Molotov Cocktease (
molotov) wrote in
paradisalogs2014-01-16 06:36 pm
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Entry tags:
☠ 062
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.
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.
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"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?"
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"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."
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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."
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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."
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"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."
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"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."
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"You seem awfully pouty to not care," Molotov sing-songs, taking a drink from her mug. "Security is why guns exist."
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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.
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It's totally pouting, and it makes Molotov snicker, because it's funny. "You think the raccoon would have drowned?"
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"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.
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"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."
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"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."
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"I cannot say I know the average lifespan, but knowing Paradisa? I feel comfortable saying that Spike Jr. is going to have a very long and comfortable life out there."
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"At least the family name will live on."
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"There are worse things," she tells him, rolling her eye a bit. "It could have been a gopher or something."
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"They're all about the same if you ask me."
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Aw, Spike, you're like a fourth grader. Pullin' Molotov's pigtails because you like her so much.
"Raccoons won't dig holes up through the floor," she reasons, then pats his shoulder. "Either way, I have not seen it around lately. Maybe Bulganin scared it off."
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"Could be." Whoever Bugan-whatever is. Animals are obnoxious no matter what they're called. "Or it only comes around when I'm there."
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Also, Spike better never let Molotov hear him talk about animals that way -- the Cocktease-Samsons owned like, half the animals in Paradisa. "Sure you aren't carrying raccoon feed in your pockets?"
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If he hasn't already made it clear by how many times he's tried to get rid of Ein... but most of that is for show, if anyone really looked into it. Ein doesn't seem to take offense, already used to his macho 'I hate everything' routine. (Which is a normal thing to do.)
"I'm sure." The raccoon-hate, at least, is legitimate.
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Molotov snorts and shifts her head slightly against him. Spike is about to start finding little stuffed raccoons all over the place. She might drug him and paint his face while he sleeps, so that he looks like his little raccoon friend. "You're ridiculous. No wonder Brock likes you so much."
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And later it will occur to him to never bring up anything that bothers him if he doesn't plan on it coming back to bite him in the ass. And this was one of his more trivial issues.
When she shifts, his distraction stops being enough of one though. This is still a weird position to be in with her. "...Well, there aren't too many normal people to choose from around here."
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She might hate you again later, when she's not super drunk. This remains to be seen.
"There are worse than you, though," Molotov shrugs, and yawns. "Like that bitch from a floor down, Mess or whatever her stupid name is." Tess, Molotov. It's Tess.
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"Unfortunate name." He knows it's Tess. He actually liked Tess from his limited exposure to her, but he's sort of used to that being the case. Nobody he knows likes each other.
More importantly, is she falling asleep? He'd better keep talking. "What'd she do?"
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"She's a bitch!" Molotov said emphatically. "Thinking she knows better than those of us who have been around for years. Thinking that a migraine could drop me the way that thing from the castle did. I should have killed her that day."
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*even if /she's/ drunk, gosh typos
molotov comes back to life as a dude, thanks to you
whoopsie, sorry Brock
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