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
"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.