so don't you let her get under your skin

[samson]

Who: Brock and Molotov
What: Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool
When: Weds., 25 April, early evening
Where: Room 509
Rating: Probably PG-13, will edit if necessary :T

[Brock had been spending the majority of his time lately working on his cabin, or rather working on a garage to attach to his cabin so he could put his car somewhere to work on that. It was pretty convoluted, but the point was, he was getting married in less than a week and he should probably spend time with his fiancée instead of dicking around in the woods all the time.

So, it's just around dinnertime when he rolls in through the door. Better late than never, right? That's sort of Brock's philosophy about their whole relationship, which explains things.

Anyway, he shuts the door behind him and calls out for her.]

Hey, kitten? You home?

Comments

[samson]

Look -- that was different, okay? I was depressed.

[molotov]

"Depression" made you gain a hundred pounds in nine months?

[samson]

Maybe, I don't know. I'm not a shrink.

[molotov]

Depression is a terrible excuse for gluttony, Brock.

[samson]

Look -- I don't want to talk about that right now, alright? [Or... ever.

SIGH, he pinches the bridge of his nose to calm down, then goes to the fridge.]

What kind of salad?

[molotov]

I am just explaining why you are not allowed to eat too many empty calories.

Whatever kind you would like to make is fine.

[samson]

[FFF Y U NO GIVE CLEAR DECISION]

Alright, whatever. [greens and cherry tomatoes and you will like it, molotov]

[molotov]

[BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T CARE

Molotov just snorts and starts putting pasta on plates.]

[samson]

[Brock tosses the salad (ha HA..... salad) and then brings it over to put it in bowls.]

[molotov]

[Licking a little sauce off her thumb, Molotov goes to the fridge.] Wine?

[samson]

[He eyes her when she licks her thumb, no stop, and then smiles a little snidely.]

You decide. [YEAH TAKE THAT, BITCH!!!!]

[molotov]

[Wow, that's a poor attempt at snideness.

Molotov just removes a bottle of red from the fridge.]

[samson]

[Well, yes! Because Brock is a dumbass. This is common knowledge!

Brock balances the bowls and plates and takes them over to the table.]

[molotov]

[Molotov takes the bottle and some glasses over there.]

Do you want anything else?

[samson]

[He just smiles, pulling out her chair.]

Nah, it's fine.

[molotov]

[She sits down and then fills her glass.]

Thank you.

[samson]

[Brock leans down to kiss her on the cheek, scoots her chair in, then fills his own glass and brings it to his chair.]

So how was your day, honey?

[Ha ha, look at the domestic joke he made, Brock is an A+ comedian.]

[molotov]

Fine, I guess. I just did the normal things. And looked after Hellboy.

[samson]

Where is that kid anyway? Or ... whatever he is. [Losses are confusing.]

[molotov]

He is having dinner with Kate.

[samson]

Oh. [Whatever, that's fine. It's not like he has a weird, uncontrollable desire to take care of children or anything. Brock, stop.]

What do you mean, normal things? Your bears, and ...

[molotov]

My bears, and I went down to my office.

[samson]

[He starts in on the salad.] What do you even do there? Are you getting work?

[molotov]

I have things to do there. [She's defensive. LET IT GO, SAMSON]

[samson]

[He's not being rude about it or anything, he's just asking! He's curious about what his fiancée gets up to during the day, alright.]

I mean, I just don't think all that many people need assassinations or whatever around here. It's actually pretty boring; even the evil guys just sit around and behave.