☠ 061 ; christmas morning

[molotov]

[At the crack of... breakfast time (it's around 8am), Molotov sends out her gifts with ghosts, who are instructed to simply knock and leave them at the door. All the gifts are elaborately and beautifully wrapped, in colors and decorations that she thinks will appeal to the giftee.]

Lucrezia
[An elegant box is delivered to the door of the mansion, with Lucrezia's gifts wrapped individually inside. Her card contains a note about the bears missing her, and an offer to go for lunch one day.]

--

Sterling Archer
[The box dropped at his door is on the small side, and wrapped in black paper with gold and silver ribbons. Inside, there's a plain, elegant picture frame, holding a picture that was clearly taken in Stepford. How Molotov managed to smuggle it back is a mystery, but in the black-and-white photo, she and baby Sterling are curled together, reading next to the Christmas tree.

The card just wishes him Merry Christmas, and says that she thought maybe he'd like to remember.]

--

Ezio
[Ezio's giftbox is wrapped the most elaborately, in his favored reds, golds and whites. It holds the entire, fancy-ass Acqua di Parma Collezione Barbiere collection.

His card (the ~adult one~) says that Molotov likes him with a beard. Maybe take care of it.]

--

Connor
[Connor's gift is the only one not wrapped, though it is adorned with enough ribbons and bows and bells to make up for that. The card attached simply says Merry Christmas.

It is, accidentally, one of her grown-up cards, because apparently the castle thought that would be funny.]

--

Room 509
[Molotov has managed, while Brock is showering, to pull a baby goat in from outside. She may have had a little house out on the balcony. Goat!]

Comments

dictated;

[lucre]

[ Red is her favorite color even if it took her some time to figure out that the mask is to allow her to sleep late into the day (which she does on some days anyway). The necklace is even prettier though, unlike her usual style with the many colored jewels, but it must take some masterful jeweler to craft such delicate letters from metal. ]

I am no principessa unless you would be queen and decree it thus.

[molotov]

Ah, but you know I come from a place where there are no queens. We ran the crazy czarina out a hundred years ago.

[lucre]

But are there still princesses where you are from?

[molotov]

In other countries, yes.

[lucre]

I could be the princess of Italia.

[ Never mind that there isn't a King of Italy. (Only there is, namely her brother). ]

[molotov]

We could make you their princess.

[lucre]

Only if I will then become queen.

509

[samson]

[Once Brock is out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, he wanders his way into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. He could wish for it, of course, but he always felt better doing things manually. Well... somewhat manually; he wasn't grinding the beans or anything. Still, semi-manually.

It takes him up until he actually flicks the coffee maker on when he realizes that... something... was in the living room.

When he backtracks to go confirm, he's more perplexed than anything else, and spends a good five long seconds just staring... at...] A goat?

[molotov]

[Molotov is on her knees, trying to keep the goat from eating all the colorful wrapping paper and the colorful ornaments, and the goat is trying to eat the colorful wrapping paper and the colorful ornaments. When Brock speaks, Molotov peers up at him, then spreads her arms and grins.]

Merry Christmas!

[samson]

[Brock just keeps standing there. Staring.]

Did you get me a goat?

[molotov]

Da! For your little farm!

[samson]

It's not a... farm...

[molotov]

Now it is! This is Bulganin, she is so sweet. I figure you can make cheese or whatever.

[Bulganin bleats at Brock as Molotov pets her.]

Action >> Dictated; Private to Moltov

[fairlyclassichim]

[When Sterling wakes up on Christmas morning, he hardly expects anything except a pitcher of bloody mary and a brisk stroll around the grounds, by himself.

Instead, there's suddenly this reminder of his strange experience. He's been trying to drink it away, to block it out, but when he opens the simple wrapping, he can't help just sitting and staring at the photo for... God knows how long.

It's confusing - unsettling, even - how many feelings this stirs up. The fond memories, and how far they seem to reach back despite just having happened the previous week. Ultimately, after some time just staring, remembering, he smiles and walks over to place the picture frame on his dresser before pouring himself a drink.]

[Sometime later, as he's out on his walk, he's gathered his thoughts enough to open his journal and smile a little as he addresses his... fake, adopted mom... or whatever.]

Moltov? Or [He laughs a little] Mom, or whatever. Hey. Uh, Merry Christmas. Just wanted to say thanks for the photo, and thanks for... being there. It meant a lot.

[He hadn't known if she would remember, but it being apparent that she did, he wasn't shy about wishing up a present for her. A rectangular, black velvet box arrives at her door that afternoon, wrapped in red iridescent wrapping paper and decorated with a lavish black and white bow. Inside, there is a long, draped freshwater black pearl necklace. A little throwback to her domestic efforts that made such a difference for him, but with a darker twist that strikes him as being a little more "her" than a single strand of white would be.]

[molotov]

[Molotov doesn't reply until the gift arrives -- it's more that she's been busy with a goat than out of any sense of ignoring her journal.

Just a note, goats are very bad Christmas gifts, even when they are hysterical fainting goats.

She gently adds the necklace to her jewelry collection (Molotov has been in Paradisa a long time, okay?), then opens up her journal to answer.]

You are welcome. I thought it was important to make sure you had a good time in Stepford.

[fairlyclassichim]

[Whatever, fainting isn't that funny. Not that he's defensive about it or anything. Nope.

When he gets the reply, he smiles despite himself.]

Yeah... I just, you know. Thought you deserved a real thank you. You wouldn't even know it, but I didn't exactly have a hallmark greeting card for a childhood, so that was pretty special for me.

[molotov]

[Fainting goats are pretty funny. Have you ever seen a fainting goat, Archer? Well now you can, because Molotov's husband owns one. And you will laugh.]

I understand. Most children here have had it pretty badly, so I always try to make sure they are happy. More of us had bad childhoods than you think.

[fairlyclassichim]

[He only knows that he's been called one before, and it's a touchy subject. Vasovagal response is totally a real thing, OKAY MOTHER?]

Yeah, I can only imagine. It was pretty strange being just randomly turned back into a child for a week, but I guess that could have been a lot worse. Good lookin' out, I guess.

[molotov]

Oh, a child is not so bad. I have lots of things, child was probably the best.

Molotov; written

[eaglet]

[Following this conversation, Connor pens a note to Molotov.]

I think I have found your gift. I am very grateful; it was thoughtful of you to remember me, though we do not always see eye to eye.

[And, belatedly --] This is Connor.

Connor

[molotov]

[Molotov laughs a little, to herself, at his clarification.]

You are welcome, Connor. I hope you enjoy it.

[eaglet]

I will. Thank you.

[There's like a super long pause; maybe he is trying to decide if he should actually say the thing.]

I do not know what it is.

[molotov]

It's... it's a bicycle. To ride.

[eaglet]

Oh. To... ride...?

[molotov]

Da. You see the seat, right?