I Will Burn With a Light of My Own
Who: St. George, Joan of Arc When: May 30th, afternoon Where: Jo's apartment What: Feast day
Jo needed help. She wouldn't admit it, since she was even more stubborn than George when it came to admitting it, but she needed help. No one should have to relive being burned alive by themselves, and George wasn't about to let Jo suffer through it. He'd been standing outside her building for several minutes, wavering between the pull of someone that needed him and the fear that Jo would find his presence uncomfortable.
He remembered the look on her face as she relived what the soldiers had done to her when she was captured. George really, really did not want to intrude on her.
But she needed him.
Mind made up, he made his way to her apartment and knocked at the door. He shifted from foot to foot in front of it, anxiously, waiting for her to respond. When there was nothing, he knocked again. After at least five minutes of waiting, he hissed out a curse and picked the lock.
"Jo!" he called out, walking in, "your door was open. Kind of."