There's a flicker of recognition in her eye at that name, and the smirk that crooks at her mouth is different than the others were. Still sharp, still mocking, but there's a touch of something else. Someone stupid might mistake it for fondness, but it isn't that exactly. Bitter and familiar and angry and maybe a little, little bit fond, if you could just chip away at the rest of it.

"Of course he did." She shrugs, one-shouldered, as she lets the axe drop back to her side again. Talking about Haymitch doesn't exactly set her at ease, but it's a more familiar topic. "Victors all think alike. He's full of it, if you can get past his breath. What other crap did that old drunk say?"

And what did he think of you, though she doesn't voice that one aloud. But the reference to Haymitch does have her studying Charles slightly differently: a little more careful interest, even if it's still edged with disdain.