entrancelogs | [OPEN] She don't wait to begin, she bets on long shots;

Who: Jo (Harvelle) Lauchlan & you!
Where: The bar, the shooting range, the training center.
When: 1/17
Rating: PG for now.
Summary: Spring is still a ways off, but Jo has contracted a bad case of cabin fever.
The Story:

[Weeks have now passed, but the events that residents of Wonderland had experienced over the holiday season are still weighing heavily on Jo’s mind. She’s always been one of the most insistent residents when it comes to defending staying in Wonderland as being a valid choice, but Christmas had left her shaken. As much as she wants to stay, she doesn't want her future to look like that-- empty and with no memory of what made her who she was.

She spends the first part of the day in the bar as per usual, heading in early to take care of some so-called housekeeping-- salt beneath the floorboards in front of the doors and windows are a must, and she makes sure that all of the usual supplies are still in place behind the bar itself. Wonderland, after all, is home to all kinds of people, not all of them necessarily human, and while circumstances have forced her to be a little more lenient on who walks through those doors than she would be back home, she doesn't believe in leaving the people who help her run the place unprotected. The bar has seen enough bloodshed over the years, and she refuses to leave any blatant openings for an encore. Holy water, vervain, salt rounds and other various hunter stand-bys are all topped off and put in their place as necessary. Once noon rolls around, she'll be serving people as needed, doing what she can to keep herself busy, but eventually the itch to throw herself into something more involving takes over, and she lets the bar go self-serve for the afternoon, or at least until Simon or Cami make their way there to take over for her.

The first place she heads to is the shooting range. The last time she'd been down here, she'd mostly been spotting for Clint, though she'd gotten in some time with her rifle. Truth be told, she didn't have a whole lot of opportunities to use it these days, although she always made sure it was fully loaded and well-cared for in the even that she did need it. Today, however, she opts for something different-- she shows up with a recurve bow and a quiver full of arrows. It's been a long, long time since she's given archery much thought, but it's a skill she doesn't want to fall out of her repertoire. More than that, with all of this thinking about memories and how they contribute to who a person is, archery reminds her of her dad, and spending countless hours in the field out behind their house, shooting at the straw-stuffed targets he'd put together for her.

She'll stay out and practice until her arms start to grow stiff and the cold starts to feel more miserable than it's worth, at which point she'll head in. The evening will find her in the training center, mostly working over a couple of dummies and one of the hanging bags to keep herself in fighting shape, but she'll be happy to spar with anyone looking for a partner-- just don't expect her to pull punches. In addition, she'll make herself available to anyone she's discussed doing a little hunter training with in the last few weeks, more than happy to put all of her focus into helping someone else rather than dwelling on what's bothering her.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Spike hasn't been here very long, but he's easily bored enough that he's got cabin fever already. The training center seems like a pretty good place to start, since he probably shouldn't punch Angel in the back of the head for no reason. Yet.

When he shows up, there's a blond beating the hell out of a punching bag and it makes him... well, nostalgic. He knows she's not Buffy, of course. Even if he can't make out her face immediately, he'd know the smell of Buffy anywhere and this isn't it. But he can't help the memories that crop up. Or resist calling out to her when she comes to a break in her routine.]

Fancy hitting something a bit more interesting than a bag, pet?

[Jo takes a step back after slamming one last punch into the bag, sending it swinging, extending a hand to stop it from coming too far in her direction. The voice is vaguely familiar-- they've met before, but not since his re-arrival in Wonderland. She raises an eyebrow, curious.]

You sure you know what you're signing up for?

[She's no pushover-- and she knows what he is.]

Most vampires don't want to go up against a hunter.

[Hunter. Not a term he's heard before, but she knows what he is, so he can connect the dots. He tilts his head, smirking as he approaches.]

Well, love, most vampires are very dully. Are you saying I don't need to hold back?

[He will anyway. At least until he figures out where she is on a scale of Dawn to Buffy.]

[Excellent powers of deduction, Spike.]

I'd be kind of offended if you did.

[She does kill monsters professionally-- or did.]

I don't like being underestimated.

Do you have superpowers?

[He pulls his coat off, tossing it to the side, and starts pacing, raising his fists invitingly.]

Don't need 'em.

[She rolls a shoulder back, keeps herself loose as she lets her weight rest on the balls of her feet, fingers curling tightly into ready fists.]

Never have.

If you say so. [He's still going to hold back initially. Test the waters until he figures out just how rough he can play. He moves in, letting loose an experimental jab towards her face. Slow, but purposefully so. He wants to see what she'll do.]

[It's slower than she expects, and that irritates her-- a vampire can do better, no matter where they're from, and she leans back to give herself room to raise an arm and counter him, knocking the incoming fist aside.]

You're not even trying.

I'm just getting warmed up, pet. You the sort that's all business, no foreplay, then?

[His next two hits are faster, one after the other in quick succession, though still lacking his full power.]

[She laughs, sharp and humorless. It's the kind of remark that she would have punched Simon for back in the day, although in that case it probably counted as foreplay.]

'Foreplay' implies something at least mildly exciting.

[But he does pick up his pace, and she comes close to missing her chance to deflect the second of this set of hits, backstepping to put space between them as she reassesses.

Alright. Not bad.]

Better-- slightly.

[He shrugs a shoulder as he moves fluidly into his next attack, still moving at an easy, unhurried pace.]

Just cause you say not to go easy on you doesn't mean I won't. I'd rather insult you than hurt you, and if I went all out on you I would hurt you.

[If she manages to dodge all his punches, maybe not, but the fact is, no one can dodge every punch, and he could hit her hard enough to break a rib without really trying.]

But feel free to make it more exciting.

[He's not wrong; she can dodge and deflect a lot, but she can't do it forever. Still, she's stubborn enough not to let that sway her, even though it makes her bristle a little more. He's not being unreasonable, but she's never been inclined to give any vampire the benefit of the doubt.]

If you wanted to make it really interesting, I could always bring some holy water into the mix.

[Said casually, as though she doesn't care what it might do to him. She ducks an incoming punch, though only barely, popping back up to move in close and attempt a sharp uppercut.]

[The blow hits, possibly because Spike isn't really trying to block, and he smirks at her, eyebrows quirking as he sweeps a leg under her.]

That would be interesting. Do you think you'd need it to win?

[That connects, and she finds herself knocked back onto the mat, careful not to catch herself with her hands to avoid straining her wrists. She glares up at him, but she feels slightly satisfied all the same.]

No, I don't.

[She pushes herself up off the mat, getting back to her feet.]

But most monsters fight dirty. Gotta be prepared to do the same.

Who says I'm a monster?

[He is a monster, in some ways. But he's worked to get past that. And he even waits for her to get up and find her feet again, isn't he a gentleman.]

[OPEN] She don't wait to begin, she bets on long shots;

training center

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