Jo Harvelle runs on 100 proof attitude power (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tobeclosetohim) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-07-07 11:46 pm
tobeclosetohim) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-07-07 11:46 pm
Entry tags:
Day 3 { like it doesn't hurt, no
WHO: Jo Harvelle
WHERE: #44, The Waverly
WHEN: July 3rd, morning, Before Exploration #1
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Jo, so swearing, other updates as needed
STATUS: Open
Jo doesn't choose a house until somewhere in the early midnight hours of the third day, and not even then because she wants one, so much as she's just dead on her feet tired, starving in her stomach, and she can't keep her eyes open anymore. Not without a threat more active than the tension in her shoulders and the hairs on the back of her neck, while nothing makes a sound in this place except the creaking buildings, the running water, and the other kidnapped people.
She's broken into any number of houses and the large buildings. The only ones of note that landed pilfered items in her bag, tucked in her clothes and her boots: the butcher shop, the police station, the hospital, the school house. It's not her fault if people's thought process here isn't to stockpile weapons, or anything that could be used as one, and then figure out provisions and shelter, in that order.
Everything is woefully outdated,
More than half needs repair work,
But a weapon is a weapon is a weapon.
Sleep takes her for a few very short hours, and the restless tension is still there when she wakes up. As she rummages the dusty choked space and takes a washcloth bath, without any soap. Her stomach rumbles, but she ignores it. Giving up for a while, Jo settles down on the thick front wall of the Waverly porch, back against the corner column, sharpening a slightly rusty knife with a handleless sharpening rod.
WHERE: #44, The Waverly
WHEN: July 3rd, morning, Before Exploration #1
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Jo, so swearing, other updates as needed
STATUS: Open
Jo doesn't choose a house until somewhere in the early midnight hours of the third day, and not even then because she wants one, so much as she's just dead on her feet tired, starving in her stomach, and she can't keep her eyes open anymore. Not without a threat more active than the tension in her shoulders and the hairs on the back of her neck, while nothing makes a sound in this place except the creaking buildings, the running water, and the other kidnapped people.
She's broken into any number of houses and the large buildings. The only ones of note that landed pilfered items in her bag, tucked in her clothes and her boots: the butcher shop, the police station, the hospital, the school house. It's not her fault if people's thought process here isn't to stockpile weapons, or anything that could be used as one, and then figure out provisions and shelter, in that order.
Everything is woefully outdated,
More than half needs repair work,
But a weapon is a weapon is a weapon.
(All of it -- all of it -- is still better than hell.)
Sleep takes her for a few very short hours, and the restless tension is still there when she wakes up. As she rummages the dusty choked space and takes a washcloth bath, without any soap. Her stomach rumbles, but she ignores it. Giving up for a while, Jo settles down on the thick front wall of the Waverly porch, back against the corner column, sharpening a slightly rusty knife with a handleless sharpening rod.