nookiepowered: (negative (bitch freaking please))
Finding someone sitting in her chair when she arrived at her office was not exactly the kind of shock that would make Bo drop her coffee or anything.

Spinning the chair around to see not the expected tiny goth chick, but a doll, was...

Still not so much of a shock. Especially given the type of doll it was.

"Hi-laaaaaaaarious, Madrox!" Bo called over her shoulder, poking her head out the open door but seeing only an empty hallway. (Though after last weekend, she supposed there were a number of lightly-teased possible culprits who might want to get a bit of their own back.)

Then the back massage function switched on by itself, Bo turned around to find the chair spinning in circles, and what do you know, she needed to go buy a new coffee.

After she pulled the knife out of her boot and stabbed the thing in the head until it deflated, as you do.
__
[OOC: Establishy. Link is... ahem. INGVAR DOESN'T KNOW WHAT IT'S FOR HE JUST THINKS IT LOOKS PRETTY OK?]
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: (security (sitting))
Spending the day replaying the public security footage from Parents' Weekend for her own entertainment was in no way a wrong thing, right? After all, it gave Bo something to snortle over, identified the hot relatives she'd missed meeting, and distracted her still-racing thoughts from the impressive amount of bombshells that last weekend had managed to drop on her despite not having any family of her own to deal with.

Of course, the postcard on her desk counteracted the distraction effect every time she glanced at it, but it still made her grin.

[Open is as open does. LJ, though, is as LJ does, so.]
nookiepowered: (security (sitting))
Spending the day replaying the public security footage from Parents' Weekend for her own entertainment was in no way a wrong thing, right? After all, it gave Bo something to snortle over, identified the hot relatives she'd missed meeting, and distracted her still-racing thoughts from the impressive amount of bombshells that last weekend had managed to drop on her despite not having any family of her own to deal with.

Of course, the postcard on her desk counteracted the distraction effect every time she glanced at it, but it still made her grin.

[Open is as open does. LJ, though, is as LJ does, so.]
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: (security (sitting))
When she'd fallen into bed late last night, Bo had thought that after everything that happened yesterday, she'd want to crash until noon. Instead, after a few hours of exhausted sleep, she'd woken at three to stare at the ceiling and think too much (or maybe not enough) about vampires and werewolves and ghosts, oh my.

By the time the hardware store's delivery bell rang at six, she was beyond grateful for the distraction that the package from the Fandom High office provided. Ooh, the job that didn't involve politely explaining to sixteen year olds why they couldn't have a beer. Keys, I.D. badge, a couple of t-shirts, walkie-talkie, flashlight, a pepper-spray-sized bottle of something labeled Gremlin Repellant (with a pink-post-it note attached that read "Works, but Lemon Pledge is cheaper. We hate the smell. Love, Bob."), a handful of increasingly surreal pamphlets, and a map of the school.

Neatly hand-printed over the back end of a large area labeled Fosse's Closet was [SECURITY CENTER]. Less neatly-printed was "Sorry, we keep forgetting it's there; Constable Hotpants has his own teacher office and Dean Head just used his tube."

Bo wasn't sure which she did (or didn't) want somebody to explain first: the hotpants or the tube. Still. One trip over the wall later (what? it was shorter than walking to the gate), she'd made her way up to the school and let herself into an office with a bank of security screens that thankfully didn't remind her too much of the one on which she'd watched Annie disappear, since these were in color.

Also a spinny chair.

Oh, shut up, you'd try it out too.

[Open is as open does. Hush, there was always a security center behind the janitor's closet.]
nookiepowered: (security (sitting))
When she'd fallen into bed late last night, Bo had thought that after everything that happened yesterday, she'd want to crash until noon. Instead, after a few hours of exhausted sleep, she'd woken at three to stare at the ceiling and think too much (or maybe not enough) about vampires and werewolves and ghosts, oh my.

By the time the hardware store's delivery bell rang at six, she was beyond grateful for the distraction that the package from the Fandom High office provided. Ooh, the job that didn't involve politely explaining to sixteen year olds why they couldn't have a beer. Keys, I.D. badge, a couple of t-shirts, walkie-talkie, flashlight, a pepper-spray-sized bottle of something labeled Gremlin Repellant (with a pink-post-it note attached that read "Works, but Lemon Pledge is cheaper. We hate the smell. Love, Bob."), a handful of increasingly surreal pamphlets, and a map of the school.

Neatly hand-printed over the back end of a large area labeled Fosse's Closet was [SECURITY CENTER]. Less neatly-printed was "Sorry, we keep forgetting it's there; Constable Hotpants has his own teacher office and Dean Head just used his tube."

Bo wasn't sure which she did (or didn't) want somebody to explain first: the hotpants or the tube. Still. One trip over the wall later (what? it was shorter than walking to the gate), she'd made her way up to the school and let herself into an office with a bank of security screens that thankfully didn't remind her too much of the one on which she'd watched Annie disappear, since these were in color.

Also a spinny chair.

Oh, shut up, you'd try it out too.

[Open is as open does. Hush, there was always a security center behind the janitor's closet.]
nookiepowered: (security (exploring))
The werewolves were yelling. The guard posted outside their door was... trying to ignore it, as ordered. They were meant to be safe here, right?

~

Waiting in the dark was all well and good until there were people screaming Help -- from a direction that didn't include Mitchell and Eric. Bo debated going after the vampires for about half a second before shaking her head and heading off toward the shouting instead.

"Something's wrong with Nina!" she heard as she got closer to the commotion. )

[Continued from here and here, and followed up here. Preplayed with some Dutch chick and every Skywalker boy ever. Taken from Being Human 2x08. Warning: death of a minor NPC, something-that-might-as-well-be of a major one. Off-island, so NFI/NFB, but OOC is tea and jammy dodgers to the soul.]
nookiepowered: (security (exploring))
The werewolves were yelling. The guard posted outside their door was... trying to ignore it, as ordered. They were meant to be safe here, right?

~

Waiting in the dark was all well and good until there were people screaming Help -- from a direction that didn't include Mitchell and Eric. Bo debated going after the vampires for about half a second before shaking her head and heading off toward the shouting instead.

"Something's wrong with Nina!" she heard as she got closer to the commotion. )

[Continued from here and here, and followed up here. Preplayed with some Dutch chick and every Skywalker boy ever. Taken from Being Human 2x08. Warning: death of a minor NPC, something-that-might-as-well-be of a major one. Off-island, so NFI/NFB, but OOC is tea and jammy dodgers to the soul.]
nookiepowered: (smiling (dirty thoughts))
Who knew you could not only buy an obscenely large stone bathtub at the market across the causeway, but also hire three strapping half-naked possibly-Greek boys to carry it home for you, all for the low, low price of three Toonies, two quarters and a Ferelden silver coin, while not speaking a word of the language?

Yes, okay, fine. Bo knew. Yes, okay, fine, sometimes Bo cheated. Still, as pleasant as borrowing other people's might be, after weeks in this place, Bo finally had her own bathtub, the merchant had some interesting foreign coins, and even the delivery guys didn't exactly leave the premises unhappy. All's well that ends well, right?

Now all she had to do was figure out how to fill the thing, considering that even with the water and electricity finally turned on (thank you, unexpected second job, thank you), the hardware store didn't exactly have a plumbing hookup for an ancient Minoan bathtub.

Maybe she could hire the Greek himbos to come back and fill it with pots of hot water from the sink?

__
[Expecting some undead, non-Greek himbos gentlemen callers. That Mitchell and Eric were here is fine for broadcast; topics of conversation, probably not. Alllso getting NWS-y after the comment-collapse.]
nookiepowered: (smiling (dirty thoughts))
Who knew you could not only buy an obscenely large stone bathtub at the market across the causeway, but also hire three strapping half-naked possibly-Greek boys to carry it home for you, all for the low, low price of three Toonies, two quarters and a Ferelden silver coin, while not speaking a word of the language?

Yes, okay, fine. Bo knew. Yes, okay, fine, sometimes Bo cheated. Still, as pleasant as borrowing other people's might be, after weeks in this place, Bo finally had her own bathtub, the merchant had some interesting foreign coins, and even the delivery guys didn't exactly leave the premises unhappy. All's well that ends well, right?

Now all she had to do was figure out how to fill the thing, considering that even with the water and electricity finally turned on (thank you, unexpected second job, thank you), the hardware store didn't exactly have a plumbing hookup for an ancient Minoan bathtub.

Maybe she could hire the Greek himbos to come back and fill it with pots of hot water from the sink?

__
[Expecting some undead, non-Greek himbos gentlemen callers. That Mitchell and Eric were here is fine for broadcast; topics of conversation, probably not. Alllso getting NWS-y after the comment-collapse.]

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Bo Jones. Or maybe Dennis.

December 2015

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