shatterverse | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Metropolis isn't Jo's scene (it's too metropolitan) but she still hasn't left.

She just breathes in and out, head not falling, copper eyes alert, hips swinging with each steps as she helps with the early evening clean up of a hole in the wall bar n' club she's spent far too many days in.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Any other week it would be comforting. It really would be. In the dark part of her heart that hates and denies that it still brightens even when he's an asshole because he's being an asshole in her presence.

Except neither of them know.

And neither of know what they're trivial excuses meant this time.

Jo took a long pull of her beer, copper eyes unwavering, as she tried to hold down the urge to throw her bottle, the itch that raced under her skin.

"You still looking for company out?"

"That depends," Rachel snarled back, hackles would be raised if she had them, on edge from the accusation. "Are you going to mope about him the entire time? Because I'd rather you two go fight it out before I'm alone with either of you again."

Jo's eyebrows rose, the collected expression not moving even as her fingers tense marginally against the glass. She stood up, letting the chair screech and fall behind her.

"Thanks, but I'm not looking for your charity or your rules. I don't need either. I'm fine without them and you."

I shot the back of my mothers head off and burned to ashes the only family I've known, she wants to say. The days keep rolling. Nothing changes. It didn't matter. I'm still talking and breathing.

I don't need you.

(Don't leave me.)

Edited 2008-09-27 01:30 (UTC)

Rachel's fists clench and her jaw sets, ready for the fight.

Traveling by herself, alone, the nightmares, the uselessness, if Lucy hadn't been there to stop her...

"Jo."

She's looking away, posture still tight, spiky, glaring at the woodwork on the table.

"I love someone. I'm not going to be interested in anyone, ever, that isn't him. And he isn't here."

She's going to make sure of it, no matter what, he doesn't deserve this.

"If you want to go, you want to fight, you want someone with you, then I'll go, I want to."

Only person that didn't-- look at her when she fought, even more than Dean's reaction, never considered her a freak or a monster.

"I don't need that look on your face anymore than you need my rules."

She looks over sharply, blue eyes narrowed and cold and utterly honest.

"And it sure as hell isn't charity I'm offering."

She's tried alone.

She doesn't want it.

Wait. She thought this was still about Dean?

Jo had to bite her cheek not to laugh. It would be that sharp, high laugh, the one she'd given in the basement when she saw the guns, again. The one that said the world was different here.

Except it wasn't. She couldn't let it be.

She reached up her empty hand, wrapping her fingers around her neck.

She nodded at Stella behind the bar, giving a thin wan smile, before she said, still and calm and dark.

"All I have right now is the need to beat the ever living shit out of something. Constantly. And I'd be happier if that something deserved it and could be eviscerated in the process."

Rachel's jaw clenches. It doesn't seem to matter if the laugh makes it out or not, the insult is there all the same, and her single-word response comes out through clenched teeth: "Good."

Her chair squeaks in protest when she shoves it back and gets to her feet. "I'll hang around another day or two and then I'm getting out of here."

And Jo can do what she likes with that information.

Personally? Rachel's gotta go find something to beat the ever-living shit out of right now.

Jo looked back, aloof calmness touching her expression again.

She could shove that honest admission back into the dark.

"Good. It'll give me time to locate a machete."

Someone that looks like Rachel could never be described as grunting.

But until someone makes up a more delicate synonym, that'll have to explain the noise she just made as she 'stomped' her way out.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only