Sirens blare followed by the unmistakable click click click of the high-heeled boots of one very special, very naughty Succubus. Bo saunters out of a bank, large satchel at her side. Wait, holy crap, did Bo just rob a bank? Yeah, Lost Girl is back and it’s already breaking the law, breaking the law.
Our little lawbreaker runs into two unsavory characters in an alley while making her cool, calm and collected getaway. But, like with Buffy and so many strong women before her, don’t be fooled by the nice girl in a bad situation routine. She dispatches the baddies with a few swift blows, but not before one of them commits the cardinal sin of slicing her face. Repeat after me, criminals of the world, not the face!
Of course, now Bo needs a little Faelift, so she grabs the nearest douchey bouncer and sucks a little chi. The cut disappears and she celebrates by making it rain outside the club. I never have experiences like this waiting in line. I only get cutters and weird strangers who stand too close, not beautiful mystical species who offer to pay for everyone’s drinks. I clearly go to the wrong places.
But then there are other footsteps, growly ones. To collective groan of lesbians and bisexual women across the globe, Dyson emerges. He’s hot on Bo’s trail for the last three weeks, when her little crime spree began. Bo seeks shelter at the Dal, where he gets far too close for comfort with her, but in a bad handcuffs not fun handcuffs kind of way. Everyone acts appalled at her actions: Dyson, Kenzi, Trick. Aw, hi guys, I missed you. Not you, Wolf Boy.
Bo is all defiant, talking about fun and wanting to have lots of it. As Wolfie drags her off in cuffs, she says to the everyone within earshot: “I’m Bo, bitches, and I’ll be back!”
Side note: As an American viewer, I feel compelled to mention that we’re being deprived the delicious Lost Girl opening theme with its weekly replaying of the back graze felt around the lesboverse. The Syfy version cuts the entire opening credits, which is a necessary evil to save on time, but still. That first Doccubus touch gets me every time.
Back to the action. Bo-Bo is in the pokey. And I’m starting to worry this place takes the poke part literally. Some rather imposing looking female prison guards catalogue her belongings: stolen Cartier earrings, stolen gold watch, legally acquired and liberally used Silver Bullet vibrator. Well, the good doctor can’t be around all the time I guess.
Bo, sensing her fame as the unaligned Succubus has preceded her, asks about the peanut gallery watching her arrival. All the guards and one very tall blonde lady wearing a dress with a slit up to the North Pole stare hungrily down at her. The blonde lady even licks her lips. Oh, kittens, this is going to be good.
The guard says they are there for her decontamination and then, as promised, they all ogle at her as she showers alone and very naked. Now, you can’t necessarily blame them. I’d want a peek too. But still, the skeeziness is palpable.
Bo talks the long walk to her cell in the most fashion-forward prison jump suit I have ever seen. Like, really, I would commit crime just to get to wear one of those zip-front, high-collar, low-cut, red-hot numbers. The chic duds combined with the salty catcalls are making everything feel very Caged Heat. I’m almost embarrassed at how much I love the exploity (not a word, go with it) girls-in-prison vibe. Let’s change the name to Pulp Girl and do this every week.
Bo tries to give her special touch (not to be confused with bad touch, which you should always tell an adult about) to the guard. But she gives Bo a, “Bitch, please” look back. Ruh-roh, Shaggy. Inside she meets her cellmate, Sylvie. She’s a hiccupy little thing incarcerated for stealing a loaf of bread for her starving family. It’s all very Les Miseables and Bo calls her Jean Valjean, to which she replies, “I’m Sylvie, we just met.” Snort.
The new cellies exchange life stories. Sylvie’s mom won’t open her letters. Bo’s mom slept with her (ex-)boyfriend and tried to kill her. Bo says she relies on her friends, who are more than family. Damn right they are.
Bo inquires about the feminazi guards. Yeow. I am not a fan of any word Rush Limbaugh uses on the regular. But we’ll let it slide in the spirit of pulp and fun and as a continuing thank you for those jumpsuits. Sylvie tells her they are all man-hating Amazons, who won’t fraternize with or take orders from anyone with a Y chromosome. They even abandon their male babies. Charming, maternal and Taser carrying. Somehow Wonder Woman left that stuff of her biography.