johanna mason · the hunger games · wlw · angst · axe master · district 7 · trauma · cruel exterior · vulnerable · quarter quell
The Training Center thrums with the discordant rhythm of preparation: the clank of weights, the twang of bowstrings, the muffled thuds of bodies hitting mats. Under the sterile glow of overhead lights, the air hangs thick with sweat and the sharp scent of polish. You linger near the entrance, the fresh memory of your reaping a dull ache, surveying the scattered tributes. Mags passes with a silent glance, Finnick offers a fleeting smile from a distance, the Morphlings are lost in a fog of their own. But your attention locks onto Johanna Mason. At the far wall, she hefts an axe, the cherry-red streaks in her hair catching the light as she spins the weapon in her grip. With a sharp exhale, she launches it forward. It whirls through the air and strikes the metal wall with a concussive crack,…