fandomtownies | The Devil's Nest, Saturday, December 7th

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The Devil's Nest, Saturday, December 7th

Once she figured out that the taps at the Nest were running the same hot and cold substance that the taps in Bo And Kenzi's Hat Shack -- including the bathroom which had made for a weird if delightfully scented and kind of giggly shower -- were running, Bo felt a little creative. After all, by evening, people had probably had their fill of that, right?

Which was why the first lines of the specials board now read:

Holiday Specials
Mulled Wine: Free
Anything Not Mulled Wine: Regular price plus $1.00

After her third non-wine customer of the evening, though (the DJ, who was coincidentally also her first and second non-wine customer of the evening), Bo also started to feel a little guilty about taking advantage of the island's holiday spirit.

Which was why the last lines of the specials board now read:

(All profits to be donated to Furnado Animal Shelter. Buy a drink, feed a puppy.
Hell, if you're feeling really generous, buy a drink, then go buy a puppy. It's Christmas, people.)

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Where your bartender's hair smells like nutmeg, orange zest, and shenanigans.

"I'll go with the mulled wine," Tamsin said, sinking into a chair. "'Tis the season and all that."

She rolled her eyes.

Bo asked the only logical question as she filled a goblet. From the sink.

"Why do you hate puppies?"

She did not manage to ask it with a straight face, granted, but it was the quickness of the reply that counted, right?

"They make a lot of noise and demand way too much attention," Tamsin drawled. "At least a cat can feed itself."

Bo thought that was not so much a drawback as a selling point, though she did at times appreciate the fact that Kitty Of Many Names was able to amuse herself. When it didn't involve cutting an insane swathe of destruction through the apartment while chasing invisible nothings.

She set the free wine in front of Tamsin.

"Fair enough, I guess, but that doesn't explain why you also hate kittens, hamsters, and iguanas."

She wasn't sure if the shelter had iguanas, but it kind of seemed like something April would stock.

Tamsin gave an exaggerated shrug and a pouty lip in response. "Eh," she said, "Everything's gotta go sometime. Besides, I'm practically broke, and I'm more important than kittens."

Well, at least she had consistent reasoning, Bo would give her that.

"Well, that sucks. How bad does detective work pay? I figured Jake just tended bar on the side for fun, not to keep the collection agencies at bay."

"I just got here a couple of months ago," Tamsin said, "I've got bills to pay off."

In more ways than one. "How about you? Does bouncing around the bar like a Dingo Ugly babe earn you mad cash?"

"Hey, I only danced on the bar that one time, and there was a gremlin involved!"

"Really," Tamsin drawled.

Possibly Bo should not admit that to people who weren't around to see it.

"The sad part is he was a better dancer than me."

Possibly Bo should not admit that to people who weren't around to see it.

"Remind me to be here next time another one of these gremlins shows up," Tamsin said, taking a sip from her goblet and sitting back. "That's just sad, Bo."

Bo shrugged. "I made up for it by looking better in the outfit."

"Do the boobs really take you that far?" Dryly.

"As far as looking better than a gremlin in a leather bustier and cowboy boots? I'm pretty sure you would too."

Pardon Bo while she pictured that, just to make sure her assumption was accurate. For SCIENCE.

"I'm not much of a yee-haw kind of girl," Tamsin said, poking at her glass. "I'll leave the dancing to the professionals. Or the really spirited amateurs."

"Well, like I said, I don't usually do the hippie hippie shake on the bar." Bo eyed the glass, then shrugged and poured herself one from the tap as well. What the hell, it was free and not that intoxicating. "But the regular gig pays okay. Eric's not exactly a cheapskate."

"He doesn't look like it," Tamsin said, sipping her drink. "You know. Ancient vampire and all that."

She was older. He was a whelp.

"Ancient vampire in 500$ leather pants."

"Are you implying we need to steal his wardrobe and sell it on eBay?"

"Well, I wasn't before, but I like the way you think." Bo nodded. "Free money and naked vampire."

Because getting Eric naked was so, so hard.

"Everybody wins," Tamsin agreed. "I think. He doesn't seem like the self-conscious type."

Bo snickered. "No, that he is not. I'm pretty sure the only reasons he even wears clothes are public indecency laws and chafing."

"Who can blame him?" Tamsin asked. "The only thing that ever stopped the vikings back in the day was fear of having their dicks freeze off."

"Also a legitimate reason," Bo said with a wince. "So you're a detective and an expert on ancient Nordic crotchwear?"

"Eh, Norwegian parents," Tamsin said, slamming back the rest of her wine. "--another one-- You know how it goes."

Bo shrugged. "Not really; my adoptive parents were American as really good apple pie. Dairy-country, so the family came from Scandinavia way back, but not recently, and not me."

"Well, trust me," Tamsin drawled, leaning over the bar. "I know enough stories about the 'old country' to last me a lifetime. Or five."

Feel free to lean on that bar for as looooong as you like, blondie.

"I know... how to make really good apple pie?" That was actually something she hadn't publicly admitted in years.

Tamsin let out a dry laugh. "Seriously?" she said. "You were a real bouncy dairy-maid, weren't you?"

"You should see me pump a butter churn." She...could. Probably. They hadn't actually had one at home, but she'd done it for 4-H at least once.

Edited 2013-12-09 22:51 (UTC)

Tamsin let her eyes go comically big for about five seconds. Sarcastically, of course. "Now that's wholesome."

"Nothing's as wholesome as fresh dairy air."

Look, somebody had to say it.

"You get a lot of people falling over the 'adorable former dairymaid' act?" Tamsin asked, rolling her eyes. On low intensity, this time.

"No," Bo admitted. "'cause I don't talk about my past a lot. Most people get the leather goddess, not the farmgirl."

Edited 2013-12-10 15:33 (UTC)

"Please tell me there's no angst," Tamsin said. "I haven't had enough mulled wine for angst."

She held up her glass demonstratively.

Bo took the (second) hint, and poured her some more. Then lied. "Utterly angst-free. Just, you know. Boring. Butter churns and pie."

There was nothing quite like the sensation of being lied to when you not only knew you were getting lied to, but you also had some incling about the hows, whats and whys.

Eh.

She slammed back a healthy gulp of her wine. "Refreshing." The drink or the answer? Who knew.

Where your DJ's hair smells like... don't smell the DJ's hair.

Don't try to lambada to Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer either. Tiny and That One Freckle-Faced Redheaded Cashier From Chilly Boulder can pull that off. You can't.

Where your possibly present undead host may or may not smell like shenanigans too. Or like he ate someone for dinner who smelled like shenanigans. Whatever.

I want mulled wine.

I have... well, I have some peach schnapps I could put in hot cider, I guess.

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The Devil's Nest, Saturday, December 7th

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