Set at a night of feasting before the tournament
The week-long celebration of life is going to kill her liver, honestly. Actually, probably not, because Fleetwood isn't partaking of the fermented fruit. No, she's pacing around the party, flitting from person to person and never staying too long, because her energy is just through the roof. She's already spoken to Valeska and Nemean about potentially staying. She'll just have to talk to Arvid to confirm it's what he really wants.
But when would a good time be? Hm.
She's pondering that when her wandering shifts her to the edge of the party and a soft-colored wolf that she should have recognized. But not recognizing the rocky relationship between Elysium and Avon, she instead focuses on the sad look in the other woman's eyes.
"Aw, darlin'," she starts, "did the fruit make something come up?" Her brows knit as she comes a bit closer.