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Nodding, Jo got a good hold on Speck's halter and tugged him along in the right direction. He limped along behind Grete, gait rolling unnaturally as he carted the little pony off toward the woman's trailer where, upon arrival, they waited patiently enough. At some point while Grete was inside, Jo eased himself down to sit on the lower step up to the door, one leg stretched out with the heel of his shoe grinding into the dirt.

He looked up sharply when she came out again and eased as quickly as he could manage up off the step. He half used his hold on Speck's halter as leverage for the movement, something the pony seemed accustomed to. "Find 'em?" he asked, the question answered a half beat later. Jo followed her pointed finger with a cut of eyes, glancing in the indicated direction.

"It's a start," he said with a shrug and clucked at Specks, moving off in that direction with the clear expectation that she'd be catching up in a few strides or so.

Now probably wasn't the time to admit that he hadn't really had much contact with the ringmaster at all. Sure, a cursory 'oh okay, you're hired I guess let's see how you do, don't get eaten by a tiger' thing, but certainly no time to garner much of an opinion on the man.

So Jo kept his trap shut, nodding and making vaguely agreeable sounds at the proper moments as Grete rambled on, keeping a good hold on Specks' halter to keep the pony from tugging him off in another direction. By the time they reached the trailers, Specks was tossing his head and tugging a little absently at the hold Jo had on him, ears flipping around at a mile a minute. His tail swished at a few flies and kept swirling around absently even when they were gone. Jo eyeballed the pony wearily and then glanced past Grete to the supply trailers, let his gaze run over them like water off a duck's back for a few seconds.

"Start from the left, I guess," he said at length, leading Specks over to the closest post (it held up a poster that read in bold red letters 'LUCREZIA the SKYWARD BOUND!', pictured beneath a slapdash painting that featured a wisp of a girl in a bright leotard gripping what Jo assumed was supposed to be some kind of trapeze swing's handle), and tying him to it sounding before he limped back to the leftmost trailer and waited for Grete to bring the ring of keys.

"Home run," Jo declared absently, easing up behind her as she turned the key in the lock and slid open the doo--

"Sonuvvabitch," He ducked slightly as the birds look off overhead, nearly earning a nose full of Grete's auburn hair in the process as she jumped back into him. He caught her soundly by the elbows from behind, half to make sure she didn't go ricocheting back into something sharp and pointy like the trailer's door latch, and half to make sure she didn't knock him flat on the ground. His legs didn't make the best foundation when it came to balance, so a whole heap of startled woman bashing into him full-on probably wouldn't have ended well. He released her quickly, snatching his hands back to himself the moment Grete seemed unlikely to go bouncing dangerously off one way or another. "S'alright, spooked me too," he reasoned as he rocked his weight deftly to one side and followed her into the dim light of the trailer's interior.

He started to dig through the contents immediately, shifting through bags of feed and boxes of who knew what, taking up handfuls of grain and seed for inspection before letting it drop back into their burlap or canvas sacks. "Grain, should be labeled pretty clear in some sort of bag. The ones at home where in brown sacks, but--" Well, things at home seemed to be totally different here, at least on some occasions. "I think I see some hay at the back there, so there's that anyway. And you're not boring." Maybe a little crazy and bird-hating though.

"It's probably heavy," he forewarned her, eying the bales of hay sideways and briefly. "I can get them. You keep looking for that grain." Dusting off his hands unconsciously, Jo picked his way around the contents of the trailer until he reached the bales of hay stacked against the back wall of the trailer. He took a few seconds to dig up the twine out off the loose hay on top, taking care to carry on the conversation as he did so, including a brief "Thanks, I think," in return.

"What do you do? For being a mentor, I mean. Does she do the same sort of things as you?" He asked as he hauled one of the bales from the top of the stack, the twine cutting into his palms as he lugged it down the length of the trailer and tossed it out the open doorway. He could practically feel the interest radiating off Specks where he'd tied the pony. Shrugging, he ducked back inside the trailer and headed for a second bale, at which point it occurred to him that he didn't actually have any clue what Grete did - beyond shrieking at birds and drinking a whole lot of liquor, apparently.

The hell was a medium? Dragging a second hay bale off the stack, Jo shot Grete what he hoped was a subtle once-over in the dim lighting, as if looking her over again might somehow inform him of what exactly a 'medium' was. Maybe she was of average height (though she seemed a little shorter than that to him - but he was kinda all wet when it came to guessing averages and ages and that sort of thing anyways, so), but that's about the only thing he could guess that might be medium about her. Shrugging inwardly, he staggered to the door of the trailer and chucked the second bale out into the dirt and grass with the first.

"Don't imagine that too many people do enjoy it - getting hurt. Imagine you're real ducky at everything else though." He grinned a little at her, quick and sudden, before descending onto a stack of boxes and canvas bags that hadn't been checked out yet, shuffling through and picking various bags open to check out the contents when they looked promising.

Finally Jo had the good fortune of catching hold of and pulling back an old brown tarp, under which was a whole stack of bags similar to what Grete had found earlier only full. "Bingo."

"Uh, ducky. Good?" Chrissakes, sometimes talking to these people was like talking in another language - oh sure, most times he got the gist of what people were saying, but who knew if they got half of what was coming out of his mouth.

Toeing the bags of grain, Jo looked between them and Grete's arms which, he had to admit, kind of looked a little noodle-y to be hauling around bags of grain. "Might be able to drag a couple," he conceded as he braced his legs and hauled one of the bags up out of the swirling dust, hitching it awkwardly over his shoulder.

"I think that's probably it, to be honest. He's got a stall and a water bucket in one of the tents, so I don't think..." Nonetheless, Jo shot a glance over the rest of the trailer on the off chance that something would jump out at him. He shrugged as much as the grain sack on his shoulder would allow and then rolled toward the doorway and dropped the grain out near the hay bales.

"I don't guess there'd be a wheelbarrow or something around to move all this with?" He could carry it if he had to but... well, hauling hay across the the midway one bale at a time really wasn't his idea of entertainment.

Jo nodded, easing shut the door to the trailer they'd been poking through as Grete bustled over to one of the others. The door ground a little on its hinges, needing an oiling or maybe just a new set of wheels to roll on the door track. He closed the latch but left the lock open, just in case on the off chance that he'd closed the door on something that Grete might have wanted.

"Should work like a charm," he said as she hauled the little wheelbarrow over. "Might have to make two trips, but that's better than three. Can you hold it steady?" Shifting, he took a good grip on the twin binding the first hay bale and hauled it out of the sand, dumping it into the rickety old wheelbarrow as carefully as he could manage so the whole thing didn't dump over onto either Grete or something. A little clever maneuvering got the second bale on top of the first, a bag of grain stuffed into the spare space on the side.

"Okay," said Jo, eying the balance of the wheelbarrow warily as if waiting for it to keel one way or another. "Hopefully I don't kill anyone on the way over there, huh?"

From a few yards away, Specks danced on the end of his line and whinnied at them - well, more specifically, at the food Jo had stuffed into the wheelbarrow. He tossed his sledgehammer shaped head and bobbed like a fish at the end of a hook.

Yeah, running people down with the point of a wheelbarrow - probably not one of the better impressions to make on the general populous of the production. Jo shifted a little, altering his grip on the handles as he waited for Grete to return from locking up the trailer.

"I think I can manage, just... keep your hand on the side. Just in case." He glanced at her, grinned. "I'll try not to dump everything over on top of you in the meantime."

He rocked his weight forward, digging his toes into the earth and shoving the wheelbarrow (bit of a flat tire there) forward in the direction of where Specks' stall had been set up. Behind them, the pony twisted a little on his lead and whickered after them until he realized he was expected to wait at which point he settled down, ears pinning a little, and then dropped his nose to the ground to pick at the sparse grass around his feet. Harumph.

Clanging along - there was a bolt or something loose -, Jo kept his eyes ahead to make sure he didn't run over any small children or animals on the way. Or, you know, get tangled up in a piece of rope or something. Nonetheless, he did a fairly good job at keeping up some semblance of conversation; besides, Grete seemed to need little prodding from himself to keep talking.

"You're fine. Don't think I'm liable to go talking all day myself, so it doesn't hurt for you to make up for that."