(Untitled)

[tobeclosetohim]

Dish rag tucked into a back pocket, empty beer bottles, held by the neck, collected in her hands, and a juke box song on her lips, Jo Harvelle came through the door nudging it from behind

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[creator_raven]

There is a tall, skinny man blinking at her from nearby.

He is leaning against the wall.

It is very comfortable.

"You, I think, I have not so much met."

[tobeclosetohim]

She thinks demon and perpetrator before she thinks anything else.

Fingers tightening marginally on the bottles in her hand.

"Should I want to?"

[creator_raven]

Raven wrinkles his nose, laughing.

"I am not so much for shoulds, I do not think."

[tobeclosetohim]

"Obviously," Jo remarked to his last few words.

Her gaze was centered on him.

He looked relaxed, too relaxed, a relaxed that made her skin crawl.

[toxic_perfume]

She's been watching people coming in. And every so often, there's that look -- the one that says where the hell is this?

This kid's got it worse than most.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo's eye are scanning the bar. It looks harmless.

She's waiting for the next part to come.

Bar don't appear from nowhere.

And magic--it means a whole different ball game in her world.

[toxic_perfume]

When the newcomer's eyes reach her, Cavilo's wearing a direct measuring look, with a touch of smile.

[tobeclosetohim]

When she does finally come to the woman staring at her, it's the smile more than the measuring look that causes Jo's finger to tighten on the necks of the beer.

Was this the demon, then?

(Maybe a witch?)

Her eyes narrowed.