sixthiterationlogs | to the victors, the spoils

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to the victors, the spoils

WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: The Fountain | The Inn
WHEN: December 3, Mid-Day
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Violence, Nudity
STATUS: Open

Under Attack

She opens her eyes to water. There's nothing but water around her and below, there's the distinctly familiar shape she's seen twice below in her life. Launch pad. They've never launched victors in the water before, though, because then there's no way to keep them on the pad until the countdown is done, which means...which means what. The icy cold water is making it hard to think, but she refuses to swim to the top until she's got a plan. She'd been knocked out by Katniss aiming the arrow at the sky, so the Capitol could've gotten to her. The tracking chip is still in her arm (which is something that's coming out the first chance she gets).

So what? What, then? What would the Capitol do to her? They'd make her pay and they'd make suffer. There's no one left to die for her, so why not just kill her? Unless they think that living is a worse punishment.

She's running out of time (and air) and she needs a plan. If this is an old arena, maybe they flooded certain parts of it and that's why she's able to get to the top. Before she does, though, she kicks her way back down until she finds a piece of stone that looks sharp enough to attack with and uses all her energy to kick her way to the top, bursting past the surface of the water with a gasp before she positions herself at the back of the ... fountain? Okay, then.

Waiting, biding her time, Johanna keeps treading water and ignoring the chill of it as she brandishes one hand outside of the water, the small stone shiv ready to pierce if it needs to. Whoever comes by first is going to give her some answers, whether they like it or not.

By The Fire

It doesn't take long for her to figure out a way away from the fountain (which is a launch pad without a detonation device, apparently, which makes sense if this is an arena that's already been used and decommissioned). It takes her a little longer than that to evaluate the area around her for threats, but she heads for the house with the smoke coming out of the chimney. It's stupid, is what it is, but if she's right, then whoever's in there isn't going to be a threat.

If this is an arena that the Capitol is using as some kind of unseen prison, then it stands to reason that everyone here is an ally in the fight against the Capitol. Goody for Johanna, she gets to spend her time behind bars instead of up front in the action, getting the vengeance she's been so sorely denied for so long. She's been looking forward to it ever since they reaped her for the fucking Quarter Quell, all because she was the only one strong enough to have survived.

"At least someone knows how to be hospitable," she says, slinging her bag onto the ground as soon as she's inside, stripping off her clothes without a moment's delay while keeping herself a decent distance from the fire, yanking up one of the curtains lingering around to start drying her hair as she kicks off the pants and underwear, tugging off the bra and shirt next until she's standing completely naked in the foyer of the building.

When she hears footsteps, her guard is up, but she doesn't act like it. She knows better than anyone that you should let your opponent think you're not a threat until the last, crucial moment.

"I know the view's great," she says over her shoulder, still working at drying her hair, "But I don't suppose you've got a change of clothes and some food? I'm starving," she says, the Games having denied her a decent meal and her head is pounding after having to deal with Katniss and her ridiculous lack of trust in her. You cut a girl's arm open one time, and what does it get you? No thanks, that's what.

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So his hunch had been right--she and the other two here in the village are familiar with the same terminology. The likelihood of them being from the same place increases in leaps and bounds based on her reaction: a shift in awareness that draws her up straight.

Other than a fire poker or a heavy book end, the closest weapon is probably on Jess' person, though the last thing he wants is for the girl to mistake him for a threat and come at him. She might hurt him, but he might hurt her, too. It's the latter that concerns him more than the former. He doesn't want to agitate someone further when this freak show of a town is agitating enough.

"That's just the thing, I'm from a place called Alexandria, not a district," he explains further. "But I've heard of what you're talking about from a pair of people. Finnick and Annie? Do those names ring any bells? They're here."

Johanna keeps a steady, straight face, refusing to give anything away. She doesn't want anyone to know where her allegiances lie. Internally, she's grateful for Finnick and even happier for him that Annie's here, somehow. Sure, it's not exactly the sterling team that's going to help bring down the Capitol, but at least she's got someone here to watch her back and prevent her from getting killed when she's looking the wrong way.

"They're past victors," is what Johanna says instead of offering a personal connection to them. "How can you not be from a district? Isn't this a prison? Some kind of repurposed arena to keep people in check?"

There's that other buzzword again: victors, with the unfamiliar connotation attached to it that gives the word new meaning in her mouth. And the mouths of Finnick and Annie, who to this day have a touch-and-go relationship to the community.

Hardly surprising, with what Jess had gleaned about their backgrounds. 'Victor' is, he supposes, just a nice way of saying 'survivor'. He should know--the Jess Brightwell that had survived his postulant training was a different person than the one who'd stepped off the train to marvel at Alexandrian architecture that first day. Every so often he still had nightmares. A person couldn't watch their friends and peers die around them and walk away unchanged; it's the reason he'd held back from forging new bonds, not wanting to go through that pain again.

Was this young woman like the other two? A victor? He hopes for her sake she isn't, but the watchfulness underlying her measured look and sharp questions tell Jess she wasn't born yesterday, whatever the case.

"Yeah, Finnick mentioned a survival test back when the group was discussing our options," he says carefully. Less a test and more an extermination, by the sounds of it, but that Jess keeps to himself. "He called it the Hunger Games. Brought up some similarities between it and what's going on. But there are some big differences--like namely, we're not fighting to the death here. So if you're worried about that, don't be."

The last part is said with a firm confidence that leaves no room for argument. No one's killing anyone to play into someone else's sick game. It's not happening. It's not going to happen.

"This probably isn't going to make a lot of sense right now, but most of us here are from very different places. 'Names of cities you've never heard of' different."

There's just so much there that she wants to dive into and tear apart. From the fact that there are group meetings here to the part where Finnick is calling the Games a test of survival and not what it actually is -- twenty four children tearing each other apart in a ring for entertainment just so they can try and live in peace until the Capitol wants something more from you; more entertainment, more stories, more bloodshed. The only thing Johanna wants to give them more of is anger and she thinks she's been doing a plenty good job of that, lately.

"I wouldn't have to worry if we were fighting to the death," is her reply, accompanied with the eyeroll that comes of people underestimating her. Sometimes, she wonders how the hell she managed to pretend for so very long in Games, but that was four years ago. At seventeen, her anger and resentment hadn't brimmed over the way it has now. At seventeen, she still had a family to fight for.

"So, what, everyone just holds hands and gets along, despite the fact that this is clearly a prison? Is everyone really that stupid?"

"Glad to hear it," Jess says, not sounding particularly concerned that she practically just insinuated she'd slit his throat with a wave and a smile if she felt obliged. She could be any one of his old running mates with talk like that. "And you're right, this is a prison with people on the other side of the bars. Save that fire for them."

An appeal to altruism won't work with her, he thinks. She's savvy and she has an edge, more in line with the kind of person Jess would bet on winning a battle royale than the nervous, soft-spoken Annie.

But tactics might. If she wants to learn the system so she can bend it to suit her, she's looking for the smart play just as Jess would do.

"I don't know what these Hunger Games were like, but after five months here I can say for sure this is a long-term game, not a race to the finish. Fighting each other weakens our position, and it's not that great to begin with." He makes a circular motion, gesturing around them. "It'd be more accurate to say this is a staging ground for an experiment as much as a place to hold us in. They change up the variables, we act, they watch. Whatever they're getting from us doesn't seem to involve our deaths."

Johanna lifts her chin as she starts to look at this for what it is -- a game of strategy -- and unfortunately, her best one doesn't work now that she's not a slip of a seventeen year old. She doubts anyone would believe her old act and even if they did, there are other victors here and they'll probably ruin it for her. That means she has to come up with something new, but lucky for Johanna, she's not an idiot. "That just sounds like the Capitol finding new ways to fuck with us," she says sharply.

"Prison," she says with a sure nod. "Keeps us out of the way, allows them to test out new tortures. What's happened here?" she demands, because five months could yield so many new weapons for Snow and his soldiers.

"All signs say this is bigger than any one person's enemies. Don't take my word for it, though. You might be better off getting the full story from Finnick and Annie," he suggests, thinking they could have a better shot of making sense of things for the young woman, coming from the same place with the same suspicions in tow.

On Jess' first few days, he'd been absolutely convinced this was the Library's doing--his own personal Capitol. He'd needed time and experience before believing otherwise; she has no reason to believe him without the same.

"Before I give you the laundry list, do you have a name I can call you? It might be a prison, but we're not quite at the point of using prisoner I.D. numbers."

Johanna snorts at the remark that this is bigger than one person's enemies, which is just the sort of thing that someone who hasn't had to deal with the Capitol would say, seeing as it's not like they've ever been known to seem weak even against twelve Districts. At least, not until the group of them banded together. "I'm Johanna Mason," she says, wondering if he really doesn't know her, but if not, then he can have that.

"You really don't know about victors, huh?" she asks him, with the tone of voice that implies that it's something that might end up costing him, in the end, if he's not careful.

He can't say he's surprised by the hints of skepticism. It's to be expected with strangers in a strange place.

"Circumstances being what they are, I'll skip the part about it being nice to meet you. It's nice to have a name for who's borrowing my clothes, at least."

There's not a trace of recognition in either Jess' reply or in the way he shakes his head at the question--in that, he's honest. "I've known people who've had a gun pressed into their hand by people more powerful than them and told to use it," he says. "I thought this was their doing at first, same as your friends were thinking it was your Capitol. But the Hunger Games? No. Not familiar."

"Lucky you," is her brittle, cool reply. She would give anything to be a part of a world that doesn't know what the Hunger Games are, let alone be someone who doesn't know what it's like to be reaped, to be sent to your death, to win and learn what it means to be in the pocket of someone like President Snow. It's annoying and frustrating and pathetic and heartbreaking, but now she has to live in this world and not even have people understand what she went through. "So, what, everyone here is happy go lucky and wants to work together?"

"Life isn't that simple, it doesn't just work like that," is her irritable reply. "People eventually turn on you, unless there's a greater cause, and even then...well, even then, I wouldn't trust anyone."

Jess shakes his head before Johanna's even finished speaking. God, no. He's not a door-to-door salesman selling the merits of peace and love and trust out of his briefcase--and the thought that he might have come off that way makes him suppress an acerbic laugh.

You're a lucky guy with your simple life, Jess Brightwell, said no one ever. If a peaceful world where people do live that simply exists in the multiverse, Jess hasn't seen evidence of it yet.

"It isn't, it doesn't, and you shouldn't. I'm not saying it's team sport and trust falls here. I'm saying whoever went to the trouble of getting us here isn't about to let us go, and we have over fifty people from every background and every corner of the world." Worlds, really, but he doesn't know if she's ready for that just yet. "The smart play is consolidating resources to get us out of here, not wasting time starving each other out."

It's a low bar. Johanna doesn't have to pick vegetables for communal dinners or patch people's roofs out of the goodness of her heart, but Jess, personally, would greatly appreciate it if she didn't assume this was an elimination challenge and take Kate hostage in the kitchen because she's worried they're all out to get her.

That'd be a headache and he has enough of those.

"And that means feeding newcomers when they show up. You said you were hungry, right? I can explain more while you eat."

Johanna's not entirely sure she's on board with that. Historically, the smart play has been protecting herself from harm and hurt. She hadn't done a great job of that in the beginning, which is why she's alone now and without a family. It's taught her that she needs to put herself first. Even in the rebellion, she's thinking of herself, because a future of her bowing down to Snow isn't any kind of future she wants.

Still, playing along with the happy sharing people seems like it'll keep her from being noticed and maybe that's what she needs. "I was in the Games for days," she says flatly. "I haven't exactly eaten more than a few bites of fish in the last week. If they can't get you to kill each other, why not die from starvation."

"So you were involved in it like Finnick and Annie were?" The way Jess raises his eyebrows and states the question, it's more a confirmation than anything else. He'd been wondering what kind of person stripped down naked in the middle of a stranger's abode; nice of Johanna to put a name and a face to it. "Since you're still alive, it must be fair to guess you won your survival like them, too. Just how many of these Games are there?"

He hadn't been planning on voicing that last question, not like this when she's fresh off the kidnap express and still dripping water on the floor, but given the implication, it bears asking.

Three victors. Trials that are only won when there's one man or woman left standing. They couldn't have all been in the same competition, then. It gives Jess a chill like he'd been dunked in the fountain and not Johanna.

He ignores it by focusing on the immediate need. Eyebrows raised, he starts for the kitchen. "Nobody's starving or killing for sport. Come on, this way. No tricks, I promise. If I were lulling you into a false sense of security, I wouldn't have given one of my few changes of clothes beforehand."

Blood splatter is hell to wash out. If she believes nothing else, she can believe Jess doesn't have the time or the inclination to jump her while she eats a bowl of stew and ruin his sweater.

"We were in the 75th Hunger Games," she says imperiously, mocking President Snow with the way she talks about them. It's all honor and prestige for the Capitol, but when you don't come from one of the Career Districts, it's pretty much a death sentence, even if you do figure out how to play the game. The problem is that you can win on your own terms in the arena and then lose by those same terms the minute you get out.

"Don't you want to ask how I won?" is her reply, a gleam in her eye that isn't entirely sane. She doesn't think anyone who's come out of the Games is actually sane, it's just that some of them hide it better than others. "Did Finnick and Annie tell you how they won theirs?" She does follow, though, because starvation is a bitch and she'll be damned if that's how she goes out.

... Seventy five?

"It's been done that many times?" Had Jess still been facing her and not on his way toward the kitchen, Johanna would have seen the stark surprise wash over his features--and the grimness that followed after. A trace of it leaks into his tone.

That's like saying she'd taken part in the seventy fifth winter Olympics, if the sport was survival of the fittest.

He glances back as he's stepping through the door, long enough to glimpse the bright, knife-sharp fearlessness in her eyes. It's the kind of look a person who's had their fitness tested and came out the other side of it gets. It's one he's not unfamiliar with. "They implied it was a blood sport. That, and their booby traps are really good at stopping people in their tracks. I filled in the blanks on my own."

It doesn't scare him that she might have had to kill another person for a crowd's enjoyment. It does make him feel sorry for all three of them, though. Once you start assigning values to human lives, it changes the way you look at the world.

"Don't worry, the real fun is when you start multiplying all the ones who didn't win, in your head," she says evenly, because she'd done that the night before her first Games, lying in bed and strategizing while counting up all the dead little kids that lost their lives in an arena because they hadn't figured out how to win. Before Johanna's Games, that number had been 1634. After, it had gone up, but after, some of that blood had been on her hands.

Worth it, to survive, she figures.

She arches her brow when he talks about their traps, snorting mildly. "Of course they'd use traps," she says, with a shake of her head, because that's so Annie and Finnick to follow in that footstep. Reactive, protective, not going out and stealing what's theirs. "Trust me, their traps are definitely ones to watch out for."

Jess says nothing at first as he steps aside to let Johanna in, gesturing around the inn's kitchen in silent invitation. Here it is, in all its glory. It's hers to use now, as much as it is any public space. Not that impressive to the eye of someone from a technologically advanced era, maybe, but most importantly: it has food.

There are still leftovers in a casserole dish--some kind of mashed turnip and egg concoction with spices to taste. Jess sets out an empty plate with cutlery. The message is clear: make yourself at home. "Why do they call it the Hunger Games, while we're on the topic?" he asks, skirting around the number of failed contenders necessary to crown seventy five winners.

If the numbers are anywhere near comparable to his postulant class, the mental calculations are enough to freeze the blood if he let it. For once, he's glad, so glad, not to have an insider's perspective.

For the briefest second, Jess' mouth curls sardonically in response to the warning. Yeah, he knows. "Last I checked they were still making camp in the woods and using them as a deterrent. Should we expect to see you out there soon, too?"

He has a feeling Johanna's defenses would be ones to watch out for just the same.

It's a history lesson she doesn't really want to give, if she's honest. Truthfully, the Hunger Games didn't even factor in her life until suddenly the spotlight got put on her and sure, she acknowledges that it makes her selfish and a little too focused on herself, but what matters is that she'd picked herself up and started to do the right things.

"If you want history, I'm not your girl," she says. "The truth? Everyone rebelled and when the Capitol beat them down, they decided that defeat wasn't enough. They needed to murder their children and make it a show," she says, spitting out the words. "And they trained their little favorites to tip the scales in their favor." She has to be careful here, because Finnick and Annie are both from that world and even though she likes them well enough, she still hates the culture they come from.

She could probably survive a lot longer in the woods, but she's also not inclined to torture herself like that. "Please," she scoffs, "I'll be in a nice, warm house, with access to food." And if anyone decides to come at her, they won't see her coming - at least, not after she cuts out their eyes.

If they'd named these Hunger Games after their hunger for blood and the deprivation of their fellow man, that would be about the only thing regarding Finnick, Annie, and Johanna's political climate that makes sense. There's a reason gladiatorial games had gone out of favor.

... But there's also a reason they'd existed. Not the most heartening conversation to have over a meal.

Jess allows his appalled disbelief to show through in the shake of his head. "A commemorative bloodbath? I hope you don't mind my saying so, but your country must be run by sociopaths to make that happen." Insane and disgusting, a potent combination.

Releasing a breath, he props his elbows on the other side of the counter. Despite himself, he's more morbidly curious about environment Johanna hails from than ever before, and more than a little indignant on her behalf just with the brief synopsis she gives. There's one thing to be said about this place--it hasn't resorted to pointless bloodletting yet.

"Well, that's an option. It was a ghost town when people started arriving here. Now that we've taken it over for shelter, there are still plenty of unoccupied buildings."

She's entirely not surprised that Finnick and Annie are putting themselves through hell, but martyr is not a title that Johanna has ever worn well, and she prefers the comforts that she can get. She'd even resigned herself to dealing with her life as a victor, then they'd taken away her family, then they tried again to take her life. "Where do you live?" she asks, running a hand through her hair to test and see how dry it was.

Eventually, she's going to need to find herself a weapon, but no one that she's seen so far looks like someone that Johanna couldn't take down with just her fists, if need be.

That's no secret. His gaze flicks to each side of him, once again indicating the kitchen and the inn at large.

"You're looking at it. This inn's another option: it has spare rooms, it's the center of the information hub, and you're guaranteed a free meal most days. Dealer's choice, though. For a prison, there aren't a lot of rules stopping you from doing what you like--other than walk out."

Welcome to the party, Johanna.

She cranes her head upwards and listens to how many footsteps she hears. It's like the training room when people are all packed in, but even there, they treated the tributes with respect, right up until the moment they wanted you all to rip each other's throats out. "It's also got a lot of people," is what she says, when she looks back down at Jess. "You said there's other places. Other houses? Those are just as free, right?"

Feeding herself isn't a problem that Johanna's going to have to worry about. She might not be Katniss with a bow, but she can definitely manage if she can find a sharp end and some wildlife.

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to the victors, the spoils

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