backdated to january 22;

[wagers]

[How does she even tell him?

Stupid castle, socializing her around humans so much that she puts a priority on other people's feelings rather being her blunt self... But then again, she's sure Molotov would want her to tell him straight up. No jerking anyone's chain, just come out and say it!

Any time now.

Do it, Serket!]

Brock? [Yeah, that wasn't a weakened attempt at getting his attention. That sure wasn't emotion behind her saying his name. And that definitely wasn't fear shaking her words.]

Brock! Are you there?

Comments

vriska 5evs

[samson]

[Brock is rummaging around looking for an aerosol can or something he can use to fend off whatever the hell is going on downstairs. That dude over the journal said fire -- he's got a lighter, he just needs something he can use to turn it into a flamethrower.

He could just wish for it, of course, but it's not really something he's prioritizing right now. It's not urgent; just another fucked-up castle monster terrorizing the halls. Big deal.]

What? Yeah -- [He's distracted, distant. The journal is a little ways away.

But he hears the wavering in her voice, and you don't act as a glorified nanny for 20 years without getting a soft spot for kids. There's a brief rustle as he picks up the journal and brings it closer.]

Vriska? What's going on?

cries

[wagers]

[Oh, good! He answered right away. This should... be easy. Right?]

It's...

[It's hard clasping a journal to your chest while dragging along the incapacitated body of your foster mother, that's for sure. She'll have to work quickly and effectively to make sure she isn't caught by... whatever it is.]

Molotov. I don't know what happened to her! I found her on the stairs, and-- [God damn it.] She's not breathing...

vriscries

[samson]

[Shit. Brock goes still, temporarily forgetting his search.

He heard a bunch of bullshit shrieking downstairs, but he didn't really think...]

Fffff... damn it. She's -- where are you? [He is assuming troll girls maybe don't know how to give CPR, so he will have to do it himself!]

i'm not used to small brackets yet

[wagers]

[She's struggling to keep the body in her arms and the journal still and all the commotion as well as trying to hold back her fear and the dread just make her words some weird amalgamation of just underlying distress.]

I'm trying to make my way down the stairs to clinic! The thing's still out there!

[She's starting to feel cold. No. No, that's not what she needs. That's not what she wants to happen.]

Brock, hurry!

it's a learning curve

[samson]

[Okay. Okay okay okay, this is getting worse by the second. He forces himself to get over the shock, to think -- there's some kind of monster down there, and if it took down Molotov, then Vriska doesn't really stand a chance.

If it managed to take down Molotov, she probably doesn't just need a little resuscitation.]

Shit.

[Fuck it -- he wishes for an aerosol can, then scrambles for the door.]

real tags have curves

[wagers]

[Excuse you, Brock!

In all honesty, Vriska's ready to toss her journal to the side. Brock, even though she and Molotov make him the butt of their lighthearted conversations, is a very intelligent dude and she knows she's told him all she's needed to in order to get him where he needs to be. Simple.

It does little to assuage the troll, however, Vriska finding herself simply dropping the journal in favor of taking Molotov's upper half in both arms.]

I'll lay low until your one man cavalry shows up! Just take the stairs!

[And she's moving forth, careful to mind the body. At least she could move faster now.]