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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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?"

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!

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..."

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?

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..."

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.

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?"

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

Molotov is faster than a sparrow, and also she's pretty sure she could beat one up, even tiny! So no, it is not a danger or concern.

There's a lot of chiming and tinkling as Molotov tells him how stupid that is, because it is. And it's good that he understands her, it will make this loss a lot easier!

No way, she is gonna get pecked to death! What if a whole swarm of sparrows comes in here, what then. It could happen!

Brock just sighs and makes general disgruntled sounds, folding his arms over his chest. Ugh. Ugh!! "Look, I just worry. Are you going to be hanging out in here or whatever?"

She wasn't going to get attacked by a swarm of sparrows, that's crazy! There has never been a swarm of sparrows in the castle before, she very much doubted that it would suddenly happen today or whatever.

There's a shrug before Molotov decides she's antsy and starts flitting around in the crystals of the chandelier. She's probably not going that far, he shouldn't be such a worrywart about the whole thing.

Well, she's never turned into a tiny fairy lady, either! There's a first time for everything, you know. Paradisa is full of surprises.

Also, he cannot help but be a worrywart! That is his birth name, Worrywart Samson, esq. Don't tell him not to be true to his nature, madam.

Brock just keeps frowning up at her, since that's not much of an answer. "Are you sure I can't just..." He gestures with his hands. Keep you in a jar?

Molotov squints at him, understanding that motion, then disappears into the crystals, hiding from him. She will not be trapped like a lightning bug!

"What -- hey..."

Brock circles the chandelier from below, trying to get a better look at her. Or any look at all.

"C'mon, I'll give you... a little leaf..."

Molotov harrumphs from her hiding spot in a decorative flower that's dangling crystals. She isn't a caterpillar, she's a lady! A lady with wings and a body too tiny to properly handle her emotions.

He is trying! He is trying to figure out what would make a big jar attractive to a tiny lady, alright. He doesn't have the right reference levels for this.

"Do you want... like... a shoebox instead? I'll make you a little bed and whatever."

There's a pause, and then the crystals move a little as Molotov peeks out, squinting at her husband before she goes on a rant about how she's only going to sleep in a shoebox bed, she's not going to live in it.

Brock doesn't exactly believe her, mostly because he is going to make that shoebox so tricked out that she will never want to leave it. But also because maybe he will put a tiny drop of chloral hydrate in whatever tiny cup she is drinking out of nowadays.

"Look... come home and I'll make you something, alright? Gold leaf and whatever, you'll love it."

He better not drug her! That is horrible, what if the loss lasts for a week? He can't keep her drugged for seven days just because she's tiny! It's so rude and also she's not gonna be nice about it when she gets big again.

Molotov keeps squinting, silent, then very slowly flutters down out of the chandelier. She stays out of his reach, high enough that he won't be able to reach her even while jumping, but she makes it clear she's willing to go home.

Wow, he can and he will! You do not tell Brock Samson whom he can and cannot drug and for how long, madam. He is a super spy, he does what he wants!

Brock isn't quite sure how to interpret this, and frowns up at her for a second. "I'm not going to bite," he says, a little hurt because he is a big baby, then turns to go back upstairs, assuming she's going to flutter behind him.

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molotov - 2014-07-30 18:32 (UTC) - Expand

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