paradisalost | No one can have nice things

Molotov, on the other hand, knew exactly what might come along to screw it all up. She was, however, trusting that she had put a pre-emptive stop to that, and as such, had been thoroughly enjoying herself. After all, didn't she deserve the chance to at least talk to a man who was nice to her? Molotov certainly thought she did. And damn it, she was not going to let her asshole, kind of boyfriend put a stop to that.

So she had had a good time. It was nice that her time with Guido wasn't spent in arguments and physical fights and insane screaming matches -- she was able to relax and have an actual conversation that wasn't about her refusal to put out. Because seriously, those talks got boring about ten years ago. She was smiling and laughing, and she probably would even have let Guido hold her hand if he wanted. And promised not to crush it.

Brock, on the other other hand, was supremely pissed off.

Being an extra macho dude, he didn't really see anything particularly wrong with stalking his kind of not really girlfriend on what could arguably just be a platonic night out. On the contrary, he felt like it was perfectly within his rights to do this.

He'd been keeping tabs on Molotov for the past few days, and thus was not surprised to see her out with her ... whatever, her new boyfriend. Whatever.

He was, however, surprised to see just how fucking huge this guy was. Damn it. He'd been hoping that Molotov had been exaggerating.

But when he sees her all smiley and laughy with this jackass, he can't really help himself anymore, and begins to stalk toward them. Hey Guido, see that huge blond guy coming your way? That glare is meant for you, pal!

Edited 2011-02-26 17:33 (UTC)

Guido would be quite happy with hand holding, and would certainly not crush her hand in his giant hand of doom. He even considered asking her, but suddenly there's some angry looking guy coming over.

"...Friend 'o yours?"

He'll even wave a little, Brock. Because he's a NICE GUY, just to rub salt into the wound.

"Uh...hi?"

And Molotov would have been happy with hand holding too, but her face fell into a scowl as Brock marched toward them. She had told him to leave them alone, she was going out with him tomorrow! She actually stopped in her tracks and put one hand on her hip, pointing toward the castle with the other one.

"Go away, Samson," she said sternly, clearly not happy with this turn of events.

What the ffff -- no, this guy is not allowed to be nice! That's horrible. How can Brock pick a fight with him if he's all polite? Jesus.

Blatantly ignoring Molotov, Brock folded his arms over his chest and just glared up at Gudio (which is something that he isn't ... used to doing; holy shit, this guy is really big).

"Yeah, what's up, bro? You having a good time with her?" he said, inflection very clearly indicating that he was not at all interested in the answer.

Oh snap. Guido suddenly had the feeling he'd walked into the centre of a field of land-mines, and now he had to find a way out. Blindfolded. With Culture Club blaring in his ears.

"Uh...sure? I mean, she's great company," he glanced between them, worry growing by the minute.

"I am missin' somethin' here?"

Molotov was glaring even harder now, since she absolutely abhorred being ignored. Turning to Guido when he looked at her, she shook her head and took several steps toward Brock, her stance clearly indicating that she was willing to kick some Swedish Murder Machine ass tonight.

"Nyet," Molotov said emphatically, glowering. "Samson here just thinks he can lay claim to me because he wants to. And he is going home now." Despite the firmness of her voice, Molotov had her fists balled up.

Edited 2011-02-26 20:02 (UTC)

Only when Molotov started advancing on him did Brock actually deign to pay attention to her, though he didn't stop scowling or anything. "What the hell? You're the one who was all telling me your plans, Mol. Don't tell me you didn't want this."

Turning back to Guido, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You can go now, pal."

Guido frowned taking a step close to stand behind Molotov. The smile was quickly receding. He didn't want this to end in a fight, because...well, he didn't want to accidentally snap anyone's neck. That was not a fun thing to do. Still, this guy was irritating Molotov, and that was reason enough to at least...impose himself a little.

"I don't think I'm the one the lady wants ta leave 'pal'."

Molotov was actually not paying an enormous amount of attention to Guido right now-- she was focused on Brock, as she was taking this to be a rather personal attack. "I didn't tell you anything, Brock," she growled, producing a knife from somewhere on her person (where? It's a mystery!). "I did not tell you when or where, so have you simply been stalking me all day long?"

She was actually angry enough to not mind if Guido snapped Brock's neck. It wasn't like he would stay dead, and then she could have two weeks of peace.

When Guido said that, Brock took another step closer, fists balled. "Look, tubs --"

Oh, but then Molotov got her weapons out and spoke, distracting him. She's using knives now? That's not very polite, miss! Brock was just standing here, trying to have a civil discussion ...

Rolling his eyes, he threw Molotov a slightly condescending look. "What? Baby. You practically shoved this guy in my face. What'd you think I was gonna do, huh?"

Guido took a moment not only to wonder where she got that knife from, but also what else she was keeping in there. That's the sort of thing that can keep a guy up at night.

...Oh, right, he should be discouraging violence.

"Uh...guys? Does this really have ta resort ta knife crime?"

Edited 2011-02-27 02:35 (UTC)

Many packs of cigarettes, lots of ammo, lipstick -- all the normal things that a lady keeps in her invisible, infinite storage place, really. That is what she is keeping there, Guido!

"Samson is too stupid and stubborn to listen to any other logic, Guido," Molotov said, keeping her eye focused on Brock. "He thinks that my mentioning that you are sweet to me is the same as me 'shoving you in his face', as he put it. And when I would not give your identity, he followed me."

With that, she switched her tone to a condescending one, sneering. "You have been watching too many of your Lifetime woman movies, Samson."

"Oh, right," Brock said flatly, rolling his eyes again and spreading his hands out at his sides. "'Front runner,' shit like that -- don't tell me you weren't trying to make me jealous, Molotov."

Um. "Wait, are you still here?" he suddenly blurted, turning to Guido, back to ignoring Molotov again. "Get the hell out of here, already!"

"...Are you two...married or somethin'? Because uh... I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I'd been told that."

Oh god, it had finally happened. He'd become Jamie. He should have known it was only a matter of time before it happened. He'd kind of hoped he'd have a bit more warning, though. He frowned a little at Brock.

"Explain to me why I should be leavin'?"

Molotov just kept glaring, nearly vibrating with rage now, her fingers tight around the hilt of her knife. "I was not attempting to make you jealous, Brock. I just did not want you to be under the impression that you are the only man who takes an interest in me, because you seem to be under that impression."

"No, we are not married," Molotov said to Guido, emphatically, "which is yet another reason that Samson should take his leave and pray he wakes up in the morning." And with that, she took his hand with her free one, lacing their fingers together as she glared rebelliously at Brock.

Edited 2011-02-27 18:14 (UTC)

Oh, what the ... this guy was making it really difficult to pick a fight with him. Seriously. Of course Molotov had to get all "friendly" with a pacifist. Jesus.

When Molotov took Guido's hand, Brock's eyes widened and then narrowed, and he made a loud noise of frustration, pointing stiffly at Guido. "Are you serious, Mol? Really. This guy?"

Guido had to admit, the hand holding thing was new, and kinda nice. He did realise, of course, that this would probably get him beaten across the head with a steel bar or something, but hey, at least he'd have a moment of happiness before he'd have to KO this guy.

"Ya know, I'm standing right here."

Molotov wasn't holding Guido's hand so much as digging her nails deeply into it, beyond furious at this point. She just couldn't accept this behavior out of Brock -- she was not his possession to be played with when he got bored!

"Da, this guy," she said loudly, face twisted with anger. "You do not own me, Samson, and you are sorely mistaken if you think I am at all obligated to choose a disrespectful and untrusting jackass over someone whose company I actually enjoy."

Molotov's stance, at this point, made it fairly clear that her next move was going to be some extreme violence.

Brock was fully ignoring Guido by this point, just glaring at Molotov with an incredibly intense tunnel vision. Of hate. Hate vision, maybe. What the fuck was she saying? Twenty goddamn years meant absolutely nothing to her?

Finally, he just threw his hands up in the air, scowling. "Whatever. Have fun with your new boyfriend," he growled, then stabbed his finger toward Guido again.

"But you'd better fucking watch it, tubs."

For a horrible moment, Guido thought he'd have to get between them, And that would have just got really awkward for everyone involved.

"Okay! Good, let's not start beatin' each other up in the middle of the town, right?"

He turned his head to Brock, arching an eyebrow above his glasses.

"Okay, first off, it's muscle. And second? Buddy, I'm watchin' it all the time anyway, trust me. An extra person hatin' me ain't gonna make that much difference"

Though she just kept scowling, Molotov was actually hurt. Twenty-odd years of Brock tomcatting around behind her back, and she couldn't go on a few dates with someone who was nice to her? And he knew she didn't like to be treated like a belonging, especially when he wouldn't give her the same liberty, and acted like it was so crazy for her to ask for him to be faithful. Well, if he wasn't going to give her that courtesy, then she wasn't going to let him take the same freedom away from her, and certainly not by being creepy and possessive and mean about it.

Still tightly squeezing Guido's hand, Molotov just gave Brock a piercing look for several moments, turning options over in her head. After deciding, she silently put her knife away (where did it go? Still a mystery!), Molotov moved closer to Guido, making it clear that -- for now, at least -- she really had chosen him.

Snorting derisively, Brock lit a cigarette, expression flat and tense as he forcefully exhaled the smoke through his nostrils.

"Yeah. Save the sob story for somebody who cares, pal," he growled, gaze distractedly flicking toward Molotov when she moved ... closer to this guy. Ugh. He stared at her for a minute, lower eyelid twitching once.

Eventually rolling his eyes, he snorted again and just kept walking, very obviously intentionally banging his shoulder against Guido as he passed them.

Guido would have taken that moment as a personal victory, if he still wasn't largely confused about what the hell had just gone on. Brock's shoulder bang sadly wasn't even felt, though Guido gave him points for trying. As he watched Brock leave, her turned to look at Molotov, more than a bit confused.

"...Did I just walk inta a scene in a soap opera without knowin' it?"

Face still tight, Molotov watched Brock go, her hand gradually loosening around Guido's as he got further away. "Many years of fighting and frustration and childish behavior," she said tersely, not turning back until Brock was fully out of view. "He is angry because I refuse to continue waiting around for him to be "ready" or whatever ridiculous excuse he has now. He is quite the hypocrite, of course."

Now, looking up at Guido, she sighed. "I have told him before that I am not going to wait for the rest of my life. It has already been more than twenty years."

"Wait...he's asking you ta wait for him ta be 'ready'? What is he, in some kinda weirdo religious...thing?"

Guido turned giving her a grin.

"Or did he have head trauma? Because seriously, who'd make a beautiful woman like you wait?"

Wincing a little, Molotov sighed again and shook her head a little, giving Guido a weak smile. "Nyet, you misunderstand," she said, her mouth twisting. "It has been twenty years, and I have never gotten any kind of commitment from him. Even in this stupid place, I cannot get more than "we should talk more"," she added, making her voice into a ridiculous, goofy imitation of a man's voice as she quoted Brock.

"So, for more than one reason, he has been waiting too. We are making each other wait, and our goals are completely opposite each other." Molotov looked thoughtful for a moment, then knit her brow. "Actually, Guido, I think there is something you should know, before you become any more invested."

"Wow, that sounds like all kindsa complicated."

This really MUST be what it's like to be Jamie. Well, except Jamie usually ended up getting punched or shot at by this point, so at least he was one up here. He offered her a small smile.

"Ya don't have an army of stuffed squirrels in yer room do you?"

Molotov let out a small chuckle, and shook her head again, then let go of his hand before turning to face him directly. "I do not have sex," she said, angling her head a bit. "At all. With anyone. Like I said, Samson has been waiting twenty years. My loss was my chastity belt. I do not want you to have expectations that are unrealistic."

She was quiet after this, just peering at him. Molotov actually felt a little bad; she liked Guido, and didn't want to run him off, but at the same time, didn't he deserve to know that she was probably never going to bang him? Unless he wanted to like, marry her, the most he could realistically hope for was some boob groping. How sad for him.

Guido had a moment to take it all in. Really, for all his bravado talk about boobs and hot girls, he hadn't really thought about the sex side of things. Sure, it was fun, but it wasn't the be-all and end-all of a relationship.

"Wow, so that guy got all moody because you didn't want ta sleep with him? What a douche."

He offered her a warm smile.

"It's not a problem, Molotov, trust me. When ya look like I do? Ya really don't have very high expectations for anything."

Frowning a little, Molotov looked genuinely confused, her brow furrowed deeply. "But you are so attractive," she said, gesturing vaguely toward him. She had a giant man fetish, though, so this might not have been a particularly unbiased assessment.

"But nyet, not because I refuse to sleep with him. I think he is more worried that you will cut in line, so to speak," she clarified, smirking a little, "because I told him that, with his recent behavior, I was more likely to sleep with you than him. I should add that he knocked me out with a lamp."

Guido looked honestly surprised at her comment for a moment, before covering it up with his usual big dopey grin and humour.

"Aww yeah see, the ladies, they don't always appreciate a fella unless he look like Brad Pitt," or Jamie, apparently.

Guido arched an eyebrow at that, because seriously, who knocks a lady out whit a lamp?

"Well, Id say rufflin' his feathers is exactly what he deserves."

Well, Molotov would not have been at all attracted to Jamie if she knew him, so Guido could rest assured that she found him to be the second most attractive man in this whole stupid place! He couldn't compete with her physical attraction to Brock, though. "Most women are incredibly stupid," Molotov said simply, as though there should be no question about this.

She was quiet for a very brief moment, then just took Guido's hand again. "I do not want to talk about Samson anymore," she told him. "I know that this has just been the start of his current round of idiocy, so I would rather enjoy the peace while it lasts."

That's good, enough women are attracted to Jamie already. And Longshot. They can all just leave some women for the rest of them. In fact, Guido thinks the women Shatterstar and Rictor are not using should be available for everyone else, too.

"Not talkin' about him is something I can do all day," he smiled, giving her hand a surprisingly gentle squeeze for its size.

Smiling up at him, Molotov was still for a moment, then started to walk again. She didn't tug on his hand, of course, because he was so much bigger than she was, but she still expected him to walk with her. Get used to it, Guido -- if you want to be with Molotov Cocktease, you're going to have a lot of behavior that is just expected of you.

"Tell me about what you do, in your world," she said, looking down at the ground as she walked, and then back up at his face.

Guido was only too happy to walk with her. Something felt normal about rolling with what an attractive woman expected of him, but he couldn't place exactly why it felt normal.

"I'm a private detective, well, part of a whole company," he smiled. "But it's more 'hey stop that dangerous crazy go like being destroying New York City' than 'see if that guy is cheating on his wife'. We live in a weird world."

It felt normal to Molotov because, between how attractive she was and how fricking scary she could be, pretty much everyone did everything she wanted anyway. And Guido was apparently no exception, so she was happy with this situation.

"So you are a superhero?" she asked, sounding just a bit confused. "I know powers are more common in your world, but I imagine that not everyone with them can possibly be fighting monsters and villains all the time. Aren't there any mutants who are... I do not know, plumbers or something normal?"

"Sorta? I mean... the X-Men kind of handle that," he left out about what massive douchebags they were. "But sure, there are a lot'a mutants who just have regular jobs, regular homes, regular families. ...As regular as they can get, anyways."

"What are X-Men?" Molotov said, just genuinely curious about all of this. "I think nearly everyone in my world with powers is either a hero or a villain. It might be a desire for fame, though -- of course you must apply for an arch, if you want one." She looked like she thought this system was fairly stupid.

Guido waved his free hand dismissively.

"They're a bunch of mutants who run around in spandex tryin' to fix things and usually making an ever bigger mess than there was ta beging with," he paused, blinking. "An arch? Like onea those stone tower things?"

Molotov shook her head and bit her cheek thoughtfully for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain. "In my world, villainy is organized, for the most part. To be considered a proper villain, instead of just a terrorist, you must join one of the official organizations. In America, the biggest one is the Guild of Calamitous Intent, though there are others. Most of the villains have some kind of power, or they are deformed, or else they have some kind of gimmick. Some people, powered or otherwise, want these villains to be their archnemesis, and they apply to the Guild to be assigned a rival."

She sighed, and shook her head a little again. "There is a government department to oversee that no one oversteps their bounds. And, of course, the Guild has its own laws and rules that are enforced. And now there is a splinter group trying to police those that they accuse of "unregulated villainy". They seem to be overlooking that they, themselves, are breaking the law by doing this. Samson belongs to this group, he is a hypocrite in more than one way."

Complicated enough for you, Guido?

Edited 2011-03-01 23:33 (UTC)

Guido stared for a long, long time. Holy crap, it was like what could happen if Magneto had a little more organisation and a lot more money.

"That's...somethin' real special right there," he paused, he should probably add something to that. "Do they at least get good dental?"

When Guido reacted that way, Molotov laughed and smiled at him, squeezing his hand again. "I believe the benefits are dependent on what each particular villain wants to spend -- they are required to insure their henchmen," she told him. "You would be shocked if I told you who the Sovereign is, the leader of the Guild. Well, maybe not, perhaps he is not famous in your world..."

"Wow, I gotta subtly remind Jamie he needs ta start payin' us insurance. You know, if he's gonna make us get mowed down by angry gods and stuff."

He chuckled a little.

"Try me, it's not Bea Arthur, is it?"

"David Bowie," Molotov answered, smiling. "Client of mine, very sweet man. His wife makes good pastries, she sends them at Christmas."

Something Guido said had caught her attention, though, and she angled her head. "Jamie?"

"Wow. I shoulda known anyone who could wear that tight a pair'o trousers had some finger in evil."

He chuckles, nodding.

"My best buddy, he's here too."

Wrinkling her nose a little, she shook her head, smirking. "Evil and villainy are not the same, not where I am from. Villainy is a career path -- evil depends on your competence and intentions. Most villains are sad little people who are barely capable of filing their paperwork correctly. I only know perhaps one or two villains who could also be considered evil."

"And... he, Jamie, is a mutant too?" Molotov asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Wow, the guys in my world could sure take a page outta that book."

Guido smiled. It wasn't like Jamie could...really hide his mutation, not if anyone knocked into him, anyway. It was obvious station at that point.

"Sure is. He...uh...makes copies of himself."

"Well, there are always those who are working outside of the regulated system," Molotov acknowledged. "They tend to be smarter and definitely more evil, but they usually fail, without the aid of the Guild. It is a double-edged sword."

Brow furrowing, Molotov considered this for a moment. "He can do it at will?"

No one can have nice things

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