From the outset at a distance, her tank top is missing three inches, at the bottom where her skin is bare to the world, and all of it is covered in blood, pus, and those unnamed bodily fluids. Her hair is everywhere, right arm has a gash, thigh is wrapped tight with fabric that's faintly red, and her lower back has long deep scratches. Not to mention all the little signs of fighting everywhere on her.
Still she's also looked much worse.
Since she's staring at the docks in a quiet, all-business, methodical manner, gun and flashlight in hand.
Jack has also looked worse, and he's looked much better. But that latter ihas usually happened when he's wearing a dress.
Right now, his hat is missing, and his light fluffy strawberry-blonde hair has streaks of red in it. His cutlasses are bloodstained, and one is in his hand in readiness.
He's also whistling a jaunty tune, right up until he recognises Jo and sees her hurt. Or rather - realises how much he doesn't see about her hurt.
"Are you hurt?"
For once, for once, that's a genuine question and not a rhetorical tease.
They are, even to Jack. It's his senses that are foggy, not his ability to interpret them. He comes to a halt very near Jo, somewhat protective, and glancing around.
Jack throws wide his empty hand, affecting innocence.
"Where would I hide one?"
He falls in beside and a little behind her, now. One thing that's different about him now is how more obviously alert he is; constantly looking around into the fog. When his smile fades, it's to give way to concentration.
It's snarky, but not without an edge as she's watching around them. It's easier to have someone she feels confident in the skills of. She's not watching him.
(At least not more than peripherally, in case there is some kind of creepy psychic bastard.)
From the outset at a distance, her tank top is missing three inches, at the bottom where her skin is bare to the world, and all of it is covered in blood, pus, and those unnamed bodily fluids. Her hair is everywhere, right arm has a gash, thigh is wrapped tight with fabric that's faintly red, and her lower back has long deep scratches. Not to mention all the little signs of fighting everywhere on her.
Still she's also looked much worse.
Since she's staring at the docks in a quiet, all-business, methodical manner, gun and flashlight in hand.
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Right now, his hat is missing, and his light fluffy strawberry-blonde hair has streaks of red in it. His cutlasses are bloodstained, and one is in his hand in readiness.
He's also whistling a jaunty tune, right up until he recognises Jo and sees her hurt. Or rather - realises how much he doesn't see about her hurt.
"Are you hurt?"
For once, for once, that's a genuine question and not a rhetorical tease.
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"Only when I breathe." Beat. "Going for the summer breeze look, yourself?"
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"Fighting blind in this town. Taking more hits than I'd like."
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It's as close as she'll get to me, too and it's fucking crazy out there. And thank god, someone I don't have to baby sit.
She's sure both the first ones are apparent.
"It's better with a radio, but I haven't found one yet."
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"How is it that radios make it better?"
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Oh, what she wouldn't give for an EMF meter, but that's pushing it.
"I was headed that way." She nods off to the docks. "Been to most of the other places I could reach in town."
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He shoots a quick grin to Jo. "Would you take a companion?"
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"Only if it's you and you aren't pushing another damn green, weaponless person off on me."
There was a flash of a smirk at the end, which faded as fast, when she started sauntering downward toward the sound of lapping water.
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"Where would I hide one?"
He falls in beside and a little behind her, now. One thing that's different about him now is how more obviously alert he is; constantly looking around into the fog. When his smile fades, it's to give way to concentration.
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It's snarky, but not without an edge as she's watching around them. It's easier to have someone she feels confident in the skills of. She's not watching him.
(At least not more than peripherally, in case there is some kind of creepy psychic bastard.)
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The policewoman from before appears. "Oh, it's you again. Find anything?"
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And unsolved half-riddles, half-hints.
Out of nowhere comes the small smug look with it.
"Cybll, Jack." Jo's sure they can figure it out. From there. Including the unmentioned officer part. Clothes n' all.
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Jo hoped he was still all in one piece.
So few people here knew how to move and shoot and talk at the same time.
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