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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[He's definitely sitting where he can see the door and the machine he's using at the same time, despite the fact that it looks like he's reading a paperback copy of The Hobbit.]

[Evening Laundry in a country she's not from? Yep! Sometimes you just have to stop and wash the stains out. Johanna had just finished a job, which paid pretty nice, all things considered. Truth be told, she could have just bought a new pair of slacks, but she happened to like these, and walking around with blood on your knees was rarely a good thing.]

[Walking in with barely a limp (though a keen trained eye would say she was favoring her right side), she scanned over the laundromat casually, catching sight of the man in the proper placement to protect his back, and no one else. Fine. Taking a moment to ground herself she went to a washer, nothing in her hands to wash, and stood there a moment, peeking into one of the top loaders, frowning. A moment later she was shimmying out of her pants, and though not a modest woman, she had the decency to keep her trench coat mostly closed after. Holding the slacks up she curled her lip at them, before balling them up to toss into the machine.]

Oiy! [She called to the other in a thick British accent.] Don't mean to pull you out of Hobbiton, but do you have a shot of detergent I can use?

[ooc: hello darling. I'm unsure how well this will go, but I miss RPing with you all the same. I couldn't resist.]

Edited 2024-01-09 17:56 (UTC)

"Rhovanion." He answered without hesitation, "But close enough." He'd been paying attention to the fact that she was loading what she'd been wearing into the machine, trying to determine whether or not it was something he should be concerned about, but considering that she only looked annoyed by it and not actively distressed, he decided to just roll with keeping calm for the time being.

"And yeah, I do." The book was tucked into his pocket and the basket between his feet got hoisted up into the chair as he rose, digging out both a laundry pod and a pair of sweats that could be spared for the greater good. He crossed over to hand her both, "They're clean, don't have to worry about that."

[ooc at the very least it probably won't go to shit right away?]

Oh, we're getting technical, are we? "Is that before or after Mirkwood. It's been a while since I have read it." It was also a small telegraphed note that she had taken in the details of things as she came in, down to the book he was reading. It's really just a old habit. A very GOOD habit, but also an old one.

She started to pat her pockets, finding where her coins were in her trench coat, and dropping them in when the guy crossed over with two items. Her mouth opened to thank him for the soap, only to pause, seeing him hold out a pod and sweats? They're clean? He might see she had a curious look cross her face, as if it was taking an entire ass moment to realize he was lending her bottoms to wear. When it finally dawned on her, she gave a half hearted grin, barely reaching her eyes, before reaching to take the offered. "My hero. Thanks."

Taking the pod first to toss in, she'd close the machine up before looking the pants over. A nod was given to the sweats themselves, as if she gave her approval, and with no mind to dressing in front of another or even in public, she began to pull them on carefully. "Keeping a girl modest, huh? I suppose someone should. I appreciate it."

[I mean, you say that... but she's a trouble magnet and--oh so is he. ... yeah.]

He was used to that kind of sass from Steve, and hearing it from someone else was... weirdly endearing, it was also why he just answered instead of even feigning offense, "Before, but only barely."

He also didn't argue being called a hero, even though it was on the tip of his tongue to do so, instead he just gave a little shrug at the not-quite question, "Obviously you don't mind, and I wasn't going to complain." He cocked a thumb towards the office, the light was on, but it was unclear if anyone was actually there, "Proprietor might have something to say about it, though. Better safe than sorry, you know? Nobody needs a lecture this time of night."

[Just means they'll cancel each other out! Maybe.]

You should just be glad someone knows what you are reading came before whatever those new movies were. She's heard the kids say 'Oh look, this is based on the movie,' and had to bite her tongue. Honestly, one should be surprised she even tried to bite her tongue. Lets be real. "That tells me it's not your first time reading it. Wha'sit? Just a random repeat choice, or a standard washing day novel to transport you out of the thrum of spinnin' machines and dull chores?"

She did a little hop as she pulled the sweats up right, looking down as she would be swimming in them, seeing as he's not nearly as Hobbit-like as she is. Tugging the front strings a bit, she smirked as he mentioned the proprietor. "It's a laundromat. I'm sure they've seen a fair bit of tush before." Not tying the pants, but just tugging them tighter, she nodded to them in agreement that they, again, would do. Then she looked up at him. "All the same, thank you Mr. Baggins. After the day I've had, a lecture is the last thing I need."

[That's a good point. There is the chance that nothing but good can come from this meeting! Maybe...]

"Barnes." He said by way of correction and introduction both, "James Barnes. Friends call me Bucky." A little tilt of his head and a flicker of expression that would pass for a smile in the right light, "And I figure, place like this, this time of night, that means we're friends or mortal enemies, and you definitely don't seem like someone to make a mortal enemy out of."

It wasn't his best work, but it wasn't his worst, either, but it was also one of those things that felt true only after he'd actually said it, "And it's definitely not that thought-out of a choice. It's just what I had on hand that would actually fit in my pocket." A quiet little noise and a half-shrug, "But I've made worse decisions for better reasons."

Barns? Like where they keep horses? But he said his proper name and she smirked. Ah, Barnes. With his comment on her seeming like someone to not make a mortal enemy of actually made her smirk a bit more, a small smile of amusement on her face as she looked up at him. As tall as Dream, she'd say.

"So long as you don't try to eat someone's soul or something just as moronic, we're good. No mortal enemies." She said it like some joke, smirking still, but she happened to be rather serious. "Constantine. Johanna Constantine. If I had friends, they might call me something inappropriate, so Johanna I suppose will do just fine."

As he spoke of his book choice, she glanced around a bit, before moving to try and hop backwards up on a sorting table, legs dangling there. "The Secret Garden. That's my Wash Day novel. I always get a few more chapters in each trip. When I bother to do a trip at all." It wasn't like her messy apartment back home had a machine. Then again it wasn't as if she were home often anymore.

He shook his head at the mention of eating souls, nose wrinkling a little, "Nah, not enough nutritional value in souls, definitely not worth the effort."

He just leaned back against the edge of the table, not bothering to sit on it himself, nodding at the book, "That's a good one, too. Enough of a story to keep you entertained, but not so complicated that you'll forget what you're doing." A half-amused little scoff, "And not so dense you get confused or bored and give up on it." He shook his head, "Made the mistake of bringing the Canterbury Tales once, not annotated. That was a 'sit and stare at the wall' trip."

"I am fairly sure no one eats souls for nutrition, but you do make a good point." She said as if this were fact, and in fact, it might BE fact. Funny that.

Resting her hands on the edge of the table, she leaned there, a moment, listening to him as she stretched her back. Her hand came to rub along her upper thigh as if to work a kink or sore out. She had a soft hum in her voice as she spoke. "Chaucer, hmm? Aye, my wee English heart. That is a classic, but even I don't want to wade through the original non annotated works. The key to reading his work? Read every letter. Silent letters meant nothing back then." She paused, then a smile spread just barely visible on her lips. "It is fun when you get the blokes at the pub to try to quote it through a drunken state."

He snorted a laugh, "How did you know that's how I got interested in it?" A little shrug, "Couple of the guys I served with would trade off lines when they were drunk enough." A head shake, "I'm actually surprised they only got told off for it once."

Though it was probably because it wasn't always Chaucer that Dugan and Falsworth -with occasional interruptions by Dernier and Jones- would get drunk enough to recite. He'd even questioned Dum-Dum about it once, how he knew Chaucer because he didn't seem the type. He didn't remember the answer, only that it had been good-natured annoyance, which was generally the best to hope for with Dugan.

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Dirty laundry

Bucky Barnes | MCU | OTA

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