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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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"Don't frame it so that it becomes impossible to be here," Finnick answers. He knows she's goading him. He feels as if she's unerringly good at it sometimes, because she understands most of the tricks and lies he regularly employs.

"There haven't been any peacekeepers and assassins here," Finnick points out. The only ones that have appeared have been imagined, the lurking remains that never quite leave their minds. "We might not understand this place yet, but we don't know it's bad yet, either."

He didn't care before, but he has something to protect now, and he feels a fierce need to not be forced to their own world.

She smiles at him like she knows exactly how to take him apart. The scary thing is that she does, but she wouldn't. She'd never destroy him unless it was the last possible option she had, but right now, in this situation, she wants him alive and here with her. Because, really, when it comes to friends, she's sadly without. "Don't worry," she sighs out the words. "I'm not exactly going to wait for a door to open back to the arena and shove you back in. I can let the revolution fade if I get to live," she says, which is the bitter truth in all this.

She has no one back home waiting to be rescued. If she's going to get tortured the instant she heads back, then she's happy to stay exactly where she is.

Finnick still doesn't fully understand what happens to their world with them here. Especially because they're from different times. Obviously, even though he didn't go into the Quell, Katniss did experience him being there. They were allies. Annie, from even further along than Katniss, has memories of him post-Quell -- their wedding, her pregnancy, his death.

He's too drunk now to wonder over what that means about the flow of time or the concoction of the hotel -- and what the ramifications mean for their revolution at home.

"I guess I won't shove you through any doors then either," Finnick replies teasingly, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from a serious topic.

Her laugh is almost ugly as she lets it out, a crow of delight aided on by how much she's had to drink. Trouble is, she really just wants more right now, because she's having a good time and she wants to keep chasing that high because it feels so damn good. Finnick will probably want to go back to Annie and the baby, because that's going to be their lives now, isn't it?

"Do you think we should get jobs?" she asks, suddenly struck by the thought. "Doubt victor's money is going to keep coming in, here."

"Jobs?" Finnick echoes, and he can't help the grin that splits wide across his face. He knows that it's a practical question, and probably one they should have thought of before now.

But the notion of the two of them getting jobs is really quite hilarious from a certain perspective. Their marketable skills are distressingly low -- unless you count having massacred a bunch of kids when they were younger and reaping the rewards of being famous for that. She's got sarcasm down to a perfected art, and he's made a life off of being pretty. Not exactly traits that lend themselves in practical everyday life.

"Going to be the town lumberjack, Jo?" Finnick asks, unable to help himself.

"I'd make anyone think twice about taking advantage of me while I had an axe in my hands," she points out with a wicked grin, not sure she'd ever really want to represent Seven's trade on a regular basis. "I don't know. There has to be something around here that isn't completely and totally menial and horrifying."

"Sweetheart, anyone would think twice about taking advantage of you even if you didn't have an axe in your hands," Finnick returns easily, figuring that it's the best compliment he could possibly pay her.

"I suspect most things here are going to seem menial though," he guesses. So far, the hotel has been relatively calm and most of the jobs seem to be related to the daily upkeep of the hotel -- which make complete sense. But also aren't, perhaps, exactly what people like him and Johann were made for.

She turns on him, as if disappointed that she can't carry off that doe-eyed, frail little girl anymore, though it has been seven years and her patience has slowly been getting cut down, more and more, because...well, when wouldn't it? "Maybe there's another door out there with a better life. Maybe that's where I'll settle," she says, but it's abstract and far from definite.

After all, the Capitol looks pretty on first glance before you start digging down below the surface.