A Secluted Spot for Rule Breaking

Josefina Torriello was an Italian young woman. And if there was anything you needed to know about Italian women, it was that they were proud. Italian women like to talk. Preferably loudly. Sometimes inappropriately. They are absolutely convinced there is no better food than Italian. They will proclaim it to anyone who would listen, they will politely venture for ethnic on occasion and then pronounce their sentence: Italian food is just better. Italian women would never wish to be anything else other than Italian.

Josefina was no different. Yes, she was broken. Yes, she was mean, rude, and nothing less than a bully. BUT! She was Italian. And nothing short of it.

So, when she tumbled and fell -dislocating her shoulder- she got up and was pretty embarrassed when she remembered that the stupid music-kid was there and had probably witnessed the whole thing. She was also nothing short of angry because, just like she'd predicted, the rock had busted one of her wheels.

In the entire history of forever, there were only six people who could calm Jo down when she was angry: Her father (who she feared greatly), Seth (who was dead), Jake (who wished she was dead), Agnes McCoy (the Irish Anarchist; bright red hair, fiery personality; the only person to stand up to her; her best friend), Westly Peterson (who was deaf; her other best friend) and Hasanati Saada (who was from Burundi; everybody's best friend).

And so, with nobody here to calm her down, she reacted without thinking: she picked up a rock and hurled at Music-boy's head.

Jackson was about to leave the chariot track begins when a rock hithik in the back of his head, drawing out a loud 'ouch!. He groaned and looked at the girl, frowning. Had she really thrown a rock at his head? Had she really done that? He growled, walking closer and closer as he took out his bow and a special arrow. He was particularly nonviolent but he was mad that this girl, simply tossed a rock at his head for no reason!

Finally Jackson got to her, his eyes shining in anger. "What was that's for josefina?!" He exclaimed, looking at her tiny cobblestone and dirt building. "Lucky or unlucky for you though, I am ready to fight" he could easily see she was Italian, it to him, he didn't care, he wanted to get back at her.

Jackson was raised in Ohio, born and raised tere by a single mom and his younger brother, both people he had cared anout immensely until monsters burnt his house down trying to get to him and he was forced to go to camp, not that the child of Apollo cared, he liked to travel, and at camp he had met some great people.

In the very back of her head, Jo could here Aggie's voice yelling at her for throwing the rock, and yelling at him how dare you threaten my best friend!

Josefina smirked- because she really loved pissing people off. Oh, how she loved to watch their blood boil. Oh how she loved to see them get just as angry as she was all the time. And, oh, how she loved the competition. The challenge. The fight. The fight- oh how she loved to fight.

Jo was proud and smug, she thought herself better than everybody else (no she didn't, but it made her feel better to tell herself that she did). And so, she didn't even give him the time of day. She watched as Music-Boy angrily walked over to her and waited unit she was nose to nose with him to turn away and fix her busted skate wheel. She took her sweet time -just to piss him off- before even bothering to acknowledge him.

When she finally decided to stop wasting time, and did finally address him: the calm, smugness in her eyes was replaced by cold, hard, anger. "How in the HELL do you know my name?" She asked(yelled) angrily. She was just as tall as this boy (taller with her skates on), she was muscular, loud, skin caked in scars (some from roller derby, some... not so much), and she looked ready to tear anybody limb from limb- suffice to say, she was a little bit terrifying. Especially when she got in your face.

And she did just that. "Are you going to fight me, then? Are you going to bloody me up? Are you going to take your sword and torture me? Mutilate my body? Are you going to hurt me? Kill me?" She asked, her Italian voice laced with ice. "Are you going to beat up the poor girl with the dislocated shoulder?" She asked. Her voice was smooth: even colder than before.

"I'd like to see you try."

Jackson could tell exactly the type of person she was, right off the bat, it wasn't hard to tell by the way she demanded things and got all up in his face. "One thing at a time Josefina" he smirked, rubbing his hands along his smooth wooden bow. "And to answer your first statement, I've been to some roller derby you know, some with you competing and some without you competing." He told her, carefully and smoothly placing his bow back across his back, and grinned, showing his perfect smile.

"I should fight you I guess, but I don't feel like giving you the satisfaction, so I won't. Go pick your own fights with someone who is actually dumb enough to except, I have better things to do" he looked at her carefully. "So unless you want an archery contest, goodbye" he said and turned, starting to walk away from her.

He wondered exactly if she had recognized him, or perhaps she didn't know who he was, which he guessed could be a good thing since he was attempting to find peace and quiet. Although, the fight Josefina had just suggested was beginning to take over his mind and he paused, looking back at her. "You want to fight? Three separate duels, three different weapons" he told her "ranged, melee, and hand to hand"

He carefully walked back to her, making slight imprints in the ground as he watched for her reaction. "How about it then Jose, you up for it? I want to see what you can bring to a fight, maybe your bite isn't as bad as your bark" he told her, simply trying to get her to begin yelling insults.

Josefina narrowed her eyes. "Confident? Don't be. You've seen me compete in Roller Derby. I'll rip you apart and you know it. I'll chew you up and spit you out," Jo hissed.

She hated how complicated he made the fight. Everybody had to go and be all formal about fighting. She wasn't trying to win anything. She wasn't trying to prove how good she was with a weapon. She wasn't trying to prove her bravery. She was just pissed. She picked fights because she liked to fight. She liked it.

She didn't want a competition. Just a fight.

Jackson looked at her, chuckling a little bit. "I highly doubt you could rip me apart before I fill your body with holes from my arrows" He smirked, feeling quite confident even if he did know she was as tough as she said. On the roller derby track she was a beast, and he expected no less in a fight. However, they came from two entirely different types of fighting, ranged, and melee. Both had strategic advantages over the other, and weaknesses that could be exploited. Jackson knew those, and thought he would have a pretty good chance.

Stepping back a few feet he notched an arrow into the cord of his bow and raised the weapon, pointing it at her. The arrow he had just put in his bow was a simple arrow, celestial bronze tip, a staff about a foot long made from a honeysuckle branch, and a counterweight on the tail made up of two or three feathers. He pulled back on the string, took aim quickly and released, hoping his accuracy would stay true and hit her shoulder area, and hopefully not the neck or chest. Although he had great accuracy, once and a while an arrow was off, and he hoped it wasn't this one.

Stepping back farther after he had shot the first arrow, he notched a second arrow in his bow, holding the ancient weapon vertically as he aimed it at her. This time, unknown to her the arrow was a split-shot.

Josefina Torriello was a bully. There wasn't any denying it- no point in beating around the bush. She liked picking fights, she liked fighting; she beat people up on a regular basis. But all those fights, all those Roller Derby matches were hand to hand. They were fist fights. No arrows. No swords. No knifes. (Only two times in her entire life had she ever hurt anybody with a knife, and both of those times were out of self defense when she was attacked in an alley-way.) God forbid that she actually ever hurt anybody! Hell, most of the scars on her body weren't even from any kind of fight.

People would get cuts and scrapes and bumps and bruises. Black eyes, bloody noses, maybe a broken/dislocated jaw or a broken/dislocated nose (rarely, a concussion, but she never did that on purpose) when she picked fights with people. She made sure to mess up people's faces, give 'em a black eye and a bloody nose, make 'em eat dirt- just to make sure they knew not to piss her off. But never, EVER did she actually do SERIOUS damage!

In Roller Derby, things were a little different, a little more serious, but that was the name of the game! Black eyes, concussions, sprained ankles, cracked ribs, dislocated noses, jaws, shoulders were all common things! Sometimes somebody would end up with a broken nose, jaw, arm, wrist, ankle, rib -once somebody broke a collarbone- but those kinds of wounds were all to be expected! They'd heal! Sure, they hurt like Hell, but nobody died! Nobody got permanent damage!

The worst wound ever received in a Roller Derby match was a compound fracture in somebody's arm. Oh, God, there was blood everywhere. It made Jo sick to her stomach. The bone was sticking out of the girl's arm and- ugh... It wasn't Jo's fault but she felt terribly guilty over it; didn't sleep for a week out of guilt.

The point is that at school and in Roller Derby, nobody ever got seriously injured. Nobody ever nearly died. Jo made sure of it! Sure, she was a bully, but she wasn't a monster! Should couldn't ever reallyhurt somebody! But when she got to Camp, all that changed; every single fight was life or death! Call somebody a rude name, they jam a sword in your stomach!

And Jo forgot that. Jo forgot that she was at Camp. She forgot that she could get hurt like that. She forgot that she could die. And worse of all, she forgot that there was nobody here who cared enough to drag her sorry [CENSORED] to the infirmary. She forgot that there wasn't anybody there who actually liked her enough to not want to watch her bleed out slowly in the chariot track.

She forgot about that.

Oops.

Only when the boy had whipped out his bow and notched an arrow had she realized her horrible, horrible mistake. And she was so afraid. And she couldn't stop it. And she couldn't take it back. As he pulled back on the arrow, Jo's face tensed, contorting into absolute fear. Fear and regret.

She just wanted to pick a fight. She wanted to get in a fight. Give a black eye, get a black eye. She didn't want to die. Oh, God, please! No! I don't want die!

It was like everything slowed down. And all she could do was watch and wait, and she couldn't move. And she couldn't close her eyes. She couldn't look away as the arrow ripped through the air. It came closer and closer, tearing fabric, forcing it's way into skin- Oh God, there was blood everywhere! Who's blood was that?

Josefina Torriello had never been shot before. She'd been dragged, pulled, beaten, burned, cut, chokes, drowned, even electrocuted (only once, though) but NEVER shot. She didn't know what it would feel like. Part of her was curious.

She was surprised. It didn't feel like anything. She couldn't feel it at all- her brain couldn't process it, that's how bad it hurt. The first arrow made contact with her left shoulder (actually more like her left pectoral muscle than her shoulder) just below her collarbone, and far too close to her lung for comfort- although she didn't know that. She hear bones cracking and crunching, flesh tearing, muscles ripping as the arrow head went through skin, rib, (nicked the collarbone just a touch) muscle, scapula, (God, how far was it gonna go?!), the tip not quite breaking through the scapula bone. (Oh yay, dislocated shoulder AND an arrow. That's fun.) Jo didn't know what was happening. Her vision swam. It went fuzzy, then too clear, then too dark, then too bright, and Oh God she felt sick. She saw red. But it she didn't feel angry... She felt warm... and sort of sticky- what was that?! Food coloring? Tomato juice? Ketchup? Cranberry juice- that must be it. Why was she covered in cranberry juice?

The second arrow wasn't as accurate as the first. It hit lower and much further to the right- embedding itself nicely into Jo's right side. Again, Jo didn't feel it. But she felt the cranberry juice- what the HELL was with all the cranberry juice?! Who even brought cranberry juice?!

But then, she felt it. The split shot. Little metal, shrapnal orbs from Hell embedding themselves into her arm, side, middle, legs, even her face, and that's when she felt it. Like a thousand bees stinging her EVERYWHERE. God, make it stop, please make it stop!

The cranberry juice started leaking from her mouth (how was that even possible?!) and it tasted off- sort of metallic (what the Hell kind of cranberry juice was this?!).

She couldn't move, she couldn't talk, she couldn't see- but she saw the boy. The music boy. But she didn't really see him. No, what she saw was much more terrible.

Her head swam- she couldn't process it all. But she managed to say one thing. The great, terrifying bully Josefina, the feared Bermuda Rose. And what did she say?

"Please don't hurt me anymore..."

Jackson saw her fall, saw her bleed, watched her. He carefully set his bow down, feeling the smooth wood leave his hand and go down onto the dirt and sand track of the chariot course. Then his hands went to his quiver, unbuckling it from around his back, the leather strap falling loose, and then to the ground with a gentle thud. He opened his bag, and slowly began to pull out his first aid kit. "I'm not going to hurt you anymore Josefina, I'm going to help you"

He didn't like people wounded, but he acted in basically self defense, she started the fight, he ended it. He knew the extent his arrows had done on her body, and thought she should be so damn thankful he didn't send another arrow or two into her. With his first aid in hand, and completely unarmed, he went beside her and began to examine the wound carefully. It wasn't pretty, his first arrow had gone deep into her shoulder, against the scapula while his second one had barely hit her side, but the minute balls of shrapnel were imbedded all over that side of her body.

His mind narrowed down to pure medical knowledge, not hard seeing he was a son of Apollo and his mom had been a nurse. Slowly, he grasped the first arrow shaft, lifting it straight out of her body, and tossed it away. He knew blood would be coming faster from the small wound in her shoulder and quickly ripped off his shirt, cut it into strips and used the strips to bind a section of gauze over the wound, a suitable bandage until he would ultimately take her to the infirmary.

As for the split shot shrapnel, he thanked the gods none had gone in deep, and the arrow itself was barely inside her side as it were. Quickly he dug through the orange bag that held a wide variety of supplies before finally finding what he needed, a small pair of surgically clean needle nose pliers, barely larger than Jackson's hand as he knelt over her, quickly, yet carefully extracting as many of the shrapnel he could, placing a small section of ambrosia in her mouth as he did.

He was well aware that he could not fully help her, and he Didn't have the skills or supplies to accomplish that feat, but he knew he could help her quite a bit, to remove and bandage most of the wounds that he had inflicted on her during the brief fight. He was being very gentle with her, slowly lifting her legs to concentrate her blood up towards the head, to help fight shock.

"So, what's your name?" He asked, trying to just make a conversation to make sure she was ok until he had finished with all he could do for her. "Your quite the evil demon on the track, honestly if this was roller derby and not camp I would have actually cowered" he smiled a bit, just being friendly as he tended to her wounds, working steadily and carefully as he managed to get most of the shards of metal out, and applied drops of nectar to the worst of the areas.

He actually felt slightly guilty of hurting her, even if she was a bully, and even someone who had threatened to pound him into a pulp. But, he was naturally kind kid and had the responsibility of fixing the injuries. "Perhaps I should take you to the infirmary after this, you don't weigh that much, do you?"

THE RULES:
1.) The MOST important rule- don't scream. Don't EVER scream. He said he'll kill you if you scream. Even if he doesn't... You'll wish he did.
2.) Don't cry. He only hits you harder if you cry.
3.) Don't talk. Don't say anything at all. He'll revoke your eating privileges for a week if you speak.
4.) Don't pass out. Bad things happen when you pass out.
5.) Drop it. Don't talk about it, don't think about it. It didn't happen. "Where did you get all those bruises from?" "...Bruises? What bruises?" If he finds out  
6.) It's going to happen again so get used to it.
7.) You have to show up to ALL previously planned social events after this. If they notice that you're gone, they'll think something's up.
8.) You have to add a tally mark because you're weak and pathetic for letting this happen and you need to be punished.
9.) No hospitals. No infirmary. No nothing.
10.) You're fine. It doesn't hurt. Stop being so pathetic.
11.) This only happens because you deserve it.

Josefina kept running THE RULES through her head, over and over and over, reminding herself what she could NOT DO ANY CIRCUMSTANCE. She had to keep her mind busy so she didn't break rule #4.

She didn't really have any idea what was going on. Everything hurt. Oh god, it hurt so bad- Shut up. No it didn't. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt at all. She couldn't quite remember what had happened. Did it really matter, though? The point was, it had happened. That's all that matters.

Her stomach gurgled. Oh, add to the list rule #12- Don't throw up. Lord knows what he'd do to her if she got sick on him. She was vaguely aware that he was talking to her. She didn't know what he was saying, but she could assume that it was something nasty. She didn't say anything, rule #2.

She did her best to plan out what she was going to do: First, she'd wait until her head stopped spinning (couldn't pass out, rule #4) and then she'd wash off all the blood, slap on a Hello Kitty Band-Aid, change clothes and go to bed. In the morning, she'd get out her secret stache of Lidocane (that stuff was glorious. It was a special gel that constricts blood vessles and makes the area 100% numb for a good 20 min.) and her (least) favorite sewing needles, some thread, and sew the cut closed. Slap on another (Avengers, this time) Band-Aid and she'd be right as rain.

Luckily, her next Roller Derby competition wasn't until the day after tomorrow (she HAD to show up, rule #7) so that'd give her a full 24 hours to rest up.

Uh-oh, she felt herself being moved and she WOUDLN"T have that. No, sir. she wouldn't let him take her ANYWHERE. That should be a rule. Rule #13, Don't let him move you.

Jackson kept up the hard work, slightly worried that she wasn't responding but at least she was breathing and well, still conscious. However he just wasn't sure about the emotional leveled she was going through, but he was sure about her physical condition. Her shoulder was a mess, it had already been dislocated and now the tip from his arrow had scratched one of her bones, as well as pierced several muscles and tore an artery. And if that wasn't enough, he wasn't sure about her preferences towards better medical treatment was.

He noticed that the bandage around her shoulder had quickly bwcome crimson with blood and frowned, she was loosing too much blood, and too fast. He hoped he would be able to stably se the wounds before she blacked out, and hopefully she wouldn't die on him, he didn't need to tell Chiron he ha committed an accidental homicide. "Are you awake Josefina?" He asked again, not sure if the girl was ignoring him, in shock, or just in so much pain she couldn't respond.

The famous son of Apollo carefully bandaged the major wounds, which were her shoulder of course, and her side where his split shot had hit. He knew he could always try to sing to soothe her, but seeing how singing had provoked her in the first place, it didn't seem like a good idea at all. Guilt pained his mind as he finally bandaged her up, finally covered and sterilized the major wounds when all that he had left to do now was simply move her to either his cabin, the infirmary, or a random group of kids with mystic healing abilities.

Glancing around the track he took note of a stretcher, laid beside a medical cross with that Hermes snake staff thing he could never remember in the middle, part of the chariot first aid response, for when something bad happened at a race, and that was usually what happened anyway, you simply couldn't control demigods like that. Running over, her rolled it over to her and lowered it down, so he could easily pick her up and place her on the linen stretcher.

"Damnit speak to me, I know you can" he told her, not caring if she cussed him out or anything he just needed a response, something to tell him the condition of her mind and possibly how much pain she was enduring, which should be less because of his use of the godly substances nectar and ambrosia.

"Dammit speak to me, I know you can,"

Oh, the double-edged sword. It seems he was done inflicting physical wounds- let's move onto emotional torture. Josefina knew how this one worked. Oh she knew it well. Initially, he'd forbidden her from speaking. Rule #2, don't speak. If she speaks, he'll revoke her eating privileges for a week. And that was no fun. Because then you have add the task of pretending to be just fine even though you haven't eaten in so damn long. Not eating also, Jo had discovered long ago, tended to hinder the healing process. HOWEVER, if she DIDN'T talk when he gave her the clear demand to talk he'd hurt her worse. And that just... that was just unfortunate. It was like freaking Sophie's Choice! Emotional torture!

But Josefina smirked.

She'd made her decision long, long ago- She liked eating. The added time of another beating would be over in under an hour. A whole week without eating was far too unbearable. She made up her mind. Eating. Nope, she'd wouldn't speak. Not one word.

Jo was, for some reason, suddenly reminded of the fact that her shoulder was dislocated. Dislocated and shot. Can you imagine trying to pop the shoulder back into place? Oh that's gonna suuuuck. Jo thought.

She was bored. It hurt. She wanted to go home, she wanted to sleep. She could tell, she could just tell that he was going to try and move her.

Yeah, how about no.

Jo pondered whether or not she was fit to get up and walk back to her room- bunk. Riiiiight. She was back at camp. She forgot about that. Things started clicking in her brain and she remembered. The fog lifted. She opened her eyes- and quickly shut them again. Nope, not yet.

And then another thought hit her: God dammit, the camper was still there. Can you imagine what he must think of her now? Jo swallowed thickly. She didn't want to think about it. Nope, not one bit. Tears of humiliation -failure, pathetic- stung the back of her eyes. NO STOP IT DON'T YOU DARE. DON'T YOU DARE CRY. RULE #2. DAMMIT JO! RULE #2! DON'T YOU DARE EVEN THINK ABOUT CRYING! Suddenly, she didn't feel like crying anymore.

She locked her jaw and clenched her fists, trying to convince herself to be angry at him.

Jackson noticed her clench her jaw and tighten her fists, which either meant she was mad at him, or she was reacting from pain. He could notice a small salty year on one side of her face, and even took note how she had snapped her eyes open, and then clenched them shut tightly again. He frowned, wondering if she was feeling hatred or pain as he finally got her entire bloody body onto the stretcher and began to push it towards te infirmary, grabbing his weapons on the way. With all the Hermes campers around, one could simply be robbed at any momet. The troll brothers themselves were notorious, pranks and such.

Jackson hoped she would make it though, the slight tear an the flickering eyes had brought him a small pinch of hope that perhaps he could get her to the infirmary and slip back to his cabin. Then again, he was pretty famous and easy to findC and she would want revenge or something... Maybe he could leave camp? He wasn't exactly sure what he could do but all he knew was that he had to be smart, and quick I'd she came back to get him.

After all, if she got him before he could raise his bow, he was sure to get bruises, a wound to the gut with a blade or possibly have his throat slit. He knew she was a violent bully and knew that it was almost impossible that she would even consider to thank him for sparing her life.

Ten again, was sparing her life the right option? Jackson wasn't totally against killing people, but what if he had? Maybe it would've helped so many kids she bullied... He sighed, continuing to push the stretcher with her on it down the cobblestone path towards the good sized infirmary, hoping someone could help him there. But what if no one was there? Worry crossed his face as he stared down at her, before looking ahead and continued to push, ignoring the pain in his abdomen from being out of breath.

Fear. Absolute fear. And self-loathing. That's what she felt. She was deflated. Everything she had every worked for in her entire life had gone up in a puff of smoke. Music-Boy had seen her. He'd seen her in a total state of vulnerability! What would he do with that information?! Jo didn't want to know... She almost just wanted to let it go.. And maybe, for once in her life... just once... let somebody else take care of her. She relaxed. Just the smallest hint of a smile ghosting her lips. Perhaps... it wouldn't be too bad...

And then she remembered. She remembered why she couldn't ever let that happen.

A malnourished little girl sat huddled against the wall, covered in fresh burns. Her skin was painted in bruises of varying degrees and ages. Her right eye was black and swollen completely shut. She trembled in fear as a huge figure loomed over her, red-hot fire poker in hand.
"Please don't hurt me anymore, daddy..."

Poor little baby Josefina. Begging wasn't going to get you anywhere.

The memory was enough to fill Jo with adrenaline and she shot up off the stretcher like a rocket, knocking it over in the process. She landed none-too-gracefully on her backside. Getting up slowly, she looked like a feral animal: covered in blood, eyes wide with absolute terror.

Adrenaline was a God-sent. She didn't feel anything. No pain, nothing. Just the desperate need to get out of there.

She narrowed her eyed clenched her fists, the look of absolute hatred etched into her face. "DON'T YOU DARE EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN!" She screamed at him. Little secret: she wasn't angry. She wasn't angry at all. No, she was terrified. Terrified to the point where she was physically shaking. Oh, but she was a great actress.

Jackson had his bow in his hands the moment she shot up, yet mother arrow in its deadly hold as it aimed at her head. If she attacked him, he would shoot her in the face, he would kill her. He had just saved her life and this is how she reacted. Then he heard her speak, he could tell she was acting, it was almost perfect, but his keen sense of acting and show business enabled him to pick out the acting from the real tone in her voice and and lowered his bow slowly.

After putting his bow down, and raising his hands a slowly in the air as an act of peace he stared at her. "Easy Jo, I just saved your life" he reminded her, the stretcher in between them. Of she wanted, he knew she could ice him quite a bloody face before he could make a move on her, however, she was still pretty wounded. "I'm only trying to help, so stop being so stubborn"

He wanted her to stop this, just relax and let him continue to help her, she wouldn't make it far without his help, he was sure of that. The blonde haired Apollo demigod watched her carefully, trying to decipher her real emotions, trying to learn what he could about her, not just her bully exterior but what made her tick. What made her who she was.

It was obvious she had suffered abuse, he could tell that by the way she was acting, by the way she yelled at him, by her....persona

The arrow pointed at her face- she froze. Her brain was working too slowly. Then it came rushing back. Bow pointed at her face? Good. Great! It meant he feared her. Fear was good. She wanted him to fear her. Because you don't hurt people you're afraid of.

And then he lowered the bow and her heart sank.

"PISS OFF!" She screamed at him. "I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP! YOU SHOT ME! I WOULDN'T NEED YOUR HELP IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU!" Her brain kept screaming at her to shut up, but she knew she had to play the part. "YOU SHOT ME! WHAT THE HELL KIND OF CHEAP MOVE WAS THAT?! THAT'S S***! ABSOLUTE BULLS***! WHY THE F*** SHOULD I TRUST YOU NOW?! LEAVE ME THE F*** ALONE!" Okay... Maybe a little bit angry.

Jackson watched her, listened to her as he smirked. "You won't last ten steps without me, your still pretty wounded" he offered, slowly approaching her. "Jo, just let me help them I'll let you cream me to a pulp ok? Sound like a deal?" Sure, Jackson wasn't happy with the terms but of he was able to fix her, he would be willing to take her fists.

He watched her carefully, thinking as he slowly approached her. "Come on Jo...you know what I'm saying is true" he said softly, trying not to agrivate her. It was obvious of the abuse she had suffered, and he wanted to help as much as he could until he allowed her to pound him into a pulp or whatever she wanted to do.

Honestly? Jackson was nervous, but he didn't let it show. He ha smiled when a crowd boos him, he had made it through an ancient library, he had come this far, and he was going to make it past this.

Josefina stared at him. Stared at him for a long, long time before responding. "Is that what you think this is? Is that what you think I am? A monster? Do you think I'm a monster?" She asked, genuinely hurt. "You've never met monsters before," She didn't say it as an insult; she meant it. She really did.

But then she realized her fake persona was slipping and she had to keep it up. Her body tensed in anger, letting anger fuel from that hurt feeling. "I absolutely REFUSE to let you help me," She spat. "And I'll still beat you to a pulp, so sleep with one eye open. And you don't think I can make it? Watch me." Her words were filled with ice and venom.

And she meant it. She'd dealt with worse wounds before. She was going to make it. And so, with that, she whipped around and stalked off.

And guess what?

She made it.

OOC I've got this really brilliant idea! So I'm gonna post with Jo in a topic in Outside Camp called "Roller Derby Match". It takes place two days after this, and that's where I want them to meet up again.

OOC; ok!!

BIC; Jackson sighed,
Shaking his head as he left