fandomtownies | The Devil's Nest: Saturday, 19 November

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The Devil's Nest: Saturday, 19 November

Bo: not on a milk crate this week, nor was there chocolate sauce on the bar and whipped cream in her hair. She was, however, on her phone, if you count poking at the app buttons as "on."

While she'd never gotten into Twitter before now, since her life had mostly depended on keeping a low profile and not spewing things out to the rest of the universe on a regular basis, everybody seemed to be doing it these days. Even Portalocity had one, a fact she'd become aware of when they spammed her e-mail with fornicating gnomes and repeated announcements about discounts she wasn't even interested in. God, she'd only ever even used the place once, to get to Bristol.

So, since she couldn't tweet #portalocityfail without actually having a Twitter account, she was working on that.

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Where your bartender was pondering a user ID and already preparing her negative responses to any suggestions from certain people involving the words nookie or boobs.

"Why does it seem like half the island is crankily jabbing at their tiny phones today?" Joan asked as she sauntered up to the bar to take a seat. Was it better to get away from the office to drink? Probably. Did she get discounted liquor here, though? Also very probable. She'd worn her hair down, at least, and changed into something more appropriate for evening.

Bo. BO.

Your Twitter username should NOT be "boobsboobsboobs." NO.

Was Bo helpfully illustrating that jabbing at a tiny phone now? Very probable.

"Um. Hi." She asked a question, Bo. "I can't speak for everybody, but I'm trying to set up an account so I can verbally abuse an annoying company."

"Hi," Joan replied, smirking a little as she tilted her head. "Any annoying company in particular? Is it that portal-thingy that they mentioned on the radio? I really tune that poor boy out more than I should, but it's just so hard to hear the news over how irritating he is."

"That one, yeah." Her eyes were... up there. Right. "I haven't used them in months, and they still sent me junk mail."

"So annoying," Joan tsked. She was somewhat used to that reaction, yes, though generally less from women. She was just going to roll with it, yes. "I'd expect an influx of customers looking to drink away their frustration. Though I'm just here because it's been too long since I've had a decent martini."

"It's a good thing you picked this weekend to hit the island, then," said Bo, who while she knew that Eric had hired an assistant, didn't know that this was her. "Last Saturday all the booze turned into ice cream, milk, and syrup."

"That fits with the influx of children," Joan agreed, making a face. "I've been here two weeks or so, actually. Just in time for the little brats to make me watch them play on the slides and mistake me for their mommies. I actually work here, too." She reached a hand out across the bar (to shake, of course, not to grope or anything) with a smile. "Joan Holloway. I'm Mr. Northman's daytime assistant."

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