"You're repeating yourself, Anna." He sighs, reaches up, and draws the flower crown off his head. "And standing here debating floral accessories in a loop is not my idea of an engaging conversation. Here." And he holds the crown back out to her.

"If you have other people to deliver these two then feel free to skip along your cheer-drenched way, but if you want to have a proper conversation, then how about we find someplace to sit and you tell me about more than the sister you're not descended from," he offers. "What's your district? I know it's not six."

His past self probably would have sent her off with a rude word (or deluge of logorrhea), but here and now he has the perspective of friends grown distant on the meteor and the general strife of the arenas. She's trying, is the thing. It's obvious from her language down to the look on her face, to say nothing of her earnest repetition of compliments. And while she hasn't earned friendship yet, it couldn't hurt to have another ally.