nookiepowered: (bath (relaxing))
This was not Bo's first trip around the Fandom block, which was why security officer or no, you were not going to catch her Saturday night in the middle of a pumping, grinding mass of overly hormonal teenagers. Which... pretty much described the island now, and if she had her way, you wouldn't be catching Bo here either. But...

Let's just say that Bo's suggestion to the Portalocity operator when he told her there were no open dimensional paths to anyplace or anyone she would usually flee to was... well, if he'd been here and willing to take it literally, Bo wouldn't be having to settle for a long bath behind the Chinese screens, a Pinot Noir, and an audiobook of 49 Tints of Ecru.

Read by the most obnoxious voice actor she could find, just in case the prose didn't shut down her libido on its own.

...Goddammit, when did Gilbert Gottfried get so hot?

[For an unexpected interloper who may or may not be the mayor, but open for calls and yellings-up-the-stairs as well! Aaaaaaand now NSFW.]
nookiepowered: (action (water is wet))
Bo never knew whether she loved or hated the island on nights like this. In the hate column, she'd just been walking down the street minding her own business (and if that street happened to go past the art supplies n' birth control megastore no longer an official franchisee according to corporate, it was none of your business) when at least a gallon of freezing cold water -- and freaking ICE CUBES -- came pouring down out of the sky onto her head. Right in front of Tamsin's place because of course she was, because Fandom.

On the other hand, blondie didn't get much chance to snicker at Bo from her front step before the heavens opened up on her too, which was gratifying. (What Bo could see of it through her dripping hair, anyway.)

Squelching across town to get home would've been decidedly less so, but several eyerolls later (and one assurance that Tamsin didn't give a crap personally but she was an officer of the law and Bo on the street in a wet t-shirt was clearly a menace to public safety), Tamsin was tossing dry clothes at her while Bo tried not to drip too much on the carpet as she peeled herself out of the soaked ones.

Overall, she'd have been willing to call the whole thing a draw -- if her tabulations hadn't been interrupted by the both of them suddenly kerthumping to said carpet like two sacks of potatoes. Two very wet, half-naked, completely unconscious sacks of potatoes.

Because Fandom.

[Estaaaaaablishy. *valkyrie-mods, as you do, because Fandom*]
nookiepowered: (object (WTF am I?))
Bo's final solution for the sounds coming from her desk had been the cowardly way out, she supposed, but...

Surely sticking a padlock on the drawer and adding three layers of duct-tape just for good measure could be looked at as a humanitarian gesture, despite the fact that neither she nor whateverthehell was in her desk were human?

It wasn't like they could escape from tha--

Oh.

Um. Well, at least it wasn't like Bo was around when the thumping and bumping finally gave way to BANG BAM BOOM RRRRRIP BOING and a seemingly endless stream of
these things


burst out?

So, plausible deniability and all that.

Luckily for the school, the door was shut, the windows were open, and the Protogizkabunny horrors took the path of least resistance as they bounced away.
nookiepowered: (security (uniform default))
"You could fit three of me in these pants with room left over for Tiny, Herc, a raging polyester rash and a bachelorette to be named later!"

Today wasn't the first time Bo had worn her staff uniform in public. It was just the first time she'd given in to her hatred for the shin-length Agatha Christie skirt and tried out the pants instead.

Today wasn't the first time she'd bitched out loud about her staff uniform to an empty office, either. It was just the first time she got a reply.

From her desk drawer.

Of snorts, squeaks, thumps, and some sound Bo not only didn't have words for, she didn't want to have words for it.

"Stop that!"

No such luck. It just got louder.

"For Christ's sake, I'm a succubus. You think I don't know what you're doing in there? Cut it out!"

There might as well have been a post-it note attached that said If The File Drawer's Rockin', Don't Bother Knockin'.

"I have a gun!"

She did, and she wasn't afraid to use it. Even on something that looked like a bunny.

Mostly. Bo didn't know what she would do if it clucked at her, so she wasn't opening the drawer just yet.

[OOC: Drawer is closed, door is closed, post is open!]
nookiepowered: (action (reading - computer))
Bo? Waheeeeeeey too unavailable all day SORRY smart not to realize something funky was going on with all the bizarre (REALLY bizarre, and thank Christ that wasn't the one from Kenzi) voicemails she'd received while she was busy cleaning ALL THE THINGS happily drowning in her giant Minoan bath. So she didn't do anything stupid like try to return them.

Instead she just tweeted.

@msbojanglestoyou: Walrus the flock is up with all these volcano marbles? Anybooze knees? #whippedbyfandom

@msbojanglestoyou: EYG? I sang WHO THESE FREAK, not WALLPAPER. Volunteer munchkins? #WHAPPEDbyfundom

@msbojanglestoyou: Ox fear FORK STAKE! Idiot garble underpants!!! #FUMIGATEYOURFURRY!

Sigh.

[Mostly establishy, but totes open for latebreaking twitterfrakkery on the morrow, if you like!]
nookiepowered: (surprised (OMFG))
Saturday's weirdness? It hadn't exactly gone away, but it had died down a bit when Bo hermited herself up in her own place for a few days. Enough that she could talk sanely to insane people and while the delivery guy from Pizza Planet stumbled away muttering about the best tip ever, he was still conscious and vertical at the time, so it counted as a win.

So... maybe it was safe to try venturing out? She had to come into work sometime, after all, and things were still kind of...warm, but not out of control when she stepped out the door into the street.

One walk to school through the oh, so fresh air and twelve sneezes later, she'd found out the answer to that the hard way.

Which was why it was Bo who stumbled now -- out of the janitor's closet.

From behind her came the shuffle-scrape-THUD of someone doing the first three steps of a soft-shoe before giving up and collapsing to the floor with a faint but not unhappy groan.

"Don't you judge me. Don't you DARE judge me!" she stammered defensively to... an empty hallway.

Right. Okay. She'd get to her office eventually, but right now she'd just stay here and hold up this wall for a minute or an hour or two. Until she figured out why, even buzzing with energy as she was now, Bo was still hungry.

--
[OOC: Highly likely to be some flavor of NWS. Expecting two, but open to random encounters of the polleny variety! Though for the sake of not juggling logistics, let's OOCly limit the unexpected to people it's safe to have random polleny encounters with.]
nookiepowered: (surprise (the hell?))
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, God, what did I drink?" was Bo's first question slash blanket-muffled moan. Though surprisingly that was mostly about how exhausted she was - no hangover to speak of. The taste in her mouth, though... "What did I eat?"

Bo really, really, really hoped, as the events of the weekend tried to crawl back into her conscious memory, that she was asking those questions out loud because she could sense someone's chi nearby, and not because she was going to have to change the pronoun in the previous question to who.

[OOC: for a slightly less wee guest!]
nookiepowered: (surprise (the hell?))
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, God, what did I drink?" was Bo's first question slash blanket-muffled moan. Though surprisingly that was mostly about how exhausted she was - no hangover to speak of. The taste in her mouth, though... "What did I eat?"

Bo really, really, really hoped, as the events of the weekend tried to crawl back into her conscious memory, that she was asking those questions out loud because she could sense someone's chi nearby, and not because she was going to have to change the pronoun in the previous question to who.

[OOC: for a slightly less wee guest!]
nookiepowered: (z - dude (bed))
Bo didn't like that a weekend wakeup -- before she even opened her eyes -- of "at least it couldn't be worse than last Saturday" was starting to become habitual.

Know what she disliked even more than that? When she was wrong.

"What the *&^*&$&^%&(^%)*_^)$&%^$&*^%&^%^&*@@@?!1!?" She said it before the mirror, she said it to the mirror, she said it after the mirror. Then to her closet -- how the hell was she going to go to work like this? -- but by that time she'd at least managed to cut off the What the...

Then she said, "*&^*&$&^%&(^%)*_^)$&%^$&*^%&^%^&*@@@?!1! I need pants!" but that was to her phone.

[OOC: for the dude on the other end of the line.]
nookiepowered: (z - dude (bed))
Bo didn't like that a weekend wakeup -- before she even opened her eyes -- of "at least it couldn't be worse than last Saturday" was starting to become habitual.

Know what she disliked even more than that? When she was wrong.

"What the *&^*&$&^%&(^%)*_^)$&%^$&*^%&^%^&*@@@?!1!?" She said it before the mirror, she said it to the mirror, she said it after the mirror. Then to her closet -- how the hell was she going to go to work like this? -- but by that time she'd at least managed to cut off the What the...

Then she said, "*&^*&$&^%&(^%)*_^)$&%^$&*^%&^%^&*@@@?!1! I need pants!" but that was to her phone.

[OOC: for the dude on the other end of the line.]
nookiepowered: (sleepy (clothed))
Bo had spent a lot of this week cleaning up the mess that last week had created, but she hadn't got anyone to come in and do the big repair job yet. No, not the one on her brain where she paid somebody to make her forget everything that happened between Friday and Monday. The one at the back of the hardware store, where right now there was a vaguely Bo-and-Mitchell-shaped hole in the wall.

Last night she'd at least managed to drag the big chunks of fallen masonry out to the scrapyard, but the hole itself was temporarily blocked with a bookcase and waiting on a call-back from the mainland, while Bo slept the happy, exhausted sleep of the dragged-masonry-to-the-scrapyard-last-night.

Or did she? Dun dun DUUUUUN...

[OOC: for an uninvited guest!]
nookiepowered: (sleepy (clothed))
Bo had spent a lot of this week cleaning up the mess that last week had created, but she hadn't got anyone to come in and do the big repair job yet. No, not the one on her brain where she paid somebody to make her forget everything that happened between Friday and Monday. The one at the back of the hardware store, where right now there was a vaguely Bo-and-Mitchell-shaped hole in the wall.

Last night she'd at least managed to drag the big chunks of fallen masonry out to the scrapyard, but the hole itself was temporarily blocked with a bookcase and waiting on a call-back from the mainland, while Bo slept the happy, exhausted sleep of the dragged-masonry-to-the-scrapyard-last-night.

Or did she? Dun dun DUUUUUN...

[OOC: for an uninvited guest!]
nookiepowered: (action (smoking))
"Deb" (whose name was by no means Deb, and thank God she remembered that now, because sgajdhgakjdh what a freaking stupid name) leaned back against the brick wall and took a long, slow drag on her cigarette. One of her last three cigarettes. The one spluttering street lamp cast dull, intermittent reflections in the leather jacket that she wrapped closely around her against the cooling night.

Don't ask where she got a leather jacket; when someone from Costume hands you something, you wear it. Even over a flight-attendant uniform.

Three cigarettes. Well, two and a half now. What was she going to do when they ran out? What? Would her memories of who she truly was disappear back into the withdrawal-crazed cover-story that was "Deb" or was that recovery a permanent one?

What was the cargo on that flight, and had it been destroyed along with most of the passengers, or was it even now in the hands of the Skywalkers or the Starks, either of which could spell certain doom for the world if they realized what they held? ...Not that she remembered what it was.

Sigh. Two and a quarter cigarettes left.

[OOC: for one who ...possibly knows who he is? Probably. This weekend, who can tell?]
nookiepowered: (action (smoking))
"Deb" (whose name was by no means Deb, and thank God she remembered that now, because sgajdhgakjdh what a freaking stupid name) leaned back against the brick wall and took a long, slow drag on her cigarette. One of her last three cigarettes. The one spluttering street lamp cast dull, intermittent reflections in the leather jacket that she wrapped closely around her against the cooling night.

Don't ask where she got a leather jacket; when someone from Costume hands you something, you wear it. Even over a flight-attendant uniform.

Three cigarettes. Well, two and a half now. What was she going to do when they ran out? What? Would her memories of who she truly was disappear back into the withdrawal-crazed cover-story that was "Deb" or was that recovery a permanent one?

What was the cargo on that flight, and had it been destroyed along with most of the passengers, or was it even now in the hands of the Skywalkers or the Starks, either of which could spell certain doom for the world if they realized what they held? ...Not that she remembered what it was.

Sigh. Two and a quarter cigarettes left.

[OOC: for one who ...possibly knows who he is? Probably. This weekend, who can tell?]
nookiepowered: (z - pony - full)
"Whathefk...THUNK." That was Bo tumbling out of bed in the morning...ish.

Not slow enough on the uptake to miss that she now had hooves...which somehow fit inside her boots and if her best and only pair of thigh-highs was ruined come Monday, someone was going to die, it still took her until she'd clopped over to the mirror to get the complete picture.


"Seriously, Fandom?"

"Seriously?"


[OOC: mostly establishy, but if you're up for some still-have-guestages mega-SP, feel free to drop in.]
nookiepowered: (z - pony - full)
"Whathefk...THUNK." That was Bo tumbling out of bed in the morning...ish.

Not slow enough on the uptake to miss that she now had hooves...which somehow fit inside her boots and if her best and only pair of thigh-highs was ruined come Monday, someone was going to die, it still took her until she'd clopped over to the mirror to get the complete picture.


"Seriously, Fandom?"

"Seriously?"


[OOC: mostly establishy, but if you're up for some still-have-guestages mega-SP, feel free to drop in.]

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nookiepowered: (Default)
Bo Jones. Or maybe Dennis.

December 2015

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