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)
thecapitol2015-04-20 06:33 pm
molotov) wrote in thecapitol2015-04-20 06:33 pm
Entry tags:
Demons, live on
Who| Molotov and open, prompts for Clemmy-clem and Tom
What| Moping and trying to pull her shit back together
Where| The bar / D6 / D10
When| Between the Arena's end and the Crowning
Warnings/Notes| Nothing special?
I. She absolutely does not make it a habit to hang around the lobby bar. Molotov generally takes her drinks in privacy, in VIP rooms or in the Capitol's fanciest restaurants, where she can't be bothered by looky-loos and the paparazzi. And besides, she can only drink her own endorsed vodka in public, which can get a little boring when you have to always look happy drinking it.
But sometimes, a woman really just needs a giant glass of vodka on the rocks accompanied by the endless drone of the lobby and its activity.
She's drinking and chainsmoking and watching some insipid Capitol soap opera (since it's about three in the afternoon), but then one of Brock's beer commercials comes on and she turns her head away.
II. Molotov has always been shit at apologies. She doesn't give them, she rarely accepts them, and she hates the concept of them. But she hates guilt gnawing at her more, and while she doesn't take Arena kills very seriously, snapping Clementine's neck had managed to touch some small place inside of Molotov that she'd thought was long dead, withered by almost three decades of militaristic bloodshed.
It didn't take much to get an Avox to let her into Clementine's room during the day, while the girl was gone. It was easy to set up the gifts, to have everything laid out perfectly and beautifully. She sets the soft pink stuffed bunnies just so, as if they've been waiting for their friend to return. The handmade dress is fussed with until it hangs the way Molotov likes it on its dress form. A miniature china tea set already arranged for a tea party.
It's a precious little tableau, and Molotov leaves it that way, going to sit on the sofa in the common area and read a magazine. The only sign of who it's all from is a small notecard propped against the seat obviously meant for Clementine, as the other is occupied by the largest bunny.
The note bears a tiny, embossed version of Molotov's logo, the same one slapped on her endorsements and magazine spreads.
I'm sorry.
- Molotov
III. She's been staying with Tom more and more since coming back, since losing her fight against some kind of horrible snake beast man that she still hasn't identified, that still haunts her in nightmares that leave her soaked in sweat and waking in terror. She saw the Cornucopia trap for what it was, and was ripped to shreds for it, for trying to dodge until the others had torn each other apart enough for her to sweep in.
She can't spend time on Six, not with Clementine. Brock's failure to return haunts the rest of the Center, where she could tell time by his presence in the gym or at the bar with groupies, or when he left each week to go to the zoo, hoping she'd follow even when she never did.
It makes a knot in her stomach, that maybe they could have finally be friends and he was taken away before she could extend herself that far.
Only Tom's bed is a safe zone, at least when she's awake, and with so much focus on Tony, she's left free and she finds herself inclined to spend as much time as possible there, even when she has to stay alone.
He likes his holographic wall set to the beach, and she can't stand her preferred blizzard anymore, so in the evenings, she stretches out in the sheets and watches the same thunderstorm every night until she falls asleep.
What| Moping and trying to pull her shit back together
Where| The bar / D6 / D10
When| Between the Arena's end and the Crowning
Warnings/Notes| Nothing special?
I. She absolutely does not make it a habit to hang around the lobby bar. Molotov generally takes her drinks in privacy, in VIP rooms or in the Capitol's fanciest restaurants, where she can't be bothered by looky-loos and the paparazzi. And besides, she can only drink her own endorsed vodka in public, which can get a little boring when you have to always look happy drinking it.
But sometimes, a woman really just needs a giant glass of vodka on the rocks accompanied by the endless drone of the lobby and its activity.
She's drinking and chainsmoking and watching some insipid Capitol soap opera (since it's about three in the afternoon), but then one of Brock's beer commercials comes on and she turns her head away.
II. Molotov has always been shit at apologies. She doesn't give them, she rarely accepts them, and she hates the concept of them. But she hates guilt gnawing at her more, and while she doesn't take Arena kills very seriously, snapping Clementine's neck had managed to touch some small place inside of Molotov that she'd thought was long dead, withered by almost three decades of militaristic bloodshed.
It didn't take much to get an Avox to let her into Clementine's room during the day, while the girl was gone. It was easy to set up the gifts, to have everything laid out perfectly and beautifully. She sets the soft pink stuffed bunnies just so, as if they've been waiting for their friend to return. The handmade dress is fussed with until it hangs the way Molotov likes it on its dress form. A miniature china tea set already arranged for a tea party.
It's a precious little tableau, and Molotov leaves it that way, going to sit on the sofa in the common area and read a magazine. The only sign of who it's all from is a small notecard propped against the seat obviously meant for Clementine, as the other is occupied by the largest bunny.
The note bears a tiny, embossed version of Molotov's logo, the same one slapped on her endorsements and magazine spreads.
I'm sorry.
- Molotov
III. She's been staying with Tom more and more since coming back, since losing her fight against some kind of horrible snake beast man that she still hasn't identified, that still haunts her in nightmares that leave her soaked in sweat and waking in terror. She saw the Cornucopia trap for what it was, and was ripped to shreds for it, for trying to dodge until the others had torn each other apart enough for her to sweep in.
She can't spend time on Six, not with Clementine. Brock's failure to return haunts the rest of the Center, where she could tell time by his presence in the gym or at the bar with groupies, or when he left each week to go to the zoo, hoping she'd follow even when she never did.
It makes a knot in her stomach, that maybe they could have finally be friends and he was taken away before she could extend herself that far.
Only Tom's bed is a safe zone, at least when she's awake, and with so much focus on Tony, she's left free and she finds herself inclined to spend as much time as possible there, even when she has to stay alone.
He likes his holographic wall set to the beach, and she can't stand her preferred blizzard anymore, so in the evenings, she stretches out in the sheets and watches the same thunderstorm every night until she falls asleep.
no subject
She doesn't know how to apologize. She knows how to buy things, how to write the words down, how to express herself without being there. She doesn't know how to say things out loud.
"And if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride," she answers, eye scanning an article that she's not reading or absorbing. Her foot bounces and her voice is normal, almost indifferent, but it's too far out of her reach to look this child in the eye and explain herself. Particularly in this situation where one of them had to die, and Clementine was probably going to die just from having gone through the river.
Molotov pauses on an advertisement, a picture of herself, and fights the urge to crumple the page.
"Sometimes we have to take what we get."
no subject
Her lips press together as she watches Molotov flick through her magazine. She doesn't know that the casual appearance is put on or not, she's not as good as a spy is at reading people. Clementine trusts her gut more often than not.
"If you're sorry then why did you do it?" this is what it comes down to. "You didn't have to."
no subject
There's something delicate about the way she says that, as if it's meaningful to her, a kind of effort that she wouldn't put in for anyone else. She's still staring down at the magazine as if she's reading, but her eye isn't moving, isn't scanning words or even focussing on pictures.
"That's the game, isn't it? Only one person can win. Besides, you probably would have died of exposure. You were soaked to the bone and it was going to be night in only a few hours. You would have frozen to death."
Molotov sighs.
"I did it because I want to win as much as anyone else. I could have let the elements pick you off, or some beast, or someone else. But at the end of the day, I didn't want you to suffer, and... and I knew that I could save you from real pain, if you were going to die anyway."
no subject
It actually drives her and the other survivors a little crazy.
"Well yeah, that's hard to forget." It's actually a relief to hear Molotov tell her it was in the name of winning, not just out of some weird attempt at mercy which Clementine never asked for. "It wouldn't have been the first time I lived through falling in a river." She didn't even fall, or get washed downstream to wake up on the side of a bank this time. Living in a zombie apocalypse gives you weird standards like that.
"Doing it because you wanted to win... I get that. I know my chances are small next to people like you and that I probably won't win, but saying you did it for my benefit is... you did it without considering what I wanted."
no subject
"What you wanted doesn't really matter. I want to win, and that means that everyone else has to die, even people I care for. But I won't lie and say that I didn't want you to go quickly. Peacefully. If all I cared about was the crown, then I could have let you fight, could have stabbed you or slit your throat and left you to bleed out. I could have just paralyzed you and then thrown you back in the water to drown. But you don't deserve any of that. You deserved for it to just be over."
Being able to save a little girl that suffering, that meant something to her. Because even if the kill was done in the name of the game, she wasn't going to stoop to torturing a child.
no subject
She kept her arms folded and stayed standing, "Why do you want to win so bad that you'd do that? You know you still won't get out of here." winning was just an illusion of freedom, another level in the gilded cage the Capitol kept them in. Sure, you got to stop going through the arena's but being willing to do that at the cost of killing your friends... Clementine can't imagine that.
Seeing people she cares for die is her worst nightmare. Especially, as was so often the case, when they died protecting her.
no subject
She pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a long drag before exhaling and continuing.
"Look, this isn't anything new to me. Killing people for a living, I did that already, so you are never going to make me feel bad about it. But I don't go after kids. I just don't. That is the part of this that's new. And I told you, if you were going to die -- and you were -- I wanted to make it quick and painless. That's all.
no subject
Clementine wrinkles her nose reflexively at the smoke. "So basically, you're sorry but you're not really sorry, because you think you did the right thing. You felt bad because I'm a kid but no bad enough not to do it in the first place."
no subject
Molotov rolls her shoulder and throws one arm over the back of the sofa, the one not holding her cigarette. "Take it however you want, Clementine. You were in my way so you had to go down, but I didn't let you suffer. That Arena? It was basically where I grew up, save for the monsters and prehistoric shit. I know better than anyone that you were going to die from freezing anyway. I made a call, and I stand by it."
no subject
It's a small chance but it's possible.
"Fine. You're not going to change your mind and I don't want to argue with you about it." Clementine has no interest in fighting a losing battle, which is how she feels the conversation would go if she continued it. That said she can't think of anything else to say now, so she takes a step back and turns to go. "Later."
She needs to go and clear her head.
no subject
"Fine."
She flips through her magazine again, though she's not looking at it, really. All she can think about it what an ungrateful brat this girl is, and how much she prefers Arya.