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It had taken her a long time to find it, but once she has it in her possession, they'll have to pry it from her cold dead hands to get her to give up the small, but functional axe she'd found on the grounds in a shed. It's probably the remnant of some old gardener, but in her hands, it could be the difference between life and death.

She wishes there were tall trees around, the kind of soaring redwoods that adorned Seven. She'd learned to wield the sharp edge of her blade on thick trees standing hundreds of times the size of her. Meek, weak, and a little mousy, Johanna had learned that everything can fall if you apply enough pressure and cut them down at the right angle. Everyone falls and everyone bleeds.

Johanna hefts up the axe and makes her way outside, careful not to appear too overtly threatening. There are strangers roaming here and she needs to maintain the facade in case she has to play them. The axe has to be hidden where she can find it and she needs to seem like the little girl who frightfully entered the Hunger Games. She makes her way to the English Gardens, settling cross-legged on the ground as she starts to dig a hole in the ground. It's nowhere near six feet deep, but it makes her think of the grave she'd basically dug for herself by joining the rebellion.

Once she gets three feet down, she gets the axe in there, covering it up quickly and dragging over several blue bell flowers to mark the spot in a circle. She wipes the sweat from her face, smearing her cheeks with dirt like a hasty camouflage.

She's going to keep protecting herself, no matter the cost.

Johanna catches movement in the corner of her eye and she softens her posture and her expression, careful not to look too aggressive. She draws her hand over the soil and keeps the shadow in her peripheral vision, always wary. "Did you come to look at the flowers?" she asks quietly, head down, eyes averted.

Meek, weak, and murderous if given the chance.

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Johanna settles back, wrapping her arms around her knees as she considers the other woman and why she might know Finnick. "I do, yes," she replies, cautious, slow, and careful in her admittance. "Why?"

"No real reason," Felicity said, noting the slower tone. "When you mentioned keeping track of people by tagging them just now it reminded me of something he gave me, something that, I don't mind saying, turned my stomach. A lot."

"Oh," Johanna says, deflating when she realizes that this isn't actually one of Finnick's secret-producing sources. There's a bit of disappointment, too, because she'd like to know more secrets about this place. Though, now that Annie is here (if the rumors are true), she thinks those days might be done. "And what sort of thing was that? There's plenty where we come from that could turn a stomach."

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me at all," Felicity muttered. "It was something he'd dug out of his arm, some sort of tracking device. I mean, I'm all about GPS on a cell phone being able to track down lost kids, and lost phones. Even chips in dogs and cats are fine - pets wander off all the time. But that? That's just all kinds of wrong."

Johanna gives a quiet snort, rolling up the sleeve of her shirt to show the new woman the lovely scarred pock mark where her own tracker had been until she had cut it out. "Finnick told me he was doing something with them, but I didn't ask for details. Mine's sitting in a cupboard, collecting dust." Mainly because she hasn't decided what to do with it, but given the in and out nature of this place, part of her wants to put it in someone else's pocket and let the Capitol try and track them through a few universes.

That explained where the other one Finnick mentioned would come from. There was a sense of morbid curiosity about why those things were in their arms, about the world they came from, but something told her she didn't want to know. Something borne of the glimpses Oliver had given her into his life.

"I don't know if it'll make you feel better, but there's no signal coming from the one Finnick gave me. Nothing I can find, anyway. Just a very low level of power, like a latent battery. I'm monitoring it, but apart from that, there isn't much I can do with it unless it does something first. Be helpful if there was an input/output port anywhere on it, but so far, zip."

That does make her feel better, actually. "Well, at least now I'm assured there won't be any night raids to pick us up," Johanna replies, tugging her sleeve down in a jerked, hurried method to get the scar covered up again. She has no problem exposing herself, but she likes to hide the flaws. "What about turning it backwards? Is there any way to use it to monitor the people who put them in?"

"I wish I could say yes," Felicity said with a shrug, "but I can't. Not for sure. Right now, all I can do with it is hold papers down on my desk or possibly throw it at people who annoy me. Anything more than that, I'd need it to work before I can mess around with it. Sucks, but true."

"And what about getting it active?" she asks. It's not that she wants to be tracked, but she does like the idea of getting a beacon going just to throw it into the icy ravages of that arctic door she'd opened. "If we could pick a place and activate it, do you think they'd go through the hotel to follow? Or would it just lead them completely off the scent?"

"If you have a way to do that, I'm all ears, but I the only luck I've had with that is none. It's a lump of metal, nothing more. You get me to a place where it works, somewhere I can use my laptop, I'll be happy to see what I can do."

Johanna wrinkles her nose, displeased with the uselessness but remembering that she's not supposed to be showing all her true colors right now, even if Finnick does supposedly know this woman. "Okay, then, ask Finnick to take you sometime," she says. "Because I'm not stupid enough to wander back into the arena, not now that I've found this place."

Felicity's head tilted to the side and she regarded the woman over the rim of her glasses. "Arena? What arena?"

Johanna laughs, a bubbly little tinkling sound that ends with a sigh that could very well be pity. "You don't know," she says, shaking her head. Well, at least Finnick hadn't given away the whole goat. "And here I thought you and Finnick might be bosom buddies. Well, if he hasn't told you, I'm not spilling the beans."

"Yeah, any interest he had in my bosom fled pretty quickly when he realized I wasn't going all fluttery at the dimple flash. Probably works pretty well for him most of the time, but I'm immune. Good thing, because he's a nice guy under the douchecanoe facade."

She still wasn't sure what the arena was, but she also wasn't going to... "Wait. There's a door that leads to this arena? You said he could have taken me there?"

Johanna lights up like a newly changed bulb at the nickname. "Oh, that's precious," she laughs warmly. "I love it," she says. "Please tell me I can keep that. It's the exact kind of name you'd love to throw in his face when he starts in on that little mask of his." She's grinning, though, as fondly as a person can when discussing insulting a friend.

"If he could've found it," Johanna admits. "It's not like I'm trying. I doubt he is, either."

"You've never heard someone called a douchecanoe?" Felicity asked, incredulous. It had been a common one used when she was in college. "A close cousin to that one is douchenozzle, if you want to switch it up a little. Better to keep them switched up sometimes or it starts getting boring."

She got a definite sense the woman didn't want to talk about whatever the arena was and, from long experience with Oliver, she knew when to back off. "I should probably introduce myself, though. Manners and everything. I"m Felicity Smoak."

"I tend to call people assholes and it works for me," Johanna says, knowing that her facade is useless if this woman has met Finnick. There's too much of her real self in her friendship with Finnick and she knows that she has to be the girl she really is.

"Johanna Mason," she introduces herself, wondering if her name had come up. "So where do you come from?"

"A place called Starling City," Felicity said with a shrug. "You've never heard of it, probably. No one here has except for Oliver, and he doesn't count because he's from there, too. How about you? I mean, mostly because I want to make sure I never, ever go there." She waited a beat, then added, "no offense."

"None taken," she deadpans, because she wouldn't want to go there either if she didn't have to. Then again, the Victor's village had been a decent mirage in the middle of hell. "I'm from District Seven," she replies. "Lumber."

"District Seven? Sounds...really institutional or something. Like Ward 12 or something. Not changing my mind about the lack of interest in ever visiting where you come from, no matter how much I like things made out of wood."

"We didn't exactly get a chance to sit down and talk about fun names over coffee," she admits wryly, but she's never minded being from Seven. In fact, given her proficiency with an axe, it kind of makes her proud to stand up and represent her home. "If you want finery, you need the Capitol."

"I think you should meet my boss," Felicity said, without really thinking, "you both have the same cheery outlook about life." She held up a hand. "Right. I know. I don't know what life you came from, I just tend to run at the mouth sometimes, so don't bother telling me. Believe me, I'm aware."

"Given the life I've had, I'm downright perky," Johanna says, making her voice go bright and high, like those insipid fashion consultants from the Capitol always sound. She bats her eyelashes at the woman, adding to the whole girlish mystique. "Life's hard for everyone, it's bullshit to say that anyone has it worse."

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