no, seriously, how was babby formed?!?
Who: Brock and Molotov
What: It's just Brock's luck that he somehow has a child with Molotov, and he didn't even get to tap that.
When: Shortly after babbies appear!
Where: Room 509.
Rating: PG-13 because there is probably going to be swearing.
Molotov was asleep.
Well, that was a bit misleading -- Molotov had been asleep, soundly. Brock was with her, as was becoming more and more regular, but that wasn't what had brought her so suddenly from sleep. In fact, his still, warm, middle-aged spread was trying to convince her that she was hearing things. He was beckoning her back to sleep, with his heavy breathing and dumb, soft snoring.
What an asshole.
Molotov squinted irritably at him for just a moment, then looked around her darkened room. She could swear she heard something. A kitten, maybe? But where would a mewling kitten be in her room?
She slowly got out of bed, moving cautiously to the lightswitch. Flicking on the lights, the difference in her bedroom was obvious. There was a new door, one that wasn't there earlier. It was open, and dark inside, and Molotov grabbed a shotgun, cocking it before venturing into this new room.
Inside, there was nothing that needed shooting. With the lights on, Molotov could see that the walls were pink, and there was an elaborate crib in the middle of the room. The child inside, squirming and whimpering in a nightmare, was probably old enough to be transitioned into a real bed, though, and Molotov just gawked at her, over the edge of the crib.
Finally, she couldn't hold it any longer, and she said it out loud. "What the hell?"
What: It's just Brock's luck that he somehow has a child with Molotov, and he didn't even get to tap that.
When: Shortly after babbies appear!
Where: Room 509.
Rating: PG-13 because there is probably going to be swearing.
Molotov was asleep.
Well, that was a bit misleading -- Molotov had been asleep, soundly. Brock was with her, as was becoming more and more regular, but that wasn't what had brought her so suddenly from sleep. In fact, his still, warm, middle-aged spread was trying to convince her that she was hearing things. He was beckoning her back to sleep, with his heavy breathing and dumb, soft snoring.
What an asshole.
Molotov squinted irritably at him for just a moment, then looked around her darkened room. She could swear she heard something. A kitten, maybe? But where would a mewling kitten be in her room?
She slowly got out of bed, moving cautiously to the lightswitch. Flicking on the lights, the difference in her bedroom was obvious. There was a new door, one that wasn't there earlier. It was open, and dark inside, and Molotov grabbed a shotgun, cocking it before venturing into this new room.
Inside, there was nothing that needed shooting. With the lights on, Molotov could see that the walls were pink, and there was an elaborate crib in the middle of the room. The child inside, squirming and whimpering in a nightmare, was probably old enough to be transitioned into a real bed, though, and Molotov just gawked at her, over the edge of the crib.
Finally, she couldn't hold it any longer, and she said it out loud. "What the hell?"