Hair done, nails done, everything did

[molotov]

Who| Molotov Cocktease and you?????
What| Just a touch of R&R and maybe also some bloodthirst. They go hand-in-hand.
Where| Glamor Nail
When| Week 2, Day 4
Warnings/Notes| Drinking, lookin' fly, copious nail polish fumes that can be annoying

Molotov was actually... marginally disappointed. So far, the only real violence she'd seen was at the Cornucopia, with the explosions -- everything else seemed fairly tame. Maybe it had to do with everyone hiding all the time, making nests in their various little corners of the mall until they were forced to actually fight.

But she didn't want to start a war while she was so severely outnumbered. She'd heard about a few injuries starting to occur, and she figured that would start knocking down the numbers soon enough. There were things to occupy the time, of course -- hoarding supplies (she'd had to upgrade from a backpack to a duffel after the sponsor gifts started rolling in), hoarding food from the daily frenzy in the food court, threatening everyone who got close to her. She was still on the hunt for a pair of thigh-high red boots, but she was making do with a few pairs of black heels for now.

By now, she's managed to pick out the stores that garner the least amount of attention, mostly because they don't have real supplies in them, only bric-a-brac useless for fighting. But that didn't make the stores completely worthless, now did it?

Blaires Accessories turned out to hold a wealth of flashy jewelry, Molotov's favorite kind, and she picked up some massive gold heart-shaped hoop earrings and a bunch of rings. There were hairbrushes and decorative hair bits, and she commandeered a mirror to tie her hair up in a black scarf with red hearts. Some off-brand red lipstick and black eyeliner (both spot tested on the back of her hand for potential skin-burning effects) helped her feel like she wasn't an uncivilized cavewoman.

Next door, though, was what she really wanted.

Glamor Nails may reek of chemicals, but Molotov is a vain woman, and the scent of nail shops is nothing foreign to her. She takes her time painting her nails red, but her real goal lies toward the back of the shop, in the big leather chairs attached to the foot baths. She's not aiming for a pedicure so she doesn't fill the basin, but when she finally drops her kit bag next to her and leans back in the chair, it's with a low groan and an almost orgasmic, "Oh."

The massage on these things is powerful as hell, which is good because Molotov has enough tension for five people in her back, and she's got bottles of gin to aid in this relaxation. So now she sits in the nail salon, nearly melted in her chair, with alcohol and a boxed salad from lunch on her lap.

Now this... this is a death arena that Molotov can get used to.

Comments

[worldsaway]

Thor has absolutely no need for anything in a nail salon, he doesn't seek out the pleasure of being pampered and he barely knows what it is. He's dressed to impress absolutely nobody in his ensemble, his skating costume remains on despite how gaudy and fitted it is. Just like home, really.

The smell of it has him curious and he wonders if there are things he can bring back to the scientists of the group for their benefit, since he happens to be in the area for it. The strange sounds of the chair are an instant sign that someone else is here and he approaches with caution, hunting knife at the ready as he rounds a corner to find Molotov. He lowers his weapon some, but not entirely, clearing his throat loudly to give her a fair warning of his arrival.

[molotov]

The way Molotov points her carbine at him is almost lazy, and she actually has her gun up before she even rolls her head toward him. She gestures with the barrel, vaguely. "Drop your weapon and you can come in. Otherwise I open fire."

It's said matter-of-factly -- she has no intention of killing anyone in this little oasis unless she has to. Anyway, she has food on her lap, she'd hate for it to get knocked off when her legs shake from the recoil. It's a chicken caesar, it's a good source of protein, and she does not have plans of wasting it.

Now peering at him, waiting, Molotov rolls her shoulders against the massage and then takes a casual bite. Ball's in Thor's court.

[worldsaway]

Though Thor can't boast much experience with guns, he knows enough to understand that he isn't strong enough to withstand firepower anymore. Not that he's certain Molotov has any intention of killing him, but he has no intention of killing her either.

As such, he stabs his knife into the wall alongside him and spreads his hands as he enters the room before folding them over his chest. So threatened, so very threatened.

"You've done well for yourself." They must not want to draw this out if they're furnishing people with weapons like that.

[molotov]

Molotov lowers her gun when he walks in, and nods, taking another bite of her salad before answering. She really does have no intention of hurting him unless he makes the first move.

"It's from that scavenger hunt," she tells him, jerking her thumb toward the gun. "Everything else I got from around here. Well, except this." She lifts up her bottle of gin. "Sponsor gift. I got two, you want some? Or one of these other massage chairs?"

It's now that she eyes him up and down. "Why are you wearing a bathrobe?"

[worldsaway]

That salad looks good, Thor thinks. He won't ask for any, though, he'll just let his eyes fall to the fork as it moves to her mouth. He probably looks a little bit like he's checking her out and not the salad.

"Congratulations." He says with a smile, stepping toward the spare chair to perch on the edge rather than getting comfortable in it. "It would be wrong of me to turn down a drink." He nods, looking down at himself and his robe. "I was cold." He says simply, as if it not seeing the issue. "Is that what this is?"

[gardienne]

Now, whilst Molotov has her eyes closed and a bottle of gin in her hand, Eponine creeps forward. She's dressed in a peculiar outfit: her black ice skating dress has been partially covered by a corset that has been laced tight, making Eponine's already tiny waist impossibly small. Underneath the slight skirt of the dress, she wears a long pair of bloomers, blackened about the knees from where she's been slipping beneath shelves to hide.

By now, though, she's starving, and she knows that she needs to eat. And - la! That horrid woman. Well, she deserves to lose a little. Eponine creeps forward on hands and knees and carefully begins to unzip the bag just wide enough for her to put her hand in.

[molotov]

Eponine can hardly be blamed for having ransacked the lingerie store. Even under her tight black leggings and black tank top, Molotov has on fancy lace underwear, although she opted for... you know, a bra and a thong, rather than a fucking corset and bloomers. One would think that Eponine would be aware the underwear go under the clothes, but whatever, that's not the important thing.

The important thing is that, just as Eponine manages to get her hand in the bag, the barrel of Molotov's carbine is pressed to her forehead, one green eye glaring down as she straightens up to lean on her knee with her free hand.

"And what, little froggy, do you think you are doing?"

[gardienne]

"Don't shoot me." Eponine freezes, before withdrawing her hand from the duffel, still empty.

"I've taken nothing, Miss. Nothing, I swear it. I'll... I'll go."

[molotov]

"Oh, no no no," Molotov purrs dangerously, pressing the gun harder to the girl's head before standing up. "You know, there is one thing I really hate, and that... that is thieves. Filthy little pieces of garbage, stealing what others have worked hard for."

Thieves that aren't Molotov herself, of course. Because she does steal, though it's usually more in line with cat burglary than petty theft.

"And this is hardly the forgiveness games, is it now? No no no, you need to pay, I think. Learn a lesson."

Her aim shifts slightly and she fires a bullet into Eponine's hand.

[gardienne]

Eponine had been scrambling back in Molotov's wake as the woman strode forward, quite plainly afraid. But as soon as she could get up, she was on her feet, facing Molotov.

"I'm sorry! SORRY! I didn't ta-" But Eponine's words are cut off as she screeches in shock and pain as a hole is blasted straight through her right hand. She screams, "FUCK' and immediately brings her hand in to her chest, soaking her pretty corset with her blood.

"Please - please, I am sorry. I'm sorry. Oh, it hurts. Please, Miss. I am in pain. Please leave me be."

[seestheman]

Clara's seen the nail salon while looking around the Arena looking for supplies. It briefly registered before that, hey, maybe doing her nails would be nice and somewhat relaxing, but she just didn't have the focus to try to do it earlier. Now, though? She has the focus and it'd be as good of an escape as any.

She just didn't expect to find the only other eyepatch wearing Tribute in here too. Hell, she doesn't even notice her in the giant, insanely comfy looking leather chair until after she grabs a bottle of pink shellac from it's spot on the wall. It briefly occurs to her that the redhead may be asleep, so she might be able to do this without making her presence known. Which...honestly is doubtful. Though Clara avoids saying anything until she's situated herself at a station and begins putting on a layer of base coat.

"Comfy?"

[molotov]

Molotov isn't asleep, and she's aware of the presence of someone else, but sometimes surprise is an upper hand. So it's not until she's spoken to that she raises and points her carbine toward the other woman's station, although her gaze is utterly casual.

"Very, actually. Put your weapons on the floor and kick them away, then have fun painting your nails. You can even come over here for a massage if you want. But anything you have gets kicked to the opposite wall."

She says it conversationally, and means it -- she's fine to share as long as she's not in danger. And since Molotov's obviously put a claim on this shop, she feels like her rules are the ones to be obeyed. Also because she's cool to, you know, kill people, so.

[seestheman]

Clara doesn't mean to jump the slightest bit, but she can't help it. She was pretty sure she had been asleep. And she definitely didn't expect to get a gun pointed at her in response. So Clara does the first thing she can think of that won't get her head blown off and pulls the knife she's got tucked in her belt out and drops it on the floor before sliding it across the floor.

Which, of course, ruins her base coat.

"That's the only thing I have on me, I promise."

[molotov]

There's a moment of silence while Molotov looks her up and down, then shrugs and lowers her gun. It's still on her lap, but it was there before, so it's not like she's actively aiming anymore. "Have fun," she says, and leans back into her chair. It's clear that Molotov's had her run of this shop -- there's a station that was used for nail painting, and the wax pot in the back corner has obviously been taken advantage of.

Two weeks without razor access leads to a lot of hair growth, and Molotov just doesn't approve of that shit.

[seestheman]

There are two types of people in this world. Those who know that sassing someone with a bigass gun is a terrible idea and those who don't or just choose not to acknowledge it. Clara, at least in this moment, is one of the latter.

"It would've been nice if you had asked before I started," she says as she removes the ruined base coat and reapplies it. "Just for future reference."

[oopsright]

Throughout her travels in the mall with Joel and the girls Tess had picked up a backpack along the way and filled it with whatever she thought she would need. She had, for some reason, received a bottle of gin, and it had been a pleasant surprise to receive, tucked away in her pack and secretly cherished. Having gone days without the familiar weight of a pack hanging off of her shoulders had felt too strange, but all was right in the world now that she had a backpack again. It didn't matter that it wasn't her own frayed and raggedy one...as long as she had one.

Also along the way, they had come across a clothing store. Gone was that horrid outfit from the 80s with the short silver skirt that barely covered her assets, replaced with black leggings and a baggy t-shirt, the scoop neck low down her chest. A zip-up hoodie had been snagged and stuffed into her backpack for in case the temperature dropped.

Malls had always been cold, their air conditioning cranked high up. At least that's how Tess had remembered them from her years going through them as a teenager.

The fumes of nail polish, that's a smell she hasn't inhaled in...ever. Too long. It's not only that which draws her further into the store but it's the sound coming from the back and the low, Oh. Sounds feminine. Who could it be? Are they alone? Tess is more than alone, splitting from the group to scout around (risky risky!), constantly throwing glances over her shoulder while she carefully treads from store to store, her skate gripped in her hand as her only weapon. And the 2" Swiss Army knife hidden in one of the small side pouches of her backpack.

Her steps slow the closer she gets to the back.

[molotov]

Tess is greeted much like Molotov intends to greet anyone who dares get within range, which is to say that there's an assault rifle pointed directly at her. Molotov's face is placid though, relaxed even, and she simply gazes at the other woman with a complete lack of hostility.

"Weapons down," she orders firmly, gesturing a bit with her gun. "No one has to get hurt right now. I came here for a massage, not a homicide, so make everything easy and don't force my hand." Her voice is calm, and she means it, measn for sure that she's not killing unless she has to. But not everyone chooses the easy path, and her eye has just enough glint to show that she's willing to play ball if needed.

And the blood stains in the corner, if noticed, should be indication that it's been needed, and the winner still stands.

That's such a cute icon ;_;

[oopsright]

Tess' own look is wary as she looks back at the redhead, eyes narrowing more at what the woman's sitting in and not directly at her. There's very little hostility to be had here as that's not why she's here or why she'd been drawn over.

Her eyes lower to the gun and then dart over to the bloodied corner, then back to the other woman. Well, that's certainly interesting to see. It's almost like a reminder of the small massacre at the cornucopia from earlier. "Easy," Tess responds, holding her hands up, skate still held onto. "I'm not here to kill you, or try to," she adds.

"I'm only here because of that." A gesture with her chin nodding to the chair Molotov's currently relaxing in. "The noise brought me over."

Tess then nods to the empty chair next to her, taking a step towards it. Not Molotov. "You mind?"

Since there's more than one chair, she could share. Besides, Tess also has gin. She can have a few sips of it without Joel's giving her disapproving glares.

thank you! my bestie drew it c':

[molotov]

Molotov's aim with her gun suddenly steadies greatly, and she narrows her eye when Tess takes another step closer. "Put all your weapons down," she repeats, voice louder, and it's obvious she's ready to stand. "You can sit when you are unarmed, I don't know what part of that is complicated for you."

She's really more intent on enforcing her rules than she is afraid of anyone else. Molotov's territory (by virtue of having been here first and also of having an assault rifle), her game.

Lovely :D

[oopsright]

A voice at the back of her mind is urging her to drop the skate. Ironically, it sounds a little like Joel's, Texan with a thick and quiet accent. Tess sighs to herself and resists rolling her eyes. Then again...this woman is pointing a fucking assault rifle at her, she would be stupid to not heed the command.

There's no room here for negotiations, clearly. If things were different here and she had her gun, Tess might have already fired the first shot by now, but that's not the case.

The skate is lowered and she holds up her free hand in a show of surrender. Instead of it being dropped to the ground at her feet, the skate is tossed off to the side in an underhand softball-like pitch, thrown to land two chairs to Molotov's left. It's far enough from the other woman and would still be within Tess' reach.

It's also her way of lowering her weapon.

[cassidykept]

Tom's reason for being in Glamour Nail is equally straightforward, if somewhat less relaxing; he's looking for materials to build a bomb. Granted, by this point he's got himself a nice little stash of grenades, but given how few there are and this particular type's penchant for going off with or without the pin, he isn't feeling fond of spending too much time around them. They're spread out and stashed in various little nooks and crannies in the Arena until he can figure out what to do about them.

At the smell emanating from the shop, he wishes he were a bit more studied in chemical warfare. He's sure some enterprising Tribute is going to beat him to the punch in making Agent Orange out of this nightmare.

His leg's feeling a bit better, so he doesn't use the cane as he walks now, and he's actually whistling something from the radio in the 1970's. He pockets a nail clipper and considers whether there's a salon on this floor that he can trim up his facial hair at. As he glances at a mirror, he sees Molotov in her chair at the same moment as he hears her sigh of satisfaction. He raises an eyebrow.

Finally, someone who dresses the part of a proper supervillain. He has more respect for her already than anyone else in this Arena.

"I can't imagine this exchange happens often in a death Arena, but whom might I have the pleasure of laying my eyes upon right now?"

[molotov]

Molotov's feet are propped up, six inch stiletto heels practically a weapon on their own, and she's looking at them absently, wishing she had her heel spikes, her hallucinogen, all her normal weapons. It was actually funny, that she hadn't really missed the weight of all her holsters and her guns and her sword until the arena itself. She'd barely noticed their absence until now, what with a gym full of other fun things to play with.

She won herself an assault rifle, though, and that's nothing to sneeze at, especially as it grants her far more authority than any of the other prizes would have. A QBZ can get a bullet through someone's skull far quicker than the pin on a grenade can be pulled.

"You can put all of your weapons down in front of Molotov Cocktease," she answers, carbine raised, head slowly rolling towards the voice, "or else she shoots your brains out. But it's your choice, Mr... ?"

She's smirking, and there's definitely something of a teasing element to in her voice. But seriously, she'll blow his head away if she has to. Like he said himself, it's a death arena.

[cassidykept]

"As you wish, milady Cocktease." The sad thing is that he's heard so many worse supervillain names. He knows how these sorts of arrangements go. He holds the cane out and then sets it aside. "Cassidy. Black Tom."

None of the grenades are on him, and he won't tell her about them unless it's convenient. So goes negotiations between criminals.

"I was beginning to worry that there wasn't a soul left in this Arena with even the slightest bit of class. I'm glad I'm mistaken. Next, I might find someone I could cut a bargain with, even."

[molotov]

"Hope you have something good to bargain with," she tells him, gesturing to the salon. She's not sure what he wants, or if he just wandered in because it was there, but being disarmed gives him free enough reign to wander around. There's so much nail polish, deck yourself out, Tom! Paint some little shamrocks on your nails, be more Irish.

Molotov herself just watches him, bright green eye tracking his every move even as she takes the occasional sip of gin.

it's not possible to be more irish he owns leprechauns

[cassidykept]

"I might."

He starts to wander, doing a very convincing job of looking completely casual while never entirely turning his back to her.

"Where'd you find the drink, lass? I've been outright parched for something to take the edge off, here." He checks the chemicals in a tiny bottle of blue nail polish. Nothing he can use. Damn.