Howard's trying to mostly avoid people - not an easy task in a room full of people raving - and keep to himself. Some people are curious, trying to get in his face about being a mid-arena tribute, but for the most part no one's impressed with teenagers who die of infection, so he's managed to keep most of them away from him.
He tugs and pulls at the too-skimpy jacket his stylist put him in - if they were going for a bare-chested bad-boy image, his body language alone fails it, and he's about forty pounds too small to look intimidating anyway. His pants are tight and paint-splattered in a way that makes him pretty uncomfortable, not from physical irritation but simply because he's a good decade younger than most of the people here.
He knows he should be schmoozing. He knows he'll need sponsors for the next arena. But it's too much too soon, and he hasn't been able to adjust. Given a few more hours he'd be on his game, but he just died.
He's twenty seconds from finding a table to hide under when he comes face-to-face with someone whose presence roots him to the floor. In her pink dress and peppy makeup, she looks much better than the last time he saw her - and he knows that, because the image of her lifeless stare hasn't left his mind for more than a few minutes at a time since then.
He stares a bit too long to pretend he was just passing by, and besides, someone at the party bumps him into her. He tries to make a noise and just looks kind of horrified instead.
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He tugs and pulls at the too-skimpy jacket his stylist put him in - if they were going for a bare-chested bad-boy image, his body language alone fails it, and he's about forty pounds too small to look intimidating anyway. His pants are tight and paint-splattered in a way that makes him pretty uncomfortable, not from physical irritation but simply because he's a good decade younger than most of the people here.
He knows he should be schmoozing. He knows he'll need sponsors for the next arena. But it's too much too soon, and he hasn't been able to adjust. Given a few more hours he'd be on his game, but he just died.
He's twenty seconds from finding a table to hide under when he comes face-to-face with someone whose presence roots him to the floor. In her pink dress and peppy makeup, she looks much better than the last time he saw her - and he knows that, because the image of her lifeless stare hasn't left his mind for more than a few minutes at a time since then.
He stares a bit too long to pretend he was just passing by, and besides, someone at the party bumps him into her. He tries to make a noise and just looks kind of horrified instead.