#theotherharvellehunter

[stolengrace]

Witch Wolf. -Jo Harvelle

(My character is hunting yours.)

Anna gripped the gun handle tightly, finger poised on the trigger. She wasn’t terribly comfortable with guns, but under the circumstances her angel blade was not an option. Her quarry was similarly armed, as well.

The sun was high in the sky, but it was fairly dim underneath the trees as she wove her way through the woods, eyes peeled for any sign of Jo Harvelle. A rustle off to her left proved to be just a skittish rabbit dashing from under cover and across her path, but it made her heart-rate increase nonetheless. Get a grip, she told herself sternly.

Finding a likely spot on a small rise, she settled down and watched, sure that her quarry was not far. Her eyes scanned the trees, and her ears listened for the slightest unfitting sound. The wind was very soft, but just strong enough to play with the detritus of the forest and swirl sounds in odd directions.

“How did I get myself into this?” she grumbled to herself. “Going up against a trained hunter in a situation like this…” Her spine tingled, and she whirled just in time to see the blond girl pulling the trigger. In a moment of pure reflex Anna relocated, reappearing behind Jo as she spun around. Anna’s finger squeezed a rapid double tap and two red circles marred the front of Jo’s jacket…

“No fair!” Jo yelled with a laugh. “You’re not supposed to use your angel powers in a paint-ball match!”

“You should have made that clear from the beginning, then.” Anna replied as a huge grin spread across her face.

[softirishwhispers]

Drink. -Jo Harvelle

Drink: I’ll write our characters drinking together.

Molly and Jo thought it would be a wonderful idea to go on a double date with their new boyfriends. Being that they were good friends already, the men had agreed to go without much of a problem.

At least, it wasn't a problem when the women were in sight.

When Sebastian and Jim went drinking together, it was either St. Patrick's Day or Devil's Night. The reasoning behind this was because wherever they went tended to have the problem of a massive bar fight and, at times, burning down.

Tonight, that simply wouldn't do.

The men sat at the table together while their dates were in the bathroom. For some reason that neither of them understood, they always went together. Normally when men are left alone at the table, they talk. In this case, they both silently agreed that the food was terrible and relaxed their masks for a moment while they could. As usual, Jim was playing the computer geek and Sebastian was the haunted soldier. 

When the women returned, so did the masks.

"So, Jim," Jo said, taking her seat at the table. "I hear that the Irish are well known for their ability to hold their alcohol."

Jim laughed. "Well, most of it is true. Why do you ask?"

"Well, Seb is driving all of us home. What do you say we give it a test?" Jo taunted.

Jim laughed, almost embarrassed and nodded. "Alright, what shall we have? Shots or bottles?"

"Shots," Jo said. With a nod from Jim, they started ordering.

"If either of you get sick in my car, you will be cleaning it up," Sebastian told them sternly.

~

Three bottles of whiskey later, Sebastian decided that enough was enough. "Alright, no more. Whichever of you can hit the dartboard first wins." 

Jim and Jo both nodded and went to stand up.

Both of them then almost fell over onto their dates. 

"Call it a draw?" Jo offered.

Jim laughed. "That or whoever has the smallest hangover in the morning wins."

[mourn-not-the-morning-blog]

Game. -Jo Harvelle

"What in the name of all that is real and certain in this world is this thing?"

Lucifer scowled down at the half-mangled controller in his hands, a few wires sticking out and sparking sadly. The game had automatically paused, flashing a request to reconnect the controller so that it could continue, not knowing that the controller was forever out of commission. Jo Harvelle, across the paint sigil lines, was snorting incredulously at him.

"Do you mean to tell me," she said flippantly, shutting down the system with the click of a button, "that the Devil himself can't beat me at Mortal Kombat? Dean, what was it we bet?"

There was a disgruntled sound from the other room and a wad of cash came flying at Jo. She grabbed it out of the air easily and flipped through with a satisfied grin on her face. "It's good to be Queen."

Lucifer had long since tossed away the several pieces of shattered controller. "I hardly think it's fair to force me to compete having never seen one of these things you savages call entertainment." He poked at the containment walls boredly, already assured that they were as strong as ever.

Jo kicked back and smirked at him. "Wow, you really are a big ol' whiner. Sour grapes, Lucifer?"

Lucifer steepled his fingers together and sighed deeply. "When I get out of here," he promised, "I will find every copy of this infernal excuse for a game and destroy it."