fandomtownies | The Devil's Nest, Saturday, February 2

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The Devil's Nest, Saturday, February 2

No dead people had shown up to visit Bo. Through a lucky accident of timing during radio tune-ins, Bo wasn't even aware there'd been a chance dead people might show up to visit her.

You could tell both of these things from the fact that she was smiling as she set up the bar, instead of hiding under it, contemplating whether the giant squid would devour her if she asked really nicely and slathered herself in fish oil, or looking horribly guilty and horribly disappointed at the same time.

Bo's relationship with the dead: fraught. Also, frequently causal.

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Where your bartender was wondering if it would be wrong to eat the little chocolate groundhog poking its little chocolate head out of the cup of chocolate mousse that Tiny had painstakingly arranged on the counter near the register.

On one hand, adorable. On the other...chocolate.

Coulson took a seat at the bar and was about to order... until he saw the groundhog. "Is chocolate made to look like a groundhog or a live groundhog made of chocolate?"

Oh sure, ask the tough questions. Bo stared at it with newfound... something. "Well, it hasn't moved..."

But it was Fandom.

The tough questions were fun. "I kind of want to poke it to see if it will. Do you have a tiny umbrella?"

"You're at a bar. Where Tino doesn't work, and where there's no zombie musicians who like to steal them for their girlfriends to wear in what's left of their hair."

That was a yes. Bo dug out an orange one and twirled it between her fingers before handing it over.

"That happens a lot at Caritas?" Coulson checked. He took the umbrella and poked at the groundhog. There was no apparent movement. "I'm pretty sure it's either just chocolate or dead."

If Bo hadn't been thrown by the question in the first place, she'd remember basic things about herself like the fact that she was supernatural, lived off other people's energy, and therefore shouldn't need somebody else to poke at something to see if it as a live.

She could poke at it herself. "Chocolate, dead, or really, really asexual," she decided in reaction to its distinct lack of anything resembling chi. "You want the ears or the tail?"

"Since you mentioned its sex drive, I'll take the ears, just to be safe," Coulson said. "Do you have any suggestions on what kind of drink goes with groundhog?"

"Kahlua," Bo suggested after only as much thinking time as it took to break a groundhog in half. "In Irish Coffee if he saw his shadow."

"Let's go with that," Coulson said. "You had that answer ready. Is this a Groundhog Day tradition?"

"Nope. Just a chocolate one." What went better with dead asexual cocoa products than Kahlua and coffee? "Your bartender, however, will be sticking to milk, because the last thing I need is to be drunk if we were wrong and this thing comes back to life in my mouth." Or anywhere further along the line.

"In that case, getting drunk would happen afterwards, I'm sure," Coulson suggested. "It seems to be the best way to cope with something like that."

"I fear for the safety of everybody around me if I manage to get drunk enough to forget about a chocolate groundhog coming alive in my mouth," Bo said just before popping half a chocolate groundhog into her mouth.

"Bottoms up. Or down already, in your case," Coulson said before joining Bo in the eating of a groundhog.

He didn't hear any screams as he chewed, so he figured they were safe.

And that was Jake, sauntering into the bar looking like-

Well. His dead mother had ~~oh so handwavily~~ been visiting for the last couple days. Fill in the rest of that sentence yourself.

"I need a beer," he declared. "Or five."

Edited 2013-02-03 04:35 (UTC)

"At the same time, or would you be satisfied with serial beers?"

"So long as I don't have to deal with not having a beer in hand, I don't care which," Jake decided.

"Split the difference then and say one for each hand?" Bo suggested, starting to draw the first one. "So who did you piss off today?" Because...Jake.

"For your information," he scowled at her, but there was no real heat behind the expression. "I did not piss anyone off. Disappoint someone, maybe. A little."

He'd been in Fandom going on three years now and still lived in a hotel room. You're damn right Emily Doyle had been a little dismayed by that fact.

"Oh, so your dad called." Bo nodded. "First drink's on the house, then."

Look, it was a fair mistake to make.

... It really was.

"My mother, actually. Which is funny since she's been dead since I was a kid." For a Fandom definition of funny, anyway.

"...Run that by me again?" Bo hadn't been here the last time this happened. "You got a call from your dead mom?"

Jake shook his head. "My mother," he said slowly. "Showed up here. In Fandom. Along with a bunch of other supposedly-dead people, as it happens." Because he was the Sheriff round these here parts ~~even if the player kept forgetting to post~~. He made a point of keeping abreast of these sorts of things. "Apparently they were on some sort of weekend pass program? I don't even know."

Well, that was ... disturbing. "Tell me this wasn't a zombie thing. The ones at Caritas are bad enough."

Jake shuddered, making a face at the idea of his mother being a zombie. Sorry, Caritas band. "No. Thank god." And the first of those beers was gone now. "I'd been having these weird dreams all week, about her, and then she's knocking on my door. I don't know what to think about the whole thing, to be honest."

If dreams about dead people were supposed to be a clue that this was going to happen to you, Bo reflected, not remotely less disturbed, she'd have to be on her guard for the rest of her life.

"I can see how that would freak a person out." But it was his mom, not the kind of dead people who ended up in Bo's ~~bed~~ dreams. "In a good way, though? I mean, it must have been good to see her again, right?"

"Once she was finished bendin' my ear about how I still live in a friggin' hotel room, sure," Jake had to grin slightly at that.

"Could be worse?" Bo offered, along with another beer. "You could live in an abandoned hardware store. It'd be worth taking bets on how many words my mom would manage to get out before the aneurism if she ever showed up at my place."

You know. Bo's aneurism.

Where apparently the DJ knew something Bo didn't, judging by the Dead Can Dance marathon.

Where there, okay, might be a dead person, but he didn't count.

God help anyone trying to dance to Dead Can Dance, granted. I mean, you could strip...slowly... to it, but...

Edited 2013-02-03 02:42 (UTC)

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The Devil's Nest, Saturday, February 2

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