thearena | Hair done, nails done, everything did

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Thor, for all his obliviousness, isn't blind. He does think he notices something strange about the way she turns, but he won't call attention to it beyond a slightly coy smile. His heart is with Jane, it had been for a few years before this too, but that doesn't mean he isn't flattered. Though probably less so at the consideration toward killing him.

"Ah." He begins with her clarification, understanding dawning on him, though it still seems strange. "Then I suppose it is a logical assumption to make. You aren't the only one who thought me crazy for my claims of Asgard." Have another coy little smile.

"Are there many hobos where you hail from?" If they're friends, he should very well learn more about her.

Those little smiles are killing her. Even Brock never gave her those, and she's not entirely sure how she feels about the way her stomach does pleasant little flip-flops when Thor keeps looking at her that way.

"Well, I live in Los Angeles, so yes, there are many hobos where I live," she snorts, capping her gin and poking at her salad with the fork. "Where I grew up, there were not so many. There were laws to say that everyone had to have a place to live, and all the homeless children and mentally ill were put in institutions. But crazy people wandering the streets, that is an issue in most places on Earth now."

"It would explain the wary looks I garnered upon my arrival some time ago." He chuckles, on reflection he might have thought himself a mad man. Vague rambling and thrashing around does nobody's reputation any good.

"I know of this Los Angeles, but I have not seen it. I have visited the newer states. Mexico and York specifically." That's why they call them new, right. "And then another country entirely, London. I spent some time in Greenwich, but I did not gaze upon many hobos." As you do, right? "Where did you call home before Los Angeles?"

She laughs a little, and rests her head on the back of her big chair. "England. London is a city in England. And it isn't like I go around looking for hobos, they just are. They usually aren't in the wealthier areas, or they are run out quickly when they do wander in. Anyway, I am from Soviet Russia, originally. The biggest country in the whole world. I came to America when the Soviet Union dissolved, since my job was sort of... over. Plus all the economic and political upheaval."

A wave of her hand, as if that part wasn't really all that important.

At her correction, Thor just shrugs his shoulders and chooses not to deign it with an answer, what London is could not be less relevant but the information may save him some face later.

"I've not heard of it." And nobody was surprised, Thor. He raises a brow as she waves off things that seem important, but he chooses to focus on what interests him. "Your job?" He raises a brow, not fully expecting an answer.

"I take care of people's problems for them," she responds, smiling. "Things they can't or don't want to do themselves. Everyone needs something done, so I never run out of work. Maybe not so impressive as 'alien god', but we can't all be so lucky."

"You remind me of someone I've met before." He announces, this information is crucial to the conversation. "With a similar line of work, it would seem." Though he's only making an assumption there. "It is true what you say, alien gods rarely find themselves with a need to become hobos. To be mistaken for one is unsightly." He even fluffs up his shoulders a little to make a play of being snobbier than he really is. Look at him, he can make jokes too.

What comes out of Molotov could be mistaken for a giggle. A smitten schoolgirl giggle.

It's not. She will deny it to the ends of the earth.

"Better clean up, then," she says, jokingly pulling at the shoulder of his robe as if it's something disgusting. "Who do you know like me?"

The giggle pings interest in Thor, but he can't help being playful regardless. The fun banter is welcome in such dreary times as these.

"Odin will understand if it is not my priority." He watches her hands as she pulls at his robe, laughing at the gesture and shaking his head. "A woman, Natasha. I met her on Earth when my brother paid an unexpected visit." The last part of that explanation sounds a little rehearsed, like it isn't something he likes to admit. "A competent fighter, very observant."

"Ah, I heard about her, I think. Stephen, the escort for my District, told me about a Natasha, said she was a great deal like me, even with red hair and from Russia." Molotov doesn't elaborate on what she knows about the way Natasha's been marketed, the research put into someone she regards as close competition. "Is that her?"

"Aye, it is." He nods a little enthusiastically, because he's glad he's not the only one to have made the connection. "It is uncanny." He grazes his hand on his chin as he considers it. "Perhaps I should be more careful around you."

There's a wide smile, like he's told a joke. "You didn't think you needed to be careful before?" she teases lightly, wiggling her foot. "Am I so unthreatening? And here I thought I had a good chance at this competition."

"I've plenty of reasons to be wary, of that I have no doubt. Do not forget that I watched you accost that training dummy." He teases right back, a smirk on his lips. "I'm sure I've reason to believe you won't do away with me now. At least not so quickly. I'll wager you'd prefer it to be fun, if it were to happen at all."

"Oh, I do hope I am the one to take you out," she grins, looking rather like a cat who's found a mouse to play with. "It really would be quite the pleasure."

If Thor is bothered, he doesn't show it remotely. It's all in good fun, after all.

"You presume much." He retorts with a chuckle. "If it were to come down to it, I'm sure it would be an honor on either side." Since she isn't the only one who happens to be a little cocky here.

"You already told me that you aim not to kill in these arenas," she smirks, wiggling her finger at him like she's caught him in a fib. "So I feel like that give me a leg up on you."

Hair done, nails done, everything did

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