☠ 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!"

[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.

[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?"

[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?"

[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?"

[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?"