paradisalost | Entries tagged with molotov cocktease

[Well, it's Monday morning, and surely all the good children are headed into school, right? Hopefully you're in primary school, because if so, your teacher is Molotov! And she doesn't know crap about education, or children, or really anything at all that would make her qualified to be a teacher. But maybe that means you'll get a goof-off day.

She'll go ahead and make a journal announcement, just because she apparently has a boss, and she'll be damned if some fakey magic principal fires her just because other residents are screwing up.]

If you are young enough to be in grade school, I fully expect you to be present in my class. And I will find you if you do not show up.

[So... yeah. Better heed that warning! Who knows? If all the children behave, maybe there will be stickers and candies. That's what teachers do, right?]

(( OOC: Open post for all the kids young enough to be in elementary school! You know you want to come to your incompetent teacher's class~ Also, grownups can reply by journal, or even try to show up, if that's your thing. But be careful, someone might call the gendarmes if you don't have a good reason to be there... ))

hellshaped.livejournal.com

Who: Hellboy and

paradisa
What: Hellboy looks for a missing friend :(
When: 13/December, near midnight
Where: Fifth floor
Rating: Probably PG, depending if there's magic kissing or not pfff
Notes: OPEN! Starting off in prose, feel free to bracket it up if you need to. Kissing or non-kissing CR is both welcomed!

( I can feel the devil walking next to me )

itwas-raining.livejournal.com

Who:

gottaknockhard,

itwas_raining,

icarustattoo,

mc_blackheart
What: Spike tried to warn Julia about what happens in Paradisa during Christmas, and then, in an attempt to actually be useful for once in his life, convinced her that they should get out of the castle to avoid it. Did it work?
When: Backdated to December 7
Where: ~~The Love Shack~~ That random cabin in the woods where all the stuff happens. All the stuff.
Rating: Um. PG-13. idk.

( It's a little old place where we can get together..... )

molotov

[You may not have noticed, but Molotov has been quite busy as of late. Some people might know that Molotov wished up some bears last month. Lots of bears. Probably not as many people know that she managed to actually wish up some very extinct and endangered bears. And she's taken pains to ensure that no one except Brock knows that the castle wouldn't let her wish the bears back to where they came from.

So she became the unwilling mommy to about thirty bears. And of course they're all wild, so she can't just let them loose. Which means she only had one option: building a bear reserve.

After commandeering an area behind the castle and over the river, Molotov got Brock to help build a bridge, and lots of fences, and some separated habitats. She even introduced fish into that area of the waterfront, so that her bears could have some semblance of their natural habitats. The centerpiece of her little collection is, of course, a surprisingly easy-going polar bear named Rykov, who lives in a special habitat that Molotov had the castle model after the Seasons Room, so that he could live in the snow. (She has a theory that he actually came from a zoo, as he is the only bear who is even the least bit interested in humans.)

Molotov has done all of this without fanfare, until today, when these cards start appearing all over the castle.]

[There is no more information; no directions, no warnings, nothing. Just a new structure across the lake, and a card that says "Bear Reserve". Molotov herself is also nowhere to be found, as she is busy distributing huge amounts of raw meat and berries and other things that the castle doesn't naturally supply to her bears.

Of course, her journal is being decent enough to provide you with the occasional growl, or a soft coo because Molotov is insane and thinks of bears as large dogs, and thus makes the same kind of noises to them.

After all of this, the only question is: what do you do?]

[ OOC: Totally open! Also, mod-approved! Thank you, Ashley and Valerie ♥ ]

molotov

[So, back at the beginning of the month, Molotov and Brock discussed the fact that his cabin needs a bearskin rug.

Well, like any good consumer, Molotov has decided that she needs to weigh the options properly. But a little input from others never hurt, so she asks the journal.]

I cannot decide on a color. Tell me, what looks best on a rug: black or brown? It also appears that a light tan is an option, but it might not look appropriate in all seasons.

[And then there is some roaring in the background. This is because Molotov is currently standing on the front lawn, surrounded by bears. Just a whole bunch of bears. Grizzlies, black bears, honey bears. There's even a polar bear, though Molotov seems to not be considering that one as a rug, so much as a pet. All of the bears are chained to the ground, and they have muzzles, and Molotov seems to think that makes them safe enough to be petting as she feels their different fur qualities.]

Is anyone here an interior designer? I have a feeling that the largest size available might not be the best option as far as decor goes...

[ OOC: Open! Everyone is free to come and play with/be mauled by Molotov's collection of bears. ]

molotov

[Molotov has been really pushy about one thing, recently, and Brock will attest to this: she wants him to marry her. He keeps insisting that he proposed to her on Valentine's Day! And she got him to move in with her. But Molotov is all about control and getting her way, and the ultimate way to do that is to ~~force~~ get him to marry her. And it's not like he wouldn't get anything out of it, too!

But, despite her pushiness and all her talk, Molotov actually doesn't know very much about being castle-married. After all, it's not like she's ever been invited to the wedding of anyone who actually did it.

So she scribbles out a filter.]

[Filtered to anyone who has been married while in Paradisa]
Would you be willing to share your experience with marriage here? Preferably if you are or have been married to someone that you were not married to in your own world. Thank you.

molotov

[Good morning, Paradisa! It's seven thirty AM, and your alarm from the journal for this morning is a rousing screech of anger as Molotov catches sight of herself in the mirror. Some stuff breaks, and then:]

I wonder... if I cut them off...

[Later on in the day, if you're out and about on the grounds, you might notice a brand! new! elf! wandering around. Or lurking. Mostly lurking. And sulking. She's hoping you don't notice how familiar she looks.]

icarustattoo.livejournal.com

[Good evening, Paradisa! Are you enjoying whatever it is you're doing? Well, that's about to be interrupted -- it's time for the journal to do that thing it does, wherein it falls open and picks up in the middle of a conversation.

The two people having a conversation happen to be Brock and Molotov.]

Just show it to me, I am sure it is not that bad.

You can't laugh. It's probably smaller than you're used to.

Brock, I have seen it before, you know.

[Stalling] Well, not up close ...

I would never laugh, Samson.

[SIGH] Alright, fine. Whatever.

[There is a pause.]

Hmmmmmm.

What. What does that mean, 'Hmm'?

[Hesitantly] I suppose... it is not so small...

What, are you kidding? It's tiny compared to my real one. This place sucks.

[Sigh...] Okay, da. It is tiny. But... well, everyone has a loss. I am sure you are not the only man around who lost something like this.

[Brock just grumbles, still feeling defensive and annoyed about the whole thing. It sucks! Everything is horrible.] Well, they probably don't use it as much as I do.

You wouldn't have used it that much here anyway. You barely ever use this little one.

Well ... it's the principle of the thing.

Poor baby. Perhaps you would feel better if you figured out some way to use this one creatively.

[Smirking] Creatively, huh?

Well, I can think of a few things.

[ooc. open over the journal!]

molotov

[When Molotov's room changed, cold wind blew the door straight off its hinges, sending little blasts of snow out after it.

Stepping in, you find yourself in a frozen forest, one that seems endless. It's chilly, but not cold, though there's snow and ice covering everything. When you first walk in, the sky is blue and bright, but as you continue further in, the forest begins to darken: the sky slowly turns grey, and the trees get more dense and intimidating.

As the branches start to hang down into the path, you might notice something on the ground. The splotches get bigger and darker, until what you're looking at is obvious. In some areas, there is no more white on the path -- only red.

This is the point where particularly observant adventurers might hear the very distant sounds of gunfire, far enough away that it's barely audible. Also far in the distance are the silhouettes of bodies, hanging from the trees. They are far enough away that they're indistinguishable, unless you feel inclined to fight your way through an ominous and increasingly unnavigable forest (which you must do if you stray from the path).

Follow the set course long enough, and you'll eventually stumble upon a clearing. In the center of the clearing, there's a large dacha. This area is significantly warmer than the rest of the forest, though the ice and the snow remains, forever unmelting.

Molotov is inside the dacha, incredibly comfortable in her own mind. Despite the large size of the house, the interior seems to be one large room, aside from a separate kitchen and bathroom. The design inside is more lush than one might think of someone who was raised so devotedly Communist. On the furthest wall, there's an enormous golden skull with a heart-shaped eyepatch -- this area is the most simple and obvious. A twenty-foot tall Blackhearts Logo serves as a headboard for a large bed. The three other walls are plastered with the repeated image of a man in Soviet uniform. This is Molotov's father, always watching her. The rest of the dacha is fairly normal, if minimalist. The only other exception is the rug in front of a massive fireplace; instead of a bearskin rug, it's most definitely the hide of Brock Samson. Under her feet, just like he should be.

But only you know if you can make it that far.]

[ OOC: Feel free to stray off the path, too! If you do, ~danger and excitement~ await you. Of course, you can always just head straight to Molotov in her cozy little dacha. ]

molotov

[Molotov is on the highest, most dangerous part of the roof, lounging comfortably and smoking. She's kind of just looking off into the middle distance, thinking, her face marked with deep concentration.

After a while, she opens her journal and begins dictating.]

Who here is willing to spar with weapons? My sparring partner was sent home, and I must replace him.

[She figures that, if anyone answers, she can explain that she uses live ammo and shoots to kill.]

molotov

[Molotov is outside, smoking. This isn't because she has any particular concern for the lungs of others, but rather because she has to walk a dog. A Brock dog, to be specific. She has him on one of those retractable leashes, so that he can't get very far away from her. She is also taking a great deal of delight in the fact that he has to do his "business" outside (which she absolutely will not clean up -- that's what ghosts are for, right?).

Eventually she'll relent and play with this very stoic little puppy. But for now, she's just watching him. Watching him sit and stare at her.

Sigh, Brock.]

(( Open! ))

molotov

( Room 218 filter )

[Everything comes to an end, of course. And Molotov couldn't stay in the castle. But she felt like, with a headscarf and an uncharacteristically demure outfit (so... regular jeans and a t-shirt, instead of a Slutty McSlut catsuit), she could forgo scaling the walls for a second time. After all, she just needed to go from the second floor to outside! It can't be hard... right?]

molotov

[Molotov has been away from the castle. After she got dropped back at the pier, she was hardly going back to a place that was full of people who either had already hated her, or would hate her the second they found out she had betrayed them for nothing more than personal gain.

Although, to be fair, those assholes kept her locked in the damn brig (well, more like one asshole put her there, and then no one let her out until she conned one dumb guy into it). That's just unspeakably rude.

So she had walked all the way back to town, and holed up in her office, for lack of anywhere else to go. In fact, she ripped every identifying sign down and boarded up the doors and windows. She's living in there, albeit perhaps not the most comfortably she's ever lived. Whatever, she just needs to make it through the next stupid thing that will happen, then she can go back to the castle.

But even a mercenary needs food. So Molotov has used her emergency escape route (which she built for exactly this kind of situation) to sneak out for a quick run to the market in town. Because, despite her total inability to cook, she does know how to work a microwave. Yay microwave food!

She wants to get in and out... but you guys can't let that happen, can you?]

(( OOC: Open for action! Especially to all the incredible new characters /gathers all of you to bosom ))

molotov

[HEY GUESS WHAT. The answer is that Molotov has a fancy-pantsy room and food and a big-ass tub that she was able to soak in for hours to get rid of the stink of pirate ship. And how did she get all this great stuff, fellow unwilling pirates?

SHE'S RATTING YOUR ASSES OUT, that's how.

That'll teach you fuckers to keep her locked in the damn brig.]

( Filtered to: Admiral Stocking Anarchy and Fleet Admiral Tony Stark )

[But lol wait. Molotov still thinks she should hedge her bets. After all, if she's putting money down on one, why not on both? You win either way.]

( Filtered to: Ziva and Isabela )

molotov

[Molotov had gotten more of the reaction she was looking for last time. It had been satisfying, of course, and she was pleased.

But she still had a whole bunch more C-4. Like... just a whole bunch.

So she did what any bored mercenary would do, and lined two more buildings with it, in the middle of the night. These buildings are in the center of town this time, just to be way more obnoxious. And this time, they're on a timer.

Molotov herself is on the roof of the castle, smoking, when the new blasts go off, and just arches her brow as she watches smoke billow up above the buildings.

Yes, this was a good way to use that stuff up.]

(( OOC: final post of Molotov's explosion bitchery. She is free for the catching this time, although beware that she is mean, armed to the teeth, and highly opposed to capture. And on the roof. So no one fall and die, please.

EDIT: if you are getting to her after Brock's Peace Patrol filter went up, she's either in his unfinished cabin, or she's out in the woods.))

molotov

[Molotov is disappointed in the reaction to her last escapade. But fine, whatever, apparently everyone was a vampire, so what can a mercenary do? The answer is do it again, but bigger, louder, and better.

So, if you happen to be out and about in the town on this fine, beautiful Sunday, you might notice something. Like, say, two huge explosions, at the same time, on either side of the city. Or maybe you just notice the butterflies floating around the place. Oh wait, no, that's dust and debris.

In the center of the town, on the rooftop of the building her office is housed in, Molotov is sunning herself in a bikini, smiling and unperturbed by all the fire and stuff. Could this have something to do with the detonator she just tucked in the side of her bikini bottom? Perhaps! Her journal is open, and she folds her hands under her head, reflecting on whether or not she needs to reapply sunscreen (fair redhead + sun = bad idea).

And what do you do?]

(( OOC: Molosplosion strikes again! Open forever~ ))

molotov

[The town is quiet. This is because it is late, and it's a small town right outside of a castle. No neon lights and streetwalkers around these parts!

Maybe you were just coming home from a leisurely walk. Maybe you're out with your sweetheart, enjoying the scenery. Maybe you just closed up shop for the night. Maybe you're in the castle with the journal open (a journal found at the scene will be nondescript and unidentifying, as it was wished for only to record and broadcast).

Wherever you are, the peace is suddenly interrupted by a deafening explosion. On the fringes of the town, a four-story building collapses in on itself, sending out a massive cloud of dust and minor debris as it falls, the bright red and orange and white of continued explosions streaming through the window.

A half-mile away, a figure dressed all in black is sitting on a rooftop, watching. This figure has its journal open, waiting for reactions from the peanut gallery. This figure is smoking through its face mask, though the cherry is hidden behind a black-gloved hand. This figure will run if it so much as sees a person on the street below look up.

This figure finally has some entertainment.]

(( OOC: Mod-approved, of course! Plotting post here, but feel free to just jump in! ))

molotov

Who: Brock and Molotov
What: It's just Brock's luck that he somehow has a child with Molotov, and he didn't even get to tap that.
When: Shortly after babbies appear!
Where: Room 509.
Rating: PG-13 because there is probably going to be swearing.

( Brock's worst nightmare. )

molotov

( Guido )

[Two hours later, and still no answer. Molotov is, for once, actively trying to maintain a friendship, and she can't get her friend to work with her. Great. So, in an effort to both entertain herself and to be a Good Person, she goes upstairs to knock on Guido's door.

The uneasy feeling hits her once she's on the eighth floor, and Molotov walks slowly down the hall. She comes to a complete stop at Guido's door, staring at the space where the nameplate should read "Guido Carosella".

Then she punches through the drywall. With a well-placed kick, she takes the door out as well, sending it flying off its hinges and halfway across the room. Molotov spends several minutes staring angrily through the doorframe into an empty room.

Her journal, conveniently open, has captured all this noise. There is the sound of a lighter clicking, then a moment of silence before she dictates into it:]

Guido Carosella has gone home.

[Her voices grows softer as she wishes for a pen.]

( Brock Samson )

icarustattoo.livejournal.com

[Filtered away from anybody who would use this information to be a jackass.]
[Dictated!]

Alright, so anybody who's interested in building that cabin thing I talked about, come over to Caritas and we'll start planning it.

I'm not picking up your tab, though, so bring your own fake impossible money.

[ooc. even if your character hadn't expressed interest before, feel free to show up now anyway & tag yourself in! questions re: this whole debacle can go outside the caritas thread. the filter is samson-speak for "evil characters," by the way, fff]

About the Archive

"Paradisa Lost" is the archive of what the journals contained between December 1st, 2006 and January 10th, 2012. On that final day, Paradisa issued new journals, so that the residents could fill them up again. While there are still residents around who have old journals, we have chosen to preserve the old journals here for muns' reference and history.

"Lost" in the title refers to both the old journals that the residents once kept, and also to our move to Dreamwidth from the original Livejournal community, where Paradisa started. It is a fresh start for muns, as well as for the characters.

calendar ✖ character tags ✖ back to OOC ✖ back to PARADISA

PARADISA LOST

the archives, 2006-2012

Entries tagged with molotov cocktease

☠ 033 ; forward-dated to morning time

Can't be too careful with your company

This will end well

☠ 032

☠ 031

☠ 030; written

☠ 029 ; forward-dated to morning

030. Hot Dog

☠ 028

☠ 027

☠ 026; back-dated to this morning

☠ 025

☠ 024

☠ 023

☠ 022

☠ 021 ; forward-dated to noon

☠ 020 ; forward-dated to around midnight or so

no, seriously, how was babby formed?!?

☠ 019

023. Immigrant Song

About the Archive