"Finnick!" Zevlor is having pleasant time at the feast, his previous concerns notwithstanding, and his greeting, while not overly loud, is ebullient. "I was hoping we'd see you here."

If he could read Finnick's thoughts, he'd hug him willingly, but he can't. Still, he's demonstrative enough on his own behalf: he reaches out easily and squeezes his shoulders. "I made you some gingerbread and some apple butter for the holiday. But come visit us for dinner this week, as well, if you have the time..."

A brief glance in his own bag, and he comes up with a tidy box, about half the size of a shoebox, wrapped with brown paper and tied with twine. It's not fancy, but it's literally warm when he places it in Finnick's hands. Fresh baked goods are stored next to the salamander to keep hot.