☠ 062

[molotov]

Who: Molotov and you, maybe
What: Fireside sitting in the lobby, thinking, talking, drinking
When: The middle of the damn night!
Where: Lobby
Rating: Ehhh probably like PG-13 at most

The lobby never really got silent, not with the noctural residents and everyone who seemed to come and go at all hours, but it did get quiet if you waited up late enough, and Molotov needed a little bit of quiet.

Sure, she could have stayed up in her room, could have sat in bed next to Brock as he slept, even though she couldn't sleep herself. But something about it made her want to leave, want to just be in front of the beautiful, if slightly "majestic generic", fireplace down in the lobby.

So she'd put on some pajamas and wandered downstairs, taking a seat on the sofa closest the fire. The castle provided a blanket to cover her legs with, and a mug of red wine hot chocolate that never seemed to need refilling, and Molotov couldn't help but think it was the nicest thing the castle had done in a while.

And there she sat, alone and silent, gazing into the flames as the lobby traffic died out more and more.

Until you came along.

Comments

[wagers]

She hasn't been to the castle in a while. Hell, she hadn't spoken to anyone in a while. But here she is, strolling about in the hoodie Kanaya had given her back forever ago, hands in its pockets, strolling about rather than opting to zip around with her wings.

But a familar face catches her eye (eightfold), and she cannot help but bare her fangs in a grin, perhaps even going so far as to accompany it with a wave. "Molotov!"

[molotov]

Vriska is probably one of the last people Molotov expects to see. In fact, the only reason Molotov knows that her fake troll daughter hadn't be sent home was because of her nameplate. But she's not one to push, so she hasn't tried to force any contact.

"Oh, Vriska," Molotov answers, looking over her shoulder. "Where have you been?"

[wagers]

"The outposts," she'll say, running a hand through her thick hair. "All my dumb not!friends left and they kind of left their little outdoorsy projects to me."

She liked exploring, of course, she liked going on adventure. It was just in her nature. But since, well, a plethora of things happened in those unexplored lands, she knew there was little to be done until things settled. She hadn't heard from Nancy in a while, and instead of worrying too much (she was there forever, right?), she would keep a watchful eyes, just to help current residents and first gens alike. Not that she'd ever tell anyone beacsue, well, the stigma.

"But, you know, without all their stupid faces around, it makes for a boring pasttime!" At least she had her Pokemon.

[molotov]

"I can imagine," says Molotov, smirking a little, then pats the sofa next to her. The castle produces another mug of cocoa for Vriska, too. "You can probably come back now. Everything seems pretty quiet. There are so few of us left, it seems. Besides, there is plenty to occupy you here. Brock has a goat now, you know, and she faints when you startle her."

Yes, that is a summary of Brock's Christmas gift.

[wagers]

Vriska's lighting up at that cocoa (thanks, mom) and practically fluttering Molotov's way, even without her wings guiding her. So, everyone was leaving. Figures. Maybe she and Molotov and whoever else was left would end up being the disgruntled unphased elder residents.

Not that they were far from it.

"Goats sure are weird! So I'm guessing she's in a perpetual state of fainting?"

[bezazzled]

It may be the middle of the night, but it's now midnight snack time (no matter what time it actually is) and this has brought Mabel out from her room in search of something sweet. She very well could have wished for something and stayed under the warmth of her blanket, but there's just something about standing in a kitchen where the possibilities are endless and being able to pick what you want instead of having to think of what you want all on your own.

The elevator doors pop open and out shuffles a little girl in a long, oversized shirt and bunny slippers. She rubs her eyes as the first hints of her actual sleepiness start to set in, but she's going to fight it tooth and nail until she gets her snack.

Except the smell of chocolate wafts past her, and she closes her eyes as she inhales, exhaling with a happy sigh. Yes, that is exactly what she wants. Chocolate. Maybe she'll wish up a giant chocolate moose!

She looks toward the woman all cozy by the fire and waves enthusiastically, shouting, "THANK YOU!" to her. After all, if she hadn't smelled her hot chocolate, she would have never known what she was craving.

[molotov]

It's with surprise and more than a little suspicion that Molotov whips her head to the side to look for the shouter. Thank you for what? She hadn't even done anything.

To see that it's only a little girl, complete with bunny slippers, makes Molotov relax a bit, though she keeps her brow furrowed as she waves back. "You're welcome?" she calls, quieter and questioning, but lets it go with a shrug. This is Paradisa, everyone here is weird.

[bezazzled]

Seeing as Molotov is the inspiration for this, it'd be rude not to share a portion of her chocolate moose with her. Maybe she'd like an antler. Maybe she should ask her instead of speculate!

Mabel shuffles toward her, slippers scraping against tile floor, and keeps a wide, metal smile as she approaches. She gets a better view of the woman now, and she's pretty sure she's seen her around before. This is a great opportunity to get to know her.

Without any context at all: "Would you like an antler?"

[molotov]

Molotov, on the other hand, barely notices people in the castle, they come and go so often, and the children are often removed enough from her that she doesn't know them by sight. Plus... this one seems a little weird, honestly.

"Pardon?"

[gottaknockhard]

Somehow after spending too much time at the mansion and living with a fake family, Spike just hasn't been getting the restful sleep that he's used to. Since it also seems that he isn't the type to learn from his lessons, he veers over to the fireplace on his way to the kitchen, only realizing who left it burning when he gets closer.

Well, whatever. Molotov might not be his favorite person, but he's obligated to acknowledge her from time to time. He barely glances at her outfit when he comes up behind her, leaning on the back of the sofa before she has a chance to chase him off.

"Did you have a fight?"

[molotov]

Well, there's hardly as much danger as usual this time, either. There's no magic kissing happening, and they both seem to be in fine enough moods. And besides, Molotov has come to terms lately with a lot things, most importantly that the longest-lasting residents needed to probably be getting along better. And, for better or worse, than included both herself and Spike.

"No," she says, looking over her shoulder at him, rumpled and silly looking as ever. "Just... could not sleep. You? Too much sleep?"

[gottaknockhard]

"Maybe." He grins, because any insult that doesn't involve Julia in some way are pretty easy for him to take. And he does sleep a lot. "You always have to wake up eventually."

At her lack of immediate protest, he steps around the side of the couch, sitting on the far end without so much as an invitation. Who knows why. Could be that the 'coward' comments he suffered during the mistletoe incident made him want to prove himself. Or he just likes couches. Sometimes it's the simpler explanation with him.

[molotov]

Molotov just watches him without any indication of her feelings, and the castle grants Spike his own mug of cocoa. You know, just in case he's thirsty.

She snorts, and glances down at her hands. "When is eventually, though?" she asks, with a sort of sad humor to her voice. "We have been dreaming here for how many years, Spike? When do we wake up and it all goes to hell again?"

[samson]

Brock is a heavy sleeper nowadays.

It's something that never ceases to worry him, much in the same way he was worried that being with the Ventures had turned him domestic. Dulled his senses. And in the same way that he worried what committing to Molotov would do; what it would mean to admit he loved her and wanted to marry her.

This is dangerous though, not just a matter of pride. If he can sleep through his wife leaving the bed, what else can he sleep through? When was another weird-ass monster in a cheap suit going to roll up and pull his heart out again?

So it's with some mild concern that he wakes up to find that Molotov isn't there. When the hell did she leave? How long had it been? It's not so much he's upset that she left (or at least he stopped being upset once he checked the name plate), but rather that he didn't even notice. He's going soft. It's dangerous.

Brock takes a minute to pull on a hooded sweatshirt before he goes looking for her, hands in the kangaroo pouch and cigarette in his mouth. He finds her down in the lobby (the first place he looked, really), and takes a minute to just look at her before heading over.

"Hey," he says softly, tone neutral. "You okay?"

[molotov]

Sometimes Molotov thinks things like this are on purpose. She occasionally finds herself nearly in a coma, and suspects that the castle just likes to fuck with all their sleep cycles. The better to keep them off-guard, she guesses.

But on the other hand, the Cocktease-Samsons do have a pretty amazing mattress. Don't blame yourself, Brock. Blame the Tempurpedic.

Molotov twists her head back when she hears him, then nods and takes a sip of cocoa, looking back at the fire. "Couldn't sleep," she says simply, her legs shifting a little under the blanket.

[samson]

Maybe he'll start sleeping on a 20-year-old mattress again, that seemed to work out pretty well for him back at the Venture Compound. Oh, he slept fine -- but if he so much as heard a creak in the floorboards, he'd be up with a knife in his hand.

Of course, maybe part of it is that there isn't the ever-present thread of supervillains fucking shit up in the castle. In fact, Brock can't really remember the last time there was a supervillain here. That 'Mr. Many' guy over a year ago, maybe. It's kind of nice. Like a vacation. Though that could be why the castle has been throwing a lot of weird, scary shit at them lately -- the residents themselves weren't providing enough trauma, right? Jesus.

Brock's mouth twists a little at that response, then he leans over the back of the sofa, looking at her sidelong with a small smirk. "I coulda helped you with that, you know. I'm pretty good at making you tired."

[molotov]

Plus, usually when really fucked up shit happens, it's not in the middle of the night anyway. Sure, world changes are in the middle of the night, but a bad mattress wouldn't stop that. The real evil shit happens right out in the open in Paradisa, doesn't it?

She gives him a sharp look, then reaches up to gently shove his arm. "Shut up. That isn't what I mean, you child."

[assassino]

Ezio's been avoiding this.

It's not really that he feels indignant about apologizing or his opinions or anything, because Ezio's never been particularly proud in that sense. It's more so that Molotov can be so damn stringent about these things –– there's just only so long that Ezio can nod along or smile or look at her tits before it starts to get really grating, especially when it wasn't a big deal in the first place. So what if he slept with a woman while they were falsely married? She had been sleeping with her "real" husband. How can he be lectured for his own double standards but not be allowed to criticize hers?

Ah, well. There's no sense in putting it off any further.

He approaches Molotov quietly, leaning over the back of the couch to offer her a sealed letter.

"I went to the trouble of writing this and then forgot to send it after Christmas," he remarks. "Irresponsible, hmm?"

[molotov]

It's not that Molotov really cares that he slept with another woman. Really, it isn't. It's that he felt the need to lie and sneak around while doing it. Of course she'd been doing the same thing, sleeping with Brock, but she'd been open, made sure Ezio knew exactly what was going on. She didn't feel like it was wrong to be hurt by the deception, and particularly not when it was something so important as the fact that Ezio had seen someone leave.

As far as Molotov knows, that's never happened before. Didn't he think that was important to share with someone who was, ostensibly, his friend, someone who was terrified of her husband being snatched away.

Molotov is deep in thought when he approaches, and glances over her shoulder with the smallest of starts, then takes the letter, not opening it yet.

"Do you like those things?" she asks softly, just sort of looking at his letter. "I thought it would be nice, but maybe you want to keep shaving it all off instead, I don't know."

[assassino]

"I did," he replies. He touches at his own jaw, typical Italian gesticulating, where his very short beard is very manicured. "It may yet help me decide whether to keep it or not, given how a certain number of ladies here argue vehemently that I keep it short."

He smiles just slightly. So far, so good.

[molotov]

She reaches up, gently running her fingertips along his jaw, looking at his facial hair. "I like it," she says. "You look older, more mature. But that is just me. Of course you can make your own decisions about your face, if you would rather satisfy those 'ladies'."

There's a sigh, then a slight chuckle. "Samson looks awful with hair on his face. You are lucky, that it suits you."

[hellofist]

For someone who doesn't even live in the castle, Cass sure does spend a lot of time there. And why not? Her friends are here, she can wish for stuff, it's more interesting to wander around here at night than make noise in the apartment she shares with Stephanie and Tim while they're actually managing the whole sleeping thing.

But Cass doesn't need much sleep and she's nocturnal anyway, far preferring to come out at night than get any of that pesky vitamin D because who even needs that anyway? So here she is, wandering through the lobby when suddenly, very pretty and unhappy looking lady by the fireplace.

Cassandra doesn't know her, but how can she just walk on past when someone looks like they could use someone to talk to? So she heads over, smiling a little at Molotov as she does.

"Hi. Are you okay?"

[molotov]

Molotov has never seen this girl before. That's actually a little unusual, given the shrinking population of the castle, but she's not expecting anyone to talk to her anyway. So it's with a vague air of suspicion that Molotov glances away from the fire, over her shoulder at this new person.

"I am fine," she says vaguely, lighting a new cigarette, then leans back into the sofa. "But thank you for asking."

[hellofist]

That's a change. In all her time here when Cass has met someone out of her Batsuit she's never gotten suspicious body language. Maybe it's the skulking around in the middle of the night thing. Just to make it easier to track her for Molotov she moves around so she's in front of her, in her line of vision. Now the other woman can keep an eye on her. Nothing fishy about that.

"We haven't met." She says, still pleasant. She has manners after all and she's pretty sure she knows who this is. After all, how many redheads with eyepatches can actually be in the castle? "You're Molotov? Brock's wife?"

[molotov]

Well, suspicious is really Molotov's default for people she doesn't know. You never really know who's going to spring something crazy on you, particularly in Paradisa, land of complete and total insanity. But Cass's movements are appreciated.

Not outwardly. But appreciated all the same.

With a very very mild grimace, Molotov inclines her head just the tiniest bit. "I am," she confirms. "Are you a friend, or do I need to apologize for him?"