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... )

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: (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!]
nookiepowered: (action (shopping))
"I'm not sure how I feel about buying furniture with names," Bo said thoughtfully. "I mean, around here? What if Ivan doesn't like Sven and we spend the next year listening to the couch beating up on the coffee table in the middle of the night?"

Potential Twitter tag for this adventure: #fandomislandproblems

[OOC: for the new roomie!]
nookiepowered: (security (smile))
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!]
nookiepowered: (with Trick (smiles/buds))
For all that the outside of Trick's beloved Dal Riata looked like just another entrance down Bad Decision Alley, the inside was warm and comforting, with wood that polished until it glowed and comfortable stools and chairs that had been worn down by years of patrons.

It was the perfect place to relax and unwind, whether with a beer after a long, hard day. Light Fae and Dark could mingle and rub elbows without exchanging more than dirty looks or fanged glares. The Dal was a Waystation: a neutral, Fae-only pub, where they were free from the need to mask their true nature.

It was still a little bit before the dinner rush, which meant the bar itself was more empty than not. Which, considering the group about to enter the Dal, was probably for the best.

You're sure this is the right address? )
Later... )

[Preplayed with the splendiferous [ profile] regretiz4suckas, [ profile] godgavemecable, [ profile] chose_humanity and [ profile] glacial_witch. NFB since off-island, but OOC=A-OK! Dyson and Trick's conversation folded, spindled, and mutilated from Lost Girl 1x01, It's A Fae Fae Fae Fae World.]
nookiepowered: (security (sitting))
Bo leaned back in her chair, boots propped on the desk, oddly wistful that her office was devoid of rubber ducks, balloons, body-part-shaped-pastries and provocatively-dressed beanie-babies this week.

Which is to say, devoid of any new rubber ducks, balloons, body-part-shaped-pastries or provocatively-dressed beanie-babies; she wasn't counting the ones that had already been there. They were too familiar to provide much distraction from the round of circular thinking she'd been caught in for the past few days.

Sometime in the future I'll know about my past. Might. Sometime in the future I might know about my past. I've got family somewhere. If I can find them...

If she could find them, she could find out why she'd lost them. Then again, maybe why they didn't want her was something she didn't want to know.

In conclusion, where was an office full of crossdressing inflatable glow in the dark Wookiee dolls when you needed them?

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: (security (forest))
If earlier shenanigans hadn't prepared Bo to expect more office redecoration, the index card she'd pulled off Fosse's closet door that read BO'S OTHER BOYFRIEND in purple crayon would have.

All told, though? Security feeds labeled KENZI HALL, PARTY CENTRAL, ARIETTY'S PLACE KEEP OUT THIS MEANS YOU, PETRAWORLD, and PRINCESS GRACE'S ROYAL THRONE ROOM (camera re-aimed toward the second floor girls' bathroom door) were way better than the rooms she'd been limited to last week.

It wasn't the heads of her enemies, but as interior decor went, rainbow streamers, unicorn stickers, and something that looked like the siege of the Alamo recreated across her desk with an army of dinosaur-riding plastic cowboys vs. an army of pony-riding plastic astronauts were way less likely to get her fired in the event of a sudden school board visit, as well.

[OOC: Open, and suggestions for redecoration via bored sugar-hyped urchins (and Grace) provided largely by the bored sugar-hyped urchin in question.]
nookiepowered: (action (swing))
"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 [ profile] regretiz4suckas. Open, but... sex pollen. Succubus. Probably not safe for work despite the fact that she's at work.]
nookiepowered: (dubious (umm...))
"No," Bo repeated into the phone for what she was pretty sure was the third time. "We're not interested in purchasing a Cobweb Surveillance System. Even if we didn't already have our own security set-up that can detect when a gremlin thinks the word Skywalker, why would I want to keep track of cobwebs? What're they gonna do, stage a coup and take over the school if the janitor misses a spot while he's dusting?"




"So if the estimate team comes out today, can you have it installed by the weekend?"

Until then, she'd just be poking at the corners of her office every so often with that broom she stole from Fosse's closet.

[Open office is open. If cobwebby.]
nookiepowered: (thinking (thoughtful))
8/11/2012: Impossibly hot fake sisters (Leo and...Bitsy)
8/25/2012: Don't ask about the antlers (Derek Hale, Kenzi)
9/8/2012: Tina is not Bitsy (Guy, Phil Coulson, Carl Kolchak)
9/22/2012: A HORSE. (Bayanai, Kenzi, Kitty, Toby, Tyrion)
9/29/2012: Impossibly not fake sisters (Bitsy)
10/6/2012: Impossibly not getting not fake sisters' numbers (Tiny)
10/8 & 10/14/2012: Fall Break (Mitchell)
10/20/2012: Little people, big milkshakes (Jack Priest, Kenzi, Max Blum, Toby, Savannah, Mike Lane, Laurie Keller)
10/27/2012: Pre-Halloween
11/17/2012: I also do cross-stitch (Jaina, Pinkie Pie, Navaan)
nookiepowered: (sad (crying))
Bo woke up coughing and clutching her neck, and for a long, kind moment, wondered who what the hell she'd eaten to make her dream about singing to a photo of a middle-aged woman in pink. Wearing pink herself and teaching a class. Ahahahaha. On good decision-making. Ahahahaha. With Deadpool. Ahahahahahahahahahaha. Ha.

Then the rest of it flooded back in, the details rearranging themselves into a clarity and order too raw to be just fragments of a dream. The things she'd done, done so many times in wispy memories from further back that now they'd been as easy as breathing. The thing she'd let herself become.

She didn't quite make it to the bathroom before she discovered the answers to what the hell she'd been eating. In every damn sense of the word, but especially the messy ones.

[For the wee Russian one who did not leave her TARDIS bathrobe in the hotel room.]
nookiepowered: (security (uniform default))
"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!]


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

December 2015

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