nookiepowered: (z - teen (innocent))
Vacations at Lake Miniwappo and the occasional well-chaperoned slumber party aside, Beth Dennis was not accustomed to waking up in a bed that wasn't hers. Especially a bed draped in red satin and discarded lingerie (at least a cup size too large and ten shades too black to be hers, oh thank God, and thank God for the jeans and the blue flannel shirt she was wearing, as well) instead of flower-sprigged cotton sheets and a granny-square afghan. Especially a bed she couldn't remember getting into the night before.

In fact, nothing was very clear about the night before. Had she sneaked out to a party with Kyle, and not asked for water instead when somebody passed her a red Solo cup? It wouldn't be the first time, not that she'd ever admit that to her parents who were going to KILL HER, but she'd never drunk enough not-water to forget where she was -- and if her not-allowed-to-have-a-boyfriend had been with her last night, he sure as heck wasn't now.

There was nobody here but Beth, in this... it wasn't even a house. Just a giant room partitioned off by shelves and screens, with huge glass windows and a counter at one end. Was that a cash register on it? Beyond the industrial-style window blinds, the street was narrow, cobblestoned, and completely unfamiliar. Where was she?

Don't panic. You know what to do if you ever get into a bad situation. They might kill you later, but they'll always come pick you up first. They promised.

There was a phone on that counter, and given the circumstances, Beth wasn't about to feel guilty for the long-distance charge.

"Mom?"

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed is not in service. Please try again, or dial the area code plus 411 for..."

Stupid fingers. See what freaking out gets you? Long-distance wrong numbers. Beth punched the buttons again, slowly and carefully.

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed..."

Maybe now would be a good time to freak out after all.

__

Le Followup:

Max's party
Derek's...appropriated hotel room

[Establishy because fleeeeeing!]
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: (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: (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.]
nookiepowered: (action (ready for it))
Other people may have had Vikings to fight; Bo had an entirely more mundane battle on her hands: moving into a new place with no job yet and barely enough cash in her pocket to cover a few nights in a roach motel, let alone first and last month's rent on a real apartment.

Luckily, her travel history was long enough and her time at any one job was short enough that she'd perfected a solution for this, the same solution she'd been using before she'd had to flee the last town.

Of course, the sign on this place didn't read Condemned. The sign read Morgan's Hardware. The sign also hung by one corner and swayed a little in the breeze, though, banging against a dust-streaked window. The mailbox affixed to the brick wall contained circulars and an electric bill dated April, 2010. Yeah, it would do. Even the front doorknob was covered in dust; nobody had been in here for a while.

Not that she was going to use it. Even in the middle of the night, there could still be people around to see and hear her shouldering her way into an abandoned shop by smashing the door off its hinges, especially with all the activity going on up at the school with the graduation ceremony, and everyone's guests in town. Bo wasn't stupid.

That's why she broke in the back door. Duh.

A brief, bright flash of light startled her for a moment, her shoulder still against the wood and the sound of splintering still in her ears, but it was dark again when she looked up. No cop car...cop bike...flashing up behind her, and the sky didn't open up and dump rain on her head, so Bo shrugged and made her way inside, pulling a flashlight out of her bag.

Ooh, there was still some hardware stock left in the back room. Awesome; she wouldn't have to spend anything to fix the door. Maybe there was even a key-press in here somewhere!

[La la la eeeestablishy and NFB!]
nookiepowered: (action (ready for it))
Other people may have had Vikings to fight; Bo had an entirely more mundane battle on her hands: moving into a new place with no job yet and barely enough cash in her pocket to cover a few nights in a roach motel, let alone first and last month's rent on a real apartment.

Luckily, her travel history was long enough and her time at any one job was short enough that she'd perfected a solution for this, the same solution she'd been using before she'd had to flee the last town.

Of course, the sign on this place didn't read Condemned. The sign read Morgan's Hardware. The sign also hung by one corner and swayed a little in the breeze, though, banging against a dust-streaked window. The mailbox affixed to the brick wall contained circulars and an electric bill dated April, 2010. Yeah, it would do. Even the front doorknob was covered in dust; nobody had been in here for a while.

Not that she was going to use it. Even in the middle of the night, there could still be people around to see and hear her shouldering her way into an abandoned shop by smashing the door off its hinges, especially with all the activity going on up at the school with the graduation ceremony, and everyone's guests in town. Bo wasn't stupid.

That's why she broke in the back door. Duh.

A brief, bright flash of light startled her for a moment, her shoulder still against the wood and the sound of splintering still in her ears, but it was dark again when she looked up. No cop car...cop bike...flashing up behind her, and the sky didn't open up and dump rain on her head, so Bo shrugged and made her way inside, pulling a flashlight out of her bag.

Ooh, there was still some hardware stock left in the back room. Awesome; she wouldn't have to spend anything to fix the door. Maybe there was even a key-press in here somewhere!

[La la la eeeestablishy and NFB!]

Profile

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

December 2015

S M T W T F S
  12345
6789101112
1314151617 1819
20212223242526
2728293031  

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 20th, 2017 12:39 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios