![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
☠ 034
[It's the middle of January. Molotov has heard that some people were getting gifts, but she figures that, by this point, it'd have been impossible to not have found hers. So clearly she's not getting a gift.
That's fine. Molotov doesn't really care, and there's just not really anything she would have wanted from home anyway. So who cares?
She is hungry though -- it's late afternoon, and she skipped lunch. Molotov's in her kitchen (she doesn't see the allure of the communal one), journal open while she digs through cabinets. Settling on a new bag of potato chips, there's a rustling noise as she opens it, then a silence and a gasp.
And then a girlish, wholly un-mercernary-like squeal of happiness.
Merry late Christmas, Molotov.]
[ OOC: Open over the journal! ]
That's fine. Molotov doesn't really care, and there's just not really anything she would have wanted from home anyway. So who cares?
She is hungry though -- it's late afternoon, and she skipped lunch. Molotov's in her kitchen (she doesn't see the allure of the communal one), journal open while she digs through cabinets. Settling on a new bag of potato chips, there's a rustling noise as she opens it, then a silence and a gasp.
And then a girlish, wholly un-mercernary-like squeal of happiness.
Merry late Christmas, Molotov.]
[ OOC: Open over the journal! ]