It slides on soundly enough. The boots Jo has don't even need taking off first. She gets it up to her thighs, holding it between both as she slides the top section through her belt. She can't tell if it is taking too long, and it makes her hazard a look up as she's sinching her belt. Just as Dean's suddenly looking away. At the gate. The unmoving, uninteresting, still unchanged gate.
Jo found the strange, still not-quite-checkable, smile added to with an unexpected flood of heat in her cheeks as she looked back down just as fast. She finished fastening the belt with slightly clumsier fingers as she tried to push that right back down. So much as any of it wanted to listen to her at all. Not when her blood was still racing too far ahead of her, and those gates, and the next five or ten or however many minutes. Already galloping even as she stood still.
Throwing a foot back up into the stirrup and shoved herself back up on her horse without some steps (which was still something she was figuring out how to master gracefully, but she powered through it like the best). Settling herself back in the saddle. Checking the set of the thigh holster and tugging it so all the bolts were arranged upward and only the flat strap was under her thigh.
"C'mon," Jo held out a hand for the crossbow, smile still a little too wide—all the way to lifting her cheeks and brightening up her copper eyes—even though her words were chiding at him. Like he was the thing that had held them up another five minutes, and not her, on the ground, off her horse. "We better go see if you have good taste."
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Jo found the strange, still not-quite-checkable, smile added to with an unexpected flood of heat in her cheeks as she looked back down just as fast. She finished fastening the belt with slightly clumsier fingers as she tried to push that right back down. So much as any of it wanted to listen to her at all. Not when her blood was still racing too far ahead of her, and those gates, and the next five or ten or however many minutes. Already galloping even as she stood still.
Throwing a foot back up into the stirrup and shoved herself back up on her horse without some steps (which was still something she was figuring out how to master gracefully, but she powered through it like the best). Settling herself back in the saddle. Checking the set of the thigh holster and tugging it so all the bolts were arranged upward and only the flat strap was under her thigh.
"C'mon," Jo held out a hand for the crossbow, smile still a little too wide—all the way to lifting her cheeks and brightening up her copper eyes—even though her words were chiding at him. Like he was the thing that had held them up another five minutes, and not her, on the ground, off her horse. "We better go see if you have good taste."