The Lonely Back Roads
Nebraska was a quiet state, even with the trouble these days. The back roads were mostly dead now. Few people were brave enough to travel where there weren’t lights every couple of feet. Still, there was one beacon in the dark, Harvelle’s Roadhouse. It still wasn’t the nicest looking place on Earth, though someone had attempted to paint it and fix up the sign in recent years. There were lights though, bright ones that cut through the dark and welcomed any traveler brave enough to take the back roads.
Jo spent most of her nights tending to an empty bar. Hunters came in now and again, but most of them were so busy elsewhere that they only came through on their way to somewhere else. Running the Roadhouse website kept her in close contact with most of them but only as close as a telephone call or internet connection. There were weeks when only her ’69 Camaro was parked outside. When those dry spells hit, she went Hunting.
Tonight though, she was alone in bar, listening to the juke box crank out scratchy old songs. She was tempted to play a game of pool or spent a few hours getting a new high score on the videogames but instead she kept filling salt shakers on top of the bar while behind it she filled shotgun shells. Even with the protection she had up around the Roadhouse, she believed in never being too careful.
Time had taught Jo Harvelle some hard lessons. The first being that you could never been too careful. The second being that when you Hunted, you rested when you could and made sure to make friends who could help you. She’d built using Ash’s old system, a way to keep everyone connected. It was working. If she got in trouble, she could send out an S.O.S. and get help. She could also get help for other people too. There were times before now when she really could have used help. Her reputation as a Hunter was a good one, hard earned with hard lessons.
She was older, wiser and on nights when she worked alone she kept her gun close.
[ooc: Set any old time so anyone's welcome to wander in.]
Jo spent most of her nights tending to an empty bar. Hunters came in now and again, but most of them were so busy elsewhere that they only came through on their way to somewhere else. Running the Roadhouse website kept her in close contact with most of them but only as close as a telephone call or internet connection. There were weeks when only her ’69 Camaro was parked outside. When those dry spells hit, she went Hunting.
Tonight though, she was alone in bar, listening to the juke box crank out scratchy old songs. She was tempted to play a game of pool or spent a few hours getting a new high score on the videogames but instead she kept filling salt shakers on top of the bar while behind it she filled shotgun shells. Even with the protection she had up around the Roadhouse, she believed in never being too careful.
Time had taught Jo Harvelle some hard lessons. The first being that you could never been too careful. The second being that when you Hunted, you rested when you could and made sure to make friends who could help you. She’d built using Ash’s old system, a way to keep everyone connected. It was working. If she got in trouble, she could send out an S.O.S. and get help. She could also get help for other people too. There were times before now when she really could have used help. Her reputation as a Hunter was a good one, hard earned with hard lessons.
She was older, wiser and on nights when she worked alone she kept her gun close.
[ooc: Set any old time so anyone's welcome to wander in.]