Surviving on a stash of potatoes, only luckily stumbled over during their search for a safe place to hide, isn't fantastic, but Tom's ability to immediately cook them has placated Molotov enough to not complain about the lack of toppings for baked potatoes. Mostly. There was one time that she wished aloud for some butter, but she's mostly kept her mouth shut.

Anyway, there are worse foods for an Irishman and a Russian to be eating at every meal.

When Eponine comes in, whining and begging as usual, Molotov slinks down to the floor behind the one-way glass, holding tight to her switchblade and waiting for Tom to sufficiently distract the little brat. She might have promised that last Arena's gruesome murder was because of the thievery, but this one would be for the game.