A few stray pebbles clatter down the sheer side of the crevasse, heavy boots finding a proper foothold as Hope County’s newest resident pauses to fashion a belay loop in her rope.
Fog creeps around the perimeter of the shield of her respirator mask and Jo lifts a hand, using one of the two offset filters as a handle in a vain attempt to reseal the mouthpiece around her chin.
“Dammit-- I knew I shoulda got a size smaller...”
Wiping at the sweaty strands of blonde currently in her way, she works to tug at both ends of the elastic band around the back of her neck. First one side and then the other, cinching down an already fully tightened strap in an action that did nothing that wasn’t psychosomatic.
Whatever. Pretending it helped with the condensation was better than nothing.
Her descent is slow and spanning several levels, and when she resumes it she is careful to watch her footing. This far down the air is thick with potent clouds of sickly green, looking far more ominous without the glittering edges that direct exposure provides.
A pebble clatters past her down the sheer side and Jo stops to listen-- hoping to hear it hit the ground to gain some semblance of where she currently is. Before she can find out, another pebble rolls past, and then another. There is an awful sound from up above her, a crack of metal on rock and a horrible bellow of a moan, a pained lament that instantly fills her with dread. The tension in her line suddenly wavers, causing a split second free fall that spikes her adrenaline. Jo is already fumbling for a grip on the rock before she casts a look up.
Two bald figures, clad in drab tan with faces covered by a mask brandishing a telltale red logo hover precariously on the edge of one of the outcroppings. One stands, unmoving and fixated, the other brandishes a garden hoe that he swings back in preparation for another blow.
“Hey-- Hey!” In the mask her voice is muffled and undoubtedly incapable of reaching any ears nearby. Even still, her voice pitches, her heart pounding in her throat. “What the fuck are you doing? Don’t--!”
Sharp metal cracks against the rock again, sending another collection of loose rubble tumbling down toward her. Her elevating breathing is already fogging her visor again, her useless attempts to dissuade them doing nothing to help that situation.
Another sound that sparks recognition and turns her stomach creeps into auditory range, causing her to trail off. It starts quiet but rapidly grows in volume and--
Number? Another silhouette farther up is accompanied by several others, emerging from abandoned shafts and shadowed crags. The hollow sounds of the Angels fill the cavern and it’s suddenly very clear that while desolate, they all have a single common goal. Bloodied hands of the mindless humans grip at her rope; rusty weapons are taken to saw and hack at the fibers.
Without any sufficient hand or footholds she wastes no time and tries to rapidly descend, fingers fumbling at the quick brake mechanism due to her reduced vision. The line whips and cracks against the rock again and in her panic she stops to grab for something, anything---
Jo comes to with a start, the vicious headache that throbs behind her eyes rousing her from unconsciousness. She reaches up to grip at her mask, tearing it off in an impulsive attempt to get more air.
She is hit with a wall of nausea; blinding, shimmering flecks of glitter exploding across her vision. An overwhelming dizziness sending her reeling back, choking on thick green clouds and pawing for her respirator.
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The sun drops just over the first peak of the mountain, casting a golden glow into the crevasse. How long has it been? Definitely more than a day. Jo winces as she uses blistered hands to drag herself up to a semi seated position, slumping against the damp walls. Yeah. Gotta be something like that. How many times has it been dark? Is this twice, now?
The ruined rope had been abandoned long ago, proving useless in her slow crawl up to safety. Whatever semblance of safety this was anyway, battered and stranded in a crevice filled with hallucinogens.
Fortunately, at this level she can actually get a bit of air that isn’t toxically saturated with Bliss.
Unfortunately, she’s stuck here as far as she can tell. There are no more ledges for her to climb, at least nothing that is currently within reach. She’s surprised she’s made it this far; crawling through the cavern in search of shallow ledges, slowly making her way back up to the surface without the aid of a rope. Now though--
Now, she’s exhausted. Before she’s able to convince herself that it wouldn’t be all that bad to get a little shut eye, heavy footsteps stop her train of thought. A wavering, blinding light makes her squint and she has to lift a hand to block the rays in an attempt to see her guest.
She hears the gravelly voice that drawls behind the headlamp before she is able to fully make him out, the familiarity of the tones easily distinguishable even without the crackling of the radio to accompany them.
For once, his taunts aren’t met with any retorts other than a few labored sounds of distress, an off-handed eye roll at his threat to keep her still. When he stoops to root through his own pack, her tired eyes drift to her left toward the small pile of her belongings. Her pistol is there, of course, next to her backpack and conveniently just out of reach. Jo knows there is no way she can get her hand on it without a visible amount of effort so she makes no attempt, instead letting her head tip back, thumping lightly against the stone.
He works so quickly she isn’t able to stutter out very many protests or wonder for too long why he’s decided to help her. The generic explanation is accepted for now; she’s been in shock too long to question anything all that much.
It all goes by in a blur-- A bliss vile, leather between her teeth. Jacob’s unwavering voice and unyielding hands, calm even amongst her guttural shrieking that followed the setting of her bone. Her numb fingers fumbling for her belt and yanking it free, the excruciating pressure of the splint, the cold sweat that coated her skin.
She is vaguely aware of him joining her, stooping down to sit beside her just before her vision flattens. A radio crackles and her eyelids flutter closed, her willpower finally unable to stop the encroaching darkness that prickles the edge of her vision.
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The effects of the Bliss are still heavy in her brain when his movements finally cause her to stir again. Pain makes her a bit loopy, hands reaching out toward her rescuer with a detached sort of grasp at comfort. Her palms sting as she pats and clutches cotton, brow furrowing as her brain struggles to connect the dots of what is going on.
It isn’t until he speaks that she gives him a reactionary shove and recoils her hands, wincing when the motion causes the pain from her various ailments to roar to life. Biting down on her lip to stifle more whimpers of discomfort, she grits her teeth and tries to shift into a semi-comfortable position.
“Shit, sorry--” Its mumbled as she slumps back, sighing heavily as she does her best to clear her mind and get her shit together. She wasn’t able to stop the knee-jerk apology and so Jo feels the need to clarify, though she isn’t sure why.
“Seeing how you don’t like me...”
His question should give her pause, but their current circumstances and her desire for some sort of goddamn distraction from her leg clouds her judgement. Up until now she’d been able to get away with the nickname. The locals were more than happy to call her Dep or Rook-- there was too much going on in Hope County to get upset about someone’s name. Or lack of it.
“You’re one of the only people that has actually asked me that.” She knows she sounds terrible; strained voice thin and trembling from the stress and strain of her current situation. Jo debates about lying, tossing out any old name and letting it ride.
“Beth.” Her middle name slips from her lips and before she’s even finished she wrinkles her nose, shaking her head with a short, bitter chuckle.
“No, it’s not. That’s a lie.” Her brow furrows and her eyes narrow with thought, the pain and hallucinogens causing her control of her facial expressions nowhere near her usual level. “Er.... Sort of.”
“What’s it even matter anyway? I’m just a tool, right?” Jo casts a look down at herself, shaking her head in disdain at her predicament. “A broken fuckin’ rusty one right now, but...” A single shoulder shrug accompanies a little downward crook of her mouth.
“Besides, my nickname is way too close to your brother’s for my liking.”
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