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]

"Echo chamber? Oh no, the Guild enforces the rules," Molotov clarifies, waving her hand. "They have guides and bylaws and the Council rules over the whole thing. It's... kind of a career track. Professional hatred, playing cat and mouse with your assigned arch."

She can't deny it's stupid. There's a reason she's not involved in it.

"They might not be as pretty as I am, but they are smart," she says with a smirk. "I would probably still sneak out and fire a few bullets into bodies, though. Can't forget to have fun."

[pimpcanes]

"Your arch is assigned?" Tom sounds absolutely horrified. He's built enough of his life around hating his cousin that the idea of shifting all of that petty grudgewank to some nobody just seems obscene.

"Points for intelligence, but a good brain doesn't make the entire package, no matter what ugly people like to think." He smirks back, cocking an eyebrow. "I'm glad we're on the same page about that one. Power's one thing, but there's hardly a point to it if you're not able to get your hands dirty in a bank heist or anything."

[molotov]

"Well, sort of?" Molotov's a bit unsure of how to explain it in a way that really makes a lot of sense. "Heroes and other do-gooders apply to the Guild for an arch, then unassigned villains interview for the position. They make a match, sign the contracts, and it's done. I think there is a book of available arches, too, I remember Monstroso having something like that sent to him once."

She shrugs. "What do I need with a bank heist? Give me a garrote and a man who's willing to trade relative safety for the possibility of sex, that's all I need."

[pimpcanes]

"That sounds nightmarish. Absolutely uncivilized." Clearly, the proper way to have an archnemesis is to hold a stupid grudge against them for thirty years because you did something stupid when you were drunk and they ended up getting a castle out of it.

He laughs. "Is murder all you think of? Is your criminal repertoire, dare I say, limited?"

[molotov]

"There's a reason I stayed out of it. Well, all of that and the fact that I don't want to arch anyone," she says simply. "I work for money, not hate."

Her smile is coquettish. "Not at all. Murder is just my favorite. It has style. There's an art to it. And a satisfaction, you can never feel that high just from stealing something. Nothing like it in the world."

[pimpcanes]

"I prefer both." He leans in. "May I please have another drink, my dear?"

He bats his eyelashes at her.

"Oh, on that matter we might have to disagree. Not that I don't enjoy the occasional murder, but there's a finesse one develops as a thief that you can't quite replicate with a killing. And fraud - honestly, I couldn't decide which I prefer. The looks on people's faces when they realize they've been had is something everyone should get to experience."

[molotov]

There's a teasing pause before she hands the bottle over.

"What makes you think I haven't experienced that? I don't always use bullets to get my way. Sometimes it's just pretty words and the right timing of a hand on the arm." Or, you know, flat out lying. That too.

[pimpcanes]

"I didn't say you hadn't. I'm just saying that that's the thrill I chase." And so, having partaken of that bottle, he hands it back to her. "You could say I enjoy the human element."

Not that aliens can't also get duped.

"And I'm sure you're plenty fine with knives and poison, too."

[molotov]

"And crossbows and swords and rope and whatever else is handy." She takes back her bottle and slowly licks a stray drop from the side. "Maybe you just need to practice the inhuman element a little more to properly enjoy it. Learn to savor it a little better. It is so much prettier."

[pimpcanes]

"Can't we just have different opinions as a matter of taste? It's not as if I'm saying the practice can't be quite satisfying." Wow, Molotov, not even subtle with that bottle. Not like he's been subtle either.

[molotov]

Another smirk, and she caps off the bottle before setting it down. "We can have different tastes. We will just have to agree on the fact that my taste is better than yours."

[pimpcanes]

He resists the urge to make a lewd comment about her 'taste'; they've only just met, after all, and that would be decidedly ungentlemanly.

No, a ladies' man doesn't make such tactless blunders.

"Perhaps your taste in crime, but when we get back to the Capitol we might have to measure up our tastes in other pleasures. Dining, for instance. Alcohol that isn't serviceable but unremarkable gin."

[molotov]

"Good thing that the Capitol has an abundance of both, and I have an abundance of free nights," she answers, arching her eyebrow. "I guess we'll figure out what we're in agreement about. But I can already tell you that vodka is superior to whiskey."

[pimpcanes]

"Well. As if I needed incontrovertible proof that your taste doesn't reign supreme in every subject." He leans forward, a little into her space. "And what do you do for entertainment, when you aren't toying with hearts and victims?"

[molotov]

"You say that like I have so much spare time." She actually leans back, long legs propped up as she just smiles at him, like he's already wrapped around her littlest finger. "Typical things. Reading, shopping, training, hitting the firing range. I go to the beach, I live in LA."

[pimpcanes]

"Well, I presume that you've done this long enough to have found efficient methods of handling the tedious parts." If she's trying to get him to imagine her in a swimsuit, it's working. "I do quite a lot of reading myself. I'm a fan of the classics and find it helpful to be in on current events."

Especially when he can be part of them for a handsome sum.

[molotov]

She owns a lot of swimsuits, Tom. Like, so many.

"I like nonfiction. History, military theory, training manuals. I still have my original copy of my SPETNAZ manual, though it is really beat to hell and back. And the Russian classics, of course. I had to condense my newspaper subscriptions -- I never had time to read them all."

[pimpcanes]

He wants to see them all. Fashion show!

"So you're learned in addition to everything else." And all the more dangerous, although at this point that's like finding out that a tiger's bite can lead to infection. Sure, it's a threat, but you're more worried about other things if you're being bitten by a tiger. "I'm quite fond of the Russian classics, and I admit my Green Book's seen better days. The interrogation techniques section held up rather well."

[molotov]

"Is it so surprising?" She seems to find it funny, that people might underestimate her and think she's nothing but muscle. She did run her own highly successful company, she thinks that's a testament to her intelligence.

"Interrogation is always fun. There's few things better than getting what you want out of somebody."

[pimpcanes]

"Hardly. It's merely confirmation of a hope."

He sits back in the chair, stroking his goatee. "And, naturally, interrogation isn't the only way to be getting that."

[molotov]

"Do you spend a lot of time with stupid women?" This entertains her even more, one side of her mouth quirking up as she watches him.

There's a small tilt of her, an acknowledgment that he's right. "It's true. My people specialized in women who didn't need to interrogate. But I was never one of them."

[pimpcanes]

"I'd like to frame it more as not spending as much time as I'd like with intelligent women." So, yes, a lot of short hookups with not-too-bright young things. There's a reason he hasn't kept any of them around for more than a weekend.

"Not something you had any great interest in?"

[molotov]

"Whoring myself out for Mother Russia?" she says bluntly, facetiously. "No. I don't do on my back what I can do with a knife instead. Besides, my father was my handler, my trainer, my mentor. He would have died before he saw that happen. Would have killed anyone who even suggested it to him. Mauled them with his bare hands."

She looks maybe a bit nostalgic, starry-eyed. She does miss her father so.

[pimpcanes]

"I'd have done the same to anyone who made a similar suggestion of my own little girl." And then Theresa goes off and dates Deadpool, Jesus Christ, which of Tom's many transgressions earned him that punishment?

He knows Theresa never has that sentimental expression when she speaks of him like Molotov has speaking of her own father.

[molotov]

Well, Molotov really has some unhealthy daddy issues that stem from being the child of the greatest secret agent in the history of the Soviet Union, so maybe Tom did more right than he thinks.

She snaps out of it shortly, and shrugs. "So no, I never traded myself for information. I may not be skilled in that art, but I can disembowel a man entirely and still keep him alive, so it's a tradeoff."