𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨-𝙧.𝙖.𝙗

𝟭𝟭-𝗯𝗼𝘅𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗮𝘆

JO IS WOKEN UP ON BOXING DAY BY A HEAVY WEIGHT LANDING SQUARE IN HER GUT, making her cough and grunt and groan. Her eyes peel open, heavy and sticky and slow to adjust to the bright light pouring in from her window, to see the familiar blurred form of copper-colored curls and deep set dimples. Jo rubs her eyes with balled up fists and says, "Who the hell let you in?"

Hestia rolls over on her side, resting her forehead on her palm and eyeing Jo. "Your mum, of course. You better get up, by the way," she says, and then hops up, sitting on her shins and now hovering over Jo. "Alice and Vance'll be over soon."

Jo tries to sink further into her bed, pulling her duvet cover under her eyes. "They can piss off," she grumbles, voice thick with exhaustion. Her newly developed sleepless habits have followed her home, and she had spent the entire night tossing and turning and watching as the sun melted into the night sky, slipping into dawn.

The warmth and the darkness of the shelter of the duvet cover is bliss, but it is cut short by Hestia ripping it right off of her, exposing her to the brightness and coldness of the morning. Curses and complaints fall from her lips as she lays flat, squeezing her eyes shut and Hestia seems indifferent to it. She sits on the end of the bed. "C'mon, Jo, I missed you," Hestia croons, gripping on to Jo's bicep and shaking her slightly.

"Hasn't even been a week," Jo reminds her, squeezing her eyes shut hard now, hoping that if she keeps them closed for long enough, Hestia will disappear and return later, when she's gotten more than just two hours of sleep. But she stays, suddenly moving about Jo's room and rummaging through her clothes and throwing various clothing items onto her bed, dress robes, sweaters, skirts, jeans. Jo finally opens her eyes and sits up when a pair of shoes hits her in the gut. "What are you doing?"

"Picking out an outfit for you," Hestia replies, pulling out a vest and examining the fabric, twirling it around in her hands. "This is cute. You should wear this."

Jo lets out a long, low groan. "For what?"

Hestia shoots her a look of exasperation, eyes rolled up and jaw slacked. "It's Boxing Day, Jo," she says, hanging the vest up on the door handle of her closet. "We're going pub hopping. Do you have any fur coats?"

Jo shakes her head and rolls off of her bed, feet hitting the cool, hardwood floor and making her shutter. "I'm not seventeen yet," she reminds Hestia, stretching her hands high above her head.

"That's why we're pub hopping," Hestia explains, now fishing out a brown, fur-trimmed coat that Jo's never even worn before. "We'll leave before we get caught and by the time anyone's figured us out, we'll be at the next one."

"Sounds like a very, very bad idea," Jo says slowly, eyeing Hestia, trying to see if she's serious or not.

Hestia gives her a flat look, unimpressed. "You know, you used to be fun."

"Times do change, Jones."

"Not tonight they don't," she asserts, pulling together some mossy striped corduroys, holding them up to Jo, eyes narrowed. "We're having fun and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. Now, put this on."

Jo looks towards the frosted window, the sunlight almost blinding as it's reflecting against the snow. "What time is it anyways?"

"Almost eleven," Hestia answers easily. "You missed breakfast, but your mum said lunch'll be ready soon."

Jo crosses her arms over her chest and leans against her bedpost. "Damn."

Hestia looks at Jo, eyes trailing along her neck, along the chain that now hangs over her chest. She takes the pendant in between her fingers, looking at the juniper inside. "This is cute. Where'd you get it?"