"It's just a stupid story," he mumbles, but without ire. The man's interest is genuine, and that comes through in his gentle, interested tone. It's different from the overblown ecstasy that Capitolites treat him with because he's a lamb all trussed up for slaughter, and he appreciates it in this existentially lonely hour. "...but if you really want, I guess so."

When they come to the training room, Mollusc stares around at the wide area, the racks of weapons and games meant to hone the reflexes and instincts. He sets his jaw, determined not to look intimidated when faced with an array of deadly things that could be used against him in the very near future. Then he heads for the rack with the knives, steps steady and brisk. He selects one similar to the one he has back home, that he uses to gut the fish he catches.

"On your knees," he demands, an attempt at sounding authoritative and like someone to be feared. "We'll see if you meant it."