OPEN POST pt III

[wunderkind]

-1-
pick a character

-2-
leave me a comment. maybe a scenario, maybe an AU scenario, maybe a picture, maybe a word,
maybe a request to resume old game canon, maybe just a comment.
i don't care. do your worst.

-2a-
helpful note: i am currently obsessed with the Walking Dead, coffee, summertime, AUs, and vampires. can you combine those into one tag?

-3-
let's get it on, like we did last summer



disclaimer: we probably won't get it on
+ there are no promises i will take this seriously

Comments

[alsohawkeye]

She's Kate Bishop, that's who.

Johanna's all tension and Kate's as at ease as any of them get at one of these things sober. If she tensed Johanna could probably see it - Kate's dress is essentially backless, the better to show off the nebula-spray of stars when the lights change later in the night. Right now it's all flawless pale skin and sculpted muscle, slack except where she twists to look.

For a moment she just looks at Johanna, and there's a sense that she might refuse. She looks bored and derisive and this time most definitely down her nose. This little bitch thinks because she's been here a year that she knows anything at all. That she knows who Kate is or what she's capable of. The desire to write her off wars with the urge to teach her that lesson, and when the teaching wins it's less about Johanna and more about the Games; she always needs an extra outlet for the weeks she's stuck in that building.

"Six AM, the second basement training area. Don't drink too much tonight. If you vomit on me you'll regret it." She smiles, and it's hard to say whether it's real or fake but it certainly isn't kind. Bye.

[axeyou]

Tomorrow is probably a bad idea. Not because Johanna will be so hungover--she won't be, she gave herself a strict limit after her first year; being that out of control was fucking terrifying, she hated it, she hated what she saw when she shut her eyes--the same as always, but in lurid detail, like being drunk carried over into dreams--and she'd hated having an escort, she really hated being touched that first year, and she'd practically torn off the arm of the Capitol man they'd sent her home with, crazy with her own fear and drunkenness and paranoia. What a fucking scene she'd made, behind closed doors.

But tomorrow is a bad idea because they're meant to be focused on their Tributes. The thought occurs to Johanna, distantly, and then she shuts it away, because whatever. She could talk to those two kids for a year and could never actually prepare them for anything--especially not for what they'll find in the Arena.

She doesn't return that smile, beyond the one she's already wearing, and she doesn't answer Kate. Silence is answer enough in this case. Instead, she watches her walk off, watches the lines of her back and the marks of her tattoos. Oh, they love to talk about those tattoos, when they talk about Kate Bishop. Johanna thinks of the needles that they must have used to mark out those designs, like a thousand tiny knives.

She throws her glass onto the nearest table and stalks out of the party entirely.

But at 6 AM the next day, she's there. Second basement, training area. This is a familiar venue. When she's forced to be in the Capitol, Johanna's caginess can sometimes threaten to get the better of her. She's found that to be truest when she's here for the newest Games. Her Tributes she's left back in their suite of rooms. Probably neither of them are asleep. But they'll have time with the stylists today, time to plan another disappointing showing. Whatever. Better them than Johanna, who is happy to stride off of the elevator with her axe strapped to her back. She's dressed in light comfortable clothing--tightly fitted, of course, the better for the ease of movement. Her short hair is spiky around her ears, just barely brushing at her shoulders--too short to be tied back. Without her costumes, she looks a little smaller, but simple dress shows off the sinewy muscles of her short frame.

She strides into the training area like she owns the place, not gaping around to see if Kate's beat her here. She probably has. Johanna feels the prickle of wariness, but does not show it. She drops her bag onto the mat floor instead, with a loud thud.

[alsohawkeye]

Kate stays and makes the rounds, puts in the hours saying the right things to the right people, touching the right elbows, hinting at the right smiles, and occasionally even getting a chance to catch up with people she actually likes. She stays until the music gets loud and the black lights come on, spends a couple hours dancing with Garnet and Finnick and Cashmere and the rest so the guests can admire the way the galaxy picked out across her skin moves in the dark. It's not exactly onerous, but sometimes Kate thinks this is the worst part, the way it starts to feel normal, the way just for a moment here and there she's almost lulled into enjoying herself. They're not all bad company, the other Victors, and after three carefully-measured drinks, she's just light enough that in the dark, in the crowd, pressed between people she'd almost call friends with the thump of the music in her bones--.

But she never really forgets they're there to help children kill each other and one too many sponsors tries to cop a feel and she leaves before she breaks someone's hand and hurts someone's chances. It's still a late night, but who sleeps at the Hunger Games besides President Snow?

She's at the training area by five, time for a comprehensive warm-up before Johanna arrives. Kate's Tributes can handle themselves for a couple hours. There are stylists to meet with and news to watch this morning: previews for Flickerman's show that night, a hastily-prepared news story about a high-ranking official from Five in town for the games who died during the night. A sudden heart attack, they say. (Caused by an arrow in the throat, whisper others.)

The pair from 1 have had longer than Johanna's, longer to prepare, longer to learn what Kate has to teach. For whatever it's worth. Careers start training so early that most of those Kate's worked with have been hand-picked, hand-groomed by other Victors from birth. Half the time she's hated them, as much as it's possible to hate a stupid kid who doesn't really understand what they're getting into, who's only doing what they've been taught. She molds where she can, mostly in subtle ways, teaching then cleaner ways to kill, pushing for alliances. It's funny, she's probably more famous and influential outside of 1 than in it, where champions are thick on the ground. Nobody's going to miss her for the time it takes to kick Johanna's ass.

Dressed in similar gear they look more alike than the night before, both of them pale and dark and angular, leanly muscled. But Kate's hair is tightly braided, a coil woven back onto itself at the back of her head, leaving no tail to pull. She has a bow in her hands when her competition arrives but she sets it down, walking away from a target bristling with arrows in a half-dozen tight groupings. She stretches shoulders with hands linked behind her back, and crosses the room toward Johanna.

"What's in the bag?" She directs her chin at it, not wary but skeptical.

[axeyou]

Johanna takes in the sight of that target and the bow in Kate's hand with just one quick glance. It's all she needs. It's not like Kate Bishop filling a target with arrows is something new and exciting and different. Bows are her thing. And she's well-known for being a killer shot, they still use that image of her, standing on the edge of the ruined skyscraper, an arrow notched on the string and the wind in her hair, her eyes narrowed in deadly focus.

"A surprise," she answers, dryly, her mouth hitched in a little smirk. She pulls the axe off and drops it, too, with more deadly aim. One side of the blade bites into the mat with a shorter, sharper thud.

Really, it's nothing. More weapons, if the clank of the settling bag is anything to go off of. But a little mystery is always good. And, shed of her carry-ons, Johanna mirrors Kate in her stretch, knits her fingers together behind her back and lets her arm stretch out behind her.

"You should have said you were going to be here earlier. It's not everyone that gets the chance to see Kate Bishop practicing archery. You look like you had a good time. I hope you saved some room for more fun."

[alsohawkeye]

"I'll have my people send you a copy of my highlight reel," is Kate's dry response, "Last year's retrospective had a whole hour of behind the scenes footage."

She doesn't like surprises very much anymore, but acting like she might be concerned about anything that could be in the bag is a weak move and getting near enough to bend and open it herself is a stupid one. They may not be in the arena but they're here to fight and she's not going to make the mistake of expecting Johanna to follow anything like rules or common decency. She cracks her neck, sinuous curve at odds with the harsh pop. She smiles, thin and false.

"Plenty of room. Preferences?" She gestures at the mats, the various arrangements, the racks of weapons and gear. She doesn't care, see? Pick anything you want, Johanna. Such is Kate's confidence. Arrogance, maybe. Part of her pre-Games persona was idiotic boasting about apparently non-existent skills, an empty certainty in victory. It hasn't come up much since. She'd say it isn't now, she'd say she's watched enough of Johanna, read enough, learned enough that she's making an informed assessment of their relative abilities. But Tributes with high aptitude scores die every Games and anyone can lose one fight. At least this one isn't life or death.

[axeyou]

But it isn't the highlight reel that Johanna is thinking of. She's seen the footage of Kate's games, just like everyone else has. But every other Tribute featured in that highlight reel is dead. Of course they are, they have to be, so Kate can stand here today, a Victor. That's the way that it works.

It's just funny sometimes. The people you killed, they're the only ones who really know how lethal you are, and that goes for Kate and Johanna both. Those people, the dead ones, you got to see them in those last seconds. You end up knowing them pretty well, even if you only see them for a few short days. And then you see them all the time. No matter who Kate is, or what cool expression she wears, it's true for her, too.

But Johanna leaves it unsaid. She smirks, instead, and grabs hold of the shaft of her axe, jerks it out of its spot in the floor.

"Axes," she suggests, as she hefts hers. The head catches in the light of the training room, winks and gleams.

[alsohawkeye]

"Predictable," Kate replies. She sounds a little disappointed. She sounds like she'd sound more disappointed except she can't be bothered to care. It's partly true - she doesn't like surprises but sort of hoped for one anyway, hoped she'd get shown something she couldn't see on a highlight reel herself. Victors aren't really exempt from the monotony of life in Panem. Partly it's just calculated to piss Johanna off. Angry people fight more viciously, but that's Johanna all the time anyway. Pushing her over that edge from seething discontent to actual rage has a better chance of making her sloppy, making her overreach. Control isn't Johanna Mason's strongest suit, or so Kate's analysis has determined.

She doesn't wait to see how that assessment plays out once Johanna's picked up her axe, heading across the room to a rack of chopping weapons. Her shoes are thin and light but the soles are rubberized and tacky for traction, they make an odd sticky noise on the metal flooring as she goes. She bypasses the axe that's almost twin to Johanna's and takes up something more like a machete, single-edged with a curve. She turns it over in her hand, tossing and catching it once, getting a feel for the weight before she holds it up, dark brows inched upwards. "Any objection?"

[axeyou]

"None whatsoever."

It's true that there is a certain lack of control to Johanna. Part of her strength lies in that crazy edge that she's got, an unpredictability that makes her an unknown in a fight. But she's holding pretty still right now, her sweet little smile at odds with the wicked gleam of the axe in her hand. She has more confidence when she's armed; she stands a little taller, stares a little steadier. The choice was predictable, Kate is right about that, too. So what.

"I hope you're not expecting to use guards." She throws her axe up and lets it flip over, fall back into her hand--an easy, natural movement. "I only like real edges when I fight, even if it's for fun."

Another flip of her axe, and she glances at Kate, still wearing that little smile. "What are you going to teach me?"

Having an axe in her hand doesn't make Johanna forgetful. She hasn't forgotten Kate's look from last night, that heft of that superiority. But with an axe in her hand, Johanna can make them even. Cut her down to size.

[alsohawkeye]

Kate's strength is control and always has been. From maintaining that insipid exterior for the better part of a year to every shot she's taken with a bow before or since, the ability to hold herself in check and make deliberate choices has been an invaluable asset. Mental discipline is coupled with relentless training, until muscle memory and reflex can take over even on the rare (but not unprecedented) occasion that she struggles with focus.

Which isn't to say she doesn't still make impulsive choices, she's not actually perfect no matter how well she plays the part. Johanna got under her skin if only for a moment and here she is, shrugging as the other girl flips her axe, lifting the blade of her weapon to the light so she can test the edge against her thumb. It bleeds, and she smiles. "That's fine with me."

As for what she's going to teach, she just keeps smiling. Her teeth are perfect, canines sharp without need for filing. She sucks the pad of her thumb against them, lips closing around it until the worst of the blood is gone. She lets it go with a little pop, and flips the machete in her hand so the blade sends reflected light flashing around the room like a strobe. She's ready. "Come find out."

[axeyou]

Johanna watches Kate lift her hand, watches the flash of her teeth and the tuck of her thumb between her lips--and the pressure, then, of sucking at that digit. There's a pinch to her mouth, her lips gathered at the end of her thumb, concentrated. Blood and fighting and sex, all mixed together. Fine with me.

She keeps up her smile, sickly sweet. Her fingers are tight on the axe handle, her palms dry, her legs planted, steady. She stares at Kate for another few beats, and in her head, Johanna hears the echo of a countdown: Three. Two. One. Happy fucking Hunger Games.

Her launch forward is immediate. She takes Kate at a run, silent at first, and her other hand goes to grip at the axe, too, picking up a grip at the handle as she swings it back behind her--momentum doubled by the half -turn that she does, and just before she reaches Kate, she jumps, so when she swings down, the strength of that arc with be even greater. The blade of the axe bound right for Kate, and all that strength behind it--too much at once, maybe; maybe she should have feinted. Too late now.

[alsohawkeye]

Fighting and sex, all mixed together. It's not the thrill that links them for Kate, it's that they're both skills, tools, weapons to deploy against others. She learned the one before the Games and the other after but now they're both arrows in her more metaphorical quiver. (All the terrible jokes there have already been made by the press, you can be sure.) She knows how her lips around her thumb look from Johanna's perspective and she caught just enough of a hint of a something off her last night to make it worth a try. Maybe it distracts, maybe it annoys or otherwise unbalances, maybe it does nothing at all. Whatever.

When Johanna comes at her, she's ready to move on to the fighting. With the twist and the jump that strike has too much power behind it for Kate to catch it on her blade and push it aside like she'd planned, so instead she pivots and steps of of the way, lets all Johanna's force go slamming into the mat and strikes out with a foot where her head should be ending up.

[axeyou]

The blow doesn't land home, but Johanna hadn't expected it to, not the first one. It was too broad a gesture, telegraphed too directly--but Kate doesn't get a strike in against her, either. And the brutality of the move has a second meaning, like opening remarks: this isn't going to be a fun lighthearted thing between friends. It's not even really sparring for show.

The axe head bites into the mat with a deep thunk. It's wedged in pretty well, leaving Johanna sort of bent forward, her grip still on its shaft. But Kate is already moving, and she twists away--keeps her grip on the axe but leans back, uses that grip to swing herself toward Kate, a pivot into her pivot. Kate is still standing, so Johanna's shoulder ends up somewhere around her knee, but she drives into her all the same, trying to knock her off-balance--buy enough time to pull the axe out of the mat and go for her again--

[alsohawkeye]

Kate hears the axe sink in, sees it stick, and when Johanna doesn't immediately pull it free again she anticipates that need to buy time. So she's ready to get rushed, but Johanna comes lower than she'd counted on and she stumbles back some steps, on her heels and unbalanced, struggling to keep her feet. She strikes down with the butt of her weapon, the angle better and faster than trying to swing the blade (safer than trying to take off her arm - she could do it but would risk getting her own leg too), handle punched at Johanna's back, jabbed at her ribs.

She brings a knee up at the same time. It sacrifices balance, almost ensuring that she'll go down, but if she can drive it up into Johanna's chin it will be worth it.

[axeyou]

Both strikes hit home--first to her back, winding her, driving her forward--and then to her chin, a dizzying crack that sends her back again. It puts her briefly out of Kate's reach, only by a little--she'll close that distance soon enough, she's too good to leave a chance like this--but Johanna can't gather her wits for a second. She lays, dizzy from the force, no breath in her lungs--

Move, she orders herself, move move move, and with an angry exhale she rolls, sharply, to the side, shoves herself to her feet and goes for Kate again. This is with more intent than her first go--either a punch or a lock, depending on where Kate is and what she's doing--and she will have to stay clear of her weapon, she will have to disarm her if she can--but her primary intent is to get Kate by the hair, drive the heel of her hand into her eye, or up, sharp, at her nose, break it--

[alsohawkeye]

Kate lands on her ass as Johanna tumbles back, but she's quicker to return to her feet, springing upright, weapon still in hand. As expected, she advances, looking to take advantage of the stunning her blows have dealt while she can. But Johanna's tough and she gets up quicker than Kate had hoped (it's a moment of disappointment, but no surprise. She's seen all the footage, she watched those games live. She knows better than to expect Johanna to stay down long.).

She comes swinging and Kate dodges it, taking the blow on her cheek instead of her nose. It still rocks her head back and will leave a pretty bruise but there's no crunch of bone. She leans into the grip on her hair instead of trying to pull away, letting it keep Johanna close and lashing out with her weapon, slashing at her side and ribs in a hooked strike.

[axeyou]

Getting a hit on her is a success, no matter that it's off-target. She twists the grip in Kate's hair, ready to wrench her back, to hit her again--better this time, it will be better--but that twists her into Kate's strike, too, makes her an easy open target. Johanna rethinks as she sees the movement telegraphed--in the bunch of muscles and the heft of the weapon--but the realization comes too late for her to get away properly. At best she has time to try and twist aside, her fingers unknitting from their grip--

The blade catches at her side, bites in, slices--enough that Johanna's breath lets out in a hiss--but she turns so the full brunt of it skims off of her, pulls loose of Kate and steps away without a stumble. The cut is shallow but there is still blood; already her side feels a little sticky. She doesn't let it slow her--her turn has put her a little closer to her axe and she throws herself for it, rocks her weight against it to yank it out of its place in the mat.

[alsohawkeye]

The blade catches on Johanna's top as much as her flesh and it tears so when blood wells there's a flash of red against pale skin before it turns to just a dark stain adhering cloth to side. For a moment Kate's reminded of a different set of ribs, a fall of blood as slow as this one, slower than she'd expected when she'd stuck the blade in, after the sick pop she felt against her hand as it punched through. She shakes it off before she starts seeing his eyes instead of Johanna's, his stumble back instead of her race for her axe.

It's a struggle to divorce this from all the fights for her life, to find some middle ground between the blunt-bladed sparring she does with her trainers and fighting to kill. This isn't either - she doesn't want to kill Johanna no matter how annoying she is - but it's easy to forget that.

So here they are back where they started, on their feet, blades in hand. Kate is patient, poised, none the worse for wear than when they started except her hair come a bit loose. She makes a little gesture, a little waggle of her machete at Johanna. It should come with a smirk but there's none of it in her face. Bring it.

[axeyou]

The dampness seeps slowly into the fabric of Johanna's suit, but she ignores it. She stares, fixedly, at Kate, every muscle tensed and all her senses tuned forward. She isn't short of breath, and she isn't sweaty--they've barely grappled--but she is ready. Kate got first blood, but Johanna won't let that stand. Her eyes track the muscles of Kate's arms and legs, a quick hard glance, watching for any hint toward movement.

One second. Two, three. On four, that's when Kate makes that smirk, and Johanna's anger crashes up in her chest, hard, twisting her grip on her axe.

The fact that she reacts is predictable. Pride and anger are too much for her. But Johanna is still capable of being surprising, predictability and all, and she twists forward, abruptly, swings her axe around and throws it, right at Kate's face. No holds barred, not in this moment--though she's confident that Kate will twist away, that she'll be able to step aside--maybe she'll get an ear off at worst--but Johanna is determined to catch her, and jumps forward after her axe, with the intent to strike out and knock the machete from Kate's hand. If she gets the drop on her, her grip will be loose enough--and if they're bare-handed, Johanna will wrestle her down.

[alsohawkeye]

Kate has a split-second to recalculate when Johanna throws, but it's not enough. It's enough for her to avoid getting hit, for her to spring aside out of the way and let the axe fly past her face with the weird whump of it spinning through the air. It's enough to realize that Johanna must know that won't work, that it must be a distraction. But it's not enough to move and to realize and to compensate, and so when Johanna strikes Kate's hand is loose, her focus elsewhere. The machete tumbles to the floor, flipping end to end across the mat before falling a few feet away.

At least they're equally empty-handed, Kate thinks as Johanna attempts to get her to the ground. She resists, of course, trying to keep her feet beneath her. She lashes out to jab knuckles into the wound in Johanna's side - shallow doesn't mean it can't be tender. It's mean and kind of cheap, maybe unexpected given that she doesn't fight with the sort of raw nerve anger Johanna does. She's still calm and breathing even, every move she makes precise, well-chosen and well-practiced. She makes it look like chess. (She's always hated chess.) Her other hand fights off Johanna's grip, twisting and pulling while a foot lifts to stomp at the side of her knee.

[axeyou]

Leave it to Kate to pick the tender spot, to use the wound to her advantage. That's what you do to survive. Everyone who's won the Games knows that. A weakness is an opportunity, and you take whatever opportunities you're given. She can't even be mad at Kate, even if the pain, in the moment, makes her angry. She makes a single sharp noise, an exhalation with only the slightest tint of pain to it--

But when Kate goes to knock her leg out from under her, Johanna is ready. That quick recovery that helped to buy her victory in the Games, that comes in handy here. She lets Kate fight off her grip and instead goes low, bent like the pain of the jab has doubled her up--but instead she grabs hold of Kate's foot, her ankle, leg, tugs it close to her chest and throws herself down--one quick, sharp movement, dropping them both to the mat. She has to slap her palm against it to manage her own impact, but it's worth it. Even one-armed, if she gets Kate's leg in the right place, she could snap it. If not, they're both down, and she twists to try and lock her leg, hold it painfully twisted--

[alsohawkeye]

Kate goes down hard, hitting the mat with a thump and a huff of breath leaving lungs. It's not quite enough to really knock the wind out of her, she's spared that awful moment of paralysis, but there's an unavoidable rush of fear just at being brought down. So she's quick to haul herself up, letting the panic speed the process of getting limbs under her again.

It's not quick enough to avoid Johanna getting a hold on her leg and she knows immediately that pulling isn't going to free it. She has no desire to dislocate her knee if she can avoid it but she's also not tapping out (is tapping out even an option? it's not like they set rules here), so she strikes out with elbows, twisting to drive one at Johanna's face, then pound a couple more quick punches at her ribs until her fist comes away sticky with blood.

[axeyou]

She avoids the strike to her face--just barely, but she avoids it, heaves herself to the side a little--but Kate is quick to follow that up, striking at her ribs. Her elbow is sharp--first missing the cut, hitting just beside the, but the second strike catches exactly, hard, and the third is worse. Angry, Johanna makes a noise from between her teeth, shoving right past the pain. She hauls herself sideways, lets go of her leg--moves into Kate, meeting the fourth strike head on. The closeness throws her strike off, leaves Johanna space to maneuver right on top of Kate, straddling her just above the hips--shoves herself up, one hand scrabbling to hold Kate down, either by the throat or the shoulder, whatever she can get a grip one--and with her free hand, hauls back to try and punch her, right across the face, legs gripping hard to stay on top.

[alsohawkeye]

Kate's head snaps to the side with the punch, a solid crack of fist to face. She gives herself a little shake, tilting back to center, and smiles.

"Are you going to hit me, or just sit there?" It's a particularly blatant bit of goading and Kate's expression is infuriatingly placid. Some part of her wishes there were blood between her teeth right now to complete the picture but she's had too much practice taking a punch to have bitten anything accidentally. She'll take another if Johanna will give it, but this time she's ready. When her arm comes across Kate reaches up for a lock, pulls in the direction of Johanna's momentum and heaves them over. Those legs keep their grip but now Kate's weight is between them.

She doesn't have the position or the leverage to sit up and get a punch off, so settles for trying to wrap an arm around Johanna's neck, looking to get a lock and pull her head in for a good smothering.

[axeyou]

Kate's plan works--because of course Johanna is going to hit her again, because she can be controlled and patient, she proved that in the Arena--but in the moment, bloody and ready, all instinct and fight, it is harder to think so clearly. In some other circumstance, maybe she could still manage it, but she has never done very well with goading.

The easy switch of control happens so quickly it might be dizzying. One minute on top, the next with her head slammed back against the mat, and Kate on top of her instead, a warm pressure. Johanna tucks her chin a little in the roll, trying to think, but the force throws her out of that, leaves her open for that lock, and the next she knows she's pulled in close to Kate.

And this is a friendly fight, only a friendly fight, this should be a game. It's hard not to see it as something else, to look at Kate and not see rival, killer, feel like she's got to go for a knife. Johanna feels that way about all of them, always, in parties and at dinners and watching parades. You'll get used to them, Finnick has told her, you'll even probably start liking them--you like me, don't you?--but Johanna doesn't know that she ever will, both wants to and doesn't.

Regardless of feeling, instinct kicks in, overrides everything. When Kate pulls her in close, Johanna twists to get away--a good move, one from training--but she needs more, she needs an edge, she needs an out, and when she twists her head she bites. Just a little, more a scrape of her teeth than a real proper chomp, but still, unmistakably, a bite--snakes her hands between them and digs the heels of her hands against Kate's ribs, like to heave her off--

[alsohawkeye]

Kate almost brought a knife. She had to remind herself to pull it out of its hiding place and put it down before Johanna arrived, and it was exactly a moment like this that she was thinking of when she did it. It's not the way Johanna fights her, it's her own leverage pinning her down, the arm snug around her throat that makes this the moment to stick a blade between her ribs and end it. It would be over so quickly she probably wouldn't even know. Kate can feel it in her arm, the itch to reach for where that weapon should be, how easy a motion it would be, so little real thought required.

But it isn't there and Johanna bites her shoulder, which she should have seen coming. There's a scrambling moment as she pushes at her ribs and Kate shifts her weight and changes her hold, weight pressed down through hips and knees so she can arch up and drive Johanna's head away. Instead of pulling her close into elbow and chest she pushes her into the mat, forearm braced across her throat.

It puts them face to face, an absurd moment of intimacy Johanna now has in common with the people Kate has killed this way. And she has killed this way - there's too much in her face to believe otherwise even if it weren't in her montage (there's been another since but that's for Snow's highlight reel, not hers even if it's playing in her head right now). Training and instinct and tenacity and revulsion all jumbling up behind eyes that should be dead and cold like a shark's by now. They aren't, but she doesn't ease off.