Roland grunts something vaguely affirmative, watching Signless pick the pot up. "Feels like new." With what Wyatt had told Roland all that time ago, Roland knows the Capitol has a way of producing new bodies when the old ones die. It makes sense that those mechanical fingers, then, would be new as well, their connections fresh and unpracticed. He just hadn't thought of it. Hadn't realized how used to them he'd gotten, expecting them to simply be there and work properly, until they no longer do.

He isn't thinking of that, not really. Doesn't want to think on it, and there's a much more pleasant thought right here in front of him anyway. If anyone'd told him he'd been in the arena not even five weeks he wouldn't disbelieve, but it felt like longer than that. Long enough to be getting on with, anyway.

Once Signless is done with the teapot Roland steps closer, neatly avoiding the puddle of water, to slide a hand into the hair at the side of Signless' head and bend down, fully expecting no obstacles to the kiss he's intending to plant onto those black lips.