Cagey bitch. Jo bares her teeth, her dark eyes narrowing in the swallowing black of the tunnel. Her temper is ticking shorter and she feels she is at a great advantage. The last time they met, Jo was fresh off of several months of mourning that left her out of shape and out of practice. They had scrapped it out in the bright sunlight and Jo only scraped by by the heat of her rage and the skin of her teeth. Maybe if the gnashing mouths of undead things hadn't broken up their fight, this canine cunt could have bested her. But now Jo is back at full strength, her fists broken in with calluses again, her blade slick and well-used, her tensed muscles no longer hibernating. And, best of all-- her eyes are made for the dark. The Hellhound is a sunny, sandy bright blond beacon in the black. She's hard to miss. Jo can only imagine her adversary is half-blind in the shadows, and she knows she blends with the dark much better than the Dog does.
"It became my business when you brought it down here, bitch," Jo hisses through gritted teeth. "You picked the wrong place to have a think." Jo has had enough of this circling prowl. With a suddenness she strikes, intending first to disarm the mutt so she swings her forearm up to block the path of the arm clutching that knife while her fist flies for the Hellhound's face.