A Silk Lapel Suits You Well [Closed]

[pimpcanes]

WHO| Black Tom and Molotov Cocktease
WHAT| Molotov and Tom have a Capitol photoshoot for fancy suits.
WHEN| After the reaping.
WHERE| Various places in the Capitol.
WARNINGS| Rich asshattery.

"Are you sure that we should be using the Avoxes as ottomans here? I'm worried that might push us into camp."

Tom's found that the work of being a minor celebrity, of representing brands and signing contracts and being the face of photoshoots for outfits that cost more than the GDP of some small countries, is actually quite a lot of work. For one thing, there's taking orders from the photographer, who seems more than a little bit of an idiot, and for the latter, there's constantly getting 'adjusted' by makeup artists and a wardrobe assistant and someone who insists on using hair spray in a can shaped like a tiny Roman statue. None of the people working on this set seem able to find their own feet without directions.

It's very near torturous. Thank God he has Molotov to pass the time with.

"No, it's fine, the pale skin on that one really makes the shine on those shoes pop." The photographer looks over his shoulder and scowls. "Oh, God damn it. The monkeys's wet his tuxedo again. You guys hang out here while we get him changed so he can put the grapes in your mouth. This won't be more than ten minutes."

"Make sure to wash his hands!" Tom sighs and unbuttons his suit jacket before shoeing the Avox off. Molotov sits on the couch with him, dressed to the nines and with a little hat that props up her cigarette holder. Tom wraps his arm around her and whispers in her ear, as he has been for most of the morning. They're a natural couple, these two, and candids of them on set are already circulating online with hashtags like #MOLOTOM and #OTP-ULENCE.

"Personally, I'm looking forward to the part where we shoot whales from the yacht."

Comments

[pimpcanes]

"We might even not have to overhear that terrible rap music your suitemate plays," Tom says, unaware of how very old that makes him sound. "How you manage living there is completely beyond me. It almost makes me glad to have Clara and Carlos as suitemates, and that says something."

[molotov]

"Spend enough time in war zones and you can learn to block out anything." She says it with a smirk, resting her head on his chest. "I think it's a little soothing, on nights I can't sleep. The screaming and the gunshot noises. Very, very similar."

[pimpcanes]

"Perhaps I've just never gotten bored of the indulgence of a warm, clean bed in a quiet hotel or chalet," he says. "Actually being there, instead of milling around one getting our pictures taken with a monkey and by someone only slightly more evolved."

[molotov]

"You keep your hands too clean."

Molotov smiles and watches the dock come into view, pleased to just be going back to what they call home, where she can ignore all of this for the night and pretend they don't have to get back up and deal with it again in the morning.

[pimpcanes]

Their photoshoot canceled due to traumatic injury, they find themselves with only a few moments of peace and quiet, watching the 'good light' turn into a sunset over the water. And then they're being hustled off the boat and onto the dock, rushed towards a cab that'll take them home.

"Will we have any say in which shots are finally printed?" Tom asks an assistant.

[molotov]

She never lets go of his hand as they disembark from the boat and head toward their car, and she's impatient when he tries to question the staff, pulling at him.

"Who cares? I want to go home, Tom, come on."

/wrap?

[pimpcanes]

"I care," Tom says, sniffing, but he follows her obediently. It's been a long day, an aggravating one, and as she's the only living person he isn't angry at, it wouldn't do to fight now. He gets in the car and wraps his arm around her, and they're off.