☠ 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?"

[molotov]

They weren't already? Someone needed to let Brock know about that, because he sure was an expert at being disgruntled and unphased. His biggest huff with castle shenanigans recently hadn't even been dying, it had been that Molotov was married to Ezio in Stepford.

Molotov chuckles and shakes her head. "Not perpetual. Yell boo, or rush at her, and she just flops over. Otherwise, she is as happy as can be. Loves to be petted."

[wagers]

And there goes one large sip of cocoa! Ah, yes. Chocolate.

"Why would you even have that thing?"

[molotov]

And wine! The castle does not discriminate based on age, and Molotov honestly isn't sure how old Vriska is anyway.

She shrugs, holding her cocoa with both hands. "Brock is doing his little farm thing, the garden and smokehouse and whatnot. I figured that he could use the goat to make cheese or whatever. Farms have goats, that is a thing."

[wagers]

Inebriated Vriska is literally the worst, most embarrassing thing. But aliens have weird tastes, so Vriska thinks nothing of it.

"Don't humans eat goats too? I mean, like, obviously you need to literally milk that thing for what it's worth, but... you know."

[molotov]

"Mm, some people eat goat," Molotov says, nodding, "but Bulganin is not for eating. She is for milking, and being adorable. She has a little heart on her side! If Brock ever tries to eat her, I will behead him."

And then she takes a long, satisfied sip from her mug.

[wagers]

Killer moms are literally the best moms. That's why she likes Molotov so much! Okay, so maybe her actual one traumatized her a little, but still. The casual violent remark simply makes Vriska smile, the troll opting to chug her cocoa.

"What else is new?"

[molotov]

Killer daughters are pretty boss, too, if Molotov is honest. She wants her little baby Andropov to grow up and follow the family business, and Vriska is welcome to join. Mercenaries are basically modern, waterless pirates!

"There was all that Stepford business." She has to think about it. "Actually, things have been normal a little too long for the castle. That must mean we are due, huh?"

[wagers]

Eh, why not. Molotov's much better than anyone who would ever judge her for it. And theives are just a small ways away from assassins, I mean come on now.

"You're going to jinx us!" She'll scoff, finishing off her drink. "Not that I don't mind something that will make everyone be all up in arms again."

[molotov]

Molotov smiles, and reaches out to quickly pinch Vriska's cheek. "You are right, I take it back. But maybe the castle would like to do something a little more exciting than Stepford this time? Maybe island-hopping in Greece?" she adds, peering up at the ceiling and raising her voice.

It's a good suggestion, she thinks, for the cold of January.

[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.

[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?"

[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?"

[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]

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?"

[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?"

[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.

[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?"

[gottaknockhard]

Spike is in the middle of raising an eyebrow at the cocoa when she throws him off guard with that question. It's not that he was trying to get on her nerves, but he wasn't expecting an insightful reply. Is he actually dreaming? It's a little spooky how she asks the same questions that usually run through his mind at this time of night.

"Any day now." He means it to sound like a joke, but it's too dark for his usual humor. "We're about due, aren't we?"