nookiepowered: (surprise (holy crap))
No students in the halls, no likelihood of trouble, perfect day to catch up on the paperwork bits of Bo's alcohol-free job, right?

Why she'd expected to find her office unmolested at all, let alone after Kenzi's graduation, Bo had no idea, but she still ended up standing in the doorway staring like a dope for a bit.

It didn't help that the second she opened the door, she was hit in the face by an unfortunately-shaped balloon arrow, launched across the room from a carefully-rigged and really kind of impressive balloon bow.

Balloon swords dangled from the ceiling. Balloon... she guessed they were supposed to be land-mines...littered the floor.

Her stuffed mountie moose sat on a filing cabinet armed with a balloon M-16, which Bo though was a little excessive for the RCMP until she tracked across to his target: the giant rubber duck sitting in her chair.

Wearing a postman's cap and wielding what she really really hoped was supposed to be a cannon.

"And here I was afraid it was gonna be a boring day at the office."

[Open; decoration-modding and duck-larceny performed with multiple blessings.]
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?]

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

December 2015

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