Two days was enough time to get the ins and outs, and still he found himself worrying. What could he say, and what should he bring up? He hummed instead, acknowledging Venus' name. He'd only run into her once, but she was popular talk around the Capitol. He moved to another mannequin, another molded figure, this one armored much like Kili was. He wonders if he should say something about being brought back to life through a magic of medicine he didn't understand or ever would, or if by remaining silent he could have one person treat lives as valuable as they should be.

He snorts. "If everyone else can let themselves be controlled by their basest instincts," he declares, "then I sure as hell can, too." He had played a shooting game once as a boy, and had felt so terrible when he had shot the bear's shoulder. Then he realized he figured himself out- he was too angry to be exhausted. He'd never understand these people, and how they just cut into the flesh of the others. He might- some days in the plush Capitol bed he had convinced himself he entirely could- be able to understand why someone would watch the frenzy. Participating was another matter entirely, and without one there wouldn't be the other. With so much dislike in the air, he didn't understand why both parts still played. He gestured with one hand as he went on. "If you're ever hurt or know somebody who is-- I'd tell you to shout for me, any other time, but here I can't be certain that I'd be the one to get to you first."

It's light chain mail, and Hawkeye goes to touch it. Too much sparkle, he decided, and let it fall again. Some moments later, he gives up on his search and hops down again. "This game isn't something I can win. I didn't win the last one, ya know. Dying doesn't terrify me," -what a lie- "being useless does."