The allusion to Adrastea was enough to make him straighten up. One stray tear lingered, slipping down his cheek before he was able to recover fully, or even mostly. His mother could absolutely, under no circumstances, be involved in this. This was his thing. He could handle a few sassy Tributes.

"No, I'm good." He sniffled again. Recovery was a process. "Really."

Except that he still looked utterly deflated. Not even his healthy bronzed complexion and recently exfoliated cheeks could hide exactly how crappy he felt inside. It wasn't fair. He took great pains to always look his best and the stress of this just-- Well, it wasn't helping, that was for damn sure. He was probably going to wake up with grey hairs or something. Everything was awful. "Don't call Adrastea-- Please. But I need advice, Jenny. How do you get them to listen?"