. No one ever wants to go near them.

Well, after today she supposes there's more reasons for them to suck. Jareth hadn't painted a pretty picture when he talked about his foster carer or whatever. And the remark he'd made at the end of it all—it's not hard to believe he wouldn't have lived to see fifteen like Avita has in the Capitol.

She's a little surprised when she mutters to him during their wait, "I hope Constance gets what she deserves."

Jareth doesn't reply immediately. He doesn't even look at her. Avita can't blame him. She's really taken the support she did have from her team for granted. She'd give anything for help now that she's well and truly on her own just hours before the bloodbath. When he does reply, though, it's a curt, "Pissing her off is enough for me."

She huffs out a single laugh. She really can't fault the reply, considering she'd be fine with just that if she was in his situation.

"Sorry about your parents," she adds. Jareth grunts, definitely closing himself off from her. She persists. "My moms would do the same if it were me."

"Doubt it," Jareth snorts. He fiddles with one of the forks by his plate. "One of them was pretty excited you got reaped."

"She has faith in me."

"Good for you."

Maybe she can fix this and save both their skins. Jareth doesn't have allies either, and while the two aren't exactly on the best of terms Avita figures two heads are better than one. And who knows? Maybe the Capitol will cheer on District partners more than the duos playing up their "relationships". The whole relationship thing has been so dumb, too. Avita used to love seeing star crossed lovers or even just the strong bonds formed between tributes in such a short amount of time. But now it all feels so fake. Like Croix and Gossamer are doing it out of convenience. Like Ham and Octavia are being misinterpreted for something they're not. Like everything she's grown up to know about the Games is a big, fat lie.

She swallows her pride and glances over at Jareth again. He picks at the bread roll they'd all been given while the appetisers are prepared, munching idly away.

"Do you…" She hesitates—so unlike her, so unlike a child of the Capitol. "Do you want to ally?"

Avita is doing her best here, learning from her mistake of brushing over everyone in the worse Districts, and all she gets is a scoff that speaks levels of how well her attempt is going with Jareth.

"You must be desperate," Jareth mutters. Avita sneers at him. He's not wrong, but she won't give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"No," she says, laying the appalled tone into her voice thickly. She doesn't get much of a chance to argue further on it all, the President taking her seat just as their appetisers arrive. Avita looks down at the garden salad for a few seconds, wondering if Jareth had ever enjoyed something as simple as this under Constance's care, before finally she begins to dig in.

For the most part, President Snow keeps her attention on the careers and inner District tributes. Avita can't blame her. They're more interesting, more appealing. If it weren't for the absence of District Four's tributes, District Five probably would've gone without any attention at all.

She keeps catching a few others' eyes whenever she glances up from her meal. On occasion she'll meet Florence's stare, the pink-haired girl most likely staring at her afro and hair clip. Sometimes she'll meet Octavia's eye, the older girl giving her once-overs when she isn't glaring holes into Gossamer's form beside her. And then, of course, Gossamer. He doesn't keep his attention fleeting like the other two, winking at Avita whenever they make eye contact and making silent promises of a later conversation. He must have heard her try to ally with Jareth. Why else would he make attempts to get her attention?

At least it's easy to finish the rest of the courses from there. Dessert is portable, a serving of ice cream on waffle cones as a treat for the tributes who'd never grown up to try it. Avita licks at the peppermint ice cream as she wanders over towards a secluded corner of the room. It feels a bit easier to handle her lack of allies when she doesn't have others near her to talk about their own. Besides, some of the alliances look like they're having problems without her getting involved.

For one thing, it's more than obvious that Octavia is avoiding Ham now. She shies away from Ham whenever they head to the snack table or refill their punch glasses, leaving the smaller teen silently fuming at Gossamer from across the room. Considering how their interviews went, Avita can't blame either of them. Ham basically asked a girl back home out on a date, and then Gossamer outed Octavia's maybe-attraction on live TV. How can it not be awkward?

And that alliance with Luxor in the middle of it? That can't be more obviously strained than it is already. Chambray's eyes are red-rimmed and baggy, makeup streaking her cheeks, and Luxor is glaring daggers at everyone who tries come near. Avita's so used to seeing Chambray hold everyone at arm's length, even her own allies, that it's a shock to find her allowing Luxor to hold her by the waist comfortingly, to lean his head on her own whenever she sniffles and wipes at her eyes. Whatever had happened between her interview and now, it's made them much, much more reliant on each other. The only thing keeping them from being the alliance with their shit together is Finn. Finn, who stares blankly at nothing like he has nothing to live for and no reason to care. He looks over at Chambray and Luxor every so often, pained expression replacing his blank mask for a fraction of a second. His gaze would then fall to his leg, stuck in its cast, while Chambray turns away from him in an attempt to mask her guilty features.

When she sees Luxor reach up and move some of Chambray's fringe out of her eyes, Avita averts her gaze and tries to dismiss the duo entirely. They've gone from awkward to affectionate very quickly, even if they're doing it platonically. But PDA is PDA, and Avita will probably never be comfortable experiencing, let alone seeing, it.

She doesn't notice Gossamer saddle up to her side, at least not until he leans down and whispers, "Hello," directly into her ear. Avita almost spills her punch, but recovers quickly enough to return his greeting.

"Isn't it a bit lonesome on your own?" Gossamer asks sweetly. Like he hadn't just heard her desperate attempt at getting Jareth on her side at dinner.

"A little," she admits. She sips at her punch and averts her gaze, almost ashamed of the topic now. It's just so hard to admit it to someone of her calibre, to someone who probably knows she can do better than she has. "Not a lot of talkative people here."

Gossamer hums in agreement. He downs the rest of his punch and then moves to refill the glass. "Little cliques all around," he agrees. "Mixing and matching their opinions and motivations. Very hard to find backup alliances."

She looks him up and down. Why would he need a backup alliance?

"That," he continues, "and it's making Croix and I realise just how in over our heads we might be. But don't tell anyone I actually admitted that," he adds, a hidden threat to his tone despite his wink.

"So you wanted to find people to help you," she guesses, phrasing it as more a statement than a question. It's the only logical conclusion, right?

And Gossamer nods, to her relief. He takes a sip of his refilled drink before going on, "It's hard for us to trust the District tributes, given everything that's happened. And I noticed you talking about alliances to your partner and just assumed…"

Avita doesn't say anything for a time. She simply watches him, too elated by the offer of help for words.

"I understand if you—" Gossamer doesn't get to finish his reassurance. Avita cuts him off, almost spilling her punch with how much she's bouncing on the spot.

"I'll do it." She holds a hand out, beaming at him. "I can't do a lot, but I'll do my best regardless."

He takes her hand and gives it a firm shake. "Excellent. Now, this may be abrupt, but what do you know about the Games in the modern era?"

She blinks. Haven't the Games been the same for a hundred years?

Gossamer hums, looking sympathetic. "I know that face. Croix was surprised, too, when I told him. Remember how I stayed behind to talk with the Head Gamemaker?" Avita nods slowly. "I took advantage of my sabotage to get information about the Games and to pick who launches where. Turns out we've been much more lenient than the government wants us to know."

"Lenient?"

Gossamer nods. "Tributes who set off the explosives on their pedestals don't die," he whispers, like it's the biggest secret in the world. It probably is, Avita realises with a start. "They get removed before the bloodbath and taken back home—disqualified. Too much of a mental health risk. Don't you find it weird that, in the Eighty-Fifth Games, Selkie Yanovich simply 'blew up' before the timer even ended?"

"I thought his name was Marshall?" Avita definitely remembers a Yanovich, but not a Selkie. But she knows what Gossamer refers to. "And what about the explosions?"

"Special effects," he says quickly. "They delay the broadcast for a minute and add whatever's needed to fill the blanks. And," he adds, "Marshall was her deadname."

Avita flushes. She feels bad for deadnaming someone who'd gone through so much. She hopes Selkie is alright, now that she knows she was taken from the arena before it started. But now that leaves a burning question in the forefront of her mind, her unused sabotage coming up in the silence between them.

"What can I do to help?"

Daphne Petharaph, 14, District 3

She remembers making homemade ice cream when she was nine. It had been like a miniature chemistry project, just more hands-on than her other ones. It had tasted overwhelmingly like salt, the only error she'd made that had put Kamela off of the stuff. She almost misses the taste now that she has proper ice cream in her hands, the sweetness more than she'd expected from a simple ball of frozen milk.

She still likes it. Daphne smiles with each lick, enjoying herself for the first time since being reaped. She'd had fun with Adrianne and her alliance, enjoyed learning about Cyber and finding out how he ticks, but none of it felt normal in the slightest. This, at least, she can attribute to a happy memory and feel more at home.

The only thing making this a little less safe is the absence of Adrianne and Sim, but she doesn't mind it all that much. She has Cole and Cyber with her, eating their own ice creams and conversing quietly. Cole is utterly amazed by the fact that Cyber is mostly synthetic; Daphne won't deny that she is as well. It's just hard to focus on with the revelation he'd made at the interview, which she has no doubt Adrianne will keep an extra eye on him because of.

She chews her lip, careful to mind her braces, and says, "You sure you're okay?"

Cyber nows. He licks at his ice cream, making sure none of it spills. "My emotional capabilities are nonexistent now," he explains. "You don't need to worry. Besides, it's been four years now. Even if I could feel anything I'd be long past the point of grieving by now."

"It's just—" Daphne frowns. Talking with SIRIUS felt easier than this, and SIRIUS doesn't even have a personality. Maybe she's thinking about Cyber too much as a machine rather than a person. Maybe she's thinking he's more human than he is machine now. Maybe she's not regarding him with just the right amount of both aspects.

Cole, at least, finishes her sentence. "I'd be sad for a long time if Hart— If my dad died."

"Yes," Cyber agrees. "I know I loved him a lot. Maybe I would still be sad."

"B—But your sister is okay, right?" Daphne tries. "You said you didn't know where she wound up."

Cyber nods. The movement is so robotic—and Daphne has to kick herself for forgetting so soon that he's a cyborg. Of course his movements are robotic! "As far as I know she wasn't sold to the Capitol like I was. Madam Maddie has been keeping an eye open since I told her about my family."

That's a relief. Daphne's glad to know that the person who bought him—God, bought him—is treating him well. She doesn't think she can handle knowing how far his mistreatment for his condition has gone.

One thing she finds hasn't changed from what he would be, had he had his emotions still, is his curiosity. Cyber takes the time to learn about his allies, genuinely interested in finding out everything about them. "Why do you have a limp, Cole?" Cyber asks, derailing the conversation about himself.

Cole leans off of the leg in question. His ice cream is falling apart in his hands, but he doesn't seem to mind. "I hurt my ankle a few years ago," Cole explains. "Mrs. Wyland didn't have enough medicine for it, though."

Cyber hums. "No infection," he observes. "The leg would have been amputated if that happened. You did adequately with what you had."

"Thanks!" Cole beams at Cyber. Daphne can't help the small giggle she lets out at the sight. As stressful as this all is, she's glad they all at least get along.

Her eyes stray from their conversation to the other groups of tributes, where tensions seem a little higher than she'd expected them to be by this point. She's not sure how but everything between the other alliances has gotten worse since the first day. Daphne's not stupid, though. Her gaze falls over to Gossamer, by the punch table with Avita. A lot of what's happened has been because of him.

There's been drama amidst the tension, and Gossamer at the centre of most of it. It makes her apprehensive around him, scared to do something wrong in case his chaotic eye turns to her. She doesn't think she'd survive his plans. She's smart, but Daphne's far from capable of physically fighting back against him.

She watches, silent, as the night goes on. Avita and Gossamer remain by the punch table, the missing member of the (assumed) trio hovering near Luxor's alliance. Croix keeps his eyes on Chambray like he's playing the part of the scout, and as far as Daphne knows he is. Synthia's made absolutely certain that Croix can coast off of his analytical skills and acting. Daphne knows to stay far away from him by this point.

But Luxor doesn't, she finds. Even after Croix had, most likely, caused Finn to break his leg, Luxor doesn't entirely let down his guard. His focus is on Gossamer, which is reasonable, but Daphne can't help worrying about what might happen if he doesn't broaden his suspicions.

Cyber picks up on her stare, turning to look in Croix's direction. "He's assessing them," Cyber tells her. Daphne hums in agreement.

"I've got a bad feeling," is all she adds.

And what an astute feeling it turns out to be. Not long after Croix takes off his glasses is when all hell breaks loose at the otherwise calm dinner party. He carts around his drink and a plate of small pudding cups, appearing as though he wants to offer them up to the duo in the corner. Daphne watches him, watches the way his foot hooks behind his ankle as he comes within an arm's reach of Luxor and Chambray.

She winces as the tray goes flying, pudding landing all over Chambray's dress and upper body while punch spills onto Luxor's tux. At first the duo scream in surprise, stumbling backwards as Croix, putting his glasses back on his face hurriedly shouts apologies. They all but fall on deaf ears as Chambray's face contorts into that of unbridled rage, her hand flying to the lace choker now covered in pink and brown pudding.

"THIS WAS MY MOTHER'S!" she shrieks. Croix doesn't even have time to avoid the harsh backhand across his cheek, tumbling to the floor in genuine surprise. Luxor is quick to lift Chambray off her feet by wrapping his arms around her and backing away from Croix.

"He's not worth it," Luxor keeps insisting. But Chambray is calling him every name under the sun as she starts tearing up again.

By the time they flee the scene, all of the potential sponsors among the higher ups in the Capitol are wary of their retreating forms. Daphne blanches, suddenly no longer wanting her ice cream. She can't believe Croix's done this—well, she can, but she doesn't like knowing he's done it intentionally. Croix pulls himself back to his feet, hiding his smile, and scurries over to Gossamer's side with the most pitiful expression he can muster.

"That was no accident," Cyber says. No one else seems to want to say it aloud. "The way he fell was too slow to be anything but a practiced trip."

"He did it on purpose?" Cole whispers, horrified. "That's terrible!"

"Croix's terrible," Daphne decides. It hurts to say, regarding someone so negatively for probably the first time in her life, but it's a fact by this point. She's bunked with him for the last week and listened to each conversation Synthia had with him. Saying anything else would be denial.

It's not the end of the dramatic night, though. Once Croix is comfortably by Gossamer's side, slowly letting the guilt slip into his usual relaxed expression, another tribute in white storms up to him. Though smaller than Chambray, Ham is definitely much more powerful. She flips Croix around to face her with barely any effort, dragging the six-foot demiboy down to her five-four level. The smugness is still there, but even Daphne can see the fear hiding behind the facade.

Ham's not an easy target. Croix knows it well by now.

Unlike Chambray, though, Ham doesn't harm Croix. No, Daphne watches her drag him close enough to whisper in his ear, the threat she throws at him unheard by those around them.

She wishes Zinnia were here. She can read lips better than Daphne can, and at least then she'd know if the threat delivered to Croix will affect her in any way. Almost as soon as Ham drags him down to her level, she lets him go again and walks away with a much, much more refined calm to her posture. Daphne can't help the small smile she feels lift her cheeks.

Croix definitely deserved that scare.

Finnegan Styx, 17, District 6

Tonight's been a mess. Well. Not just tonight. But tonight's probably been one of the bigger messes of this week.

Finn can't help wishing it's all been a dream. That he's still unconscious onstage, being carted off to the train. That the people in the Games with him aren't actually real. He doesn't think he can handle fighting them. He knows for a fact he can't outrun any of them. Maybe limp away like the kid from Twelve does, but he isn't as used to redistributing his weight to ease the pain in his leg.

He won't be surprised if, tonight, he's kicked out of his alliance. He'd do the same in Luxor and Cham's place.

He wonders what his family thinks back home. Lux is probably crying, not used to seeing her brother so downtrodden and broken. Calic is most likely shaking his head and scolding Finn from afar—his foolish foster son, whom he'd named after his own father, is throwing his life away for nothing. Gia must be doing her best to calm Lux, unable to watch her step-son fade away in front of her.

Maybe Noah is screaming at him through the screen that he'd told him so. That he really would have been lucky to get a seven if he'd ran. It's pretty ironic to think about now.

He smiles bitterly. It's really all he can do, stuck in his wheelchair in the garden outside the dining hall.

"—it go!" comes a grunt from across the fountain. Finn leans back in his wheelchair, curious. Is that Luxor's voice? "He's not worth it!"

A pained cry is all he gets in reply. Finn wheels himself around the fountain, taking care not to roll himself into the water. He can see a white gown and blond hair, but he doesn't fully register Chambray's form until Luxor sits her down on the edge of the fountain.

"Listen, Calico!" Luxor tries. Finn's brows shoot up to his hairline. "You're gonna burn yourself out! Breathe, for crying out loud."

And Chambray just nods. Like Luxor hadn't just called her by the wrong name, like Luxor hadn't just referred to her as her twin.

"I'm breathing," Chambray hisses. She swats Luxor's hands away and reaches desperately up for her choker. "That bastard ruined Cham's—"

"Cham?"

Two pairs of eyes lock onto Finn's form. He doesn't even realise he'd spoken until they're watching him with a deer in the headlights expression, somehow shocked to find him witnessing their conversation. He doesn't understand why they look so scared to see him, to know he's heard them—at least not immediately.

When Chambray scrunches up her face and looks to Luxor, Finn slowly puts the pieces together. Luxor's expression falls and his shoulders slump, and softly he hears the words, "Sorry, Calico," muttered to the blond.

"Ah." Finn says it flatly. He should be more shocked than he actually he is. It's probably the painkillers dulling his senses and his emotional capabilities. It's probably just Finn being too tired by this point to care. But he doesn't react how he knows he would've a week ago. "So you're…"

Cham— No, Calico? Calico physically turns away from Finn, unclasping the choker around his neck and carefully dunking it into the fountain. A heavy sigh comes from Luxor, and he's pacing over to Finn with his hands held up in surrender.

"I'm sorry, Finn," Luxor whispers. "I only just found out tonight, but—"

"Should've volunteered," Calico growls as he swipes damp pudding off the choker. "Couldn't trust anyone to help. Stylists are probably reporting me as we speak. Not that it matters, since I already outed myself."

"Callie, no," Luxor tries. Calico doesn't listen. The tears just start falling again, like they had when he'd been onstage, as he furiously starts flicking water onto the stains along his dress.

"Can't believe I forgot them," Calico mutters, and it's so pained and remorseful. Finn can't believe he's hearing such a tone from a normally stoic and shy face. But then, he thinks, that had all been an act as Chambray, hadn't it? Maybe this is the real Calico. Maybe Calico is just as big a mess as the rest of them. "They were my friends. They let me forget them. What's the point of wanting me to make friends if I can't remember them all?"

"Breathe, Callie," Luxor tries again, softer this time. Calico sucks in a deep breath through his teeth and holds it for a few seconds. Careful sapphire eyes look back to Finn for a second before Luxor is turning back to Calico, his attention entirely on the distressed boy. "I'm sure they did it for a good reason."

Finn doesn't really give Calico the time he needs to blow up at Luxor. Even then, he looks as though he's struggling to process the emotions going through him in this moment. "What's going on?"

A sharp inhale from Calico. He doesn't look up from his choker as he lets out a wheezy breath. "I broke the law," Calico spits, "because I was too choked up to volunteer for my sister."

He blinks slowly. He understands the intentions. He understands the sentiment behind it. He understands because, though legally, he'd done the same for Lux. But Finn can't understand why Calico is so upset right now. Why he's bothered to keep up the illusion and just not tell someone sooner.

It's gotta be the medicine, he thinks as he slumps into the back of his wheelchair. Normally he's a little more perceptive than this.

"Okay…" he slurs. No one says anything for a time. Luxor is busy trying to calm Calico—it's actually Calico, Calico Hemingway, someone none of them expected to meet in their lives once Chambray's name was announced—while the blond gives up cleaning his choker. Most of the pudding's been washed out, but there's an ugly pink stain already forming in the lace trimming. He figures now might as well be a good time to confirm what their plan for tomorrow is. He probably won't get a chance to again until they're all killing each other. "Do you guys… Do you wanna go without me tomorrow?"

Luxor's head snaps up so fast that Finn feels dizzy for him. "What?"

"You'll die," Calico says matter-of-factly. "Don't be a moron."

Well. Now he definitely knows it's not Chambray. Not that he knows whether or not she calls people morons.

"You guys are gonna get held back," Finn points out. Now Calico looks over at him, expression blank. There is no shyness. This is, from what Finn can gather, the boy's default expression. So lifeless compared to the mask he'd donned of his sister. "I don't mind."

A snort. "Well I do," Calico snarls at him. "Through some fucked up stroke of luck, you guys are rubbing off on me. I don't do affection and caring. It's foreign and uncomfortable. As far as I'm concerned Cham is my only reason to continue living. But," he adds, sounding almost spiteful now, "here I am, caring. Even though everything I do in this Quell is for her sake, I know she'd be upset if I didn't look out for my friends in the arena."

He mumbles something else, two names that Finn doesn't quite catch. But Luxor does, and he puts a hand on Calico's shoulder as he sits down beside him.

"Delaine and Atlas would be proud," Luxor says soothingly. Calico sniffs and scrunches up his face. Wow, he really doesn't handle emotions well. "I wish I'd gotten to meet them."

Calico looks absolutely exhausted as he deadpans, "Last time I saw them, they were half-broken and bleeding out on the ground. The way your leg broke kinda reminds me of it."

Oh, he's talking to Finn. Finn huffs out a tired laugh, his hand wandering to the edge of his cast. "Must have really scared you," he says, doing his best to sound apologetic.

"It looked painful. Kinda gross."

"Yeah, tends to happen when your nerves are cleft in twain by your own tibia. Wasn't as pearly white as I expected, either."

Calico winces at that. "Ah. The big one."

The bigger leg bone, he means, and it seems only Luxor doesn't understand the exchange. Thankfully, though, he doesn't press to be included. He just waits out the conversation, listening to the music coming from indoors and watching for anyone emerging.

The night becomes peaceful. Calico calms, and Finn finds himself almost resigned to the state their alliance has come to. He understands, but he also doesn't. It isn't bothering him. He figures that if Luxor, the one person who could've been prevented from being reaped if Calico had volunteered, is fine with the situation, then he can be too.

The silence doesn't last for long, the music picking up while Luxor begins to tap his foot to the rhythm. Calico glances over at Finn, wary, before he finally mumbles, "I have a plan to help you in the bloodbath."

Both boys look at him, eyes wide. Calico is quick to stutter more words, trying to explain himself. "Ch—Cham is the strong one, stronger than me s—so I thought I could use my brains and trick people into exposing their weak points. Didn't go so well, b—but I can use it for other things! I know Luxor is the fastest runner among us, a—and I know most tension is between the careers and Cetronia. I—If I'm close enough, I could…"

Finn blinks slowly. "You could help me get away."

"While I try grab supplies," Luxor finishes.

Calico nods. He's chewing his lip so hard it must be painful. Finn is surprised he hasn't drawn blood.

He breathes out a sigh of relief. They're not kicking him out. They're not abandoning him or seeing him as a burden. They still want him just as much as he, through the drug haze and dismay, wants them.

"I trust you," he says. Calico stares at him in disbelief.

"I lied to you for a solid week."

"Would've done the same if I looked a thing like a twelve-year-old girl."

Luxor chuckles. "Morganite would've killed you."

"She sassed me the first time we spoke." Finn smiles fondly. "She was hungover and threw up on everyone."

Everything feels so different now. Finn still has little to no hope of going home, still isn't sure why he's bothering to fight for his life, but now he can feel the spark of energy his father would smile proudly at. The desire to do his best that had made Barb throw him into the trash and call him a hero. Not everything's better, but not everything is as hard as it was before tonight.

He watches with his first real, relaxed smile of the night as Calico leaves his choker to dry in Finn's hands. As Luxor takes off his punch-sticky jacket and dumps it into the fountain. As the District Eight duo try to ease their minds by learning a waltz to the time of the orchestra inside.

As, with a flutter of hope in his stomach, he remembers he's not alone in this anymore.

And here we are, right at the second-last chapter before Hell Time. Was dinner as eventful as y'all hoped? There was a lot to cover now that they all had a chance to interact outside of training, but I think I got it all! Till next time, here's the QQ!

QQ #26: Do you think Gossamer was telling the truth to Avita after dessert came out?