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Johanna is used to life in the Capitol at this point. It's just one month per year where she doesn't have control of her body, of her time, of anything, and she has to constantly brace herself for horrors. Well, she supposes she will never get used to it, really, because how can you ever get used to sitting in a room with 11 other people, headset on, watching your monitors, thinking about how to help a thirteen year old who can't fucking see and then watching her be decapitated? But at this moment, the Games are over, and she's riding in a car to fuck knows where, and she's used to that at least, because that's how it always is.
Cashmere is sitting across from her, in some stupid flowy dress, her hair curled like she's in one of those pre-Quell movies, and Plutarch is there too, in his tan suit, his belly stretching the buttons. The stylists had dressed Johanna in linen pants and a green sleeveless shirt, and she can already feel herself sweating on the record hot day.
They arrive at the airstrip at the edge of the city, the mountains just beyond. It's afternoon, and the sun is high overhead, and Cashmere has sunglasses — of course she does — but Johanna is squinting against the light. She sees Peacekeepers here, at least a half-dozen of them in their uniforms, rifles in hand, and she's sure there's more in the turrets that can shoot down the planes, in the airport, other places out of sight.
She sees a plane on the runway unlike anything she's ever seen before. Not like the jet that interrupted the Tribute Parade, and not like any hovercraft she's ever seen in Panem. This thing was undoubtedly foreign. Her heart begins to swell as she realizes, or at least she thinks she understands what's happening.
A second car arrives a few minutes later, followed by a third. From the second car Johanna sees the two diplomats, the tall blonde woman and the man with the strong accent, and from the third car she sees the pilot emerge in handcuffs, flanked by two Peacekeepers. The pilot doesn't look up. She keeps her eyes on the pavement as they walk her forward towards the beautiful, gleaming white airplane that was going away from Panem.
Johanna isn't sure why she's here, but she thinks that it's probably why she was sent down to see the pilot: as a reminder to her, from Snow, that she is nothing, that she is trash and will remain trash. Cashmere is here for a similar reason, she thinks, and to reassure the diplomats that everything is good in Panem. And Plutarch is here as a representative of the state, here in Snow's stead.
It disgusts her, really. She wants to shake Cashmere, to show her how the wool has been pulled down over her eyes, that her life in the Capitol that she thinks "isn't so bad" is actually hell. But mostly, she doesn't want these people — the only people to come to Panem from outside maybe ever — to slip away just like that.
The pilot has been loaded onto the airplane, and the diplomats are following. They step forward to meet with Cashmere, Johanna, and Plutarch. "Thank you for your hospitality," the blonde woman says, "And for sparing the life of Marta."
"We are sorry to meet under such circumstances, but pleased it could work out. Please, have a safe trip home." Plutarch shakes her hand.
The man follows behind, looking at Cashmere, and then Johanna. "You'll be alright?" he asks.
Johanna realizes her nails are digging into her palms so hard her fists are trembling. She releases her right hand to shake his hand and opens her mouth, but the words are caught for just a moment. Will she be alright? She'd been alright for this long. She hadn't died at least. But she already isn't alright. She'd done morphling with Seneca Crane on a whim, because she was not alright at the start of the Games. She'd asked herself every day since if it would have been easier if she, too, had just peacefully died in her sleep.
"We'll be alright," Cashmere confirms, before Johanna can say anything at all.
The man looks at her once more, before turning away. He and the blonde woman walk up the stairs to the plane, and Johanna is left standing between Cashmere and Plutarch, in the middle of Panem, where she knows she will remain for the rest of her life.
She wants to go with them. She realizes it then, that the only chance she has is to get on that plane. Her family is dead, what did she have to lose? She runs forward, trying to get to the plane before they bring up the stairs. She is not prepared for Cashmere to tackle her from behind, for her chin to hit pavement. And now that she'd decided to run, the inertia makes her angry. She squirms until she's on her back, swinging punches up at Cashmere, who's a specter over her, backlit by the sun.
"Fuck you let me go!"
"Stop it, you're not thinking straight!"
She gets a good punch in, knocking Cashmere back, and she gets to her feet to run again, but she's hit in the side with a baton by a Peacekeeper. From the ground on the airstrip, she hears the jets turn on on the airplane. She wonders if they're watching from inside.