☠ 068

[molotov]

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.

Comments

[samson]

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..."

[molotov]

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.

[samson]

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."

[molotov]

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!

[samson]

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...?"

[molotov]

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.

wtf i didn't get this notif in my email

[samson]

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.

[molotov]

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.

[samson]

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?"

[molotov]

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!

[samson]

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?"

[molotov]

It would be painful if she did it over and over! Or if she was holding something heavy (for her) at the time. Maybe she could get a pebble or something.

Molotov clambers up onto his knife, even if she doesn't really need to, since she can... you know, fly. She is kind of tired though, the vase she pushed was so heavy! There's a lot of tinkling and chiming as she launches into an explanation of how unfair it is for her to be bound to him just because of a loss, and she can protect herself, and look, she was alone all day and not a single thing happened to her except that she fell asleep in Spike's hair.

I'm sure you got all that, Brock.

[samson]

A pebble! Like he would just stand there and let her ram a pebble into his junk repeatedly. No, madam, that is not plausible. Not plausible, I say!

Also, he wanted to be a gentleman and lift her up, don't be a dick. He is a kind and considerate fellow.

He still doesn't understand a fucking word of what she's saying, though. "Uh... so that's a... no?"

[molotov]

Yes, he would! Because she is an angry, bitty little lady right now, and it's only right for him to hold still while she attempts to bash his hangers in with a pebble.

Molotov takes a seat on the edge of the knife and nods decisively. She will do as she pleases, even when she's tiny!

[samson]

Brock frowns, because he doesn't really like that idea. She's going to get eaten by a cat or something, and then where would he be? He couldn't wait around for her body to wake up like last time if she's... digested. How does that even work, anyway?

Probably best not to think about it.

"I don't know," he says slowly, glancing to the side. "What if you get stepped on or something..."

[molotov]

She's not going to get pooped out by a cat, if that's what you're trying to say. Cats cannot fly, and also they are not as smart as humans. She can outsmart a cat!

Molotov gestures at herself, as if to say that she's made it through today just fine, hasn't she?

[samson]

Look, it could happen! People got eaten by tigers and shit, tigers are just big cats. And cats eat birds, who fly! She is gonna get chomped by a kitty and it will be horrible, just plain horrible.

Brock doesn't really get what she's pantomiming, but he figures it's more arguing the point. He rubs at the back of his neck a little awkwardly, again checking to make sure nobody's in the lobby but them.

"Look, I just don't want to deal with that again..."

[molotov]

Tigers are also smarter than housecats, and Molotov is smarter than birds, and when was the last time anyone even saw a cat who wasn't also Molotov anyway?! She is usually the castle cat too, knock on wood, and right now she's a little too busy being a fairy. So buzz off, Samson.

There's a tiny, tinkly little sigh, but Molotov stands her ground. She doesn't know how long this will last, and she doesn't want to be stuck doing whatever Brock wants the whole time. But she floats up from the table to his face, leaning in to kiss his cheek, leaving a little sparkling mark behind.

[samson]

People have cats! Pet cats. Brock's seen them, they're around. It's possible that they all disappeared or went on the loose or starved or whatever happens when their owners leave, though -- Brock's not really sure about that. He's kept Kate's dog for, what, two years now? That's about the only experience he's had with castle pets being left behind.

Also, mostly what Brock will be doing the whole time is patrolling the castle at night like a dumbass and hanging out in his cabin during the day. It's a very exciting life he leads.

When Molotov flits up and kisses him, he grunts in that endearingly grumpy kind of way that men do when cute things happen and they try to stay tough. "What's that mean?"

[molotov]

There's no cats, Molotov is fairly sure of that! She never sees cats around, and anyway, the point is that she has survived the whole day without any issues, cat-related or otherwise. So she's not worried!

With a little chiming laugh, Molotov flies once around his head before heading back into the chandelier to tease him, leaning from between the crystals to wave at him.

[samson]

Frowning, Brock gets up from the floor when she zips away. It's hard to figure out where she's gone when he doesn't watch her the whole time, but he finds her eventually and goes over to the chandelier with his hands on his hips.

"What about, like, birds? Predatory birds?"

[molotov]

Cocking her head at a disbelieving angle, Molotov gestures around. There are no predatory birds in here, and it's not like she's been going outside. I mean, wouldn't she theoretically be more at risk if she was patrolling the castle grounds and traipsing back and forth to the cabin?

This is all expressed via her tiny bell voice, which he might not even be able to hear at this distance.

[samson]

He can barely hear the bells, but he understands the gestures well enough. And he gestures in return.

"They could fly in. Like in a mall food court."

Exactly like that.

[molotov]

If Brock could clearly see his tiny wife's expression, he would know that she thinks he's an idiot. That's because no one has ever seen a hawk or a falcon hanging out in a mall food court, and Molotov is definitely big enough to take on a sparrow, so.

She expresses this thought by gesturing again.

[samson]

Look, sparrows have beaks! Sharp ones! They will peck her cute little eyes out, it's a real danger and concern.

"Yeah, well, it could happen," he says, then grunts in frustration and puts a hand over his face. He's starting to understand her just like the robot, why. Why is this his life. Why.