☠ 034

[molotov]

[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! ]

Comments

Molotov

[samson]

Engaged isn't married! I'm still not used to calling you my "fiancee" yet, alright?

Brock

[molotov]

You have had nearly a year to get used to it! Why don't you understand, Brock? Every day you push this away is a day we lose. Nothing has to change, nothing except what you want to change! We get rings and you call me your wife. No one is asking you to cut off a hand, or get a huge tattoo!

Molotov

[samson]

[GROAN!!!!! lay off him, lady, jeezy creezy] Look -- the more you push this, the less I want to do it, alright? I don't want to be forced into marrying you, Mol. Can we talk about this where you're not acting like it's the end of the world if we don't do this?

Brock

[molotov]

Have you ever thought that perhaps I would not push it if you ever showed any inclination of wanting to do it on your own? If you do not want to marry me, then perhaps you should not sleep with me either. Make friends with the floor, Samson.

Molotov

[samson]

Mol, c'mon, don't be pissed ...

Brock

[molotov]

No, of course I should be satisfied with the fact that my fiance does not want to marry me.

Molotov

[samson]

Look, just ... remember when I needed some time before I said I'd move in with you? I just need some time to think about it, okay?

Brock

[molotov]

So, what, you will know in an hour or two? It took you an hour of "thinking" then.

Molotov

[samson]

Well, it's a bigger decision, so probably ... kinda ... longer ...

Brock

[molotov]

This is you telling me that you are going to "think" until one of us goes home.

Molotov

[samson]

No, knock it off. I can't put a deadline on it, but I just need some time, honey. [read: time in which you're not nagging me about it]

Brock

[molotov]

[Maybe she would give him the benefit of the doubt if he stopped acting like he didn't want to marry her!] Of course. It is not as if you have had twenty-odd years to consider the possibility. And it is not as if we have been in this relationship for a year.

Molotov

[samson]

Well -- yeah, but I didn't know you wanted to get married that bad! I thought you'd just be okay with ... you know ...

[He is rubbing the back of his neck right now, not that she can see it. But perhaps she can tell he's doing it anyway. Because after all, like she'd said, they'd known each other twenty-something years.]

I don't want to go into this 'cause you're guilting me or just 'cause I want sex, alright? I need to do this on my own terms.

Brock

[molotov]

[There is a really, really long silence here. Brock should recognize it as fuming.]

Fine. We will never get married, and never have sex, and I am putting a second bedroom in right now for you.

Molotov

[samson]

Whatever. [there is literally no sense in arguing with her, so he's just going to drop it. a mature decision!]

[molotov]

[Molotov slams her journal shut. When he comes back to the room, she has indeed put in a second bedroom, if a room literally big enough for a twin-sized bed and a toilet counts as that. It's more of a jail cell. And he's locked out of the master bedroom.]