"My, uh--my ancestors worked the fields. Tilled the earth...never got to enjoy their harvest." Cinna replies, suddenly and painfully homesick. Not for the Capitol, but his grandmother and his Mamaw, with his great-great grandfather's stories still so fresh in her mind, hardly touched by her age.

He refocuses on the man in front him, and again sees a fox in his mind's eye. Mentally, he's trimming that cloak in black fur and dyeing it to match his hair, leaving the suit of clothes otherwise untouched, and it makes him smile.

"You have an incredible look--I'd kill to style you sometime." he muses aloud, finally thinking to offer his hand. "I'm Cinna."