Molotov Cocktease (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
molotov) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-09-24 10:13 am
molotov) wrote in thecapitol2014-09-24 10:13 am
Entry tags:
Anger is never without a reason
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.
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.
no subject
"I know, you've said it five-fucking-thousand times, girl." She's helpful, but she can't help being blunt. "Get some rest, alright? Why don't I take you to bed?" Okay that sounded weird, she can't not point it out. "And then after that you can sleep." She gives her side a playful poke, hoping the joke isn't too crass.
no subject
"I don't want to go to bed," she says, opening her eye. "I want to drink."