He does as he's asked, following along to her place on the floor. He settles just off the cushion's edge, assumption being of him that it's for her. Definitely being for her. He folds his legs and sits still, pretending he's gone on into meditation just as he did sometimes around the floor of District five.

He notes the makeup kit and everything else. Then he says, "NEED MY FACE FOR THE COVERING. Can't do without paint, won't get on no focus none." Not even for rebellion was that blasphemy worthwhile. "AND MY HORNS. I don't actually know for what to be doing of them."

He can't snap them. The Capitol would notice on his return. It'd hurt to damn much even for him to do, he who took chance last arena at sawing off his own leg for freedom.