042. Custard Pie

[samson]

[Brock's at his cabin like he usually is, and he assumes Molotov is in her office like she usually is. So he opens his journal and pens a filter to her, quickly jotting down a note.]

Hey baby. Do you want to learn to cook?

Comments

[molotov]

[Molotov is actually with her bears. She's needed them lately -- they keep her calm and at as close to peace as she can be. So probably Brock can actually hear Rykov and Chihanchka rumbling in the background.]

Now?

[samson]

[dem bears.]

Why not now?

[molotov]

What would we make?

[samson]

Whatever you want. You need to learn how.

[molotov]

[Molotov is quiet for a few minutes.] I want pizza. Can we make that?

[samson]

From scratch? OK.

[molotov]

Does it take a long time?

[samson]

Maybe an hour.

[molotov]

Okay, da. Should I come back now?

[samson]

I need to buy some stuff. Cabin or house?

[He has oregano and basil outside the cabin, but he could always bring it to the house.]

[molotov]

Hmm, I know that I wished for a pizza stone when I redid the kitchen. Do you have one at the cabin?

[samson]

[He doesn't ... think so .........

A pause as he looks around the cabin. She might hear him banging around in the background before he comes back to the journal.]

No.

[molotov]

Then probably we should go home.

[samson]

OK. Be there soon.

[And off he goes to buy shit in town before the shops all close!!]

[molotov]

Da, okay.

[She closes up her journal and heads back to the castle!]

[samson]

[Brock's in town for awhile, picking up perishables that he knows they don't have in their apartment -- or he doesn't think they do, anyway. He had no fucking clue they even had a pizza stone, so maybe he wasn't right about everything.

Eventually, he comes to the door, sort of finagling it open since his arms are full of groceries.] Babe?

[molotov]

[Molotov has already cracked into a bottle of wine. She's waiting in the kitchen.]

Da?

[samson]

I didn't know if you were home.

[He closes the door behind him and brings all the stuff into the kitchen, where he starts unpacking the bags.]

I got a lot of stuff, but let me know if you want something special on your pizza and I'll run back to town before everything closes.

[molotov]

Did you get proscuitto? I like proscuitto.

[samson]

[He smiles and pulls out a packet of ~something~ wrapped in butcher paper.]

What do you think?

[molotov]

[She beams.]

Do you want some wine?

[samson]

Wine with pizza? Why, Mrs. Samson, you're a fucking trendsetter.

[molotov]

[She snorts, then pours him a glass and takes it to him, pinching him on the way.]

Beer is for Brooklyn takeout, Mr. Samson. Wine is for special pizza that we make ourselves.

[samson]

Special pizza, huh? [He takes the glass, leaning down to quickly kiss her before she can get away. Sneak attack kisses!!]

What's so special about it?

[molotov]

We are making it, I just said that.