bakerstreet | Dirty laundry

Dirty laundry

the LAUNDROMAT

Perhaps you live in a dorm or an apartment that hasn't seen renovations since the eighties. Maybe your luck has really dried up and your washing machine at home broke the night before a job interview and you haven't done a load of laundry in two weeks. Whatever your story is you've ended up at the local 24-hour laundromat. It could be creeping in on midnight or three in the morning. Either way, the place is a dead zone. Leaving you floating in a liminal space where reality has been stripped down to the sounds of clattering quarters and the continuous thrum of the machines under the buzz of neon lights. This would be a horrible time to bump into someone you know, or worse - a complete stranger while you're staring into the middle distance in nothing but your American flag boxers reading a paperback.

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[It's about four in the morning and he can't sleep, so he figures this is likely the best time to get some laundry done. Don't mind the blood on some of the clothes. It's probably mostly his.]

[ Clive pauses just inside the door once he realizes someone else is in the laundromat at this hour of the night. He sizes the other man up casually, lets his face ease up at the corners of his mouth, and then adjusts the bag of unwashed clothes slung over his shoulder. He heads over to a free machine (everyone but the ones under the other man's use), far enough away to hopefully be comfortable.

He drops the bag of laundry at his feet and starts the process of sorting. He pauses, because he remembers why he comes to the laundromat so late. Bloodstains on his clothes. He looks up from the inside of the bag to stare into the middle distance, and then decides to just be quick about it. Articles of clothing are effectively yeeted one by one into the washer, and he decides to be momentarily distracting: ]

Just got off a late shift? [ He glances over to the fellow, an easy look feigned in his eyes. His voice his warm and dark, with a tinge of what a trained ear might recognize as a Bristolian accent. ]

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[ Clearly the base machines are broken. All of them. Or maybe this is the base laundromat. Who knows! Open to cross-canon, AUs, etc. ]

[ It's late at night, he smells vaguely of whiskey, sulphur, and blood. He's in just his socks and boxer shorts. His clothes are in the wash. He's flipping through a Home & Garden magazine while he waits. Some stains not even magic can get out. ]

[Somebody manages to set up a laundromat out in the Zones and they'll make bank. Otherwise it's probably some kind of communal laundry room. Even Killjoys have to keep their duds clean.]

[If it's stakeout for a job it's during regular hours, he might even be posing as an employee.
If it's for doing actual laundry, it could be any time of day.]

[Some kind of 'everyone lived' AU? Gone to college maybe?]

[She might be washing clothes, she might be washing random pieces of fabric, she might be tumble-drying pillows, it's anyone's guess, really.]

[She tries to stop in at a laundromat once a week, but it doesn't always work out that way, it just depends on when she can find one that's open.]

[Holga's the kind of person who believes in being prepared - spare quarters, extra detergent & dryer sheets, she might even have snacks, and even if she doesn't, she'll watch your dryer while you run down to the deli on the corner.]

You know, there's a book called Laundromats of the Sword Coast. I found a copy once. Very lavishly illustrated. I don't think this place was depicted.

[Not that she'd necessarily remember, if it were. It wasn't that exciting a book.]

It's amazing what they can do with lightning magic nowadays, though.

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[Laundromats are a great place to people-watch and collect new mannerisms. Also good for a stakeout now and again.]

[Nicky's the one who cooks, Joe's the one who can be trusted with the laundry, though it's clearly the laundry of a whole family's worth of people. He's probably got a spare quarter if you need one, and he'll apologize for taking up so much space at the folding table.]

[Welp. Hopefully he's got the timing right when it stays mostly quiet and not a lot of foot traffic. It's rare to catch the Vice Captain in the laundromat. (Base laundromat? Public laundromat? You decide.)

Dressed casually in black sleeveless shirt and comfy sweatpants, he's sitting in one of the chairs while his machine is running, reading a book with a coffee in hand. Might as well catch up on some reading since he's going to be here a bit.]

Edited 2024-06-22 17:57 (UTC)

[ She's here, watching one of the washers go around... and around... and around... ]

( it's in the early am, she looks a bit of a mess. it's hard to tell of the stains on her clothes are blood or not. )

[ There's a great big electronic reptile sat on a lil' plastic chair a bit too small for him. He's naked, but his junk ain't out so don't worry about it. He's also eating a big popsicle.

After making eye contact with someone else, he speaks. ]

Don't even ask, dude.

Edited 2024-06-22 22:35 (UTC)

I feel like as your vice-captain, I'm obliged to ask.

[ This has to be good. ]

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( at least her clothes are black so the blood isn't as noticeable... but she may be covered in it and just chilling in a chair while she waits for her laundry to finish. )

( If there's a single place Dean Winchester has spent most of his life outside of his car and cheap motel rooms, it's probably a tie between laundromats and bars. It has always been his responsibility to keep them on the up-and-up, to keep them clean, to keep their clothes mended, to keep the blood out of them. That was true when he was a teenager, and it's true now some twenty years later.

And so, in walks one flannel-wearing man who happens to be far less coked up and far less super-powered than the guy Kimiko may initially take him for. He doesn't so much as glance at her; he's got his headphones on, got his tunes going, and priority numero uno is taking the contents of a massive army duffel bag and stuffing them into the nearest unoccupied washing machine. )

*He's got two duffle bags of stuff he's washing, he'll be here most of the night looming in the corner taking care to avoid gazes as he washes and folds all of the clothing he posses.*

[ The rickety old washer in Sam's apartment building finally died, so here she is. She's lounging in one chair, her feet kicked up on another. The place seems empty, might as well get comfortable. In one hand, she's got a folded up newspaper, and in the other, a pen to do the crossword. ]