Finnick has the edginess in him of a man who's seen too much. It's there in the sharpness of his gaze as much as the tension at the other man's approach. But years of practice mean that he can force himself to push those instincts aside. It had been necessary for a long time. His patrons, after all, were never to know how much he despised them. What he learned for hated works equally well for the tenseness of mistrust.

Soon enough, he can smile, in response to the man's soft smile and gentle words.

"I've never seen a little one before," he admits. Nobody in Panem outside the people in the Capitol who keep them as ostentatious pets (or as a source of feathers) does. Not even a victor. He's seen peacocks in the Capitol, but they're unknown in the districts.

Star gives another cheep, apparently pleased with the attention, and Finnick reaches down to stroke a finger against the little bird's back.

"Star," he says. "For Starboard. We have a few peacocks and some geese, and they all have names like directions."

Nautical names are common in District Four, though apparently very rare here.