By the time she gets to level fifteen, Johanna is pissed off. This is not a departure from her usual state of mind, especially not since waking up naked except for goo slicking her flesh, sporting a new tattoo and a new tracking device somewhere underneath. Even once she'd had the lack of Capitol influence explained to her, Johanna's anger had not cooled, and it wasn't likely to cool anytime soon, if ever.

And no matter how many times they tell her that it's not the Capitol, and no matter who it is that says it--she's still not sure that she believes it. Who else but the Capitol would grab up a lot of people and shove them into a place where they've got to fight for their lives?--not always in the dire Arena circumstances, but in circumstances so like the Districts. Limited resources, shitty food.

It's the shitty food that has her on the move today. For someone that hated the indulgences of the Capitol, and all that they stood for--Johanna is not happy to return to a diet more like her childhood, or the packs in the Arena. Meat was scarce even in District 7, just like it is here. She's gone through every floor that she can find, one by one, looking for something edible, something that doesn't require a lot of work. And each floor proves fruitless (ha ha, food joke), and each time she steps onto the lift, Johanna's irritation increases by a notch. Sometimes by ten notches at once.

So when she finally does reach level fourteen, and steps into the kitchen--and sees just the hint of movement in her peripheral vision, she needs no encouragement. Her anger has frayed away at her nerves, which were pretty frayed to start with. Not half a heartbeat and she's got one axe in her hand, and the other, she throws--picking out a target before confirming what it is that she's actually looking at--there's no time for that, only time for quickness and precision, and so she throws, hard--