☠ 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

[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?"

[bezazzled]

"An antler. I'm wishing up a chocolate moose. See, I came downstairs because I wanted a snack and I thought to myself, 'What am I really craving."

She points at Molotov's cup and grins.

"Then I smelled your chocolate, and it was at that moment that I knew what it was I wanted. So it's all thanks to you, really. That's why I'm offering you an antler from my chocolate moose."

[molotov]

"But chocolate mousse -- " Molotov cuts herself off with a squint, figuring it's probably for the best not to argue with a child. "Nyet, no thank you. I try not to eat food that was wished for."

She pauses, considering the implications while staring in her mug, then glances back up at the girl. "I am sorry, I do not believe we have met before."

[bezazzled]

"My name's Mabel!" Very enthusiastically, she sticks her hand out. The sleeve on her shirt falls a bit, exposing on her arm some brightly colored and glittery temporary tattoos of Lisa Frank characters.

"I don't normally wander around this late at night, by the way. Then again, it's not like there's anyone to tell me not to."

[molotov]

Taking the little person's hand, Molotov gives it a shake, definitely taking in those tattoos. Hmph, she prefers Hello Kitty, but to each her own.

"Well, Mabel, I am Molotov. Do you not live with anyone here?"

[bezazzled]

Her shoulders give a little shrug, and she doesn't appear outwardly bothered by her own answer.

"Nope, I'm all on my own. I used to check in with the Once-ler every so often to let him know I was still alive and kicking, but he left. I guess I'm just mature enough to take care of myself."

[molotov]

"How old are you, Mabel?" Molotov asks, taking all care to not sound authoritative or anything like that. She tends to find herself in the 'mother' role for preteen and teen girls stranded here, so there's some kind of instinct now to make sure they're not killing themselves by only eating Kit-Kats and vodka or some shit.

You save that for being a grown up lady, girls!

[bezazzled]

Mabel puts a hand to her chin and looks up in thought. There are different ways to answer this question, after all.

"Do you want how old I was when I first arrived here? Or how old I would be now if aging were a thing that actually happened here? Because while the difference between twelve and thirteen sounds like nothing, one implies way more because hello! Teenager!"

[molotov]

"So twelve or thirteen," Molotov says, hiding a smirk. Oh, children. Always thinking they're so much older than they really are. "Well, certainly a teenager is very mature, but do you not miss having someone to take care of you? I always feel bad for the younger people here all alone."

[bezazzled]

As much as Mabel wants to continue to put on the tough and not bothered act, she's finding it a little harder now that Molotov's asking questions. Her face falls enough for it to be noticeable now.

"Well, I mean yeah, of course I miss that. He wasn't perfect, but living with Grunkle Stan was always an adventure. And not sharing a room for once is pretty cool, but it makes me really miss my brother Dipper. I even miss the dumb way he talks to the books he reads."

[molotov]

Molotov does not know what a "grunkle" is. It sounds like something unpleasant and ugly. But Mabel clearly likes this "grunkle" enough to name it, so Molotov restrains herself from saying anything. To each their own, she guesses.

"Oh, you have a brother," she says, patting the sofa next to her, inviting Mabel to take a seat. "He might come here someday, you never know. I am an only child, and so is my daughter, but I know that if either of us had brothers, we would keep up our hopes."

[bezazzled]

"He's my twin brother," Mabel corrects her as she hops onto the sofa beside her. She's still hungry for her midnight snack, but she'd never deny a person company if they're inviting it.

"Sometimes I really, really want him to come here. He would get such a kick out of all the mysteries and the supernatural mumbo jumbo. But at the same time, I kind of don't want him to? I mean, it's a kidnapping castle that does mean things to people sometimes and takes things away that mean a lot. I just don't want him to have to go through that, even if I miss him more than anything ever."

[molotov]

Well, Molotov sort of assumed she'd be wishing for a "chocolate moose". It wasn't... a real food, so it wasn't likely to be in the kitchen, was it?

With a soft noise, Molotov smiles at her. "I have found that, even when people do not want to be kidnapped, they also do not want their loved ones to be here alone. I am sure he would join you if he could, Mabel."

[bezazzled]

She smiles a little at that, and shifts in her seat. She hates to be a Debbie Downer, so she tries to shift the conversation away from her sads.

"Yeah. Hey! You said you have a daughter. What's she like?"

[molotov]

"Da," Molotov nods, taking a deep drink from her mug. "Her name is Andropov. She was four last time I saw her. She lives in another world, with another version of me, most of the time. I only see her once a year. But she is perfect, so smart and interested in everything."

[bezazzled]

The fact that her daughter is in another world doesnt quite phase here. When Molotov says that name however, Mabel isn't sure that she heard correctly. Foreign names! Even after nearly two years in the castle, she's still intrigued by different cultures. At least enough to ask.

"How do you say that again? What's it mean?"

[molotov]

"An-dro-pov," Molotov pronounces slowly, overenunciating. "She is named like I am, for a Soviet premier. I have always wanted to keep to the tradition my father started. Maybe I will have a boy someday, he would be named Trotsky. Trotsky Aleksandr."

Molotov is insane, just so you know.

[bezazzled]

It all goes over Mabel's head, but wow do those sound like really cool names that are a challenge to pronounce correctly!

"Neat! I used to think my name was really plain, but now that I'm older I realize that I like it a lot. I think it suits me. Plus, how many other Mabels are you going to meet in the world, am I right?"

[molotov]

"Not many, at least not your age," Molotov agrees, taking another sip of her cocoa. "Are you named for someone, Mabel? Or did your parents just like the name?"

[bezazzled]

As she tries to remember, there's a large gaping void in her memory. If her parents liked the name, she wouldn't know. In fact, she can't even recall ever having parents, or any other family other than Dipper or her great uncle. It causes a tightness in her chest to realize this yet again.

"You know, I'm not really sure! They probably just picked any old name out of a baby name book or something. It's not so important."

[molotov]

Molotov smiles, and nods. "Well, either way, it is a pretty name. I do not know why my father chose 'Molotov' over any other name, either. Maybe my mother liked it or something. He never said."

[bezazzled]

"Yeah, parents. Go figure!" She's doing her best to keep up the facade and is pretty sure it's working. "But thanks! Molotov is a really pretty name, too. It kind of sounds like a flower. Obviously, it would be a fiery red flower if it really was one."