nookiepowered: (sleepy (clothed))
"Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday to you..."

The season was right, a Christmas tree glowed in the corner, but it wasn't quite Bo's birthday yet... was it?

But it had to be, because there was a frosting-bedecked cake on the table in front of her, a forest fire of candles blazing around the edges of the BETH in gooey red script, shadows flickering over familiar faces: her mom, her dad, her closest friends from school, even Kyle standing behind her, one hand resting easily on her shoulder, which really couldn't be right, because... because....

"Happy birthday, SPAWN OF DEMONS... )
"NO! I DON'T WANT TO! LET ME GO!"

With that shout, Bo finally fought her way free.

...of the sweat-soaked sheets that were twisted around her body.

Times like this, Bo kind of wished she'd grabbed more from Mitchell's place the last time she went to visit than a good time, a lot of tea, and a big stack of Aero bars. Specifically, a pack or two of smokes.

Hell, right now she'd settle for just one cigarette. "Well. That sucked balls."

[OOC: cut for religious zealotry, parental mental illness, and undead boyfriends, as you do. For the BFF, primarily, but open to calls or visitors as well.]
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: (negative (what the hell is this?))
Bo was going to go on a J,GoB run this morning, since she'd woken up early anyway.

Until she looked out the window.

"Riiiiiight. Guess it's time to try out that new waffle maker after all." There hadn't been enough booze in Baltimore to make her forget turning into a hoochie-coochie dancer, so. Retail therapy.

On the plus side, the waffle currently cooking as she started up the coffee machine smelled delicious. On the not so plus side, it'd be nice if she could stop humming, "It's raining eels, hallelujah, it's raining eels, for real..."

[For the roomie(s). Or anybody else who wants a waffle.]
nookiepowered: (nightclothes (surprise))
When you stumble home from a weekend booty social call in Wales via portal at Godonlyknowswhat o'Clock in the morning (sadly without a stop at your office on the way), you're a little less likely to notice a stranger crashed on your couch than you are when you stumble back downstairs after a few hours of sleep.

And a brief tiptoe around the corner to grab the nearest blunt object.

"If you're somebody I know who suddenly sprouted a penis today, tell me now so we can save us both the concussion and the awkwardness," Bo said, gripping her baseball bat firmly.

Said the woman who saw nothing awkward in wielding a baseball bat while wearing a negligee and a pair of red fuzzy Angry Birds house slippers.

[OOC: for the housemates!]

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

December 2015

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