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Johanna will find her way back to the upper hand in no time at all. She will not allow herself a loss to Kate, not in any way at all. This is a momentary set back--and while she's not exactly sure of how it began, it isn't going to last. Two minutes, at most. Then she'll be flirting with Kate all over again.

Right now, though, Johanna's mouth twitches a little, hitching downwards toward a scowl. She does not like the look of her axe in Kate's hard right now, but she manages not to leap on her and snatch it back.

"If I'm not interested, it's just because that's not a trade of equal value." She's too irritated to drawl out her response, as she might have done if she had a better command of herself. "One little hookup from you wouldn't repay lessons from me. But go on and tell me why you think I wouldn't be interested."

Whatever, Kate's going to enjoy this while it lasts. She's 2-0 in her mind, anyway. No need to get defensive the way Johanna is.

The irritation just feeds her smug calm, and she takes her time before answering, lining up the throw, winding up as her breathing slows, stepping, swinging, and releasing. It's a dead center bullseye and she is insufferably pleased, barely restraining a grin. She licks at her lower lip as the smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, digs teeth into the swell of it to hold back her glee. Clint likes to say she's about nine years old and spoiled rotten and he also likes to say she's perfect; this is what he means.

She shrugs and runs a hand over her hair, tucking a lock back behind an ear. "Because it might help you relax a little." Why she would and wouldn't want it, in one.

So she got one shot in, on a still target, after fifteen failures. No one's impressed, and Johanna's eyeroll is more than enough to suggest that. She gives Kate three solid claps--one, two, three--and then she drops her hands at her side, heavily. That's how impressed she is.

And she's not, actually, interested in relaxing. Even if she was, she wouldn't know how to do it, not any longer, not for any significant amount of time. But she's not going to say that, not right now--and even if she did, that would just prove Kate's point.

Fuck her. Fuck this. Johanna pinches one corner of her mouth upwards, in a dry smirk. "How do I even know that you can make good on this trade, Katie? I'm just supposed to take your word for it?"

It only took her fifteen throws to nail a bullseye on a weapon she's never used before with almost zero instruction. Everyone but Johanna is impressed. Everyone but Johanna and Kate herself - she's just loving the timing.

Her question gets another roll of Kate's eyes, a laugh and a shake of her head. "You can't even trust that I can get you the weed you don't even want in exchange for the lessons you're not actually giving. Look, I'll get you some for nothing. I'm not sure I know anyone who needs to get high more than you do. Or laid. Or something. Both." And Kate's always had an interest in philanthropy. "Consider it a thank you for making me look like I'm not that tightly wound after all."

Edited 2014-09-03 14:52 (UTC)

The word that sticks there is trust, just the way that it always sticks, even though Kate's using it in a joke. Trust is loaded enough that it does not matter, that she still feels a little prickle of distaste at just the sound of the word in someone else's mouth. She has been both tightly wound and out of control, but there was always a piece of her that stood back and kept watch, a piece of her that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nothing comes easy, and everything has a price, and just because Kate is fun to fight with and fun to tease does not mean that Johanna will accept anything from her.

But in Kate's response, she finds her opportunity to claw back to the top. Her smirk crooks at her mouth, a little more self-assured this time. This is familiar territory.

"You think I need your help." Sarcasm loads that word, thick. "That's cute. Those are two very specific offers, Katie. You've got something on your mind." And she bites at her lower lip, just for a second, as if she's got to hold back a wider smirk. When she goes on, her voice is shaded toward the taut again. "If I wanted either of those things, I could get them on my own. From you, or from anyone. Unfortunately for you, I don't accept hand-outs. And I don't trade in favors. But if you actually want lessons, and if you promise to do better than this--"

And she nods toward the target, where the axe is still lodged. Good, but not god enough. "Then you'll have to give me something I can really use."

Johanna surely meant it as bravado and innuendo, especially with the smirk, the teeth in her lip. There's a part of Kate's brain that knows that, a part that catches on the way the bite makes it go red and soft and will remember later what that looks like. The rest doesn't care. What she hears is what she heard before when Johanna threatened to pull out her hair and shove it down her throat. Earlier it got her to stop playing and come fight; now it gets her to stop playing and leave.

Nobody takes anything from me I don't give them, she wants to say, but that's too revealing and not true enough. Even if she could get the words out she'd rather not let Johanna have them. So she just tilts her head like she's considering, shoves down the roiling flare of anger before it can spend more than a split second on her face, and shrugs. Shakes her head, all cool calm. "I'm good."

She leaves the axes where they are and turns from the target, walking past Johanna to where her shirt and shoes are.

The play of emotions that cross Kate's face are quick and interesting--too quick to really make very much of. Whatever's there, whatever Kate is thinking of--well, she composes herself well. That's admirable. But the abruptness of her departure is enough to suggest that Johanna has struck a nerve, somewhere in there. And that means she's come out on top for this round--always satisfying--but there's some sadness to winning so soon, when they could have kept playing.

Of course, she's only thinking this now that she's winning. A few minutes earlier and-- well, Johanna doesn't leave with dignity and grace, the way Kate is leaving. But there would have definitely been an exit made.

She watches Kate walk past her, raises her eyebrows as she observes that cross. "Don't tell me you're leaving. Come on, we were just going to start having fun again, you can't bow out now."

She's dignity and grace, she's Miss United States--. Well, two out of three, at the moment. Kate learned to smile with a stiff upper lip basically in the womb, and she smiles now, a politely slender thing that doesn't make it to her eyes. "I have other places to be," she says, shoving her feet into her shoes. It's efficient but not rushed. Rushing wouldn't send the message she's aiming for here.

She pulls on her shirt, tucks her gun into the back of her sweats. "I'm sure you'll find somebody else to play with. You don't need me, remember? And I need to wash my hair." She flashes Johanna another serene smile and turns her back, heading for the door.

"You have to wash your hair." She repeats those words, with flat incredulity. Come on, Kate--even in Panem, that's the oldest line in the book. "I don't see why. Your hair looks great."

But she's not going to act all needy, or draw this out too much. If Kate wants to run away, whatever. Fine. Typical. She shouldn't have started it if she didn't want to finish it. Johanna crosses her arms over her chest, her hip cocked off to the side as she watches Kate walk away.

"Oh, I get it. Excuses," she sighs, when Kate is nearly at the door. "I should have expected that. Need any help?"

That's the point, Johanna. Kate could've made up a plausible lie, and she could've delivered it so it sounded real; she just isn't worth the effort. She smiles at the compliment, but continues heading for the door.

There's no literal run in her departure, a casual saunter, checking her comm as she goes, thumb sliding across the screen to start typing a message. She looks back over her shoulder at the door, brows lifting at the offer. Her whole expression is unflappably well-mannered, except for something around the eyes that suggests she's enjoying this. That every word Johanna says, every question and complaint, is another point she's winning.

She smiles again, and shifts head and shoulders in another little shake/shrug. "No thanks, I'm all set." She gives the doorframe a pat, and exits.

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