The scent -- almost taste -- of bile is strong in her throat, up her nose, but the urge to vomit because of it is a reaction long lost in that palce. Where she was covered in blood and any number of things exploded from a body as par for the course in her weeks changed and racing forward under the red-black sky. It still doesn't change the race of shock, the newest reason for the flare of anger, or how both are better, easier, than a minute.

"Yeah, whatever. Like that's been helping anyone around here tonight." Is hard while she looking between the collapsed miserable pile of body on the bed, blonde hair everywhere, and her own now ruined clothes and spattered body. The floor around her. The stench only getting stronger for longer seconds of existing. "I need-" To get out of this. Clean herself. The floor. Him. Thorfinn, collapsed. Miserable. Face looking no better. Like he might just do it again.

"I'll be right back." Jo gives on shuddering or pausing or flinching. Her fingers gathering mess into her shirt, getting slick and acidic in her hands, for the most of it she can have in her shirt and not falling even more heartily on the floor around her when she stands. Her stomach is turning, but she shoves it down. Back. Gritted teeth and bones. "I'll get you something. Try not to do that again before I get back."

She makes it to the door, still marshaling her own body's reactions, and the spur of disgusted-annoyance before she looks back.
"Don't die, again, before then either." It's a sharp thing, with no note of the thing in her face, that uncertainty to walk away.
Like if she looks away this will all be the first of the worst dreams and he won't actually be there on that bed.


Just before she does. Slip from the door, the room. A roll of eyes and her stomach, needing a shirt and a bucket at least.