Jo turns toward the voice of the man who stepped up to her side -- a small jolt of surprise for how close he'd gotten, maybe how distracted and busy she'd gotten -- but her eyebrows are pushed up and her mouth is firmed toward a line that makes it clear she doesn't appreciate the tone or the words being thrown her way already. The whole of it making her stop in step.

Jo hadn't in the slightest listened to people tell her she was too small or in the wrong place, wrong time, wrong line of work since she started breathing anymore than she takes the guff of people who keep telling her she should already be dead.

"Did anyone actually ask you?" Because she wasn't. Didn't. Hadn't. Wouldn't be.