Just a smalltown girl...

Most people who invited friends over for breakfast invited those friends to their home, not their office. Then again, most people who invited their friends to their home for breakfast

a) had a kitchen
b) had friends who don't effectively live next door to their office
c) were most people, which Bo was not. Hell, the jury was still out on whether Bo was even people.

All of which added up to a security office full of J,GoB doughnuts, Perk coffee, and orange juice that was not a pitcher of mimosas and would never be, no matter how much someone with an unpronounceable Russian last name might bitch wish otherwise.

It also added up to a crapload of leftover doughnuts, coffee, and still-not-mimosas once those friends were no longer in residence, because somebody was so not used to doing breakfast for more than two, and had way overcompensated.

[OOC: First thread is for breakfast with the Canuckian travelers, second is open office hours!]

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.]

"Seriously?" said Bo on entering her office. Because seriously?

Bad enough that all her calls to Portalocity were coming back Contact Declined this week, like somebody over there was actively trying to make sure she couldn't escape to Wales and certain undead residents thereof when certain feelings she lived with every day started twisting up the dial to Spinal Tap levels, but now this?

This being a security office now liberally bestrewn with colorful latex circles and squares (equal opportunity desecration; she supposed that was nice), battery-operated objects of various sizes and shapes, some more humanoid than others ("TENTACLES, KENZI? REALLY?"), some even already turned on (...shut up) like the line of yellow plastic ducks merrily buzzing their way across her desk.

Like her libido needed any had-to-have-come-from-'Dite's encouragement this week? And as for the leather swing hanging from a sturdy pair of chains affixed to the ceiling in the middle of the room...

Actually, that looked kind of fun. Maybe it would even cool her off a little bit?

Orrr maybe not. On the other hand, working up a sweat as she swung back and forth was keeping Bo just dizzy enough to forget why she was supposed to be annoyed about this.

{Aaaaaaand the followthrough, because there's always followthrough.}

[OOC: Office redecoration modded with permission, nay instigation from regretiz4suckas. Open, but... sex pollen. Succubus. Probably not safe for work despite the fact that she's at work.]

"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!]

Bo had to stand in the doorway and survey the room for a few moments when she first arrived, trying to put her finger on what didn't seem quite right about it, and perfectly ready to take the blame for remembering it wrong herself. Until she noticed how the table with the coffee machine on it next to the copier was now a copier with a coffee machine on it, because the room was a foot shorter on one end.

She rolled her eyes and thumped the toe of her boot against the wall she shared with the janitor's closet. "Nice, Fosse! Real nice!"

Still, eh. In the scheme of things, a foot was a foot and that did mean the coffee pot was closer to her desk, so. Bygones. Bo sat, glanced at the camera feeds to make sure no one was eating anyone they shouldn't be or running for cover, then sank back into her chair, ready to drink that cup of coffee and listen to this morning's radio.

RRRRrrrRRRRRrrrrRRRRRRR.

"The hell?!!?" It was a good thing these particular leather pants were wax-treated, or she'd be going with a bit more bleeped-for-syndication-on-SyFy language as she wiped off the coffee. With narrowed eyes, Bo gingerly sat down again.

RRRRrrrRRRRRrrrrRRRRRRR.

Uh....huh. Five minutes later, after a long examination of every item in the office, just in case...

@msbojanglestoyou: @PerkiGoth Did you BY ANY CHANCE remember my office chair with a vibro-massage function?

[OOC: In your face, Skywalker! ...also, open.]

In any other situation, Bo would be rolling her eyes at the fact that Portalocity had never taken her off their spammy mailing list as requested.

When the message came through today, though, she couldn't help but a) be grateful they hadn't, b) freak the hell out, c) feel oddly guilty for yelling at them over something so miniscule, d) freak the hell out, and e) hit the internet even harder for anything she could find on these Auditor things Zoe had been told about.

Could they possibly be Fae? Except she wouldn't find that out on the web, because the Fae were all about keeping themselves a secret in her world.

Aaaand now she'd be slapping her forehead and pulling out her cell, because she knew someone who could tell her that, didn't she.

Aaaand now she'd be listening to what should have been Saskia's voicemail message say "Le numéro composé n'est pas en service..."

Aaaand now she'd be saying "Merde, merde, merde," only not in French.

[Open office is open!]

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.]

Bo was not chortling as she reviewed the outdoor security footage from last week, because that would be mean.

She was trying to figure out how to instruct the system to FREAKING CALL HER when it identified things like someone hanging naked from the side of the dorms.

And snickering a little.

Which was not chortling.

At all.

[OOC: Raccoonmodding by permission, open to all!]

Bo was rubbing her neck with one hand and leaning on the other as she watched the screen that covered the area just outside the north gate, so you couldn't really blame her for the fact that she hadn't yet noticed how her hands looked. She had other things to pay attention to.

First, the unfamiliar flu-like ache she'd woken up with in most of her joints; she didn't really ever get sick anymore, or at least not for long. Once she'd fed, any injury or illness was wiped away along with the weakness and hunger that had driven her there in the first place. It had been long enough that feeling a bit peaky wasn't out of the question, and Bo certainly knew how to solve that, but...

Second and more immediate, the small bluish deer who'd set off the motion detector, now nosing around the security camera, eating... what kind of plant was that? Whatever it was, the deer was tearing into the mass of green with more relish than Bo had seen people tear into a sixty-dollar steak. Wait, was that branch moving?

Somewhere there was a button that would rotate the camera so she could get a better view, and another that would turn up the sound; it was only when Bo reached for them that she caught sight of her hands in the light from the bank of screens, and stared. No wonder her joints hurt; the knuckles were swollen, the skin over them silvery and tight, while other patches between her fingers were rough and dark gray, scabbed like she'd punched a wall three or four times -- in a black and white movie.

She'd have stared stupidly at her own hands for even longer if one of them hadn't been stabbing the volume key; the growls and shrieks that boomed from the speaker were impossible to ignore. Still, it took an embarrassing number of seconds for Bo's brain to process that the thrashing green plant being torn apart by the tiny deer was in fact a thrashing green gremlin being torn apart by a tiny deer.

Oh, good. No, wait. Some other word that started with g. Gross. That was it.

[Open should anyone want to bug her or ask professional questions she can't answer like "WTF is going on?"]

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.]