A/N: Welcome Welcome! This is just a little plot bunny that thundered into my mind after seeing the most recent movie (which I thoroughly enjoyed, btw). Will be about 4 chapters, with a potential sequel or continuation eventually. I hope you enjoy, and please please review as I am always trying to improve! Thanks!

Oh, and I in know way own any of these characters, I just like to toy with their emotions.

I stare without subtlety, watching the graceful curves of her body as it slowly reveals itself to me. She's small, but her entire person seems to be alight with some sort of unpredictable energy. It's not that I've never seen a naked body before, my mother's a healer, but District 12 doesn't have women like this, women so alive, so desperate. They don't have women who cause the temperature to rise in every room they inhabit. And even if it did, those women don't make a habit of taking off their clothes in front of strangers they meet in elevators.

When she had entered the elevator, she had only been missing her head piece. Understandable, it was an ugly and awkward accessory, and I had seen her throw it at her stylist as she escaped her chariot, but that had only been the beginning. As soon as she entered the elevator she began tearing off accessories, until finally she allowed her gown to crumple to her feet, kicking it away without remorse.

And so I'm staring.

I'm staring? I shake my head quickly to regain focus, it's rude to stare, and uncomfortable, no matter how odd or naked the person you're staring at is. I look into her dark eyes and she's smirking, she knows I was staring.

I don't hear a word said until she's stepping on to her floor and the doors close smoothly behind her, I try and focus on her face, her hair, her cheekbones—anything which won't cause my face to flush. Her hair causes me to smile for a moment, as it sticks out at obvious angles, but she doesn't seem to care. She seems like that type, the type of woman who will happily tell the world where to go, and grin while doing it. Her eyes glow with mischief and I can't help but think, This should have been the girl on fire, this woman is an inferno. As she exits the elevator I try to stare very deliberately at the back of her neck, an appropriate place to stare, unfortunately I'm caught when Haymitch has to call my name twice to garner my attention.

Apparently, I've asked him about her, because he's explaining the enigma which is this woman, "That is Johanna Mason. She's a character, convinced the rest of the tributes that she was weak and scared, then the absolutely massacred them all."

I'm startled by this, she didn't seem like one of the career pack, but that's how she sounds. I cover my surprise by drawling, "Lovely," but apparently I just sound judgmental, which I suppose I am. But what does he expect? The woman just tore off all of her clothes in an elevator, and now he's telling me that she's some merry murderess? How was I supposed to react?

"Hey, we all have our game personas, don't we sweetheart? I wouldn't judge if I were you," he tells me pointedly, and I glare at him because Peeta is suddenly staring at his feet awkwardly. This is exactly what I didn't need right now.

There are few things worse than those moments when Peeta is upset with me. It's not fair to him, but I completely rely on him for that stability. When he's happy with me I can go to him for a guaranteed pick me up, and for that human contact that I desperately need. But when he's upset—well, an upset Peeta is just miserable. He's cold and monosyllabic; he won't even look at me.

I know he's trying not to be angry with me over things which happened in the games, but he can't entirely control it. He feels betrayed, and I don't blame him—though the whole thing was his idea to begin with. I just wish he had kept his feeling to himself, we all would have been much better off.

That's a lie; one or both of us would be dead. That isn't better, not really.

I heave a sigh as I escape the elevator and make my way to my room; I just can't play the game anymore today.

As I lie on my bed all I can see is Peeta's pained expression on the train all those months ago, the moment when I broke his heart.

It's not a pleasant picture to fall asleep to.

The picture which assaults my subconscious shortly after is something else entirely.

I can't contain the moan which escapes my lips as teeth scrape delicately against my neck, lips sucking, and caressing as I fall completely merciless to the person marking me, "You don't belong to the bread boy now, do you kitten?" a voice whispers, "You're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes," I gasp, "Only yours."

"Good girl," the voice whispers, pushing me tighter against the wall I lean on. Suddenly lips are covering my own and small hands are carefully sliding up my dress, stroking my thighs, teasing me.

"Please," I beg, pulling the person closer to me, I hear jingling laughter in response.

"You're begging, and yet I don't think you know what you're even begging for," they laugh, pushing an escaped tendril behind my ear, "So desperate, yet so innocent." Suddenly the laughter ceases as their dark eyes glow brighter, and two fingers are beings pushed past my dripping folds.

My legs go weak, and for just a moment I can't help but appreciate the fact that, despite being smaller than me, they can hold me up while fingers work diligently inside of me.

As I reach my peak I open my eyes, staring brightly into the brown ones in front of me, soft lips caress mine as they whisper to me, "I'll see you again soon, Mockingjay." A groan escapes me as a loud ding erupts in my mind and I feel the elevator shift beneath me.

My lover is gone, and my legs let me fall lazily to the floor of the elevator. As it dings again something in my mind registers that it isn't the elevator I'm hearing, and I find myself groaning again.

My eyes flutter open and I find the perplexing Capitol room surrounding me, as my alarm rings and Haymitch pounds on the door. "Yes, yes, I know, I'm coming," I shout through the door, he grumbles incoherently, his voice disappearing down towards the main lounge, and I'm stuck staring at the ceiling again. What the hell was that dream about?

Sure, I'm not naïve. I'm seventeen years old, of course I've had a sex dream before—but that, that was different, and not just because it featured a woman in the leading roll, though I certainly didn't expect that either.

I haven't had a single dream that wasn't a nightmare in nearly a year, and even before that, before the games, I mostly featured in terrifying and gruesome dreams—not dreams that left me with a dizzy smile on my face. What's gotten into me?

I brush my hair out of my face and throw on the training clothes that Effie left out for me. There's no use showering just to go and spend the day sweating. I'll grab one when I get back. Clothes changed, and my hair neatly braided, I make my way towards the main room with a smile on my face. While I'm still perplexed, I suppose I shouldn't be complaining about a nightmare free night.

The smile fades quickly though, as I find Peeta and Haymitch are already in conversation about possible allies. 'What a shock, making decisions for me, without me, again.'

"No." I tell them firmly. "I'm not getting attached to anyone else, besides, they would kill us off first—they don't even know us."

"Katniss," Peeta whines, and I can feel my good mood quickly fraying. "Haymitch says we need them! Just be reasonable, for once."

Haymitch says, Haymitch says. Haymitch is wrong, this is a suicide move, and I know it. I'm not going to let either of us die because of some stupid mistake. "Haymitch says a lot of things. My answer is no."

"But Johanna and Finnick both offered aliances!" He pleads.

I snort, and Effie glares in my direction, "Unladylike," she mutters and I can't suppress my grin.

"You mean the sex-addict and the naked sociopath? Um, no, I think I'll pass on that one," I almost feel bad for snapping, but honestly, they're scheming with their dicks, not their brains. Good looks and psychotic tendencies aren't a way to choose allies. "I'm sorry guys, but really, Johanna Mason? Didn't she trick everyone into liking her during her first games and then, you know, kill them with a hatchet? That seems rather unhinged to me…"

"She did what she needed to survive," Haymitch growls, and I flinch. "And that's a skill you're both lacking in. Those two have both set records for number of kills in the games, and you could use some skill of that level. Not everyone can win by placing flowers and eating poison berries."

My face flushes, this is one of those times when I probably should have kept my mouth shut. "And another thing," he continues. "Don't judge what you don't fucking understand. You may be smart, but you're also children and new to this whole victor game. Keep your mouth shut about both of their personalities and life choices, you don't know anything about them."

"Sorry Haymitch," I whisper, I had forgotten that he's friends with these people. "But really, how can we trust them?"

"By trusting me," he says, getting up to refill his coffee. Peeta just nods.

"I'll think about it," I promise, "That's all I can guarantee right now."

As I leave the room I try desperately to exhale and breathe. Haymitch is right, I know that these games are different, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't want to align with these people. I traipse down the stairs and try to clear my head, but that turns into a waisted effort when a door slams hard into my face, knocking me to the ground.

I land hard on the stairs and topple down half a flight before I'm able to catch myself. Some victor I am.

"Ow," I groan, gently touching my forehead to check for blood.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Says a voice from above me, I can hear someone sprinting down the stairs as they swear. "I didn't mean to, really. Why the fuck were you so close to that door anyways? And why were you on the stairs? Fuck, I'm so sorry. Fuck."

"Take a breath," I whisper, I haven't even figured out who is talking yet. Things are spinning too much. "I think I'm fine, it doesn't seem to be bleeding." Looking up, I peer into the startlingly brown eyes of Johanna Mason, and that's when it clicks. The dream. The eyes. The voice. It was her.

"Do you have a concussion?" Johanna asks, tearing off a piece of her sleeve. She uncaps a waterbottle she had on her hip and drenches the bit of fabric. Before I can object she's holding the cold cloth against the quickly forming welt on my forehead. Watching Johanna's panicked face, I can't help but think that maybe her tough side is more of an act that I had realized before. She's genuinely concerned. "Should I get a medic?"

"You're wearing clothes," I whisper hazily, immedietly groaning as Johanna laughs. Really? Really Katniss? That's your response?

She pulls the cloth away, "Yea, I am. I don't actually spend all of my time starkers… only when people insist on dressing me as a god-damned tree," she says with a smirk. "I guess that you're okay. I really am sorry, I didn't mean to hit you."

I shake my head and stand up carefully, the world swims for a moment and I find myself leaning against the door while I gain perspective. "It's my fault, my mind was far off."

Johanna nods as if she understands, "You headed to training?" she asks, and I nod. "Cool, walk with me," she says, hooking her arm through mine.

"Okay…" I mutter confusedly. The world has stopped spinning, but that doesn't mean I have any more of an idea as to why Johanna Mason is walking me to training, acting as if we're old friends. Before I can ask, she starts talking, and I discover that she is much more talkative than I realized.

"So I'm Johanna Mason, district seven. Haymitch probably told you, but it seemed polite to introduce myself. You're Katniss Everdeen, girl on fire, the mockingjay… you have more nicknames than anyone else here. I'm just 'that psycho who smiled while she killed people', it doesn't sound nearly as catchy as any of yours."

I laugh, mildly uncomfortable but unsure of what else to do, "I think I would prefer to be just Katniss."

"Well 'Just Katniss', I can't remember the last time I was just Jo, and not 'Johanna Mason, District 7 Victor'! So good luck with that goal."

"Thanks," I grumble as we continue step by step down the stairs and into the basement training center. I still don't know quite what to make of the crazed woman in front of me, there is that dream, for one. Where the hell did that come? I can't be having sex dreams about other victor-tributes when I'm about to go into the games with them! That is not healthy. As for being her ally, sure she seems more stable this morning—but does that mean that I want to form an alliance with her, trust her with Peeta's life?

"Look," she says, ruffling her own short hair, "I know I'm supposed to leave it to Haymitch to convince you to align with Finn and me, but I'm not great at being in the background. So here's the deal, we want to align with you. Finnick and I can kill better than most, and he can fish if there's fish to be found. You're the expert at survival—which we're both rubbish at, and having someone who can play sniper would be extremely handy. No promises for the end result, but I can guarantee I won't kill you right away and that when I do, I won't make it particularly painful."

"You're straight forward, aren't you?"

She just shrugs, "I played the game last time, but by now, everyone already knows me, so why hide?"

I consider her offer for a moment. She seems to be telling the truth, but would I know if she wasn't? "What about Peeta?" I ask carefully.

Johanna rolls her eyes, "Let's be real, he's not useful in the arena—we both know that. But Finn and I get that you two are a team so we're willing to offer him the same deal. Only catch, if he slows us down, we aren't waiting for him. We won't kill him, we'll just leave him, got it?"

I nod, that seems fairly reasonable, and realistic. If I can just put up with their grating personalities, something which is becoming easier with Johanna already, I think we could have an alright arrangement. "I'll talk to Peeta," I tell her, "And we'll let you know."

I reach for the doorknob and am about to leave when Johanna grabs it first, "Oh, and Katniss? Don't try and be my star-crossed lover, kay? I don't think the sponsors will take to that a second time." With a wink she is through the door and I'm left staring after the dark haired woman with, what I don't doubt is a laughable expression on my face.

Haymitch is right. These games are going to be different.

Thanks for reading, please review!