Johanna's voice is both loud and sharp enough to cut across the hubbub of the marketplace. Like a knife would be the appropriate way to describe her tone, and also: unmistakable.
She'd spotted Katniss Everdeen from a distance. Easy to pick out, moving without any particular direction or apparent destination. Typical, and Johanna had first rolled her eyes and turned back to her drink, content to dismiss Katniss and ignore her completely.
But just now Johanna had turned around, casting a broad sweeping glance out over the bazaar as well--and there was Katniss Everdeen again, strolling by. If Johanna believed in fate, maybe she'd chalk it up to fate. What are the odds that the two of them would get extracted from their matrix anyways? And then run into each other, in a crowded marketplace, on just another day?
Except Johanna doesn't believe in fate. Nor does she care to examine anything too hard. What she does care to do is to polish off her drink, one final gulp--bang her glass down on the bartop, hop off her chair--and step out into the avenue, falling easily into step right beside Katniss. They might well be two Capitolite socialite out for a stroll. That's the way that Johanna is carrying herself, anyways.
When she smiles over at Katniss, it's sharp and sweet.
marketplace 8))))))
Johanna's voice is both loud and sharp enough to cut across the hubbub of the marketplace. Like a knife would be the appropriate way to describe her tone, and also: unmistakable.
She'd spotted Katniss Everdeen from a distance. Easy to pick out, moving without any particular direction or apparent destination. Typical, and Johanna had first rolled her eyes and turned back to her drink, content to dismiss Katniss and ignore her completely.
But just now Johanna had turned around, casting a broad sweeping glance out over the bazaar as well--and there was Katniss Everdeen again, strolling by. If Johanna believed in fate, maybe she'd chalk it up to fate. What are the odds that the two of them would get extracted from their matrix anyways? And then run into each other, in a crowded marketplace, on just another day?
Except Johanna doesn't believe in fate. Nor does she care to examine anything too hard. What she does care to do is to polish off her drink, one final gulp--bang her glass down on the bartop, hop off her chair--and step out into the avenue, falling easily into step right beside Katniss. They might well be two Capitolite socialite out for a stroll. That's the way that Johanna is carrying herself, anyways.
When she smiles over at Katniss, it's sharp and sweet.
"Well, hi."