Bo Jones. Or maybe Dennis. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nookiepowered) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2011-09-10 02:14 pm
nookiepowered) wrote in fandomtownies2011-09-10 02:14 pm
Entry tags:
The Devil's Nest: Saturday, 9/10
You'd think that Deb's first stop -- after crawling out of a plane crash with only a shoulderbag, a disheveled flight attendant uniform, a head wound and a vague woozy feeling that Deb was a really stupid name, despite the fact that she was wearing it pinned to her chest -- would have been a hospital, but no.
It was the Kwik Stop. And after that, the General Store. And after that, the lobby of every sit-down restaurant she trudged past in her uneven shoes with one of the high heels broken off.
AND NOT ONE OF THEM HAD A GODDAMN CIGARETTE FOR SALE!
Finally, after circling back to raid the Kwik-Stop for emergency measures, she'd stumbled -- hands shaking, arms plastered with patches and half a pack of Nicorette gum in her mouth -- into a gothy dance-club place, where sure she'd be able to bum a smoke off some pretentious black-clad kid, right?
JHSGAJKHGSAJKHG THERE WASN'T EVEN ANYBODY AT THE BAR, LET ALONE THE DANCE FLOOR!
Swearing, not remotely under her breath, Deb tossed her bag on the countertop and slipped behind the bar herself. Which... didn't seem to have any booze -- oh right, Fandom, she'd heard about this place -- but she didn't really care about that. First because she was busy ransacking the shelves -- what self-respecting bartender wouldn't have a secret stash of cigs -- and second because what self-respecting flight attendant wouldn't already have a jump-bag half full of those tiny airline bottles?
[OOC: Open! There is no booze for sale, but the chick behind the counter might deal it to you under the counter.]
It was the Kwik Stop. And after that, the General Store. And after that, the lobby of every sit-down restaurant she trudged past in her uneven shoes with one of the high heels broken off.
AND NOT ONE OF THEM HAD A GODDAMN CIGARETTE FOR SALE!
Finally, after circling back to raid the Kwik-Stop for emergency measures, she'd stumbled -- hands shaking, arms plastered with patches and half a pack of Nicorette gum in her mouth -- into a gothy dance-club place, where sure she'd be able to bum a smoke off some pretentious black-clad kid, right?
JHSGAJKHGSAJKHG THERE WASN'T EVEN ANYBODY AT THE BAR, LET ALONE THE DANCE FLOOR!
Swearing, not remotely under her breath, Deb tossed her bag on the countertop and slipped behind the bar herself. Which... didn't seem to have any booze -- oh right, Fandom, she'd heard about this place -- but she didn't really care about that. First because she was busy ransacking the shelves -- what self-respecting bartender wouldn't have a secret stash of cigs -- and second because what self-respecting flight attendant wouldn't already have a jump-bag half full of those tiny airline bottles?
[OOC: Open! There is no booze for sale, but the chick behind the counter might deal it to you under the counter.]