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

[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."

[molotov]

There's a soft noise of dismissal, and Molotov closes her eye again, not caring about this woman enough to retaliate for her sass.

"It would have been smarter to stay away from the nail shop, if that's your problem," she answers, rolling one shoulder. "Just for future reference."

sorry that this is so late, feel free to ignore

[seestheman]

Clara can't help but raise an eyebrow at that. The idea of an armed woman in the back of a nail salon isn't that foreign to her after a lifetime in Detroit. The idea of it being such a casual thing definitely is, though. At least she isn't threatening to shoot her.

"I'll keep that in mind for the future," Clara says as she waits for the base coat to dry. "I'm Clara, by the way, Clara Murphy. From District 10. And you are?"