Tavo pays off a bet with Rothschild by doing her laundry. If only he knew how to launder ladies undergarments.
Location: Laundry Room, Cutter //Vanguard//
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 1043
A bet's a bet, and so when Tavo has a load of his own laundry ready to go, he slings it over his shoulder and limps his way over toward Rothschild's bunk, moving gingerly on a right leg that still bears a bandage around the calf from his grazing hit. "You have the first bag ready for me?"
Rothschild looks up when Tavo turns the corner and reveals himself with his bag of laundry. She starts to chuckle at his request, and she puts a hand on her hip as she regards him. "I do." The Leonese regards him, tilting her head slightly. She notes the bandaged leg, and she starts to chuckle. She turns slightly, sliding her bag of laundry off her bunk as if she was on her way to the laundry room anyway.
"Did you forget then, Praety?" Tavo looks down at his leg, shrugging a little helplessly, "It was just a ricochet. Nothing to worry about." When she starts to haul her bag up too, a smile flickers across his lips, "You don't trust me not to throw something red in?"
"I hadn't forgotten," the Leonese woman laughs as she tosses him the bag. Then she shakes her head at the smiling words, and she offers him her own soft smile. "You wouldn't sully a well-won bet by being a sore loser." Then her eyes flicker down to his leg again. "And you're respecting the orders for light duty." There might be a question in there, but she delivers it almost like a statement.
Tavo catches the bag out of pure reflex, adding it to his own over his shoulder, "No, I wouldn't. And yes, I am." He starts toward the door, then looks back over his shoulder, "Or were you just planning to come with me to make sure that I don't shrink anything accidentally?" He sounds amused, particularly given their discussion about laundry before.
"Mmhmm." Rothschild watches him start to limp toward the door, and then she quirks a brow at the offer. She glances at the bunk, and then she offers a slight shrug of her shoulder. Then she starts to follow, her own limp completely gone save for a bit of stiffness in her stride. "I will give you a walk-through of how to wash a woman's undergarments if you need it, Sergeant."
Tavo is usually pretty difficult to throw off-balance, but the offer, the offer definitely throws him. He actually misses a step over the coaming, throwing out a hand to grasp the edge of the hatch. His eyes widen slightly as he looks over his shoulder again, "You didn't...?" Apparently he thought she might just give him the heavy lifting. "I mean, it isn't that that different, is it?" And then he starts to recover, resuming his walk down the hallway, "I guess it is."
Rothschild arches a brow slightly at the stumble, but she is not hastily moving in hopes of catching him. No, instead, she is walking with a wry smile behind him. She actually rolls her eyes, though it is a subtle gesture behind her dense eyelashes. She then continues along after him. "You do not have to worry yourself if your elastics give out." The statement is delivered vaguely.
"Yes, actually I do." Tavo has recovered himself enough to chuckle quietly, lifting a brow. If she's going to be vague, he can be vague too. What do they say, turnabout is fair play? Something like that. The big man starts to work his way upstairs, his steps careful, one step at a time so that he doesn't have to push up with his right calf. "Especially if there's any running to be done."
Now it is Rothschild's turn to be thrown off. She raises both her brows, stopping short for a heartbeat before she follows after him. She narrows her eyes at him before she falls in behind him as they start up the stairs. "Hmph. Then you need to stop putting your elastics in the dryer. It weakens it."
When Rothschild pauses in surprise, Tavo chuckles, evidently enjoying the fact that he managed to throw her off. "Maybe so. But I usually just buy a new pack." He reaches the laundry room and makes his way in, moving over to a pair of machines next to each other. One is opened and his own non-blacks are poured in without any ado. Soap is added, then top is shut, and he starts it, then opens the second machine, sets up her laundry beside it, and then looks to Rothschild, arching one eyebrow for a prompting.
"What a waste of resources." Rothschild scoffs as she continues up behind him. She steps aside a bit as she lets someone past, continuing as she shakes her head. She does not offer another comment until they are ensconced in the laundry room. She watches him as he opens his own bag and dumps the contents within. She gestures off-handedly at the eyebrow-arched look. "You know how to start a wash." When he dumps the bag, he will find all her unmentionables in one mesh bag and all her socks in another. She crosses her arms, leaning against a vacant machine.
"Well, you've already suggested that there are mysteries man wasn't meant to know." Still, he starts pulling out khakis and greens, piling them in. The two separate bags stymie him a moment, "Do... ah... do these stay in the bags?" The socks don't throw him off so much, but capacious bras and skivvies are something else. He hesitates, studying them, and then glances over toward Rothschild. Just clothes, just clothes. Not being worn now. No, wait, that's worse. He clears his throat and looks down at the clothing bag again.
"You wash them in the bag." Rothschild continues to watch the large Scorpian. When he is looking over her bra-and-skivvies bag, she arches up a brow. Her arms uncross slightly, and she lifts one arm to touch the side of her jaw and run a fingertip across her lip. "Wash in cool water, and you'll be fine." Her dark eyes linger on him when he looks down at the clothing bag. Then she pushes forward, striding the short distance. "Here, let me spare you." She holds out her hands for the mesh bag of her bras and underthings.
The response gets Tavo moving, and he starts to toss the bag in with the rest of the wash. And then he's distracted by the touch to her face, and then she advances and reaches for the bag, and his right hand snaps out, snagging it out of mid-air, bobbling it once, twice, and then catching it, "Spare me?" He shifts a little, almost bristling, then decides to make it a joke instead, "I'm a hundred-and-ten-kilo Staff Sergeant in the Sc -- Colonial Marines. You don't think that some ladies underthings scare me, do you, Praety?" He chuckles, and then offers the bag out, "Unless you don't trust them in my hands." Pause, eyes widen, clear throat. Oops.
The Leonese offers him a quirked smile at the bobbling of the bag. "You will have to sort the panties and bras, because the panties are dryer safe, but the bras aren't." Rothschild delivers this quite casually. Then she starts to sort quickly, removing the underwear and leaving the bras in the mesh bag. She then rezips the bag of bras, tossing in the panties, and handing him the lighter mesh filled with bras. There is a sudden awkwardness around her as she tries to move past his unless. "I'm sure your hands are very trustworthy."
"Ah. Mysteries." Tavo does his best to move on from the image he unintentionally raised in at least his own mind. "So then the question is, how much direction are you allowed to give before," and then he has a bag full of bras in his hands, which he glances down at it, and then pops them into the washer, following it up with detergent, "this doesn't count as one of the two?" The washer is closed and turned on, and then he leans carefully back on the front of the washer, nearly sitting on it, "You've seen me shoot. With a SAW at least. Not my first love though."
Rothschild leans against the neighboring washer once Tavo has committed himself to this whole thing. She crosses her arms once more, looking relaxed as the machine rumbles behind her. She snorts delicately. "One." Then she slips into a thoughtful silence beside the large Scorpian, and then she glances up toward him. "Then what was your first love?" He did open up the topic.
"One direction?" Tavo lets that question settle, and he actually pushes up so that he can sit on the top of the washer, letting it rumble and rattle her clothes around beneath him. "Pyramid." The smile is clear in his tone, and he even relaxes a little as he leans back on his big hands, "First time I got hold of a pyramid ball? I knew that's what I was meant to do." One hand comes around, his heavy mitt cupping as if holding a ball -- or someone's head -- "There's just something about having the ball in hand, the chaos of the court, it's natural for me."
Rothschild starts to laugh, shaking her head. "This counts as one. Don't worry." Then she listens to his confession, though it doesn't surprise her the way she hoped it would. She shakes her head slightly, ducking her head to smirk at her feet. "I was hoping for a deeper look into who you are, Tavo... but I accept that perhaps you are as simple as Scorpian Army and Pyramid." She pushes up off the machine.
Tavo looks a little disappointed himself when Rothschild responds and pushes up to her feet, "One replaced the other." He hesitates, leaning forward to rub his hands together. Looking down at them a moment, he adds, "It was all running away though. I thought pyramid would save me from the militias. The whole clan business..." His heavy shoulders rise and fall in an awkward shrug, "...I mean, my clan is family, but they're nuts."
Rothschild hesitates when the giant takes on a different demeanor. That thoughtful gaze sweeps over him before she steps forward and sets a strangely delicate hand against his wrist. The hand doesn't seem like it belongs to a gunner, until she offers a squeeze, and her strength comes through. "That now is something I understand quite well. The idea of running." She quirks a smile up at him. "After my divorce, enlisting was a rather... abrupt decision."
Tavo looks up at the fingers on his wrist, planting his other hand on the edge of the washer between his knees and shifting in his seat a little. When she squeezes his wrist, he clenches his hand to sort of flex the tendons and muscles of his forearm under her fingers. The response causes him to look up more sharply, from her hand to her face, "Divorce? They didn't make a big deal of that." There's a pause, and then he notes, "He must be kicking himself now."
The tightening to his forearm draws a sudden smile to her lips, and Rothschild finds herself edging closer to him, only to be drawn into a laugh as she turns back to the machines. She shakes her head. "If they had, it would have only done me favors." Mysterious. Then she shakes her head, offering a small shoulder shrug. "We ran into each other a couple months after Trenoir. His new wife was quite lovely, though I admit the last I had seen her was in my own bed with my not-yet-ex-husband." She smirks then, but she does not have the tone of a scorned woman any longer.
Tavo chokes as she adds that spot of detail, and then looks over at her, frankly and clearly disbelieving, "Idiot." And then he clears his throat again, shrugging a little awkwardly and looking down at his hands once more, "I bet you were perfectly polite to him and everything. And I bet that hurt even more." There's a moment's pause, and then he chuckles, "How often do you think she sees your face in a given day? Ads and stuff."
"I hope it's close to a thousand." There's that touch of scorn there, but then she smiles toward the giant before she takes a step back. "And I was only perfectly polite to him when it went public. I think I threw a crystal pitcher at them when I found them." She then shakes her head. "Alas, I should go back to the berthings and leave you to our laundry." There is a slight emphasis on the word our, but she's smiling as she takes another retreating step.
Tavo nods at her response, then chuckles at a sudden image of a crystal pitcher being hurled by the Praetorian of Trenoir at a cringing, apologetic cad. "Okay, violence is usually a waste, but that... I'll give you that one." Then announcement that she's heading out causes him to look up, and then he nods, "Right. It wouldn't be much of a win if you stuck around here the whole time." And then he looks back down at the washer he's sitting on, and hurriedly confirms, "Bag comes out to dry on its own. Everything else goes in. Yeah?"
Rothschild quirks a brow in brief thought at the Scorpian, and then she starts to chuckle once more. "Yes, I have a good book to enjoy." Then she nods in agreement to his repeat of the instructions. "Yes. I'll have another bag for you in a few days." She smiles over her shoulder before she begins to depart.
Tavo looks a little more on steady ground as the directions are confirmed. It seems simple enough. "And I shouldn't hang the bras around like party pennants." That's delivered just as she's about out the door, and with a broad, toothy grin. Apparently, it's easier to be daring when she's across the room -- and there are no crystal pitchers in sight. Then he's waving her off with one hand, though, and pulling a rolled-up magazine out of his back pocket with the other.
Rothschild catches the door, squinting around at the Scorpian with a well-practiced look of scathing warning. Then she is out into the corridor and heading back down the stairs to the berthings, leaving the Staff Sergeant to their laundry.