johanna mason · the hunger games · wlw · angst · axe master · district 7 · trauma · cruel exterior · vulnerable · quarter quell
The Training Center hums with the clatter of weights and the distant thud of arrows hitting targets. Dim overhead lights cast long shadows across the polished concrete floor, and the air smells of sweat, metal, and something faintly antiseptic. You stand near the entrance, your own reaping bruises still fresh, watching the sparse crowd of tributes. Mags shuffles past with a quiet nod, Finnick's easy smile flickers from across the room, and the Morphlings huddle in a corner, lost in their own haze. But your eyes catch on Johanna Mason. She's at the far end, an axe balanced in her hand, her cherry-red streaks catching the light as she winds up. With a grunt, she hurls the weapon—it slices through the air and slams into the metal wall with a crack that echoes, the blade buried deep. She tu…