XXI.

[hellshaped]

[Hello Paradisa!

You might come across a small red boy with horns and a tail scampering around the halls. Or maybe he's in the kitchen. Or maybe he's climbing trees outside. Or maybe he's poking around in the stables. Or maybe he's in the lobby, hiding behind a potted plant.

Wherever he is, he just looks curious and excited by everything!!!

And if for whatever reason you don't stumble upon this little guy, there are some nice doodles for you to comment on in the journal.



He's also singing some dumb rhymes as he runs around, so you might hear that too.]

If in Heaven we don't meet, hand in hand we'll face the heat. And if things ever get too hot, Pepsi-Cola hits the spot ...

[ooc. loss start! open over the journal or in person, whichever!]

Comments

[molotov]

Da, I have been here a long time, and I have never heard of a Trevor. He did not come because the castle only brought you.

[hellshaped]

Oh ...

[He's suddenly not excited about exploring this neat magic castle anymore, and just sags a bit.]

Why did it only bring me? That's not fair.

[molotov]

I know. It is not fair. But... well, you will not be here for long. [Technically. As a baby.] I promise, you will be back with him before you know it.

Until then, I will be your friend.

[hellshaped]

Okay. [A pause.] Do you know how to make pancakes?

[molotov]

Uh... da, yes. I believe I can make pancakes.

[Surely there's pancake mix in the kitchen........ it's a "just-add-water" thing, right?]

[hellshaped]

[That's not pancakes, that is blasphemy!!!]

Oh, good. I don't know how to make them, but they're my favorite food.

Why do you think I'll go home in a few days? How long have you been here?

[molotov]

[Well, Molotov can't cook for real! He'll never know the difference. Alternately, she will make Brock cook them. Surely he knows how to make pancakes.]

Hm. Well, I can make you some pancakes for breakfast, then.

I have been here for... going on two years. But I do not think the castle will keep you separated from your father. My important person is here, so the castle does not need to send me back.

[hellshaped]

[Brock does not appreciate being used as a chef for Molotov's friends, thank you very much!]

Oh ... well, I guess that makes sense. Who's your important person -- your father? Your mother?

[molotov]

[But it's a baby, Brock loves babies. They melt his dumb, stupid heart!]

My fiance. We are getting married in two weeks.

[hellshaped]

[Not babies who aren't really babies! No, that's a lie. Anyway, get out of here, Brock! You're not in this thread, just go.]

Oh wow, that's neat! Did he defect too?

[molotov]

Nyet, he is American, he was born there.

[hellshaped]

Oh, okay. What's it like in the USSR? I heard they can't listen to music there and all they do is gymnastics.

[Hellboy lives on an Air Force base surrounded by sexist 1940s American military men. He could be misinterpreting "all the women are extremely flexible wink wink" as "gymnastics."]

[molotov]

We can listen to music. And I only did gymnastics until I was twelve. I quit after the Olympics.

[Molotov... not helping dispel misconceptions...]

[hellshaped]

[If only Hellboy knew enough about history to question that... the USSR never participated in the Olympics until the 50s, you know! Not that Hellboy knew that, since there also hadn't been an Olympics while he was alive.

As it is, he is just very impressed!] Wow! You were in the Olympics?! That's so neat! Did you win any medals?

[molotov]

Nyet, I came in fifth. So I quit.

[hellshaped]

[Oh man, he's just all awkward now, why you gotta say that.] Oh ... I'm sorry. I bet you were really good.

[molotov]

Do not be sorry. I am happier now. If I had stayed in gymnastics, probably I would have just become a teacher, and then I never would have met my future husband.

[hellshaped]

I guess that's good. [He crosses his arms, frowning and thinking. His stone arm, by the way, is the same freaking size as when he's his regular age -- so crossing his arms looks really weird ...]

I don't really know what I want to do when I grow up. I kind of just want to be Lobster Johnson.

[molotov]

What is a "Lobster Johnson"?

[hellshaped]

You know -- Lobster Johnson! Jeez, I can't believe you don't know who that is. Here --

[He opens up this book he found, which happens to be the journal, and flips it to a blank page. And let's say he sketches out -- poorly -- the drawing I did in the main post. It's almost like I worked it out like this on purpose.

When he's done, he flips the book around to show Molotov.]

He fights for justice! See? [He helpfully wrote "justice" over there. Hellboy has poor penmanship, even as a babby.]

[molotov]

[Molotov inspects this drawing. Not really. She pretends to.]

Ah, so he is a superhero. We have superheroes in my world, but not this one.

[hellshaped]

No, he's better than a superhero! He fights Nazis and other bad guys, and he puts his mark on their head once he catches them -- [He quickly draws a stylized lobster claw, and shows it to her.] See? So they know they've been caught by The Lobster.

[molotov]

I see! But what does he do then? Just leave them?

[Molotov, god bless her, is very convincingly feigning interest in this.]

[hellshaped]

Of course not, jeez! They're Nazis, or criminals, so he kills them. And then the police -- they see the claw, so they know who did that for them.

[molotov]

Oh, of course, of course. But why are there Nazis in America? If he is going to Germany to kill Nazis, would he not be outnumbered?