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The Devil's Nest: Saturday, July 7

Bo had become far too reliant on saying Oh HELL no when she stepped out the door during this heatwave, so today when she left for the Devil's Nest, she went for variety, and said... well, it rhymed with duck piss.

Then she pulled out her phone as she walked and looked up the temperature elsewhere.

Then she said duck piss again, except louder, and made a call.

Then she opened the damn bar and hung out a sign, because seriously, duck piss feather.

ORDER SOMETHING WITH ICE AND YOUR DRINK IS HALF-OFF

Every half-price drink meant she got to stick her face over the ice bucket again, after all.

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Where your bartender's clothes were sort of half-off too, in terms of skirt-length and tank-toppage, but for once there wasn't a scrap of leather in sight, because gah.

Bo wasn't the only one dressing down for the heat. Coulson had the top button of his shirt unbuttoned and everything. The tie and suit jacket were still on, though, but he didn't look particularly uncomfortable.

"Hi," he said as he took a seat at the bar. "What can you suggest in an iced drink?"

"Extra ice?" It really was that hot. Hot enough that Bo had to ask, "Also, how do you manage to not look uncomfortable in that?"

"I've had a lot of practice," Coulson said. "I'll have a Salty Dog. With extra ice." Yeah, he was just going to roll with a joke like that.

"I'd be strangling myself with the tie if it was me," Bo said, reaching for the Grey Goose. "But you do make it look good."

It wasn't every bartender who could claim they were genetically incapable of not flirting and actually mean it.

"It's a good thing a tie doesn't really go with that outfit, then," Coulson said. "We only have so many bartenders around here. I'd hate to lose one who drops compliments so quickly."

Aaaaand grapefruit juice, aaaaand extra ice. And martini shaker.

"You clearly haven't spent enough time around Tino."

Then again, maybe Tino's compliment ratio was a little bit tied to how many buttons were unbuttoned on a customer's ... leather bustier.

"Apparently not," Coulson said. "I have a feeling I'd still choose your company over his, though."

"In that case, you should probably know my name," she replied, handing over his drink. "Just so you know what to write in for the Fandom Island Bartender Of The Year ballot. I'm Bo, and we don't have a Fandom Island Bartender of the Year ballot."

"You mean I couldn't have just written in 'attractive brunette who wears nicely skimpy clothing'?" Coulson checked. "I suppose it's a moot point if there's no contest, though."

"I'm Phil Coulson."

"No, then they might've given it to Kitty Pryde, the manager over at Caritas." Bo wasn't one to avoid giving credit where credit was due, even putting aside the part where her rating of other attractive, skimpily-dressed brunettes on the island was not remotely about competition. "Though if that's likely to make you spend less money in the Devil's Nest, pretend I didn't tell you where she works."

"I'm not much of a karaoke man," Coulson said. "Granted, I'm only occasionally a dance club man, but I still think this place wins out."

"We do pride ourselves on our zombie-free atmosphere." Which, come to think of it, sounded kind of prejudiced. "Not that we, um, discriminate! I'm just saying, you know. Our dancefloor smells better than their stage."

"I understand," Coulson said. "I have nothing against dead people as long as they practice proper hygiene. I imagine that's tough for a zombie."

Bo nodded. "Our owner is a vampire, and he smells great." Ahem. "So it's possible, but I guess it's harder when things keep falling off."

"Especially if it's the nose that falls off," Coulson reasoned. "That would probably take away any drive to smell better."

"The fact that I've never seen you before and you're already at the point where you can work out that logic without saying 'what the fuck, zombies' says something about either you, or the world you come from," Bo decided out loud.

"I like to think it's more the former than the latter," Coulson offered. "But they probably go hand in hand."

"The suit's a little too sharp for me to believe you came in from the Zombie Apocalypse," Bo speculated, thinking of Columbus. "So... land of vampires? Superheroes? Pink ponies?"

"Don't think that a zombie apocalypse would stop me from making sure I had a good suit to wear. I consider it essential," Coulson said. "But you're right on the superheroes. Mythological gods. That kind of thing."

Bo grinned. "Always nice to meet a man with his priorities straight. We've got... some of both of those around here. Though less since Hercules went home."

"Different mythology," Coulson said. "But I know we have an Asgardian or two here, so it's really just like home. Only smaller. With better bars."

"Yeah, I met the kid who says he's Loki." Bo was still reserving judgment on that one.

"You don't sound convinced," Coulson said.

"Well, he didn't really do anything godlike, but he did have the attitude down."

"The Asgardians don't do many godly things unless they're picking a fight," Coulson said. "It's just the way they work for some reason."

Bo fetched up a glass of Diet Coke for herself, because ICE, DAMMIT, while answering. "I guess I'm glad he didn't, then. I can live without having to beat up a student every semester."

"But if you did have to do that, I'd encourage you to put him high on the list," Coulson said. "Not that I expect you could do much harm to him."

"Which is no offense to you, of course. Those guys are just really good at brushing off damage."

"So am I." Not god-level damage, Bo.

At least not without equally god-level power source for healing.

"But I'm not in any hurry to test that theory. I work security for the school; I'm supposed to be protecting them. "

"Fair enough This Loki's not the one from my world anyway. As far as I can tell," Coulson said. "So it really wouldn't be fair to have school security give him a couple shots for the fun of it."

If you could handle actually moving in this heat, more power to you. (Yes, there's air conditioning, but there's a point where the temperature just seeps into everything.)

Where the only VIP present tonight was Tiny, stretched out in Eric's booth and furiously swiping at his phone screen while muttering about bombs, colors, the spelling of mayor and how Tino couldn't draw worth ducking spit.

Edited 2012-07-08 00:39 (UTC)

On the bright side, it's 20 degrees cooler in San Diego. THREE DAYS TO CON TIEMZ.

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The Devil's Nest: Saturday, July 7

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