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

[gladiayyygirl]

"Better for my cock," He agrees bluntly and the slow, wide smirk winds it's way back on to his features. For all his arrogance and madness, Gannicus can at least laugh at his own misfortunes as hard as he laughs at anyone else's.

The way her hair falls about her face reminds him of Saxa, if only Saxa could ever hope to achieve that vibrant shade. It's a thought Gannicus keeps to himself but he's loath to move now for reasons beyond just worrying about the state of his groin. He lounges on the floor surrounded by shards of glass beneath her gaze, still propped on his elbows, as if for all the world he had meant to end up there all along.

"What name do you go by, so that I may better remember the woman I owe so much pain?"

[molotov]

There's a pause, one where she watches him, analyzing every move he makes, looking for what he might do next. It's her nature to never stop, never let her mind relax and flicker out of spy mode, battle mode.

"Molotov," she says finally, extending her hand out to him to help him up, if he's inclined to take it. "Molotov Cocktease."

[gladiayyygirl]

Cocktease. The name doesn't even produce even the slightest of reactions from Gannicus, who simply grunts a nod of understanding. Her name sounded like that of a whore, perhaps, but some of Gannicus's favourite people in the world were whores. In fact, most of Gannicus's favourite people in the world were whores. And all of them were certainly cockteases.

He takes the offer of a helping hand and slaps a broad, callous hand around her forearm in an effort to pull himself upright. There's a flare of pain from his poor, abused groin but he winces gamely and stiffly straightens up.

"Gannicus, of District Nine." He shakes splinters of wood out of his roughly tousled hair and observes: "You are no stranger to the ways of fighting men."

[molotov]

She's strong, to be so tiny -- she pulls him up without much problem at all. He's big, but nothing compared to the men she's used to, and so she hardly notices his hand on her arm.

"Well, I've been doing it for more than twenty years, so I would hope I am used to it by now," she snorts, brushing her own hair out before sweeping it over one shoulder.

[gladiayyygirl]

Gannicus isn't tall but he's certainly heavy; it's a credit to her strength that she pulls him up with such ease. He notes it, and files it away for future reference.

Littered with a fine dust of glass, wood shards and carpet fluff Gannicus looks exactly like a man who has lost a fight, but he doesn't particularly care. He's happy to lose a fight to someone who can handle herself, and handle herself while looking that good.

"Twenty years?" He grins, happy to joke now that they have finished their minor brawl. Turning aside, he picks his way towards the door again with bleeding bare feet studded with glass. "Your actions have the experience of one thousand and your face bears the beauty of ten..."

He glances over his shoulder at her and grins lazily, waiting to see how his outrageous line will land.

"Now that you have stopped crying like a child, that is."