paradisalogs | ☠ 068

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molotov cocktease

☠ 068

Who: Molotov and you
What: Mercenary fairy, pouting silently over her loss
When: This weekend
Where: All over the castle
Rating: Probably G, since she can't even swear

This. Fucking. Castle.

When Molotov woke up only inches high with wings, and tried to say those exact words, all that came out of her mouth were tiny little bell-like noises, chiming and tinkling and generally annoying even herself.

It was a first, not wanting to hear her own voice.

After stumbling across the pillow, which took forever, Molotov managed to master her wings, clumsily gliding around close to the mattress at first, but soon flitting all around the bedroom. She took off as soon as the door was opened, heading out through an open window to fly all around the castle grounds.

She looks mostly like a little ball of light. An angry, speeding little ball of light. And she might try to take it out on you.

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It took a few hours, but Brock finally realized that Molotov wasn't actually in their apartment. She'd flitted out at some point, which was both annoying and dangerous (who knows if anybody has a particularly hungry cat roaming the halls?), and he irritably stalks around the halls looking for a little tinkling light.

His eyes are seriously not what they used to be, though, and he's standing in the lobby with his hands on his hips, muttering darkly to himself as he slowly scans the room.

Molotov is very sure she can handle people's pets, and it's not like she's going out and taunting her bears. Although she probably could, they're pretty lazy fucks, she can't imagine them chasing her around. Anyway, the point is, she doesn't intend to be a prisoner just because she's only a few inches tall.

After her failed experiment with trying to get Spike to help her, Molotov had been darting around the castle at random, exploring. She's been in the kitchen most recently, eating half a cookie that she managed to drag out of the open cookie jar (it looked like she was holding half a pizza in her hands), and now she's fluttering back into the lobby, dusting cookie crumbs off her dress.

They might swat at her or something and squish her, though! She's, like, tiny, it's a concern. A very large concern. Pun intended.

Brock is just about to head out into the courtyard to see if he can't find her out there, when he hears tiny little bells and whips his head around. The lobby is huge and spacious, so it's hard to pinpoint a little dot of glittering light, so it takes him a minute to find her. Once he does, though, he hurries over to where she's flitting around.

"Hey --!"

Molotov is not a mosquito! Even though she's tiny, she's still big enough to not just be flattened with a fly swatter, she has meat on her bones. Do she got that tiny fairy ass? She doooooo.

Having been idly heading to perch atop the fireplace mantle (it seemed like a nice enough place for a nap, warm and ignored enough for her to be left alone), Molotov turns in the air when she hears Brock, hovering as she watches him.

Wow that was unsettling, don't do that anymore.

Brock leans in so his face is inches from her, all frowns and scowls. "The hell have you been?"

Molotov squints and glares at him, her hands on her hips, then chimes out a sassy little answer before rising above him to be bitchy as she showers him in sparkly dust. Look Brock, your mullet is all glittery now!

What the hell.

"What the hell," he says, vigorously raking his fingers through his hair. "Don't get pissed at me 'cause I'm worried about you. You could get eaten or, like, sucked into an air duct or something."

Okay, calm down, Brock, she can't help the fairy dust.

She huffs and puffs, continues to bitch at him, and then darts away to hide in the chandelier, where she peeks through the crystals at him. She doesn't want to be worried over, she can take care of herself!

Well, he doesn't have very good experiences with fairies! Remember last year, they were all tying bows and shit in his hair... embarrassing...

Once Brock is pretty sure he has all this dumb sparkly crap out of his luscious golden locks, he whips his head around to try and find her. Goddammit, she got away again...

"Molotov, knock this shit off. Where are you?"

She's a Molotov fairy though, not one of those fairies! She's been a fairy since she woke up, and she has yet to tie even a single ribbon into his hair.

In the chandelier, Molotov continues to just peek at him, the crystals making a very soft noise as they shift around. She will keep hiding as long as she has to, he's being a dick about something she can't control.

Well, he doesn't know! Maybe all fairies like to do that! Maybe it's a thing. Brock has been friends with vampires and elves, but he doesn't have much experience with the habits of fairies.

Also, he is not being a dick! He's just worried. He needs to keep her in a little jar (with airholes in the lid, natch) for her own safety.

Eventually, Brock notices the chandelier moving around, and looks up. "Ha!" he says triumphantly. "I see you."

If it was a thing, probably she wouldn't be hiding in the chandelier, far away from his hair! And no, she was not going to be kept in a jar, she absolutely refused! She is an independent little fairy, she can take care of herself.

Molotov makes a mocking motion with her hand, because even if he sees her, it's not like he can get her down. And she's content to stay up here as long as necessary.

Even independent fairies can get killed by bugzappers or fly swatters! It's a real concern, he doesn't want his woman getting killed again. Particularly not in some dumb, embarrassing way.

Brock moves over to the chandelier until he's directly below it, looking up with his hands on his hips.

"Come down."

First of all, Molotov has never even seen a bugzapper in Paradisa, and second of all, why would she fly into one? She's not a moth, she's a fairy. And no one had come after her with a fly swatter yet! Besides, she was fast, she could outrun. Outfly it.

She stares down at him, huffing, then crosses her arms and settles amongst the crystals. He needs to apologize and promise not to trap her before she thinks about coming down!

Wow Dreamwidth just ate my comment, let's see if I remembered what I typed.

Look, who knows if she'll get distracted by a giant, shiny thing and fly right into it? Brock has been seduced by giant, shiny things before, you know, and then he wound up with a hat that smells like a men's room. Is that what you want, Molotov? A pee-soaked hat? He's trying to protect you.

Also, Brock is not doing either of those things! Not a one. He just stares up at her for awhile, hands on his hips, then sighs, gesturing widely at his sides.

"Look... I'm worried about you. Okay? Please come down. You're so tiny..."

I don't think anyone could pee a small enough amount to make her a pee-soaked hat right now, and anyway, she is doing a pretty good job at not being distracted by shiny things. Because she is a fairy, not a goblin.

Molotov's teeny little body is not currently suited to handling more than one or two emotions at a time, and love suddenly floods her when she hears his confession. So she emerges from the dangling crystals to hover just outside of his reach, sparkling dust going everywhere as she tinkles on about needing him to promise he won't trap her.

Yeah, just a little pee dribble! Just -- actually, you know what, I'm not talking about that. Get outta here.

Regardless of whether or not Molotov is a fairy or a goblin or, you know, just a normal person who could maybe get drawn by a big shiny glowy thing that's totally normal okay -- Brock takes an instinctive step back when she's, like, shedding glitter everywhere. Gross. The only time in which Brock will tolerate glitter is when strippers are involved, and she is not, as far as he can tell, stripping.

"No, I -- slow down -- look, I can't understand what you're saying, it just sounds like bells."

She can't help her glitter, it isn't her fault! And it's not even magical, Brock's not gonna get any temporary flight powers or anything, he's just going to get covered in sparkly stuff that will be there forever and never come off of him. Because it's like glitter only worse -- it's fairy dust.

With a frustrated groan/windchime noise, Molotov gestures at him, continuing to make bell sounds as she repeats herself more slowly. She just doesn't want to get put in a cage or something!

God, it's gonna be like all up in his crotch, isn't it. Junk covered in glitter even though she was never anywhere around there, much to his dismay (?).

This is actually getting kind of stupid, though Brock doesn't say that out loud. He does think it, though. He is thinking it very hard.

"No... still not getting it. Uh," he says, glancing around to make sure nobody else is in the lobby, "charades? Sounds like...?"

If he's stupid enough to be naked around her while she's a fairy, yeah, probably it will be. I mean, there's not all that much she can do with his junk right now, so it's up to him whether or not it's a worthwhile risk.

Molotov stomps a bit in the air, frustrated, then soars over to one of the knick-knacky vases on a side table. She immediately throws all her weight against the vase, pushing and pushing until it tumbles down and breaks on the floor, leaving her panting and exhausted, lying face down on the table surface.

Brock watches her go over there and start... pushing at a vase? What? Is this how she vents her frustrations now that she can't talk (and presumably still can't attack people)?

He doesn't really bother trying to stop her, though. Like hell if he cares that the castle's knick-knacks get broke. He's pretty sure it just regenerates them or some such bullshit anyway.

"What, sounds like... vase? Broken?" he says, ambling over there and bending over to peer at her.

Actually, as she has discovered with Spike, she can attack people in this form, presumably because she's not big enough to do anything but annoy people.

Either way, she screams into the table and pounds her fists and feet against it before getting up to trudge to the next vase and flitter up into it. She crouches in there for a moment, then pops back up out and makes an exaggerated "no" motion.

Molotov's screaming, of course, just sounds like a lot of very loud, very tiny bells. But Brock gets what she's doing.

At least she can't really do anything to hurt him. Let's see her kick him in the balls when she's that small, haha! Though she could maybe get some glitter in his eyes, he's thinking, as he eyes her warily. If he gets this wrong again, that is a real possibility...

When Molotov goes to the vase, Brock crouches down to get a better look at what she's doing. "That's not how you play charades," he says absently, then takes out his knife to poke at the vase a little.

"So, you're... saying you don't want me to stick you in something. Right?"

I mean... she can fly with a lot of force, kicking in the balls is still an option. She will just have to be really fast about it, fast enough that he can't run from a little ball of light.

She sighs when he gets it and nods, arms crossing tight across her chest. That is exactly what she is saying, buddy! To emphasize it, she makes a stabbing motion and points at him, her tiny jaw set. She will stab you, Samson. Probably with a toothpick. And that will... be annoying. Yeah!

Please, it'd be like if somebody threw an eraser at his junk. Maybe a little sting, but nothing that would send him howling to the ground. Try harder, madam! Get somebody to slingshot you in there.

Brock frowns at her, then holds his knife out flat, parallel to the ground and with the sharp edge facing away from her. Climb aboard and he will play elevator for you, lady.

"I just want to keep you out of trouble. Can you at least hang out with me instead of flying around god knows where until this is over?"

so late

too late

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wtf i didn't get this notif in my email

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