Jo's ears are sharp as a cat's. In a light-deprived world like the underground, eyesight falls back while the other senses step up to fill the void. She is aware, at all times, of the shape and distance of the Dog by the sounds her movements make. Her leather is loud in the drippy quiet. She is out of her element. Things that survive in the dark are silent and slick as blades, not blunt and explosive as bullets. In a fight out in the sun, this bitch might easily best her. But this desperate woman is not where she belongs, and Jo is ready for that gun by the time it's drawn. She can hear it the moment the mutt's fingers touch it-- the sound of callused fingers on a hard grip, the grinding whisper as it's drawn from its holster. Jo grits her teeth in anger, furious that this wretch bitch has the balls to come down into her kingdom, and to try to kill her now that she's been caught. "Tyagi randi chen," she curses through her teeth, swinging to the side as her hand flashes down to wrap around the barrel of the bitch's Colt before she can raise the weapon. She twists it, forcing the butt of the grip into the other woman's stomach, directing the line of fire away from both of them while her other hand whips through the air, flying for the side of the Hellhound's jaw. The smooth bone hilt of her hunting knife is gripped tight in her fist, reinforcing the punch she attempts to land.