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
And beat the son of a bitch with a wrench but Molotov doesn't need to know that.
"I'll be surprised if you don't say you grew up in the Soviet Union. Cocktease though?"
no subject
She lights another cigarette and blows a heart-shaped smoke ring to amuse herself.
"It isn't spelled that way in Russian, but yes, some words in different languages sound alike." She frowns a little with realization, though. "Wait, Soviet Union? When are you from? Even people who account for my age usually say Russia."
no subject
"Well should I leave you be? I wouldn't want to impose on you. You've got enough on your plate."
no subject
"Fine. I'll see you around the Suite, I'm sure."