He chokes on a terrible sort of laugh, one what doesn't like a laugh at all. I'm sorry. What a strange, funny sort of thing to hear. Sorry for a future he himself had made. But from Sigma it's alright. From him it's okay.

However strange it is to think it like he is in his future self, and not his future, like a festering sore, a tumor, a curse within him. When he imagines it, he can't imagine himself living in that husk, though he knows he is. Stranger still though is that he ain't cursed for it nor mocked or anything. Believed, and forgiven almost.

He doesn't say what's on his mind. (You ain't like me. You're still better than me.) He doesn't even let it slip as voodoo. He'll accept the understanding, but he ain't gonna let Sigma be hurt by this and he knows he won't-- or else he won't let Sigma become like him. No matter what happened, there would be a difference.

As he nods, he lets his voice sound knowing, "SURENESS OF HIM PROPER." Let Capitol assume he planted a violence in this brother's head through voodoo. It would be believable. It could save Sigma, later, if not from capitol, then from the other tributes.

"Flight beasts feather twinned. CALAMUS COHORT. Famifowl." He gives a wry, tired smile.