As alert and aware as Finnick is of his surrounds, always is, this man very nearly approaches without notice. He sees him only just before he speaks, and that's enough to get Finnick's attention, though he doesn't pause, doesn't turn, until the man addresses him. Then he straightens, spins the staff with a lazy flicking motion of his wrist, and jabs one end of it firmly into the mat.

The man's one of his neighbors, but he's not sure which of the two names that had been read out after Annie and Peeta's belongs to him.

"It was a trident."

Finnick says it in a matter-of-fact way, because it's little enough of a secret. Though he'd kept his skill with a trident so secret before his first Games there wasn't even one in the Cornucopia for him, all of Panem had made the assumption he'd grown up wielding one when they'd seen him in the arena.

Training aside, they'd been right.

He smiles, a flash of amusement dancing in the corner of his mouth.

"My parents were fisherfolk. I've been using tridents since I was a kid."