Johanna Mason, Velociraptor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
axeyou) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2015-03-26 11:08 am
axeyou) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-03-26 11:08 am
Entry tags:
running from your enemies and falling on your knees
CHARACTERS: Johanna & Minho
LOCATION: the gardens
WARNINGS: mentions of dystopian pasts (likely) + mentions of violence (probably) + some language (more than probably)
SUMMARY: Johanna makes good on last month's promise to show Minho how to have some fun. or, "how we learned to stop worrying and have a pretty good time on a ship full of shit trying to kill us half the time". (it starts in the gardens.)
This is not happiness. This is Johanna, halfway up a tree in the garden, with her axe buried in the trunk, a practical chop to hold it in place so her hands are left free. She's barefoot, and idly swinging her legs back and forth. There's not really a breeze, and the air is humid. Above her head, the ceiling is far off, so the lights, if you pretended, might seem like a pale sun.
Johanna doesn't pretend. She knows the difference between this garden and a forest. The trees are real, the dirt is real, but it's still manufactured, put together by someone--who knows who--and left not for enjoyment, but for the sustainability of the ship. The economy of trees: that's something she knows well. District 7, lumber. Just because they're not cutting them down doesn't mean they don't serve a purpose, and it's not because they're pretty.
Johanna isn't happy. But she's content, for the moment, perched pretty high, a vantage point that affords her a look in every direction, should she want it. That feels like security, even if there's a falseness to that, too. No one's really secure here. She tips her face up toward the white lights, letting the warmth hit her cheeks for a moment. She's paler than she used to be. Skinnier. But just as angry.
Right now, though, she's waiting for her date. Minho, another of those cute Glader boys. Him, and Newt, and even Thomas--Johanna doesn't like a whole lot of people, but she actually likes these guys. Call it a shared trauma, a big overseeing eye setting up a maze or a Game and changing the rules whenever it wants. It's a little like being with other Victors again. And anyways, she's in a good mood (more or less), and this could be fun.
When she spots Minho, she sticks two fingers in her mouth and whistles. Two notes, high and then low, piercing.
"Hiya, big boy! Up here!"
LOCATION: the gardens
WARNINGS: mentions of dystopian pasts (likely) + mentions of violence (probably) + some language (more than probably)
SUMMARY: Johanna makes good on last month's promise to show Minho how to have some fun. or, "how we learned to stop worrying and have a pretty good time on a ship full of shit trying to kill us half the time". (it starts in the gardens.)
This is not happiness. This is Johanna, halfway up a tree in the garden, with her axe buried in the trunk, a practical chop to hold it in place so her hands are left free. She's barefoot, and idly swinging her legs back and forth. There's not really a breeze, and the air is humid. Above her head, the ceiling is far off, so the lights, if you pretended, might seem like a pale sun.
Johanna doesn't pretend. She knows the difference between this garden and a forest. The trees are real, the dirt is real, but it's still manufactured, put together by someone--who knows who--and left not for enjoyment, but for the sustainability of the ship. The economy of trees: that's something she knows well. District 7, lumber. Just because they're not cutting them down doesn't mean they don't serve a purpose, and it's not because they're pretty.
Johanna isn't happy. But she's content, for the moment, perched pretty high, a vantage point that affords her a look in every direction, should she want it. That feels like security, even if there's a falseness to that, too. No one's really secure here. She tips her face up toward the white lights, letting the warmth hit her cheeks for a moment. She's paler than she used to be. Skinnier. But just as angry.
Right now, though, she's waiting for her date. Minho, another of those cute Glader boys. Him, and Newt, and even Thomas--Johanna doesn't like a whole lot of people, but she actually likes these guys. Call it a shared trauma, a big overseeing eye setting up a maze or a Game and changing the rules whenever it wants. It's a little like being with other Victors again. And anyways, she's in a good mood (more or less), and this could be fun.
When she spots Minho, she sticks two fingers in her mouth and whistles. Two notes, high and then low, piercing.
"Hiya, big boy! Up here!"
no subject
Keeping an eye on that ax, he continues to climb up though at a relatively slow pace. When he sees her flying back and forth between the branches, he's only a little bit jealous. He can't help preening a little when her list of interests includes him; he'd never seen a girl until a week before arriving here, so he's still getting used to that. Almost a quarter of the way up, he pauses. "I've got supplies." He never left his room without them. "What've you got planned?"
no subject
He pauses, but she keeps on jumping down, sure-footed in the way you only get if you were raised around more trees than anyone could ever know what to do with--besides deforestation, that is. Crawling, to walking, to axes, to tree-climbing: that's the way they do it in District 7. Not like there's anything else to do.
Johanna stops on a particularly thick branch, just a little out of his reach. Balanced on the broad width of it as easily as if she's standing on solid ground, she leans forward a little to grin down at him. Her bare toes are curled against the bark, like this is helping her to hold on.
"But we're going to start in the gardens. I'm not saying it's the most fun you'll ever have, because it isn't--and it's completely lame compared to a real forest--but it's better than nothing. Yawn. Do you know what a dinosaur is? Bet not." That's okay. She doesn't sound particular judgmental, just brisk. (And, truthfully? She doesn't know what a dinosaur is either, not really. Whatever.)
no subject
Shrugging, he reaches for the next highest branch and hoists himself up onto her level, though he chooses to sit on his tree limb rather than walk around like a shucking bird or something. "This is the closest thing I've seen to a real forest," he admits, finding no harm in that. Johanna seems friendly enough with the other Gladers that she probably already knows about their world. "This is better than any of the klunk we had in the Glade."
He nearly gets whiplash at that topic change, raising both eyebrows. "A dinosaur?" No, he doesn't know it and he can't even recall what the word means.
no subject
"So it's that kind of glade, huh? The kind without trees. Was there at least grass and stuff? Because it sucks enough not to have trees. It must have been hot when it was sunny."
She scratches her bare heel against the treebark, idle and thoughtful. "So what was there? No trees. No dinosaurs--no animals? Just you little guys--big guys, too," a correction for Minho's benefit, with a nod in his direction, "and a big maze outside. And that's it?"
no subject
It was strange, feeling such a strong feeling of nostaliga. The Glade had been a prison, one that he worked to get out of every day of his memorable life, but it had also been the closest thing to a home that he could remember.