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]

Just roll over and take it. Kate's not sure if she'd rather laugh or punch Johanna in her stubborn face. The sudden roil of anger is reminiscent of the night before, the way the dig about her Tributes dying had gotten under her skin, just for a second. It's nothing, she reminds herself, it's not really personal, it's not like Johanna actually knows about all the times she's done just that, metaphorically and otherwise. Except maybe it is. She could know, if not firsthand at least from Finnick, from the times they've crossed paths. But whatever, so what if she does. Johanna just flings attacks left and right until inevitably something finds a crack somewhere. She can't let her win that easily.

She lets the moment pass, nails dug into her palm beneath the cuff of her sweater.Another set of crescent shaped scars in the making for her stylists to scrub out. She smiles, long-suffering, but doesn't quite bother to hide the faint threat of an edge creeping into her tone.

"Fine, let's do it your way. I can slag you and your backwoods hovel of a district off for ten minutes, or ten hours, or however many times we have to do this. The spotlight is where I live anyway, I'm not the one who's going to be inconvenienced here. We'll see who wears it better."

[axeyou]

Whatever pride that isn't personal, whatever sentimentality is left in Johanna--she keeps both for District 7. This isn't like some kid at school swaggering around saying his team is better. The superiority of District 7 is something that Johanna proved herself. Really, it was Johanna that won the 71st Games. She is a product of her District; she grew up throwing axes, climbing trees, living outdoors. Careers might train so they can volunteer, so they can get some glory, but Johanna never trained with an eye toward anything. She just took what she had and she used it, and she killed them all. No matter what else she feels, she is still proud of her win. No one can take that feeling away from her. No one can hollow that victory, not completely.

And all of that means one thing: this stuck-up bitch from District 1 has no idea of what she's talking about. She's a Victor, too, but so what. The spotlight; Johanna's lip curls.

"I know about you and the spotlight, Katie. Don't worry." She nods toward the screen, where the news report carries on. "I've gotten to watch you all of these years, all your interviews, the exclusive news spots. Remember when you were getting ready for your Games, watching all those training videos, all those replays of your fellow Tributes? You were planning out how you'd kill them."

She can say that with confidence, because that's what they all do. Watching footage of the past Games, counting the different ways to achieve a victory. Johanna's method had shaded similar to Kate's, but it wasn't inspired by her. That's not how this story goes.

"I've had all this time to watch you. I'm not anyone get the better of me, especially not you."

[alsohawkeye]

"You say that like you think I haven't done it since." Kate's smile is slender, just the faintest curve at the corners of her mouth, and doesn't reach her eyes at all. "Do you look at anyone without planning how you'd kill them?" The faint note of incredulity isn't put-on; maybe some victors manage to break that habit somehow but she has no doubt Johanna isn't one.

She twists at the waist, collecting a tumbler from a side table, an inch of liquor in the bottom. She sips and swirls the remainder with a turn of her wrist, making no offer to her guest. "If you're not going to agree to play then I don't think we have anything to talk about. I'll see you tomorrow."

[axeyou]

The answer is: no. Johanna can't be in a room with someone without planning out just how she'd kill them. It's in part a paranoid impulse and in part a constant mode of extreme preparation. She stares back at Kate, flat and dark and angry, always angry--her hands tight on nothing, on the invisible haft of some axe that she does not have right now.

And then she turns and she just leaves, without preamble or retort. The door slides shut behind her. The first escort that steps in to meet her, Johanna shoves him, hard, against the wall, and does not look around at his noise of pain and protest.

But later, Kate proves to be right yet again. Remarks are prepared and delivered to Johanna in her suite. She stares at the words, and she throws the tablet across the room with an angry shriek. The shatter of the glass does not satisfy her. She wants this to be so much worse, because what they've prepared for her is so much worse.

A romance. A fucking romance with Kate Bishop. Whose idea was this, what Gamemaker--or stylist--who, who the fuck can she blame, and who can she kill? She will not do this, she vows that to herself. She strides over to the shattered tablet and picks up the biggest piece, and throws that across the room again, heedless of the way the glass cuts at her palm. She will not fucking do this.

See you tomorrow Kate had said. The Mentors meeting, when the first alliances are made. There's always a press-conference afterwards.

"No," Johanna says aloud, glaring up at the ceiling. She'd look crazy if it wasn't a known fact that there are cameras in here.

[alsohawkeye]

Kate considers going and pounding on Johanna's door. She gets all the way down the hall, even, before she turns around and goes back. It's too much like what Johanna did, it puts them too much on the same level and the last thing she wants right now is to be on the same level as Johanna fucking Mason.

So she waits. She goes back to her suite and she beats the shit out of some decor, and then she sits in the mess and she memorizes her lines and she drinks on her balcony and she lets her stylists work their magic and she stalks the hall outside the lounge where the Mentors' meeting is going to be and she waits.

And when Johanna comes by she'll find herself grabbed by the arm out of nowhere and jerked into an alcove, pushed into the wall. Kate's voice is low and hard and clipped off by sharp teeth, the severity of tone and expression a match for the hard lines and angles of her dress, the tightly slicked pull of her hair.

"I hope you're planning to go out there and play along, since this whole debacle is your fault."

[axeyou]

She was angry before she set foot in the room, angry before she even got in the elevator--went to bed angry last night and woke up angry this morning--but being wrenched off to the side by Kate Bishop just makes Johanna even angrier.

She yanks her arm out of Kate's grasp, though she doesn't any anywhere to go after she's free. Kate has pushed her back quite literally to the wall and is mostly blocking the way out of their tense little tête-à-tête in the alcove.

If anyone says anything about a lover's quarrel, later, Johanna will personally scalp them and leave them for dead. Overzealous Capitol fan or fellow Victor who wants a laugh, she doesn't care.

Right now, she settles for leveling her glare on Kate, as if the force of it is enough to scalp and kill her. Her dress is evergreen, the skirt in soft folds of a plush velvet, the bodice of tight-fitted satin. Her shoulders are bare, but the intricate spiderwebbed gold-and-green necklace makes it look a little like she's wearing a shawl that clasps at her neck. Or a collar, maybe.

"You can't blame me if I wasn't allowed to blame you," she spits at Kate. "I'm not going to do it. And fuck you for thinking you can force me into it."

[alsohawkeye]

Kate is in blue. It's light instead of the dark tones they usually have her in, but it does nothing to soften her look; it's like the inside of a glacier.

She doesn't reach to hold Johanna physically but she's in her space, blocking her path, looming in. It's not hard to tell she's angry, but she has herself on as short a leash as ever, shoulders strung tight with a tension she only barely lets eat away at the chill control of her tone.

"This was going to be easy, but then you had to refuse. You had to put your foot down where they could hear you and now look at what it is." It's possible this was going to be the Capitol's plan all along but it's much more satisfying to blame Johanna, to have an outlet she can actually glare at and threaten. "Do you want to see what it turns into if you refuse again? Do you want people to die because you won't smile for a couple cameras?"

[axeyou]

"Easy?"

She laughs, right in Kate's face. Who cares what Kate will do, or what she'll say. Johanna is angry enough that she's not thinking much beyond this moment. She lifts her chin, her smile more a grim set of her teeth than anything with real expression.

"Don't try and make this my fault. I'm not going to fall for your bleeding heart story, and I'm not humiliating myself for anyone."

There's no one left for them to kill anyways. There's some feeling in Johanna, when she thinks that--but it's so distant it's like it doesn't matter, like it belongs to someone else entirely. It doesn't occur to her to think of what family Kate might have, to sort back in what she knows about her to remember what other Bishops might be left. She doesn't have any room for pity, or for sympathy. Not for anyone.

"And if you're asking me for a favor," and there is so much acidity in that last word, "then you're going to have to ask a little more nicely. And I'm still going to say no."

[alsohawkeye]

All the acid in that word is in Kate's eyes, a raw and building rage that has her struggling not to slam Johanna's skull into the wall. It's harder to dig nails into her palm when they're fake and painted but she does her best, letting one snap off and just digging in harder.

"I will owe you a favor," she growls through her teeth like someone is literally twisting her arm to make her say it. As if this wasn't already unpleasant enough. "I don't want to do this either. I'll help avoid as much of it as we can but for godssake, it's not like they're asking us to fuck on Flickerman's couch! You'd let people die to avoid being seen together a couple times a month and lying on camera a little more than we already do?"

[axeyou]

"Oh, you'll owe me so much more than a favor." She spits that word at Kate, too--like a favor is going to be enough to count for anything. What a weak offer. "You can shove that favor of yours right up your ass, Katie. Where are all of these people who are dying? This is about you and me."

But as soon as she's said it, she knows that it isn't true. And she realizes, too, what it is that Kate is getting at. The people that she talks about: she means her people. Whoever they are, wherever they are--District 1 gets so many special privileges and honors, and all of their wealth could nearly fool you into thinking of them like another bunch of brainless Capitolites. But they're a District, too. They need controlling.

There is still no pity in Johanna, when she stares at Kate. But a little more understanding filters into her head, even through the hot burn of her anger. Everybody's got to look out for themselves. More people means more weakness.

"But you can start trying, if you want," she offers, with icy and deliberate patience. "How are you going to help us avoid it? And what favors are you going to give me?"

[alsohawkeye]

"No, it isn't." More people means more weakness and Kate has so many people. So many people and so little else that would be of value to Johanna. She's a little surprised to find she's not numb to it by this point - that being helpless like this doesn't ever stop making her want to stab something, that begging doesn't ever stop making her feel sick. But it does get easier, to shove it down, to do it anyway. She's done too much already to quit doing anything necessary now.

"What do you want?" Her tone is demanding, like this isn't a capitulation. "You want money? Furs? Jewels?" It's all rhetorical, she says it like of course you don't. She's honestly out of ideas that aren't snark. "Diamond-plated axes? You want me to tell everyone you kick my ass twice a week? That I let you be on top? What do you want?"

[axeyou]

The sarcasm, the sharpness--Johanna can read both of those well enough. Even without any deep context, it adds an index to her story. But it also gives Johanna the upper hand in this--and that's got to hurt, from Kate's perspective. From District 1 to District 12, from citizen to Victor, they all spend so much of their lives without the upper hand. It must be nice to pretend that you can forget that. It would be nice to let Kate forget, to be cooperative and understanding and cut Kate some slack.

Johanna isn't nice.

She folds her arms over her chest, unmoved all through Kate's list. The last few get a smirk out of her, but she doesn't say anything for a moment, even after Kate's finished. She lets her stand there for a moment, makes her wait for it, before she says: "You don't have anything I want. How does that feel?"

Totally at her mercy, and Johanna isn't merciful. If she doesn't go along with this, the Capitol will dream something up for her, too. Some punishment. They're good at that. But Kate will get it worse and she knows it. She has more to lose.

"I want three favors." She keeps her eyes on Kate, without a flicker to her resolve. "And I want them left undefined. I get to use them whenever I want, and you don't get to protest. That's the only thing I'll accept from you."

[alsohawkeye]

Kate has no leverage at all and they both know it. She hadn't really seriously expected Johanna to show sympathy but maybe she'd hoped - if not for sympathy at least some understanding. That some sort of Victor kinship might win out. But frankly she's lucky Johanna's only asking for three. If it were five or ten or whatever she wants as long as this goes on the only thing Kate could do is threaten to kill her and there's not much hope of that working. She could actually kill her, but that's a gamble. Maybe the Capitol would be glad to be rid of her, but they're bound to take it out on Kate somehow even so.

So Johanna has her over a barrel and Kate is suddenly done with this conversation, her stomach for bargaining or even just being in Johanna's proximity gone. "Fine," she says, throwing up a hand, "Three favors. Hell, have four. Whatever. It feels just like any other day." She turns on a heel and exits the alcove as abruptly as she'd dragged Johanna into it.

She'll show up at the meeting later and circulate and play her part, but first she's going to go find a different secluded corner to press her forehead to the cool of the wall and imagine smashing a dark head to bits against it. Hers, Johanna's, whatever.

And then there's the press conference. She's there on time, lines memorized complete with inflection and choreographed smiles and significant looks. Before they made the deal she'd convinced someone to cut down Johanna's part, to let Kate do most of the talking. She slow-plays it, doesn't abandon the role she's been mastering for years by laying it on too thick but lets the audience start to see some cracks, just a hint here and there that maybe someone could melt the ice queen. If this thing crashes and burns it won't be because she fucked up.

[axeyou]

The less Johanna has to say, the better. She can wear a smile like anyone else. She's had good practice at smiling when she wants to rip someone's face off with her teeth. That's a nice thought, she thinks, as she surveys the room.

Grudgingly, she has to admit that Kate does a good job. Johanna knows good acting when she sees it, and Kate plays just vulnerable enough under her cool calm to suggest that there is a depth to her that has been long unplumbed--until now. Ooh, lucky girl, Johanna Mason, getting to know her so well. How the fuck do they expect this story to hold water?

She doesn't want to do this. But she's got her agreement with Kate, and she'll be damned if she's not going to at least keep up. So when the mediator of the conference--a bubbly woman with literal bubbles in her hair, shimmering and iridescent globes around which her blonde-and-pink frosted hair has been carefully curled--when that cutsey Capitolite turns to Kate to ask her next question, Johanna puts her hand down on the table, right in front of Kate.

"Can I say something?" she asks, and then raises her hand to cover her lips, with a smile that someone might read as embarrassed, but also--just a little!--pleased. "I'm sorry. I wanted to ask," and this is right to the mediator, who looks dazed, but still happy--permanently happy, that smile is probably stapled to her face-- "Have you seen the footage? Of our fight?"

"Yes," the mediator says, with a little giggle, "well, everyone has!"

"Great." Johanna's smile takes on just a little smirk. "So who do you think won?"

[alsohawkeye]

It's a ridiculous story, Kate has to agree. If it were one of them and somebody else (somebody likeable, for instance) maybe she could see it being believed. She knows how many fans like to imagine if they just had the chance they could be the one to coax a Victor open to find some soft center, or break them apart to find the weak points. But Johanna and Kate are two of the least personable of the pack; either of them softening up the other with anything but a sledgehammer? Come on.

She can't imagine it will work but she does her best to sell it anyway. Best case scenario in a week or two the Capitol sees it won't work despite their best efforts and scraps it and they can all walk away. And then she'll never have to smile at Johanna Mason again like she is right now, just a tiny little smile, barely a curve at the corners of her mouth but suggesting an affection that is the opposite of what she feels.

Johanna interrupts and sets her hand in front of Kate and Kate reaches like it's automatic, sets her hand on top of Johanna's, strokes her thumb in a gesture that seems discreet except for how easily the hundred cameras will pick it up.

"You shouldn't put her on the spot," she chides, low and dry. The mediator titters because that's about 60% of what she does anyway. Maybe it comes with the smile.

"It was very close," Kate says to her, watching as the latest bobble of her head sends a tiny bubble floating free. It settles on the table, and Kate pops it with a finger. "Everyone can have their opinion. I know we do." We, like they agree on anything.

[axeyou]

The mediator is smiling at Kate, the cameras are on Kate. Johanna stares down at her hand, where Kate's thumb traces an invisible path along her hand, up to her knuckle. She thinks about snapping Kate's finger right off--with her hands, with her teeth. That would be a show.

Instead, she looks up, with a coy little smile.

"It was close," she agrees, and drops her tone a little, lets it sharpen, just a little--more teasing than sincere. The balance to strike here is key. Everyone knows her reputation, and everyone knows Kate's. "So when are we going to have a rematch?"

The mediator giggles, touches her fingers to her cheek, as she looks directly into the camera. "My, my," and she fans herself, puffs her lips out-- "We can only hope that we'll be privy to that rematch. But first--your Tributes." All business, she turns back to them. "Will your relationship create avenues for new alliances? Or is all really fair, in love and in war?"

[alsohawkeye]

Kate flicks a glance down like she's just realized what she's doing, and pulls her hand away. She doesn't snatch it back, that would only draw attention, but slowly shifts it back into her lap. Let it look like she's self-conscious about revealing something she hadn't meant to.

At talk of a rematch she just smiles, one of those cool, noncommittal little things she's better known for, that only merits the name because of the name she's made for herself. She sits impassive as the mediator gets bothered over the idea of it, looking once at Johanna, letting her gaze scan down her throat before she turns back. "I couldn't say, that may be something we prefer to keep to ourselves." Her tone is a pair with her most recent smile but the answer itself is entirely suggestive; surely they wouldn't deny their public the pleasure of seeing that fight. Unless--.

Moving on.

"Certainly it creates an avenue for discussion of alliances," she replies, her smile very slightly larger this time, more polite, like she appreciates the change of topic (because she does). "But whether anything comes of it is a decision that involves more than just ourselves. While it would be-- pleasant-- to be on the same team for a time, it will depend what the other Mentors from our districts and our generous sponsors prefer. Our time here together is very brief, but the Games must come first."

[axeyou]

Unless: that little hint, left hanging, leaves a promise that the Capitolites will eat up. It will also mean that they're watched more closely, people trying to gain access to private areas for-- what? The hope of seeing something more titillating than teasing words? Johanna's smile harshes a little, but the focus is on Kate.

Her answer suffices; the mediator applauds, pleased by this display of fairness and honor and good sportswomanship, the tips of her fingers bumping lightly against the flat of her hand. And everything moves on, more questions for the group--the promise of another exciting Hunger Games, and the wrap-up. Once the lights go down, the room descends into the hubbub of murmured conversation. Some of the Mentors really do like each other, after all, but Johanna heaves herself to her feet, detaching from even the hint of closeness, with Kate. She tugs sharply at her skirt, fluffing it out.

"Happy?"

[alsohawkeye]

Kate doesn't move as Johanna rises. She would've gotten up and gone on her way but standing now would bring them closer together and with no one left to see that's the last thing Kate wants. The sound of Johanna fiddling with her skirt in the dark makes her almost smile, at the sheer absurdity of all of this. Happy.

"Thrilled, darling," she drawls, reply all acid. She hooks an arm back over the chair and lounges, feigning an ease she doesn't feel, and turns aside to speak to the victor at her left, quick to move on, quick to cut Johanna out.

Their first performance is well-received. Clips of the footage air a half-dozen more times that night alone, and commentary is both plentiful and excitable. But the Capitol isn't really in the habit of dispensing praise for a job well done, so the only thing Kate and Johanna get the next morning is a new set of instructions and scripts. Things have gone well, sure, but the timing is key and they need to act quickly to cement this in the public's minds, so the next step is a public outing, where "candid" shots will be snapped "without their knowledge" showing them "overtly affectionate".

Kate passes the time and location to her stylists, and as they bustle about preparing an outfit, planning her hair, she rolls her eyes and spreads jam on her croissant.

[axeyou]

Happy.

Johanna thinks of that word a lot in the day and night that follow. Happy, ha ha. It's stupid to get so worked up about this--what's one thing more, right? After everything she's been told to do, and asked to do, and made to do. After everything they've done to her. This is nothing. Image stuff, probably designed as a sort of punishment. But maybe it's that aspect of punishment that makes it smart the way that it does. She's kept quiet. She's played her part, with a few notable exceptions--but all that is in the past, they tell her, only because they don't have anyone left to kill. She comes to the Capitol and she goes to the parties and they still find ways to fuck with her, just because they can. Because they're bored.

The plot enchants her stylists. Johanna wants to bite off their fingers, one by one. They prep her in a flurry of fabrics and brushes, assuring her of just how happy they are for her. Like they aren't in on the falseness of this whole thing. Maybe she shouldn't be so hard on the idiots. They're just excited that they get to do something fun--for her, they insist, over and over, but of course it's for themselves.

The afternoon will be spent in one of the more private of the public gardens. Johanna, dressed in green satin. Slits are sliced high in the skirt, nearly up to her hips, and show bare leg when she moves. Heels weren't her strong suit when she'd first come to the Capitol, but she'd learned them in no time, and she walks like they're nothing even on the cobbles of the garden path. The bodice of the dress is so gauzy it's nearly transparent, but a gesture toward modesty has been made in the form of the metal piece hat fits over her breasts, with cups in the shape of leaves. A delicate gold chain holds it all in precarious place, encircling her neck and ribcage, loose enough that it jingles, faintly, when she walks. Her hair is worn extra long today, nearly down to the middle of her back. Gold vines twine down from her temples, fall around her face like curls, but they do nothing to soften the clench of her jaw.

And yet, at least, she's outside. She's not happy, but she's not in 7's suite, and she's not in a training room, and she's not at another banquet or ball. This is shitty, but she feels more in her element. And it's not like Kate is happy about it, either.

Carelessly, she looks around as she walks among the verge of roses and greenery. She isn't looking for Kate. Maybe Kate won't even show, she thinks, dully--but of course she will. She's got something to lose.

[alsohawkeye]

Kate's stylists are excited, if less than Johanna's. She wasn't lying about being more in the spotlight than 7's victor, and she's in the Capitol more frequently, has been around longer, so the sheen of getting to dress her up for a date or an appearance has worn off. But this is the most high-profile she's been in at least a year, and there's an added energy and anxiety to their preparations Kate does her best to ignore.

She's far from happy but she's over being angry about this. Johanna is infuriating and the whole thing is a stupid pain in the ass she doesn't need, but compared to the other options she's more than content to go sit in a garden and pretend she doesn't want to strangle her all day.

At least they're outside, that much they might agree on. She wonders if she can convince the producers of this affair to let them go hiking or something next time - a nod to Johanna's roots, a chance to forego the heels, maybe even get out of the city. It's worth an ask, at least, and she makes a note to do so. Today, though, she's in blue again, silk darker than the press conference, lapis to match the collection of gems in her ear, each sapphire stud linked by an elaborate web of delicate silver chains that dangle like a fringe. There's a matching net connecting the dress to thick silver torque, the high fashion equivalent of a choke-collar. She laughed a little when she saw it.

She arrives on time, because that's what she does, and is already perched on a bench in a quiet corner near a twisting, multi-colored fountain, brushing away a leaf that falls into the elaborate, blue-streaked pile of her hair. She has a palm-sized tablet, and after giving their schedule a final once-over has been scrolling through the news. When Johanna passes, she rises, and lifts a hand. "Johanna!" She sounds pleased to see her, because it'd be a shame to botch this from the beginning.

[axeyou]

The brightness of Kate's tone, however false, sends a finger of revulsion down Johanna's spine. She does not like cheerfulness. But she's determined not to fuck up, to match Kate success for success. If this is a lie she's going to tell, then she's going to be very good at telling it, just because she can. It's sort of fitting, considering the similarities of their victories. Both of them are liars.

But half of her act is angry. She can get away with a little brittleness. Kate is pale in blues and silvers, like someone's vision of a moon goddess. Disgusting, Johanna thinks, but she lets her eyes trail over Kate's form beneath her dress.

"Hi," she says. Not a lover's greeting, but whatever, she's no lover. She comes to stand beside Kate's bench, to offer her a hand up. "Don't you look nice. Your stylists are always outdoing themselves."

[alsohawkeye]

Would it make her feel any better to know that Kate hates the sound of it almost as much as Johanna does? This sort of thing doesn't make her skin crawl or her stomach churn, not anymore, but it still sounds wrong coming out of her mouth. So she drops it, as soon as Johanna is near enough to offer that assistance. She smiles, and she reaches up to clasp her hand, but her tone is flat and her grip is loose.

"They shouldn't be able to hear us from here. As long as we act the part it doesn't matter what we really say." So don't bother with the compliments she doesn't believe. Kate stands so smoothly the only pull Johanna will feel is a re-positioning, not an ounce of Kate's weight lifted by anything but her own power. She holds onto Johanna's hand for another moment anyway, gives it a squeeze visible in the way Kate's fingers conspicuously clasp around hers and then lets go with a brief rumple of her brow that passes as a show of hesitation, second-guessing the public display or its end.

"If we stick to the formal gardens it will be quieter. We can do a lap and then sit for a little while and that should be enough." That and the whole overt affection part they're supposed to be demonstrating today, of course.

[axeyou]

"Good."

Johanna answer is harsh, spit out through her smile, but she means it. The news of isolation--relative isolation only; someone is always listening in the Capitol--is more than welcome, a precious commodity in a place where all eyes are always on them. Fucking celebrity life, right?

She twists her hand to squeeze back at Kate's, before she can let go--not a gesture of affection, of course, but an answering one. Never one to be outdone, that's Johanna Mason. Only a moment of that; then she threads her fingers through Kate's, palm to palm. They're here on a ate, after all.

"Then let's get started. And I wasn't kidding about the dress," she adds, with a lift of her head, a look cast downward. "It's really hot."

[alsohawkeye]

It's a weird moment, or couple of moments, as Johanna squeezes her hand and links their fingers together and calls her dress hot. Each of them individually make sense (sort of), the hand-holding shit definitely does given their cover and Johanna's tendency to push back but then suddenly do and 180 and go all in to one-up her in faking it.

But all together in a little cluster of unexpected things it makes for a strange moment and Kate has some trouble parsing it. So yes, fine, points to Johanna. Well played. She can have satisfaction in the form of Kate's pale and perfect brow briefly creasing, in the glance down at their hands that follows the contact of her palm and the remark about her dress. But that's it, because after that moment Kate recovers.

"If your stylists are ever willing to take some pointers I know mine would be happy to help. They have lots of ideas about how to dress you better."