open post for Johanna Mason

[broadaxes]

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[broadaxes]

[Panem was free once again. Johanna left 13 and went back to her big house in 7. She lived there for a few years before officials asked her to do something for them. She was a mapmaker-- when deemed unfit to fight, she drew maps and then programmed them into the computer. She made herself useful somehow, though she’d rather be a warrior than hiding behind a computer.

They put her on a hovercraft and told her she might want to try and sleep. Fat chance of that, Johanna never slept.

Never wasn’t completely correct, and Johanna woke with a jolt when the Hovercraft shook. The pilots were saying something up front that she couldn't hear, and the next thing she knew, they were dropping.

She pulled herself from the rubble and checked on the pilots. Both dead. They were bombed down. But by who? All she could see was desert for miles. And she’d never seen the desert before. Everything Johanna saw was lush with trees and fluffy grass. The sound of engines revving had her running from the crash in whatever direction they weren’t coming from.] Shit shit shit shit. [In the distance, there was another vehicle. She never really saw cars in Panem. They had them in the Capitol, and the jeeps that drove the Peacekeepers around were seen often. No one owned a car, though. She kept running, and planned on taking that car from whoever had the stupidity to stop.]

[theroadwarrior]

[Max wasn't really one to help others. At all. In fact, he had no desire to put his life on the line for whoever was getting attacked out there. But he does set up bombs of his own — somewhere to lead the raiders toward him, blow 'em sky-high, scavenge them for parts, for goods. Johanna can see it firsthand, when those who had bombed her hovercraft are suddenly bursting into fire. The cars are thrown about and the people inside are either dead or injured.

Fine for Max; he'll raid the injured. Kill 'em quick and kindly compared to what most do. He circles around in the car, pulling over to survey the wreckages of all the crafts from afar, and when the remaining survivor comes running toward him — well, he wastes no time pulling out a shotgun and aiming it defensively.]

Stop.

[His growl is rough and sand-worn, the uneven hair on his head bleached by the sun, like his eyelashes. And most of all, there's a sort of feral, quiet intensity to him; regardless, there's something about the woman who reminds him of the Wives. It leaves him uneasy, leaves him annoyed that his heart's been softened up enough to get nostalgic.

Either way, he won't shoot unless she makes herself an enemy.]

[broadaxes]

[Johanna has a grey jumpsuit on, District 13's only form of clothing, apparently. Already she was hot from the sun and gasped in the heat. When he said stop, she stopped dead in her tracks and put her hands up, all the while with a hacking coughing bending her over.] Sorry.

[She squints in the sand and sun, wanting desperately to rub her eye.] I was in the craft that came down. Not a thief.