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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 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."