Jo prefers a straight forward life, all things said. She always has.
Weeks and months where she's not think about the jackass who definitely isn't her boyfriend, nor any longer belongs to the category of isn't-maybe-or-maybe-is that looked so, somehow amusingly good once upon a time, before he was having a kid without someone else who, also, definitely isn't his girl friend.
Which is why she's sliding through the woods, tight jeans and clingy long sleeve shirt, quiet boots in the brush, a gun in her hand, and a knife not far from her reach. Because it's straight forward, and it's simple. Because she's fucking good at it, and it doesn't suddenly spin her upside down. No matter the world. No matter the job. No matter the creepy bastards she's ended up against.
Because, sure, civilization is still going on half the continent away, even though she's been gone enough weeks it could have burned down. Bab's would tell her if that happened. If anything worth anyone telling her was emergently necessary, and losing contact with her for another week or two was worth the cost, she'd know. But she hears nothin' but the rain, and the calls to send her new places. With the pauses that still consider breaking their tense, but managing, work truce.
Because she's got a job to do and she'd rather be doing that than anything else the pause could be suggesting she should.
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Weeks and months where she's not think about the jackass who definitely isn't her boyfriend, nor any longer belongs to the category of isn't-maybe-or-maybe-is that looked so, somehow amusingly good once upon a time, before he was having a kid without someone else who, also, definitely isn't his girl friend.
Which is why she's sliding through the woods, tight jeans and clingy long sleeve shirt, quiet boots in the brush, a gun in her hand, and a knife not far from her reach. Because it's straight forward, and it's simple. Because she's fucking good at it, and it doesn't suddenly spin her upside down. No matter the world. No matter the job. No matter the creepy bastards she's ended up against.
Because, sure, civilization is still going on half the continent away, even though she's been gone enough weeks it could have burned down. Bab's would tell her if that happened. If anything worth anyone telling her was emergently necessary, and losing contact with her for another week or two was worth the cost, she'd know. But she hears nothin' but the rain, and the calls to send her new places. With the pauses that still consider breaking their tense, but managing, work truce.
Because she's got a job to do and she'd rather be doing that than anything else the pause could be suggesting she should.