Whatever Wyatt was about to say in response to the man talking to himself - making a target of himself - was lost, buried as the stranger carried on, another whirlwind of words. He decided, as they ran together, a river washing free of the banks, flooding from the man's tongue, that if the guy was lying, if it was all just some sort of act, he deserved a medal for it.

And, even then, eyeing him up and down (he had inches on Wyatt, but Wyatt had weight, muscle to the sharp edges he could see around the man's elbows and knees, poking through the back of his shirt), Wyatt was fairly certain talking him to death was about the only way the stranger had any hope of bringing him down.

"Couldn't tell ya, friend." Exhaling, mouth twitching, he took a step back, spear lifting away. "Even if I could say I had faith in the Capitol's schoolin', I've been outta my knee-shorts in some time."