Anger is never without a reason

[molotov]

Who| Molotov and... well, you can stop by if you hear the commotion. D6 should look out.
What| Death lets out the crazy that she usually keeps locked up.
Where| D6
When| Week 5, Day 3
Warnings/Notes| Death description, rage, angry Russian

When Molotov went out, it was with a strange, non-violent blaze of glory.

Before anyone knew the water was poisoned, she drank an entire liter of it and went about her day. Within an hour, she was high out of her mind, feeling wonderful and seeing things that of course weren't there -- vehicles and planes and people. And when the apparitions beckoned her to the edge of the cliff, she didn't think twice about following their siren call.

Over the balcony, and with a leap.

She landed on a jagged-ended pole, one that was ostensibly there to support decorations around the now-burnt out husk of the skating rink. The force of her jump impaled her on the pole, through the chest, her body sliding a good two feet down it before squelching to a stop. Blood dripped down to the where the ice was still freezing back over, the cameras focusing first on the bloom of red in the water, then on her peaceful smile as she died in ecstasy, still riding the high of the poison.

Molotov isn't high at all when she wakes with a gasp.

It takes her a moment to process what's happened, why she's suddenly back in her room instead of in the arena. Why she's dressed and clean and not mildly malnourished from only weeks of mall food.

And then the chair flies through the window, falling the six stories to the street and breaking on impact. Molotov doesn't have very much expendable furniture in her room to destroy, and so she heads into the common area with a shriek of rage, to begin letting out her fury on the lavish decorations therein.

I should have won. It's screamed, along with other, more unintelligible pieces of her mind, as everything becomes shredded and broken and smashed. A large potted plant is on fire, although Molotov doesn't remember lighting up. There are holes in the ceiling.

Comments

[molotov]

She lets her head fall back to the wall with an alarmingly loud clunk that she doesn't even acknowledge. It's a distinct possibility that she can't really feel pain right now.

"'s wrong," she slurs, looking out towards the city, where the window used to be. "I was... I was gonna win, I was. Coulda fought me fair, like... like it's real. Like this means something." One nasty tear snakes down the side of her nose, and she swipes at it furiously, leaving smears of blood on her face.

"I want to go home."

[capitolprivilege]

Ouch. God, this is painful to watch, and it moves Stephen to more empathy than he knows is smart when it comes to Molotov.

Dammit, he's supposed to be keeping his distance from Tributes. Oh, well. Maybe if he's lucky, she's smashed the cameras, too.

"I know," he says, sadly. "I wish I could tell you you could."

[molotov]

Well, it's not like he's handing over state secrets. He's calming down his resident crazy person, which is, ostensibly, his job. So it's fine, relax, buddy.

She snorts and sniffles, which is surely an attractive sound, and rubs at her face again with the heel of her palm before taking another drink. She never stops looking out the broken window, her hair blowing just slightly in the wind from being so many stories up. Molotov hasn't really lost anything in decades, and the fact that she did it to herself... it's making her feel ways that she didn't know she could feel any more.

"I was gonna win," she mumbles again, almost to herself, then tries to stand up. She fails spectacularly, immediately falling back down and spilling liquor on herself, then tries again.

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen will reach out and catch her hand, if he can.

"Are you ready to get cleaned up?" he asks. She's not hurt badly but she is hurt, and she's not in any state to get the glass and splinters out herself. It's time to take her to a doctor -- or to take a doctor to her.

If she wants, he'll help pull her up.

[molotov]

When she takes his hand, it's more to avoid falling than anything else, a desperate grab at something for balance. She holds it tightly, swaying a bit, and shakes her head. "'m fine," she mutters. "Just... I'll just shower and go to bed. I'm fine."

She's not, really. But the last thing in the world she wants is a doctor poking and prodding at her, bothering her and asking questions.

[capitolprivilege]

"Molotov, you have the worst case of splinters I have ever seen," Stephen says firmly, gesturing at the glass embedded in her skin. "And I saw someone killed by a tree. A shower isn't going to cut it. I'm going to take you to a doctor, or take a doctor to you."

[molotov]

"Don't want a doctor!" she half yells, half whines, stumbling toward her bedroom. She has, however, forgotten that she's clutching Stephen by the hand, so she's sort of just tugging him behind her. "I been hurt worse before, 's okay, Stephen. They'll come out."

Yes. In the bed. Where she will roll back into them.

[capitolprivilege]

He doesn't doubt that she's been hurt worse. However, he does doubt her judgment.

"Not in bed they won't," he argues, stumbling after her. As he says it, he realizes she won't listen to reason. He'll have to be trickier about this.

He doesn't try to get out of her grip, if only so that he doesn't knock her off-balance again. Stephen is going to go along until she lets him go.

[molotov]

Molotov nearly runs into her bedroom door before remembering that she needs to actually turn the knob. There's a moment where she sort of just wiggles it before properly twisting the knob, and when the door opens, she almost falls into the room, so heavy had her weight been on the door.

She doesn't fall.

She makes it the dozen steps or so before collapsing halfway into bed, her face buried in the pillow and her legs dangling off the side of the bed. Stephen was only released when she actually opened the door, so he probably has a nice view of her bloody back -- it's mostly dried blood by now, but there's some pretty conspicuous pieces of glass and wood actually sticking out of her skin.

Thanks, Gannicus.

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen slowly backs out of her room, already pulling out a communicator to call in a doctor -- and a peacekeeper or two, just in case. He figures they'll be able to handle her in her drunken state; she's all but out of energy.

He'll just take care of that.

[molotov]

It does require a small amount of sedative, but Molotov mostly sleeps through the procedure of removing all the debris stuck in her skin.

Several days later, Stephen will find one of the boxes of absurdly expensive chocolates that Molotov's fans are fond of sending, sitting innocuously on his bed. She doesn't know how to apologize, really, so the note attached only says "Enjoy. - M"