#its deservefde lmao

[joannabethharvelle]

@cullxtheherd from [ x ]

His hand raises and instinctively Jo flinches, shoulder lifting and face turning to the side in anticipation of some sort of retaliation. Instead she is met with raucous, rasping, rattling coughs, deafening in the otherwise quiet room. Wrists ache as she moves them to push herself just a little farther back into her corner. Foggy brown eyes lower to focus on the finger he has leveled at her and she is uncertain if it is her vision that is wavering or his hand. The harder she focuses the more the edges of her vision distort and finally she has to blink and look away, head pounding behind her eyes. Shifting her body so that she is protecting more of herself from the considerably larger man, she takes the risk of letting her guard down a moment to palm at them to try and rub the sting away in vain.

She hears him talking, the words’ slipping and echoing in her ears. Threats turn her blood cold as she flinches through his highs and lows from her spot on the mattress, silent for the time being. Jacob speaks in a way that comes across as entirely unhinged, the unpredictability of his mood and behavior promising something much more dangerous. From the things she’d heard about him, however, she figures that he is much more in control then he lets on. Hopefully.

A soft, cracked yelp of surprise crests her lips when he drops the empty dog bowl onto the floor, unaware that her head had begun to loll to the side, eyes heavily lidded and feeling heavy as lead as she tries to force them open once more. Metal clanks and wibbles, the bowl rolling on its edges just for a moment before rattling to a rest on the ground in front of them.“Want what filled?” The question is slurred slightly, asked much too long after he’d turned away, her mind still working slowly. She isn’t sure if he hears or if he is simply ignoring her, and after a moment of deduction her gaze slides to dirt streaked silver and she is able to answer her own question. “The bowl?” 

“Ha, you’ve gotta be fucking joki -” 

The command to Elvis is missed almost entirely in her concentration, the oddity of Jacob showing what appeared to be affection toward something not quite pinging her radar. When the wolf makes a move her sentence is cut off with a choked sound and she’s pressed herself up against the wall again in an instant, pulse elevating rapidly and the remaining stupor momentarily chased away by a quick surge of adrenaline. Eyes scan the room, looking for something -- anything to use for protection, and finally settles on what looks to be the end of a pipe, potentially within reach and peeking out from the shadows that vingetted the office.

Her body language screams her thought process, all tact lost in the hedging panic and remaining haze. A split second before she shifts Elvis is rumbling out a warning, one that Jo feels in her bones and her rash decision is quickly abandoned. Jacob’s warning commands her attention and for the moment she is obedient, enforced by the deep rooted fear of the large canine. 

“They’re not my friends...” the phrase is muttered almost habitually at this point; she’s perfected a sort of bitterness around the words, as if perhaps she’s been massively inconvenienced by agreeing to help the residents here. Jo has been certain to vocalize her separation of herself and the denizens of Hope’s County from the get, emphasizing and pushing the idea that they meant nothing to her personally; that they had similar goals at best. It was contradicted at every turn due to her actions, but Jo clung to a sliver of hope that if a situation like this should arise that they wouldn’t be used as leverage.

Eyes widen and her stomach drops when he mentions following her and nervously she curls her fingers, short nails biting into the fitted denim of her jeans. That trip hadn’t even been about cult business. She hadn’t alerted any of the siblings, and made very little to no fuss while she’d been out. She’d told no one, other than the tweaky little bastard that accompanied her -- he reminded her of a bit of an old friend from years ago at the Roadhouse and had actually started to grow on her -- and the Peggies hadn’t seen them. They hadn’t been detected by anyone, she was sure of it. And yet, somehow...

Blonde falls in front of her face, clinging to her forehead as she leans forward, arms wrapping around herself as much as her restraints let her. The heels of her boots rouche the fabric as they slowly slide down the bed, finally falling once they’re stretched out straight in front of her, feet dropping open in a dejected sort of release of tension.

The implication that she was doing all this to impress him makes her skin crawl, the corners of her mouth turning down in a disgusted expression. 

A knock gives her a start, eyes narrowing slightly as her gaze follows the slow, heavy thud of her captors’ boots to the door. Their behavior immediately piques her interest; hushed tones in stark contrast to the earlier examples. Brown eyes drift from the door to the wolf, and she has to close her eyes for a moment to compose herself before she decides to shift. Jo is careful to be silent and very, very slow -- fingers press into the mattress as she moves to lower herself as far as possible, almost lying down fully.

Its bits and pieces, but the things she does hear mostly just confuse rather than clear anything up. Eyes narrow as she tries to identify the boots on the other side and doing her best to burn details into her memory. 

Peaches -- The messenger boy... same one as before, judging by the nickname. Staci, he’d just said?

Deputies -- It was, then. Must be. Staci had gone missing the first goddamn day here, when everything went to shit. She’d barely gotten to meet him, but Jo knows he is one of the missing. The other deputy, too. They were alive, at least for now. It was promising.

Rachel -- Who?

Blessed fucking Angel -- The Angels. It was this nickname that had been among the things to spark Jo’s interest from back home in the very beginning. Reports from this place dripped with imagery and phrasing that indicated that this was a job dealing with creatures, but no. This isn’t what she had expected at all. These were people. People were on an entirely different level. There were no rules.

She almost zones out for too long, recognizing Jacob’s dismissal almost too late and just managing to slide back to a sitting position before he turns around. She doesn’t bother answering him yet, eyes trained on his lower legs, following his movements as he fusses with the record player. It isn’t until it finally spins to life and the song crackles through the speaker that Jo makes a sound; a bitter, disbelieving huff as the recognition of the song sets in after the first three notes. Her gaze slides up to meet his even if he refuses to do so too, disdain painted clearly on her features, brown eyes shooting daggers that would be laced with poison were it possible. 

Jo intends to try and hold eye contact through the entirety of the song but the music picks up and all at once the subtle horror of the situation finally processes. Fear makes her hands tremble faintly against the mattress, the atmosphere he’d set extremely disturbing and unsettling. The upbeat song lifts and falls joyfully, crescendos bright and flourishing as the two of them face off in a cold, dark silence. The snaps of his holster finally break her concentration, attracting her attention to the red pistol that reflected the orange firelight in an even deeper crimson.

“Sure is.” Her voice isn’t the strongest when she finally finds it but she does her best to keep the waver out of it. Her head tips to the side slightly as she looks away from the pistol and up at him, glaring darkly through her lashes. Fingers curl around cold metal and she lifts her wrists, showing the restraints he currently has her in. “Why don’t you take these off and I’ll show you some real toe tappin’.” Jo is able to manage a smile, dark and laced with something that was nowhere near friendly. “Why don’t we dance, Jacob Seed?”

Fear still threatens to get the better of her but she continues, unsure if its that or anger that finally does makes her voice quiver. Her words aren’t loud, just enough to be heard over the song, and she leans forward to hiss at him through her teeth. She is unwilling to actually move at the moment -- the wolf keeping her more in check than the man in front of her at the moment.

“You know that I don’t need a single damn person to come rescue me. You know I can do it myself. I know you do. The gun, the wolf, these?” Again she lifts her hands, much weaker this time as her energy begins to fade again, eyelids threatening to slide half closed. A huffed laugh is exhaled as she leans against the wall to find a bit of support, the half smile still on her lips. “You can’t watch me forever. You’re gonna have to leave me in here alone at some point. And when you do? I’m getting out. I don’t care if I have to break both of my fucking wrists myself to do it.”

A shuddering breath finally cuts her off, chest rising and falling as the chorus of the song slices through the silence, irking her as she tries to fight off the hazy exhaustion that quickly encroaches. She falls silent, not wanting to end up passing out again, and tips her face up toward the ceiling. Eyes slip fully closed and she breathes deeply through her nose, fending off dizziness as best as possible and trying to keep the bed from feeling like it was going to spin.

“And it’s not ‘girl’, by the way. Its not ‘kid’ or ‘darlin’’ either...” Her tone isn’t so vicious this time, almost rambling as her self control starts to slip again. “I have a name for a reason, so you should use it.”  She isn’t sure if he actually knows it; considering she’s never heard any of the Seeds ever address her by it. Against her better judgement she continues, a bitter amusement lacing her slurry voice.

“That’s not your fault, I guess. We never got officially introduced so you’ve got an excuse for being stupid.”  Her vision blurs a little and she blinks heavily, moving her hands to rest in her lap as the song begins to wind down, allowing her to lower the volume of her voice as well for the moment.

“It’s Jo. Harvelle, if you’re feeling spicy.”