☠ 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

[gottaknockhard]

Story of his life. She should hear how well that worked out with Julia.

"Was that before or after your father?" -- He's already gone there, might as well drop his pretense about not prying into their lives and hear the whole thing.

[molotov]

No meeting Brock in the rain at the graveyard, Spiegel!

"Same time." Molotov yawns a little and wraps her arms around his upper arm, cocoa precariously balanced in her lap. She obviously does not mind telling the story. "Papa was the greatest spy ever, the Siberian Husky, they called him. We were there to assassinate Gorbachev, traitorous bastard. I stopped Samson's partner from shooting my Papa -- I shot first. But Samson threw a javelin, pierced Papa's heart. I was too far away, I couldn't have stopped it."

[gottaknockhard]

How romantic. (The story, not the graveyard! Because he doesn't remember the graveyard.) He doesn't even doubt that this really happened, even if she is drunk. They give off that vibe as a couple.

"At least it gave you a good story to tell the kids." What can he say when she has complete control over one of his arms? He's not in the mood to deal with the clinic at this time of night.

Eventually, he realizes that might have been insensitive. Which is why he leaves out asking if her father would have approved. It's hard to stop once you get going on a streak. "Then the eye?"

[molotov]

Totally true! Which is ridiculous, really, but she didn't even tell him about the shit that went down in Paris. That is somehow even more ridiculous.

"Andropov is too young," Molotov says, maybe a little sadly. "I hope we get to see her when she is older, maybe one of these years they will come as teenagers or something."

She pauses, cocks her head a bit, then smiles again. "He keeps my eye in a jar. On his bedside table. He is such a sentimental fool."

[gottaknockhard]

Then again, there's such a thing as learning too much. And Brock seems like such a regular guy. But if he were, he wouldn't have lasted as long as he has. Or something.

"I can tell." At that he takes another drink, already knowing it's not going to benefit him. Maybe the castle will cut him a break.

[molotov]

Oh, come on, Spike. It's romantic! Holding onto that keepsake for all these years, Molotov could barely stand it when she'd found out. So precious!

"He does things like that," she continues, clearly just dreamily in love with her husband. "All the carvings in the cabin? He did them for me, to decorate. He thought I would like it more if it was cozy, instead of a sad little log box. And he set up a picnic behind it once, with lights in the trees and everything."

[gottaknockhard]

Is that what the heart eyepatch is all about? Brock... So much for not judging.

"...I thought you had something to do with those." In that, after she found out about it, Brock suddenly got a lot more into redecorating. Although he'd been giving him the benefit of the doubt that it was all her. "If I knew that was going on, I wouldn't have stayed over for so long."

[molotov]

Well, no, the heart eyepatch is more of Molotov's personal style. Hearts on everything! Heart cutouts on her band of mercenaries, hearts on her logo, hearts on the side of a goat. So no, not that.

"I do not really like staying at the cabin anyway, not overnight, so it is okay. He is such a little homemaker, it is cute. But it is drafty in the cabin." Brock is a bit into decorating for his own sake though, so don't go chalking it up to Molotov entirely, Spiegel.

[gottaknockhard]

He likes to keep to his assumptions, generally. So this whole conversation is basically his fault.

"Yeah. A real homemaker." Which is what she just said. Literally though. Anyway, Spike goes back to staring at the fire while he deals with all of these mildly disturbing discoveries. It's going to be awkward to look Brock in the eye the next time he sees him.

[molotov]

Just pretend you dreamed it, Spike! You don't need to know about Brock's mushy habits, you can act like your crazy brain made it all up.

Molotov sighs and laughs a little. "You never noticed before? You know he made the curtains himself. Would not wish for them."

[gottaknockhard]

That would be easier than trying to decide if making his own curtains is better or worse than the eye-jar thing. Then again, Jet had his bonsai trees and liked to cook... The eye-jar, definitely.

"He's never been big on wishing." Give him a few minutes, he'll start laughing along.

[molotov]

Hey, the eye jar is super romantic and special, and shut up, Spike. How about that? Yeah, at least he doesn't hang on to lobsters for so long that they go on killing sprees.

She keeps laughing. "I tried to get him to at least wish for the lumber for the cabin, and he insisted on having it all cut down! As if the magical trees in the magical world are any different."

[gottaknockhard]

He was saving the lobster for a special occasion. Unless Brock was planning on eating the eye later, there's no reasonable explanation for keeping something for any extended amount of time.

"I remember. I was supposed to help with that after we lost the lumberjack."

[molotov]

Hmm, no, crazy deadly lobster definitely trumps the eye. How bad is your life if you don't have any special occasions for that long??

"Logan," Molotov says, in a way that's maybe a little inappropriate for a married woman, but continues on teasingly. "Have you ever actually helped with anything, Spike?"

[gottaknockhard]

Point. But to be fair, after about a year he forgot it was back there.

"When I can fit it in." He's no 'Logan the Lumberjack', but he also spent most of his time in space before coming here. "I was working on the moat before you shot that down."

[molotov]

Why would one even hang onto a lobster for a year? At what point did that seem like a good idea? Spike.

With a snort, Molotov pokes his arm. "Because that was a stupid idea, and what did you even do to 'work' on it? As far as I remember, that never got past the planning stage."

[gottaknockhard]

He learned his lesson after the second time. Mostly. He hasn't really gone through the fridge in his room since before December, but he's been purposely avoiding lobster when he can remember to.

Now he frowns, because that was a good idea and Brock agreed. If they finished it, maybe those bald skeleton guys wouldn't have made it inside.

"I started digging. There's still a pretty good hole there as far as I know." Not a long one, but it was moderately deep before he got bored and quit. "We were going to use it to rig a trap instead."

[molotov]

No, it was a stupid idea, not in the least because Brock didn't really understand drawbridges. Also, The Gentlemen floated! They could have gotten across a shallow moat pretty easily.

"Oh, I wondered what that was. I thought maybe the dog had been digging around." She opens her eye and glances up at him. "Are you pouting over the moat? Don't pout about that thing."

[gottaknockhard]

Well now they'll never know for sure. Besides, they were going to put laser ducks in it or something. They had plans.

"I don't care that much about it." He doesn't pout either. 'The dog' digging a hole that perfect. Yeah, right. "Just seemed like a good idea to put in some security."

[molotov]

Laser ducks. Molotov married an idiot with idiot friends. Laser ducks. Ducks don't even have fingers, how would they fire lasers?!

"You seem awfully pouty to not care," Molotov sing-songs, taking a drink from her mug. "Security is why guns exist."

[gottaknockhard]

They obviously would have some kind of mechanism. It was still in the brainstorm phase.

And tell that to Brock. He's weirdly against guns. Besides -- "Not enough of them exist. It'd be easier not to waste bullets on raccoons."

Still not pouting. Frowning in disapproval isn't the same thing.

[molotov]

Things Spike Spiegel is definitely capable of: engineering and building a laser gun with a mechanism for duck wings to pull the trigger. I am not being sarcastic. The man who kicks things until they work was absolutely going to be able to do that.

It's totally pouting, and it makes Molotov snicker, because it's funny. "You think the raccoon would have drowned?"

[gottaknockhard]

His job was to come up with the ideas, not make them work. Besides, the whole cabin thing was his suggestion and he didn't really help with the construction of that.

"If we were lucky." She may be making fun of him, but that doesn't change his real life vendetta against a raccoon. Pain in the ass animal. -- Actually this is a good distraction from their earlier conversation. Let him get worked up instead.

[molotov]

Which is really exactly why Molotov didn't think he'd even started the moat! What precedent had he ever set on helping with anything?

"The raccoon is not that bad! With his little face and hands, I think he is kind of cute. Maybe you are just jealous of his good looks, huh?" She's teasing him, super entertained by all this. "Maybe he needs a name. Spike Jr."

[gottaknockhard]

He's helping now. Donating his arm out of the goodness of his heart; which he's starting to regret more as she goes on. And they were getting along so well.

"Very funny." Still holding back, since he's being a nice guy here. For some reason. "How long to raccoons live, anyway? I thought we'd be rid of it one way or another by now."