For someone whose strength was once her wrestling ability and her fearlessness with the required moves, Johanna has developed an intense hatred of being touched. It isn't always an issue, but when it is an issue, it's a feeling she can't ignore, as palpable as something crawling over her skin. She feels a tingle of it when Kate locks her knees around her neck. Too close, a ratchet toward an anxiety that borders on a panic--but she suppresses it for now, forces herself to work past it with her teeth gritted.

Because while Kate's maneuver lacks some measure of strength, it's enough, at least, to pull Johanna forward, to make breathing a little difficult. She twists to grip at Kate's legs--not with the intent of pulling them apart, but digging in, like she's holding on to her--in part to ground herself, and in part a gesture of false confidence, confidence that she does not really feel--and she grins, all teeth, what little inhalation she can manage sluicing through before she lets it out, unsteady--

"What now, Katie?" It comes out a little choked, but she's still breathing. You'll have to do better than that is how she might follow it up, if she thought she could spare the breath. She probably can't, but she doesn't let on. Instead, she lets her grin say that for her.