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Johanna jumped down from the tree, landing with a small start beside the pile of branches that she had just cut down off of the tree. She was the only one of her siblings still small enough for the task, and she relished it. The feeling of the axe thudding through the branches until they landed on the ground with a satisfying thump was unlike anything.
Most of the children from District 7 had worked since they could walk, and Johanna was no exception. In fact, she probably spent more of her time out in the trees, since her family hadn’t been able to afford new school supplies since her second-oldest sibling and oldest sister, Julianna, had started. Johanna herself had dropped out almost as soon as her mother thought it was appropriate. Sooner, even, but her mother didn’t have to know that.
Johanna’s brother, Everett, who was closest to her age, ran up to her and shook her hand.
“Nice work. That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen anyone get all the branches off.”
Johanna was smiling inside, but since that would’ve betrayed any cool points she was hoping to get for the work, she nonchalantly said, “Yeah.”
Everett swung an arm around her shoulders, “All in a day's work for a Mason, huh?”
Johanna pushed his arm off of her, rolling her eyes as she did so, “For this Mason, yeah. When was the last time you climbed up a tree?”
“We can’t all be shrimps, Jo.” Everett said, “But it sure is nice that you are.”
Johanna snorted, “Yeah, right. Are you gonna help me carry these back to the truck, or just stand there admiring my peak physique?”
The two siblings raced to pick up the most branches, taking them into the back of their father’s pick-up truck. It was a good thing that the only thing the branches were needed for was firewood, as many pieces broke off in the hurry. Dad was leaning on the truck, nodding approvingly.
“That’ll be enough, I think,” he said, somewhat more somberly, “And it’ll make that tree a little easier to deal with when it’s time to cut it down.”
Mr. Mason would know. His entire body was covered with scars from various mistakes made when it was logging time, and he was even missing a few toes off of his left foot from a time when his boots hadn’t been quite enough to stop the damage. Not that it was easy to tell in the coveralls that he wore almost everywhere.
Everett and Johanna climbed into the truck, fighting over who had to sit in the middle even as their dad started the engine. He was silent, and eventually Johanna was, too, though Everett kept trying to lighten the mood.
She knew they were worried about her, and she didn’t really see any reason why they should be. None of her siblings had ever been reaped, and with seven children in the Mason household, that was saying something. They didn’t even take tesserae. That was Johanna’s mother’s fault. She always said that she’d rather they starve than have to fight in the arena.
That, in itself, was a luxury, but Johanna never thought about it. She was just glad her name was only in the bowl six times, compared to some of the other kids with larger families. She just had to get through two more Reapings, and the Games would be just an unpleasant background event.
When they got home, Johanna’s mother fussed over her far more than she was comfortable with. She shook herself loose.
“Yeesh, Mom, it’s not like I’m dying.” Johanna said, rolling her eyes. “You do this every time, and every time, it changes nothing.”
Mrs. Mason just pressed a hand against her own cheek, “Can’t you let me give my baby a little extra hug? Now come on, get dressed. You’ll want to look nice. It’s a special occasion.”
Johanna shuddered, “You make it sound like I’m getting married.”
“Well, you have to look nice, in case…” Mrs. Mason trailed off, clearly horrified. It was her mom’s typical attitude towards the game. She’d lost a brother when she was thirteen that she didn’t talk about much, but it was always her father’s explanation for why the Hunger Games seemed to matter so much.
Johanna ran upstairs and changed into the frilly dress her mother had chosen. It was Suzanna’s, and before that they had been Lillianna’s, and then Julianna’s, but somehow Johanna was still forced into wearing them. It made sense. The only time the girls ever got to wear dresses was for Reapings or when someone got married. Otherwise, work clothes always made the most sense.
And speaking of marriage, Johanna could already hear Julianna downstairs fussing with their mother about Johanna’s chances. Her husband, Duncan, a quiet man who Julianna dragged around everywhere, was probably there too.
It wasn’t that Johanna didn’t like him. Okay, well, she didn’t like him. But it was mostly because Julianna had always been there for her. And now, well, she wasn’t. It didn’t help that every single time she saw Julianna, he was always there. And Julianna seemed happy about it, so it wasn’t like Johanna could complain unless she wanted her sister to be upset with her.
“Oh!” Mrs. Mason’s eyes misted when she saw Johanna coming down the stairs, and then she let out a sob.
“I’m too pretty to be reaped, Mom.” Johanna said dryly. Her mother responded by starting a complicated updo on her hair, which Johanna allowed, crossing her arms over her chest.
Even if it wasn’t mandatory, everyone would have come out to the reaping. Johanna made notes of everyone she saw as she left her family to join the other girls her age. Some were still in school, but others worked closely with Johanna, climbing trees and checking machinery.
It wasn’t that she wanted any of them to be reaped. It was just that she was so, so certain that her name wouldn’t be pulled from the bowl.
“Johanna Mason!” The escort called out. She hadn’t bothered to learn his name. He was new this year, and looked thoroughly nervous when Johanna didn’t come up immediately, frozen in the spot where she stood.
“Johanna Mason?” The escort said again, looking around at the crowd. All eyes were on Johanna, and a shove from someone behind her led to her making her way up to the stage. She looked out on the crowd as her district partner was called up, numb to anything that might happen next.
On stage was Blight, District 7’s only living victor. He was either completely serious or completely tuned out, and Johanna couldn’t tell which. The fact that there was no living female victor was not comforting.
Her district partner was a twelve year old boy whose name she couldn’t even remember, if she’d known it in the first place. So when the escort announced the two of them to the crowd, Johanna burst into tears of rage, wailing.
It wasn’t fair. She and the boy were dragged off of the stage.
The next few hours were nothing. She couldn’t remember them, later. She knew from videos and stories her mom told her later that she’d said goodbye to her family, but all of it left her head almost immediately. The next thing she remembered was sitting on the train in a room with Blight, her district partner, and the nervous escort.
“Was all that blubbering the real thing?” Bligh asked her.
Johanna felt as if she were just waking up from a nightmare. Except she was already awake, and the nightmare was still happening. “What?”
“I heard that the Mason girl was tough. Was all that a lie? Am I wasting my time?”
Johanna immediately snorted. It was almost a reflex. People questioned her, but they forgot that she was the youngest of seven. She knew how to throw a few elbows to get what she wanted. And even if the tears had been real, well, she was supposed to be a tribute, now. Good tributes weren’t weak.
“I’m tough enough.” Johanna said, leaning back in her chair.
“And what about you?” Blight turned to the boy, “Are you tough?”
The kid shook his head.
“Well, I guess that’s what training is for. I’ll see the both of you later. Get some of the good stuff to eat. Trill, make sure they get the expensive things. It might be their only chance to taste it.”
The escort, Trill, nodded and immediately ran off, leaving Johanna and the boy alone.
She looked at him. He looked at her. She considered what it would be like to have to kill him, or another boy like him. Could she do it? Probably. She had height on her side. But she had no idea who the other tributes were, if they had similar abilities. And she certainly didn’t have the training that the Career tributes had.
Johanna rested her head in her hands, but just as she did, Trill ran back in, carrying plates of what she assumed was food, even if it hardly looked edible.
Regardless, she hadn’t eaten since that morning, before she’d climbed that tree, forever ago. It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours, and now she felt like an entirely different person.
Johanna poked at the food before putting some of it in her mouth. The texture was awful, like she was biting into bark that immediately turned to goo. She made a face, but swallowed. She was about to be in the Hunger Games. The last thing she needed was to be starving herself.
“Do you have anything normal?” Johanna asked. “Like, actual food?”
Trill blinked at her. “I suppose there might be some District 7 cuisine aboard.”
Johanna nodded, “Good. I’ll take a sandwich over…whatever this junk is. You can eat mine.”
This last was to her district partner, who was still staring, wide-eyed, at the plate in front of him. He nodded, but Johanna could tell he wasn’t really thinking about the food.
She was not going to be responsible for whatever horrific fate befell him in the arena. Probably he’d get mauled by a Career looking to make himself look like the vicious victor people loved to hate.
Johanna thought she could do that pretty well. Throwing axes into people probably wasn’t all that different from throwing them into trees.
Blight returned, looking between them. “Johanna.”
She looked at him but said nothing. If he was going to give her a lecture on manners, that was the last thing she needed. She’d ignore it, no matter how much it might make her parents gasp. It was unlikely she’d be seeing them again. District 7 hadn’t had a female victor since before they were born.
“Come with me. We need to talk about your strategy.”
“I think hitting everyone that I can is a pretty good one.” Johanna said.
Blight shook his head. Maybe he was thinking about all the other girls he’d seen passing through this train. And how none of them had come back. At least he got to switch off with the two other living victors from Seven.
“Just come with me.” he said, before turning to the boy, “Elton. You’re next.”
Johanna shrugged and followed, “Shouldn’t we be working together? District solidarity?”
As soon as they were out of earshot, Blight shook his head, “You think they’ll care about that? Elton is dead weight to you. And you might be dead weight to him.”
“I’m not dead weight to anybody.” Johanna snorted, “Especially not a twelve year old.”
“Good. If you want to have a chance, you need to want to win. Some kids, they give up before the Games have even started. You ever seen anybody from Twelve come in looking like they want it?”
Johanna was not the type of person to follow every district and their tributes. She rarely followed Seven’s Games, even if she was forced to watch them. She knew of the basics (hello, tree costume), but beyond that? It wasn’t like she thought she would ever be in their position, let alone thinking about her outlook if she was. She stared at Blight blankly.
“Anyway, the point is this: those tears you whipped up? Fantastic strategy. Most of the time, older tributes are seen as threats. The Career tributes want to get them out of the way first so they can move onto the weaker prey.”
Johanna continued to stare. What strategy? She wasn’t usually a crybaby, but being put in that place would have anybody in tears, even if they were as strong as she was.
“I’ll just be too much of a threat, then.” Johanna said, “They won’t want to come near me.”
“No!” Blight said, maybe a bit too loudly. Johanna startled backwards. “The goal is going to be to make you look weak. Be the girl in the frilly dress that spends all her time being babied by her older siblings. Be the girl that everyone back home adores because she’s so sweet. Be that girl, because that girl is not a threat. That girl is someone you can ignore until she’s starving, weak, and easy to take out.”
Johanna was briefly reminded of the fact that Blight was only a couple of years older than her oldest brother, Emmett. Had they been friends before the Games?
“That girl sounds like someone I’d want to punch.” Johanna said.
Blight slapped a hand against his head, “Fine. Punch her, then be her. If you can cry like that when it’s time for Flickerman’s interview, that’s good. Tell some sob story about how you miss your family. That’ll get us sponsors, and that means more food for you.
“Now go sit back down. And send Elton this way.”
“What, is he going to be a crybaby, too?”
“Just go, Johanna.”
So she walked back to the train car, where Trill had set a venison sandwich down on the table. She immediately took a bite, only slightly disappointed by what she thought was an inauthentic taste.
“Your turn,” Johanna said to Elton, who was still mystified by most of the fancier foods that Trill had brought them.
There was a lot more to this whole thing than Johanna thought there was. A lot of scripting. She could do tears, she just had to think of a good sob story. Maybe one that would embarrass Everett while she told it? Or the fact that she was the youngest. Blight had told her to play that fact up. Maybe she could pretend that when she was younger, everyone waited on her instead of making her fight to do the same activities the rest of them did.
It was a pretty solid idea, when she thought about it. The only problem would be pulling off the cowardly look in front of everyone else. Caesar Flickerman was looking for drama. That’s what Johanna’s mother always said. But the tributes would just be looking for competition.
She was used to winning those competitions, or at least trying. Now she’d have to look like she was trying and losing.
What a headache! But if it meant she’d get to go home, Johanna would do anything. The only problem was that she would be in an arena full of people who were looking to do the same.
There was far too much pain. When she’d imagined her victorious moment, it was nothing like this. She’d pictured flinging an axe into that stupid District 2 girl’s neck, saying something snappy. Becoming the villain she was sure everyone back home thought she was.
Deception was the name of the game, and Johanna had thought she was immune. She wasn’t supposed to be out of breath, bleeding out of countless wounds and nursing an arrow wound to the shoulder. But there she was, and there was one person between her and finally getting out of the godforsaken arena.
The one thing she could say was that the District 2 girl had earned it. She hadn’t even screamed when Johanna had hatcheted her district partner, just taken off running. But the Hunger Games could only have one victor, and Johanna could taste the success along with the copper in her mouth.
The weapons had been taken away by some magnetic mutts, along with the arrow that had been in her shoulder. It was a fight they would end in their bare hands.
It was an almost primal feeling for Johanna as she limped through the arena, ears prickling for any sounds that the District 2 tribute could make. And then she heard it: the crunch of the other girl’s foot in the gravel. Johanna practically pounced on her, pouring every last ounce of her strength into choking the breath out of her.
And then she heard the cannon, and collapsed beside her opponent. Maybe she’d be one of those victors who just died. It hadn’t happened in a long time, but she’d lost a lot of blood. Sometime after, Johanna would think about this moment and almost wish she had.
There’s surgery, but they’re giving her enough morphling that she doesn’t have to remember it. Or, she should say, them. They have to do quite a number on her in order to fix up the damage that she and the other tributes have done to her body, and on top of that, they want to make her scars look as nice as possible.
“Can’t be covering up any of that beauty, can we?” It’s her stylist, the elderly man whose name Johanna hadn’t bothered to learn. The one who had dressed her and every other District 7 up as a tree since before she’d been born.
It makes her distinctly uncomfortable. It is not the last time that a citizen of the Capitol will have this effect on her. It is the first time that she begins to realize that the Games didn’t end when she left the arena.
When she looks into the mirror after all of it, she’s both horrified and impressed. She looks almost like a doll, smooth and without any texture. There are scars she earned working lumber that no longer feel familiar when she runs a hand up her arm.
She is the Capitol’s dream. All the fighting, with nothing to show for it except for the apparent glory and a house on the outside of town. There is money, but the only thing Johanna wants is to be the girl she was only a few weeks ago. The girl who wondered what it would feel like to kill another. The girl who had not learned how hard it was.
When they take her home, and her brother Graham silently grabs her hand to steady her, she spends all her strength not on fighting him away, but keeping the tears back so none of her family can see.
The months in between her victory and the Victory Tour are peppered with fan letters and creepy voices on the other ends of phone calls. People stating what they’d like to do with her, how they can’t believe someone who seemed so innocent could do things so violent. Eventually she stopped answering the phone, started using the fan letters as kindling.
None of the people in District 7 seemed to trust her anymore, not after the way she acted during the Games. Even her fellow victors were nervous around her.
It took Blight addressing her quietly one afternoon to realize that it wasn’t her they were nervous about. It was the fact that she was such a recent victor. It was the fact that she didn’t answer the letters.
“Me and them?” Blight said, gesturing to the houses that hold the other District 7 survivors, “We know how it works. Go through it for a while, jump through their hoops until they get their next fresh young thing, and then you only have to appear at the Reaping.”
“And when they want me to mentor the next girl in?” Johanna said.
Blight shook his head. “We’ll give you some time. You’re not the only victor, Johanna. You don’t have to stand alone.”
It sure felt like she did. Even along the Victory Tour, the districts booed and hissed at her as she tried to hold her head high. Why couldn’t they understand that she was what they had made her? That she was only here because she’d been strong enough to fight?
By the time she made it to the Career districts, she had started blocking out all of the noise. She stood in front of the crowd, imagining the people of District 4 plunging a trident through her back as punishment for what she’d done to one of their tributes.
When she was finally taken backstage, it was for a photo opportunity with the latest victor before her. Johanna was all set to hate the victor of the 70th Hunger Games for her apparent disappearance after her Games. Why didn’t she have that luxury?
Looking at Annie Cresta is like looking into a cracked mirror, a vision of someone Johanna could have been if she were the type of person to let the Games get to her. For a second, she was deeply unsettled by Annie, especially her wide, sea-green eyes and the way she looked at Johanna as if she were someone dangerous.
But when Annie nervously stepped toward her, looking as if she might cry at any second, Johanna immediately forgave her. Here was the girl that everyone thought Johanna was. The sweet one, only something had changed. Johanna had seen people in District 7 shut themselves off like Annie seemed to after accidents, had seen people become shells of themselves simply because of the actions of others.
Maybe Annie got the same letters that Johanna did. She wasn’t a mentor, but that didn’t mean that the Games had left her behind entirely.
“I’m Johanna,” Johanna said. It was the brief and brisk way she’d gotten used to introducing herself. The whole country already knew who she was, who Annie was. What was the point of introductions?
“A-Annie,” Annie responded, sticking out her hand to shake. The flashbulbs for the pictures went off, and both victors startled. Annie let out a cry and covered her ears, closing her eyes.
Johanna couldn’t help feeling protective of Annie despite being older. She turned around to face Trill, who was coordinating all of the things that made Capitol citizens squeal with delight.
“You couldn’t have found us better lighting?” Johanna said, embodying the diva, “You’re going to make it seem like I’m still terrifying.”
She realized that maybe that was part of what the Capitol liked about her. But she didn’t want it to be. She wanted their eyes off of her. She wanted them to be uncomfortable when they talked about her, about the Hunger Games. Annie was doing that simply by showing the signs of the trauma they had both suffered.
Ignoring whatever Trill was about to say, Johanna moved to get the whole ensemble as far away from Annie and District 4 as possible when she noticed the appearance of another former tribute.
Even Johanna was aware of Finnick Odair, but she didn’t think she’d see him in District 4. He was somewhat well known for spending most of his time with the adoring fans in the Capitol, and so it was entirely confusing to see him pulling Annie into his arms and murmuring comforting words to her.
For a second, all Johanna could do was stare. He looked back at her when Annie removed her hands from her ears and opened her eyes, a sudden realization covering his face.
“See you later?” Finnick said to Annie, who simply nodded. As Finnick approached Johanna, she tensed up. It wasn’t like he was coming to kill her, but he was still an unknown to her, an unexpected variable. She prepared her best barbs, the things she’d shout to the boys who would call up to her when she was up in the trees.
“Don’t worry, we’re just having a victor chat. We won’t be too long.” Finnick said when Trill pulled up a schedule on his tablet. He melted when Finnick gave him a little wink. Johanna rolled her eyes, but let him pull her aside for whatever message was important.
“If this is about your little girlfriend, don’t worry. I’ll be quiet.” Johanna said, looking over at Annie, “She doesn’t need any more crap.”
Finnick blinked at her, but then shook his head, “I just thought I’d warn you, pretty victor to pretty victor.”
Johanna had never really been called pretty. Well, except for her mom. All the boys back home called her hot, or scary. It was like a joke to them. She almost felt like taking the compliment without any further thought. But he’d said ‘warning’. And so she needed to know what that meant.
“Is this about my stylist? Because trust me, I know about the tree thing already.”
It was all that he could talk about. Tree metaphors, fluffy words about her blooming. Johanna wished that the man would just ‘leave’ her alone. She resolved to tell him to do exactly that if she ever had to hold up another useless decorative branch.
“It’s about the Capitol. It’s dangerous.”
Johanna held open her mouth in mock surprise, “The people who send children into the Hunger Games aren’t nice? I’ll have to tell Flickerman that when it’s time for my interview.”
“This isn’t a joke,” Finnick said, “I’m not trying to make you laugh, I’m trying to warn you. There are people at the Capitol who want you or want to be you. And they have the money to do both of those things.”
“I can turn down propositions, thanks.” Johanna said, scoffing.
“Not if the President’s behind them.”
Johanna thought of the morbid image of President Snow and shuddered. The man was a terrifying image, one that appeared in her nightmares. Once, after arriving home, she’d thought she’d spotted a white hair on the ground and combed over her house in the Victor’s village for more than an hour looking for anything, any message that he might have sent.
Any proof that Blight might have been correct in warning her to calm it down a little. But Johanna didn’t want to be calm. She wanted to tell all those stupid little Capitol elves with their multi-coloured clothes exactly how much the Hunger Games had cost her. Had cost people like Annie.
“I’ll make it so they’re too scared.” Johanna said, “I’m a good actress.”
Finnick whispered furiously, “It doesn’t matter what you do. You do what he says, or the people you love get hurt.”
His eyes darted to Annie for a second before he forced them to focus back on Johanna.
She was admittedly a little scared by the warning. Who wouldn’t be? It was just proof of rumours that went around when people in the Capitol and Districts alike spoke of the fallen victors of previous Games. She’d heard dozens of stories about victors so apparently broken by their experience that they’d turned to morphling, or alcohol, and then lost their families. Or worse, of victors who came back to nothing, families or loved ones lost in the types of accidents that were typical to their District.
Mr. Mason had already lost some digits to the lumber industry. Johanna didn’t want him to lose his life, too.
“I’ll be fine,” she asserted, “But thanks.”
And with that, she was once again swarmed by the entourage of Capitol minions that followed her around everywhere.
When she returned to the train, Blight was there waiting. Most of the time, he let her read out the prepared speeches and just relaxed on the train. That was, if you could call it relaxing. Blight was pacing more and more often, and Johanna had to wonder if she was the cause.
If it would’ve been easier for him if she had just died in the arena like Elton had.
“Take me to District 3.” Johanna said as she sank into the plush chair. It was hard to complain about something so comfortable, and yet it seemed like every fiber was digging into her skin after Finnick’s talk with her.
The last non-Career district before they went home to District 7. She wasn’t looking forward to being in Districts 1 or 2, mostly because she’d been the reason their tributes were dead.
“There’s exercise equipment on the train, right?” Johanna said, thinking back on the conversation with Finnick. If nobody wanted her, then she would be fine to just do what she wanted. Snow would leave her alone, and she could do the things she liked in peace.
Blight nodded, and Johanna pretended not to notice the tiny bottle of morphling he pulled out as she left. At least he wasn’t as bad as the victors she’d seen in District 6.
It was rudimentary equipment, but she was talking about the Capitol’s standards. She knew she would no longer need the muscles she had trained for climbing trees, that she wouldn’t need to fight ever again, thanks to the prize for winning the Games, but she’d seen the twigs that the Capitol idolized.
It was just the thought that, maybe if she made herself ugly to them, they’d leave her alone. That she would be the type of person who didn’t have to face the stares, the expectations.
And so she spent the train trips between districts working hard, pulling muscles, and ignoring any pain that came from doing so. The showers always ran hot because she was a cherished guest. Not much had changed by the time they’d reached the Capitol, but Johanna had managed to roughen the palms of her hands again.
No more Capitol baby-smooth skin. If people wanted Johanna, they wanted Johanna. Not the portrait that everyone saw after her Games, when she’d been so high on morphling she’d barely looked into the camera.
Now she’d be facing those same cameras again. The hedonistic revelry of the Capitol as they pulled out all the stops for their terrifying hero. Johanna snapped at people if they touched her, yanked her arms away from anybody who so much as brushed her shoulder. It was nothing.
She was a novelty to them. Johanna frowned as the airheaded Capitol woman beside her asked if she was wearing real or faux tree bark, and if it was real, was it authentic District 7?
Johanna left her standing where she was. Trill made an alarmed face as she did so, but her tour was almost over. They’d saved the worst for last, and soon she’d be home, celebrating with her family. They were the only people who got to cheer her. They were the only people to be glad she had returned home instead of any of the other twenty-three competitors.
Trill attempted to drag her off to the side, to have words with her, but Johanna was stronger than him, even if her arm tensed when he accidentally grabbed a bruise she’d gotten when she fell off of the treadmill.
“What?” Johanna snapped, “I’m done socializing. I’ll growl all you want, but I’m done going onto that floor.”
Trill took a step back, “You’re supposed to be prepping for the interview.”
The interview. If she never saw Caesar Flickerman again, it would be too soon. His ridiculously-coloured outfits made her feel sick.
But she went backstage, went through the process of putting on the makeup that everyone said was perfect for her brown eyes, and sat through Trill’s meaningless jabber about the Capitol.
She stared into the mirror again. It was odd how much time everyone spent looking at themselves. But everyone in the Capitol had their vices.
Johanna wasn’t the girl she’d been when she first looked into the mirror after all those surgeries. The muscles that she’d been working were beginning to show through even more than they had before she’d stepped into the arena for the first time. Her hair was longer, and a member of her prep team had fashioned it into branches to complete the tree look.
Johanna was filled with a flaming hot rage. She was the first victor from District 7 in at least a decade, and they hadn’t even bothered to put any thought into it. To them, she was still a doll. A toy to play with and dress up as they saw fit until they could stuff her back into a box.
Johanna snatched a pair of scissors out of the drawers of the dressing room and cut the branches off of her head, leaving her hair short and spiky.
Her stylist and prep team gasped in horror.
“What have you done?!” The stylist asked, clapping a hand to his mouth, “We’ll have no time to fix this. No time at all!”
Johanna shrugged, “Fine. I’ll just go out there like this.”
She ignored their grabbing hands, feeling the delight of control flowing through her body as she stepped through the doors.
A pair of shocked production assistants quietly led her backstage. The only sound she could hear was them murmuring about her hair.
The lights came on, and Johanna could hear Caesar Flickerman introducing her with the highlights of her Games. The sounds of dying children were followed by shocked gasps from the audience, then applause. Johanna had never thought she appealed to the audience, but there they were, joyously cheering as she slammed her axe through an unfortunate tribute.
She stepped onto the stage with Caesar Flickerman and his highlighter-yellow suit. The crowd gasped again, and then was quiet.
“Johanna Mason, everyone!” Flickerman said, “And my, may I say, I love what you’ve done with your hair.”
Johanna sat down in the chair. She knew the audience would love it if she played into the silly little story that he was trying to set up. But did she want to?
“I see enough branches back home. I don’t need them on my head.” Johanna said flatly.
Caesar laughed awkwardly, and the crowd did too, likely prompted by a large flashing sign and Caesar’s winning smile.
“So, you made it through the Games! I’m sure we weren’t expecting it. Can you even believe this is the same girl?”
An image of Johanna crying on the Reaping stage popped up onto the screen. She’d seen it before, of course. It was one of the most popular images the Capitol used to show how she had changed so dramatically.
She could see it. That girl, with the ruffled hand-me-down dress and complex braids, was a picture of District 7. And not the part of District 7 that Johanna usually called home. She almost wished she’d just gone in the jumpsuit she’d worn while climbing the tree. At least then she would’ve seemed like herself.
Johanna simply shrugged. “People change.”
Flickerman laughed. “They certainly do! That’s what (Three) learned, right?”
A picture of the girl Johanna had allied with in the first two days of the Games faded in over the previous image. Johanna looked straight at Flickerman instead of turning away.
She held her breath as her perfectly manicured nails dug crescent-shaped dents into her calloused palms. It wasn’t her choice to be in the Games. It was either kill, or be killed.
Johanna chose to live.
“I guess that’s what happens when you push kids into an arena and tell them to kill each other.” Johanna said. Surely this would end the interview, and she could go home.
“Ah, but once those treasured victors make it home, it’s like a new shot at life!” Flickerman said, gesturing at a new image. It was Johanna returning home, flanked by Blight and the other two victors as she walked into the Victor’s Village for the first time.
It was followed by a slideshow of other images with other victors from her Victory Tour. The photo ops that Trill had begged her for suddenly all made sense. And at the end was a picture she hadn’t expected.
It was a candid picture of Finnick leaning closer to her during their earlier conversation. Johanna’s face burned with frustration. This wasn’t fair. That wasn’t what had happened.
“And what’s this? Romance?”
The crowd of Capitol citizens was a mix of infuriated and adoring. She could guess the type of people they were based off of what they would’ve preferred: a cheesy romance, or a handsome available victor.
“No. I don’t even know him.” Johanna shook her head, already prepared to stand up and leave the interview.
“Aw, is this the shy Johanna hiding behind all that axe wielding?” Flickerman said, “I’m sure that all of Panem is wondering about the soft center under all that aggression.”
“There isn’t one.” Johanna unclipped the microphone off of her dress and threw it at Caesar. It bumped harmlessly off of his arm, but by then Johanna was already off the stage and being swarmed by production assistants as well as her prep team.
“I’m done!” Johanna roared, “I’m going back to my room, now.”
They all flinched back from her. She stomped off, pushing past the grabbing arms and ignoring all complaints that she was missing the celebration dedicated to her.
Trill followed after her, tapping away at the tablet and offering meek suggestions as to why she would want to stay. Johanna ignored all of them, ignored Trill’s voice even as it echoed in her ears.
“Will you just shut up?” Johanna said when she stepped into the elevator and Trill was still monologuing about how they’d need to work on her public appearances.
Trill stared at her, shocked.
Johanna continued, “I don’t care about any of that. It’s meaningless fluff, and it would be better if all of you just left me alone in the Village. I killed people, and everyone is either treating me like I’m the greatest person alive or the scum of the Earth! I’m neither. People need to realize that I’m just a person.”
Trill looked down at the floor until they reached Johanna’s floor.
“Don’t follow me.” Johanna said, pushing the button for the next floor and shoving Trill backwards into the elevator while she stepped off.
The humming of the fluorescent lights buzzed in her ears while her heart beat out a rapid rhythm in her chest. When she got to the room, all she wanted to do was drink and bury her head in the pillows until she was home and out of the limelight. She didn’t care who they offered up next, as long as it wasn’t her.
She grabbed a bottle from the mini-fridge, thought about it, and then grabbed another. Surely she’d be seeing something about the blow-up all over the news, but until then, she could simply pretend that everything had vanished.
Everyone was quiet as an Avox while they led her onto the train, though that didn’t stop citizens of the Capitol from pointing to her and whispering. Some of them even shouted, daring her to lash out at them the way she had lashed out at their beloved host.
She was allowed to sulk and mope on the train, even though Blight tried to give her a somewhat motivational speech that amounted to, “At least we’ll be home soon.”
Thoughts of District 7 did manage to brighten up Johanna’s mind. They would be celebrating their own traditions soon, and combined with the money the District’s government received to sponsor a meal commemorating her victory, it was supposed to be a pretty legendary meal.
The train was about an hour away from arriving when Trill let out a sharp squeal. Johanna and Blight turned to look at him, both staring in obvious annoyance at the sudden disruption to the quiet.
“Sorry!” Trill held out the tablet, which showed a series of headlines. Johanna was about to let her eyes slide off of them when she saw a familiar name: Everett Mason.
She snatched the tablet away from him and Blight, tapping the news story to read it instantly.
Mrs. Anna Mason, celebrating the life and victory of her youngest daughter, Johanna, has been faced with the unthinkable tragedy of losing five of her children, as well as her husband, as the victor makes her way home from a shocking Victory Tour.
Emmett, Lillianna, Graham, and Everett Mason, working in the traditional District 7 practice of lumber along with twenty-seven others, including their father, Forrest Mason, were grievously injured following the breakdown of several machines. After being rushed to the hospital, the members of the Mason family lived between an hour and three days before dying. Thirteen other District 7 citizens have already passed, with two in critical condition. The remaining citizens are expected to live.
They are survived by Julianna and Johanna Mason, the eldest and youngest Mason daughters, respectively. The celebration planned for the end of Johanna Mason’s Victory Tour is scheduled to occur as planned.
Johanna squeezed the tablet so hard that it cracked under the force before shoving it into Blight’s hands and storming away, her lungs constricting. She ducked into the nearest open space with a lock, which happened to be the train’s bathroom.
Johanna clicked the lock into place and leaned against the wall, unable to breath through the choking sobs erupting from her throat. She clawed at her eyes as if that would have a chance at stopping tears from pouring out onto the clothes she didn’t care about. As if, if she did not know about it, everything would be fine.
She slid down the wall and buried her head in her hands.
There was a universe where everyone was fine and waiting for her to come home. She had lived in that universe only a few moments ago. Why couldn’t she go back? Why couldn’t she go back?
Johanna slammed her feet against the ground, and then pulled them close to her, resting her chin on her knees. The tears were flowing freely now, and she wasn’t going to stop them. There were no cameras in the bathroom. No Trill and his obsession with publicity, no stylist and his obsession with making her into a dream girl.
She should’ve been home. She should’ve held up her mother and Julianna while they wept, should’ve been able to hold her siblings’ hands before they died. She stared out the window at the trees, trying to think of nothing. Trying to remember the last word she had said to any of them.
Blight knocked on the door, calling out her name. She weighed her options before opening it and falling, sobbing, into his arms.
He was clearly startled, but patted her on the shoulder long enough for her to get ahold of herself and shake off the emotion before she could return to where she’d been.
For the rest of the train ride, Johanna rested her head on the window and let the vibration of the train scramble all of her thoughts. In the background, she knew that Trill and Blight were talking, and then arguing about something, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about it.
When she stepped off, she almost forgot that she was a victor of the Hunger Games. That she had survived something like that, and now she was supposed to attend another meal glorifying death when her family members weren’t even cold yet.
She shuddered and decided right there and then that she wouldn’t put on a single effort for the cameras following her around until the end of her tour. She’d wipe her hands clean of all of it.
Then, her mother wrapped her in her arms and sobbed into Johanna’s shoulders. Johanna had pictured this, her mother’s horror at having raised her children through the Games only to lose them in an accident. But all she could do now was hold her back and stare into the ground.
The Capitol didn’t get her grief.
“I’m going to my house.” Johanna said, separating from her mother. She tilted her head to imply that her mother was welcome, too.
The two Mason women walked, followed by cameras, down the streets of District 7. It was completely different than when she had arrived after her Games, and even from the reception she’d had afterwards, when people had continued to judge her for the course of action she’d taken.
She had thought that she didn’t need anyone. Clearly, she was wrong. She gripped her mother’s hand tightly as she led her into her house, and then closed the door on the cameras. This was her private life. They could have more of her at the feast.
The house was still decorated in the same bare-bones way it had been when Johanna moved in. Her mother had offered to spruce it up a little, to add some decorations to make it feel like home, but Johanna had disagreed.
It was why she was confused upon seeing a vase full of roses on the dining table, with a card attached. Initially, she assumed it was from people wishing her well, sending their condolences for the loss of her family.
She let go of her mother’s hand and approached the vase, ripping open the card to read a single phrase.
My condolences.
The aroma of roses filled the air, much stronger than she would expect from a bouquet in District 7. And then, with a simple, horrified thought, Johanna realized that her family members’ death hadn’t been an accident.
President Snow was always wearing roses in the interviews that he filmed, sometimes pictured in his rose garden to give him that unique, grandfatherly appearance. Was it coincidence that now, after she’d cut her interview short, roses would appear in her house?
She threw the vase of flowers out the door, where it shattered on the ground in front of the waiting photographers.
“I won’t be at the feast!” Johanna announced. The next snarky sentence was supposed to tell the photographers and the members of the prep team who had followed them exactly what they could do with all their ridiculous equipment, but then she realized her mother was standing right behind her.
Her very vulnerable mother. If dozens of people were acceptable casualties for her punishment, then it wouldn’t matter that Johanna’s mother only rarely worked with the machinery these days. It wouldn’t matter that she had always been healthy, friendly, a part of the community.
The Capitol would kill her, too, if it would make Johanna fall in line. And Julianna, and her stupid, mumbling husband. As well as anybody she learned to care about. Anybody who might be worth something to her.
What was a way to save face? Could she? She couldn’t imagine eating a whole meal now, or even pretending to.
“I’d like to grieve privately with my daughter during this difficult time.” Johanna’s mother stepped in, pulling her daughter away from the door and standing in front of the door.
The red-eyed, gaunt woman clinging onto her daughter’s arm for strength in front of the team of propaganda-makers seemed to melt their hearts.
“Of course, of course!” they clamored. One even offered to bring plates of food home to the Masons, which Mrs. Mason politely declined. Blight had joined in, standing right beside Trill. He raised an eyebrow at Johanna’s mother. For a second, Johanna feared that he might make them go anyway. That there was no spin they could put on this to make it look good enough.
She was furious that he didn’t warn her more about what might happen. That he hadn’t pulled her aside the same way Finnick had, despite all of the cameras that had surrounded them.
He backed down under the fierce gaze of Johanna’s mother, who closed the door. Johanna finally broke down, sobbing into her shoulder.
The pressure for Johanna to be a mentor, despite it being the first year since she had won her Games, meant that she was up on the stage in a position of honor as two more children were chosen.
The boy was the younger brother of a friend from Johanna’s earliest school days, while the girl was a complete unknown. Both were over fifteen, which meant that they had some chance in the Games. She didn’t want to get her hopes up–or theirs. This was life or death to them.
And maybe to her. Her mother and Julianna were both still alive, and she knew that missteps would lead to harm to them, if not Johanna herself. She had thankfully avoided the eyes of the Capitol the rest of the time, claiming a mourning period, but as soon as she arrived in the Capitol it was clear that all of that was over.
While her tributes experienced the excess for the first time, Johanna’s skin crawled under the eyes of the Capitol citizens. It was a relief when she retired to the mentor’s lounge and found other victors.
Although she didn’t mean to, her eyes must’ve lit up in recognition when she saw Finnick, leading to laughter from some of the other mentors.
He leaned into it, laughing flirtatiously as he approached her. But Johanna saw right through it, saw the nerves in the tension of his jaw, the hands he had to keep from forming into fists.
“Jo! Welcome back,” Finnick said, “You guys don’t mind if I have a word with Jo, right?
And with that, it was almost like it had been a few months ago, only this time they were allowed to be alone. No cameras.
“Sorry about that. Insights from the Gamekeepers say the people want a little romance, so they’re trying to push it a little. I’ll let it fizzle out. Be spotted with more people,” Finnick leaned against the wall.
Johanna was always surprised at how easily he could flip that on. Maybe that was why everyone liked him. That and the dashing good looks. When they’d first met, she had been a little thrown. But now she’d had time to look back on the experience. Finnick was just another tribute like her. He just had more time to learn. And apparently, more patience with the Capitol’s mind games.
“Did you have to be a mentor after your first Games?” Johanna asked, sitting down. She’d continued her goal of working out to keep up her strength and fight off any advances, but it often meant sore muscles, which wasn’t the most helpful to standing up.
Finnick shook his head, “They sent me to do…other things. Mostly just spending time with people, at first.”
Johanna could hear the unsaid words and decided not to press too much further. It’s not her place. They’re not friends, and maybe never will be. Just people who run across each other on their way to watch children die.
“Do you feel responsible?” she asked, mostly because she can’t imagine watching the two kids she is now bossing around suffer whatever the Gamemakers and other tributes have to throw at them.
“I try not to.” Finnick responded, sitting beside her, “But that’s easier where I’m from. Everyone is trained on how to kill from the time they’re born, and they know it. This is some form of glory for those kids and their families. It was supposed to be glorious for me.”
He let out a single, dark chuckle, and it’s the most scared that Johanna has ever been of Finnick. With all the charm, sometimes it’s hard for her to remember that he was a Career tribute, responsible for murdering several others so that he could win. But why should she care about that? She’s the exact same way.
Johanna’s hands clenched into fists. Then, she rubbed at the side of her arm at the dull ache that resulted from her moving one of the muscles she’d pulled earlier.
“Any advice?”
“Don’t get attached,” Finnick said, “They’ve got one in twenty-four of their odds. Less, considering they won’t have the same training as some of the others.”
They sat in silence as Johanna considered that. Would she be able to look her former classmate in the eyes knowing that she’d sent her little brother off to die? Did she even want to? Johanna hadn’t felt normal since she’d returned from the Capitol the second time. She’d felt more like some beast, clawing at an invisible cage that no one else could see.
“I’m sorry about your family,” Finnick broke the silence, apparently uncomfortable to sit too long without talking, “I heard, but I…I thought it might be a bit much to send over a card or flowers.”
“I got enough.” Johanna said. Even after throwing Snow’s roses out of the house, it was like she saw them everywhere, a reminder of the tightrope that she and the other victors constantly walked. She wanted to rip the petals off of the stupid flowers, but “good victors” loved the Capitol, and President Snow, and all that he did for them.
There was more silence before Johanna forcefully pushed herself up to stand. “I’ll see you later. And…” Johanna began to imitate the clipped Capitol accent, “May the odds be ever in your favor!”
Finnick cracked a smile, but it wasn’t the joyful one, which was just fine by Johanna. It was a stupid phrase, anyways.
Johanna hated the plush Capitol beds, sinking under her weight and making it hard to sit up, let alone stand. But she had to, because there was no way that she could sleep right now. Not when she knew her tributes would be going into the Games tomorrow, struggling to survive. They might not even make it past the Bloodbath, if they were unlucky enough, placed in the wrong space at the wrong time.
She’d told both of them to take off and let the others battle it out over the resources, even though she’d done nothing of the sort, punching a tribute in the face for the axe that would lead her to victory.
Johanna stood and flicked on the lights, then peered down the hallway. It was almost entirely silent, only the sounds of breathing. From one door, running water. Someone else who couldn’t sleep, most likely. But nothing that would get her in trouble. She looked directly into the security camera and held up her hands. Unarmed .
She couldn’t imagine what the people in the rooms around her were thinking. This was her first time, but everyone around her had done this at least once. The drunk from District 12 always had to do it. She didn’t envy that. If she was lucky, Blight or one of the other District 7 victors would end up as the mentor next time.
If she managed not to piss off Snow or the Gamemakers this year. She looked again at the camera. It was easy to wander through the halls despite the concerned looks that the Avoxes shot her. She’d continued cutting her own hair, leading to the spiky, somewhat intimidating appearance she cultivated, now.
She didn’t want more friends. The Capitol might use them as leverage, and right now, all her focus had to be on making sure that her mother and sister survived. And Duncan, too, if it would keep Julianna happy. It was far easier to focus all her thoughts on them, rather than on the tributes who were probably feeling just as restless as she was.
An Avox trailed after her, but Johanna was used to that. Probably just telling her what, if anything, was off limits. She waved to get Johanna’s attention, probably well-used to victors startling if anyone got in their personal space, and pointed to the kitchen with a head tilt.
“I’m not hungry, I just can’t sleep. And I don’t want any drugs!” Johanna said the last as the Avox held up an imaginary bottle of pills. It would be so easy for her to slip into that. To take the chance of not having to see the children die. How old that made her sound! As if she weren’t the same age as the oldest tributes.
Johanna took a seat on one of the couches in the lounge, pretending that she was in her barely-furnished house despite the distant sounds of celebration.
“Just leave me alone. I’ll sit here and think about how great the Capitol and the Games are and how I’m so honored to be part of this institution.” Johanna said sarcastically.
The Avox looked nervously at the security camera before waiting by the door. A small measure of privacy.
Johanna leaned on the arm of the couch. She should probably be calling it a sofa, since it seemed like it would cost as much as her parents’ house did. Regardless, it was surprisingly comfortable, if only because its firmness reminded her of home.
She was caught between staying awake and falling asleep, trying to do both and therefore succeeding in neither. Thoughts ran through her head that were neither dreams nor anything she would ordinarily think.
Then one thing shifted her strongly to the side of awake. Footsteps, real footsteps. Human footsteps. She glanced over to find that the Avox had seemingly left her alone, likely to find another mentor who could potentially break the many invisible rules set forth for all of them.
So who was walking around at night? Johanna’s instincts flew into fight or flight mode. Would any of the mentors want her dead for what she’d done in the last Games? Would the Capitol be seeking revenge on her, trying to frame her death as an overdose?
It was none of those things. Finnick, only wearing pants, stepped into the room. Johanna cleared her throat, because she did not want to end up stabbed with whatever sharp object he might have with him if she startled him. She’d done that a few too many times with Duncan for her to remain blind to the fact that survivors of the Hunger Games, herself included, rarely remained unscathed.
“Johanna?” Finnick called out.
She stood to face him. Gone was any sense of normalcy, whatever face he usually wore, even when he had pulled her aside. He was barely keeping it together, teeth clenched, eyes flickering. She even thought she noticed the traces of tears down his cheeks, but she had no way of pointing that out politely.
When had Johanna Mason ever been polite?
“What the fuck happened to you?” she asked, moving closer to him. He backed away into one of the other couches. Okay, personal space. She was great at that, seeing as not too many people could get close to her, either.
She sat down on the arm of the couch that was closest to his, and leaned just a little bit closer.
“The usual mentorship rounds. People love Finnick Odair,” he responded. Johanna blew out a breath.
“It’s been this way since they thought I was old enough,” Finnick said. Johanna didn’t miss the emphasis on the word ‘they.’
“Not since you thought so?”
“Fuck no.” Finnick shook his head, his hands already clenching into fists. “All those Capitol people with their dollhouse lives and petty secrets think they’re special if they’ve got a victor in their house for the night. And they won’t tell anyone how it happened, but everyone knows.”
Johanna couldn’t help but feel frustrated that she didn’t. That she hadn’t. That every single mention of Finnick that made its way out to District 7 was about how flirtatious he was, how he was always seen with someone new.
“That’s what you get yourself into. That’s what my tributes don’t know, that’s why none of this ends. Once you’re in their pocket, you’re there forever.”
“Unless you want your loved ones dead.” Johanna said in agreement. “Does your family even know?”
Finnick shook his head, “And I don’t want them to know. I’ve told Annie, but…I’m not sure she’s processed it. Not completely. I’m not sure that I want her to.”
There was so much there that she had no idea how to handle it. So much that was messed up, that was worse than she had imagined. With no other way to express her frustration, Johanna swore. For some reason, this made Finnick laugh.
“Hey!” Johanna punched him in the arm, “I’m trying to sympathise.”
“I’m sorry, you’re not very good at it. I can’t believe everyone saw you on the screen and thought you were some harmless little princess!”
Johanna laughed at that, even though she’d seen the images of her crying on the stage more times than she could count. It didn’t help that they were usually followed up with images of her worst moments, the things she had nightmares about.
Their laughter slowly subsided as melancholy thoughts overtook them, urged on by the chiming of a clock indicating that it was now technically the day that the 72nd Hunger Games began.
“It can’t get worse than this, can it?” Johanna said, “It’s bad. But if I can just grit my teeth through it, they’ll have to leave me alone eventually.”
Finnick just shrugged, “Mags–my mentor–has been doing this for decades. She doesn’t get much of the limelight, but she still has to make the same appearances that the rest of us do.”
Johanna buried her head in her hands. “I feel like an idiot! The whole time I was in the arena, the dead kids were the ones who were actually winning.”
Finnick paused at that. “I don’t think any of us were.”
“Fuck.” Johanna said and then again, louder, “Fuck!”
This was what it took to bring the Avox back to them.
“We’ll be up to bed now.” Finnick said, already putting the mask back on. “Can’t be sleepy when it’s time to secure sponsorships!”
Johanna stuck out her tongue and mimicked gagging, even if she would be willing to harass a few rich Capitol jerks for their money if her tributes were running out of water.
They walked up the stairs, trailed by the Avox until they separated at their rooms.
“Good night,” Finnick said.
Johanna just nodded and closed the door to her room.
But she didn’t manage to fall asleep at all and just stared at the ceiling until an Avox came in to tell her to get ready.
The Bloodbath was brutal. Johanna’s male tribute was sliced practically in two by a District 1 tribute who had managed to grab a knife that was larger than any she’d seen during her Games.
Johanna punched the wall, hurting only her hand and leaving the pristine white wall there as if it were mocking her. It wasn’t like she had much company. Some of the mentors had left after already losing both of their tributes. She saw the mentors from Districts 8 and 10 leave almost simultaneously. Others were out courting sponsorships, a hopeless tactic for Johanna unless the Capitol turned out to love her girl. Her score had been middling, and it seemed like she deserved it.
The girl made it farther, running off into the distance. It was hard to tell what was going on, as the arena was entirely covered in trees. Johanna almost wished it had been hers, instead of the pond-based arena she’d ended up with. If the girl was lucky, she’d be able to use the trees to her advantage.
Cameras switched between the forming groups of tributes, the female tributes from Districts 4 and 5 appeared to make an alliance only to turn on each other seconds later, leaving both with critical wounds. Johanna looked over at Finnick, but he was staring at the screen like everything depended on one of his two tributes winning.
Looking at the arena was almost like looking at home, which made it all the more unsettling when some of the trees began to change. Some housed dangerous Mutts, combinations of forest creatures shaped into all of the most dangerous parts. Some looked perfectly stable, but crunched apart like glass at the slightest impact.
Johanna’s tribute found this out the hard way, dodging throwing knives from the male District 2 tribute. Johanna didn’t have much hope when she realized that he had spotted her tribute, and less when he’d called over his district partner.
The girl jumped through the trees, but her last landing wasn’t successful. The tree shattered around her, depositing her on the ground with a rough-sounding thud. Johanna’s heart sank. She knew the sound of breaking bones, even played through the Capitol’s recording drones.
For the tributes from District 2, it was all business. They found the girl where she had fallen, momentarily watched the blood pool around her and curiously poked at the glass tree, and then, without too much thought or effort, slit her throat.
A cannon went off, and just like that, Johanna had failed her first set of tributes.
She left the room in a huff, not sure who she was more frustrated at: herself, for getting her hopes up that the girl might have a chance, or the Gamemakers for turning perfectly good trees into death traps and ruining it all. Of course, there was also the fact that the Games existed at all.
There was no winning. They’d send her back whenever they needed the girl from District 7 or when they felt like she’d been pushing the line a little too far.
Potential sponsors watched the screens with interest, speaking callously about the children dying in front of them and the arbitrary scores assigned to them. Johanna knew exactly how well those scores could be manipulated, since she’d done it herself, pretending to stumble over weapons and trip on her own feet.
At least she could put in a good word for Finnick’s tribute, the one that was more likely to win, anyways. The boy seemed like he knew what he was doing, and a tribute from a Career district was much more appealing than one from somewhere like District 5 or 6.
She couldn’t make herself do it when she got closer to the sponsors, who eyed her like she was meat. Instead, she found herself throwing dirty looks their way. At least her tributes hadn’t had to suffer because she was incapable of winning them any sponsorships.
Johanna stalked off, considering which of the many available vices would be best to indulge in now that her responsibilities were officially over. She could probably cut her hair again. It was beginning to look a little too friendly, and at this point it was the only thing she really had that much control over.
She ended up laying in her bed, staring up at the ceiling as if that would be able to help her. Suddenly, she was reminded of the fact that she would have to face the parents of her tributes.
That thought, combined with the memories she had of her own family, quickly made her tear up. Even in the supposed safety of her own room, she abruptly wiped the tears away as if they hadn’t even happened.
There would be interviews that they would air in the downtime, and she needed to seem strong. Everyone liked strong, scary Johanna. She was easy to root for or against, often at the same time.
The knock at the door was wholly unwelcome. Expecting either an Avox or a particularly dedicated production assistant trying to get her into Caesar Flickerman’s chair, she simply shouted, “Go away!”
The knock persisted until Johanna broke down and stomped over, filled with rage at the thought that she would have to go out onto a stage and pretend like she hadn’t led her tributes to their deaths.
She was almost ready to punch whoever it was until she realized it was Finnick. Her fists, however, had not, and ended up punching right above the door frame in her attempt to prevent herself from hitting him.
“Stupid Games reflexes,” Johanna muttered, the closest thing she was going to give to an apology.
“They stick,” Finnick nodded, the closest thing to an acknowledgement she was going to get.
“Are yours still alive?” Johanna said, stepping aside to let him in. She flipped off the camera in the hall for good measure.
“The boy is, for now,” Finnick stepped inside the room, ducking under her arm. “I came to check on you.”
Johanna stared at him, almost not believing. Although they’d spoken last night, she hadn’t realized they’d made a connection. Was he…her friend, now? It seemed strange. Ever since she’d been called up at the Reaping, it seemed all she had been doing was losing. She hadn’t realized there would be any gaining.
“I’m going to have to go out there and talk to Flickerman, because those self-obsessed Capitol assholes can’t understand loss unless it happens to someone pretty. And when I get home, they’re going to glare at me like they’ve been glaring at me.” Johanna flopped on her own bed and leaned her head against her pillow, momentarily closing her eyes. She could almost picture her mother pressing a cool hand to her head to sooth her, but of course she wasn’t there.
Finnick let out a deep sigh and leaned into the chair he had chosen, “It won’t be like this forever.”
“Easy for you to say, golden boy,” Johanna snorted, “Everyone loves you.”
Finnick flinched. Johanna was stuck in the moment between getting under his skin, getting him riled up, and feeling sorry for him. She scratched at her face and rolled over to face him.
“If we switched, would you be happier?” Johanna asked, with none of the sarcastic prickle that she usually asked questions in.
Finnick shrugged, “Are any of us happy?”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“If you switched with Annie, would you be happier?”
Johanna couldn’t help making a face. As much as her instinct was to protect Annie, she couldn’t imagine herself like that. She couldn’t think of anything that would bring her to that point before she managed to kill herself or die trying.
“That’s not the same,” Johanna disagreed again.
“Isn’t it?” Finnick fired back, “You’re not me. You’re not her. The Capitol is going to shove us into boxes enough without us doing it ourselves.”
Johanna let out a deeply annoyed sigh and rolled back over to stare at the ceiling instead of his stupid face. She could tell that he hadn’t left yet. The reason why, she was entirely unsure. Maybe he just liked to be around people who knew his misery.
“Will you cut my hair?” Johanna asked after a while. “It’s getting too long.”
“I–I’m not a hairdresser.” Finnick managed to say.
“Good. That’ll piss off my stylist team even more.” Johanna hopped off of the bed and went through the room for anything that was sharp enough to cut her hair. Since it was a floor full of Hunger Games victors, there weren’t many sharp objects allowed. She gave up with a huff before glancing at her vanity, then at Finnick.
“Jo–”
She was already picking up the stool that went with the vanity and had thrown it into the mirror before he could object further. Shards of glass littered the floor, but Johanna’s high heels made a pleasant sound crunching across it while she picked up one that was large enough to get the job done.
She held it out towards Finnick. He backed away for a second, then lightly took it from her like it was going to cut him, too. And who knew, it might. But Johanna sat in front of him.
In the future, she might have to deal with the consequences of those actions, along with all of the other ridiculous mistakes she would make between now and the day she died. But for now, she was a girl with a friend she trusted enough to cut her hair.
And that would have to be good enough.