Laundry time! It's hell for some of the Marines, but they discuss a Pyramid group.
Location: Laundry Room - Vanguard
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 1048
The first half of the bet must have just been training for Tavo. Undoubtedly Rothschild would usually take longer to get a full bag of dirty clothes, but Canceron got her on the last trip down. Now Tavo is stuck with a mesh bag of very muddy clothes, which he holds out near arm's reach as he makes his way into the laundry. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that this is worse than a battalion of toasters."
Lyn makes her way into the laundry room, dragging her laundry bag with her left hand, as her right arm is currently in a sling and covered in bandages. So is her head, and there are more peeking out from under her tank. She didn't even attempt to get the t-shirt on. Between the stiches in her arm, chest, and stomach, the machinations to get one damned shirt on were plenty.
She looks like hell. Not just the wounds. Her face has a haunted expression on it. Waking up in sick bay the second time, to see her ex curled up with his new girlfriend was just about as fun as you might expect. She squints at Tavo. "You're holding that bag like it's full of live snakes." She drops hers near an empty washer.
Rothschild is not here to makes sure that Tavo isn't destroying her clothes, really. She steps over the coaming into the laundry room, a smaller bag in her hands, draped over one shoulder. She saunters fully in, trying to ignore Tavo and her bag of clothes. She catches sight of Lyn, and her brows arch slightly at the sight of her, and then she steps up to a machine. She smirks at Tavo. "Be kind. Those are some of my favorites." Covered in mud.
"I'm pretty sure they're all dead." Tavo deadpans, moving over to a low utility sink. He sets the bag atop the washer alongside, doing his level best to ignore the mud that squelches out onto the top of the washer. He looks over his shoulder as Rothschild steps in, nodding to her, "I'm pretty sure she rolled around in the muck for a while. Just to teach me not to bet her." He pulls open the mesh bag and pulls out the black tactical gear, hitting the water in the sink and starting to rinse it. "Guess you shouldn't have pissed off Canceron then, Praety. You bring the other bags I'll need?"
Lyn grunts as she pins the laundry bag against the machine with her knee, so she can use her good hand to open the drawstring at its mouth. There are no frilly girly things that she pulls out and stuffs into the washer. Looks like it's just standard issue stuff, even down to the boring skivvies, other than one old, battered t-shirt from a band on Aquaria. That she holds in her hand for a few moments, as if debating putting it in the machine, or throwing it in the trash. It looks way too big to be hers, originally.
She glances over as Rothschild comments to Tavo and it clicks on why he's being a Nancy boy about it. The laundry is a lady's. A lady who isn't afraid to get dirty. She gives a little snort, before deciding to wash the old tee shirt.
"You mean the mesh bags of socks and underthings?" Rothschild doesn't play it coy, but she does dig out the bag and toss over the far cleaner socks and underthings. "I was going to actually spare you because you now have to do two washes... one to get the mud off and another to actually clean them." Then she looks over to Lyn as she leans against the washer. "You look exhausted, Arda... have you slept?" There is some genuine concern there for the scout.
Tavo starts rinsing the first piece of clothing -- a pair of pants -- off in the sink. He nods to Rothschild, "Those are the ones." He clears his throat, nodding toward the bag on top of the washer, "Wasn't sure if they were in there." And then he looks over to Lyn, totally misjudging the look at the t-shirt, "Turn it inside out. It'll keep the printing clearer."
"12 hours, courtesy of that," Lyn replies to Rothschild, pointing at the bandages on her head. "I had enough of sleeping. I couldn't stay in there any longer." Not that she dislikes Sick Bay, but she needed some serious distance from the people in there. "Besides, if I didn't get this load washed, it was going to walk off on its own."
She forces a wan smile. "Do I want to know why Tavo is gonna be washing your socks and underthings?" she asks. She can't do a brow arch, that would pull on her damned stitches. She moves to dig through the accoutrements of the laundry room for detergent. Tavo's words make her spine stiffen for a moment, before she replies with a somber, "Nothing lasts forever."
"He lost a bet," Rothschild points out as she crosses her arms. She offers a small grin toward Tavo, head tilted slightly as he starts to rinse the clothes. The mention of turning the shirt inside out draws her attention to the said garment, and arches a brow ever so slightly. "A shirt of significance, Lyn?" Her voice has a light gentleness to it.
Tavo starts to get the sense that he put his foot in it, and clears his throat again, "Yeah. Nothing does. Just..." he shrugs again, and then lets the topic sit, grunting his sympathy with the idea of staying in sick bay, "I get that. The urge to get out of sick bay." When he checks the washer alongside the sink (full), the washer beyond that (full), and the washer beyond that (finally empty), it can be seen that he's still limping a little on his right leg. One hand gestures toward Rothschild at her explanation, "I decided that the gods decided that me doing the laundry was worse than a battalion of toasters, by the way." The washed-out pants go into the washer, and he comes back for the mesh bags, tossing them both in, and then goes for the vest and the sink, glancing over at the Recon marine for her response to Rothschild's question.
"Not anymore," Lyn mumbles back. She adds detergent in a haphazard amount; she hates doing laundry. She slams the machine's door shut and punches the buttons for a regular cycle before sending it into motion. Realizing that people might be reading what she's feeling on her face, thanks to pain meds, she forces her expression back into what she hopes is an emotionless mask.
Rothschild watches, and she flicks a glance toward Tavo in silent question, but then she shakes her head slightly. "You should add bleach if you really want to do away with it. Wipe it clean. Or we can just attach it to a target in the firing range. That'll add a new layer to it." She's testing her assumptions now. After all, she had been there when Lyn was shocked by the sight of Jonas. Logical leaps are quite short in this regard.
Tavo shrugs a little helplessly at Rothschild's look. Her suggestion causes the big man to chuckle slightly as he washes off the vest, spotting a little cut in the armor. He finishes washing it even as he nods, "Plenty of room for a couple of groupings." Of bullets. Hefting up the vest and sticking a thick finger through the rip, he inquires, "Bullet, blade, or environmental?"
"That's alright. I just sleep in it now and then when I'm out of clean laundry." That's a lie, Lyn slept in it most every night until Jonas showed up on that mission. Whatever happened between them clearly ended badly, and Arda is clearly not over it. "Just need to start looking at it less like a memory and more like any another piece of clothes, that's all." Maybe she can pack it up with the ring and the letters and everything else from her time with Ingvar, and when they finally take back Aquaria, she can toss it all into the maw of Mt. Thula as therapy.
"So a few of us recon grunts were talking about maybe getting a regular Pyramid thing going. You two interested?" Lyn asks, trying to change the subject.
"I personally enjoyed destroying everything that reminded me of my ex-husband. I still get a little swell in my heart when I hear wood to metal." Rothschild keeps a careful eye on the marine, but she does not push further. She understands it perhaps better than most. Then the topic changes, and she starts to chuckle, holding up both her hands. "Oh, no... I am not athletic and my coordination when it comes to balls and hoops is awful. I'm more than happy to be a cheerleader, but I think my participation would be shameful."
"Or glass to wall?" Tavo inquires of Rothschild archly. He almost literally brightens up at the mention of pyramid, quite the opposite of the Leonese woman, "I've been poking around to see how many people in the Company play." He clears his throat at Rothschild's mention of balls and hoops, swallowing what was undoubtedly a dirty comment, then shakes out the vest and delivers it over to the washer along with the pants. "It's great for aerobic training, plus a little bit of pain management. I figure most gunners should at least know the game." The tunic is next into the sink, the big man sluicing off mud and much as he looks back to Lyn, "Where did you play then?"
"Really?" Lyn asks Rothschild skeptically. "The Praetorian can't play Pyramid? Huh. How very un-Colonial of you," she teases with a tight smile that she tries to make seem genuine. She carefully avoids further comment on her ex-situation, because even thinking about him makes all the things that didn't get shot and stabbed yesterday hurt too.
She looks to Tavo. "We were thinking it helps a bit with teamwork, relying on your teammates, coordinating actions. Like drills, only fun." She shuffles over to a chair and eases herself gingerly down into it with an intake of breath through clenched teeth. "There wasn't a whole lot to do in downtime at Arctic Station Thula on Aquaria. We played a lot. Me, my brother, Jonas," godsdammit she mentioned him again!
"Yes. Glass to a wall." Then Rothschild just rolls her eyes when Tavo swallows down another dirty comment. "It's like he forgets I'm a Marine just the same as him." She says these words aloud to Lyn even if Tavo can easily overhear them. She then snorts at Lyn's look and words. "I'm sure I could play, I just don't think you would want me to." Then she holds up her hands. "I'll try, of course... for good fun, but just know that I will gimp any team I'm on." She sounds genuine too, not just one of those fake attempts at self-deprecation to prompt compliments. She's probably quite awful.
Tavo nods at Lyn, turning to join her teasing look at Rothschild with a very judge-y one of his own, "I know. I think she's a Cylon." Clearly teasing, he is, as his deadpan breaks and he flashes a brief, wide grin. That look, sadly, is washed away with the Leonese woman's eye-rolling comment, as the big man looks down to where he's washing the black tunic, finishing it off and doing his best to ignore a faint blush. "I was thinking that teamwork'd be good, but it might be hard to have regular teams with shifting watches. Maybe save the team games for pick-up, and run a one-on-one league?" He shakes out the shirt, then delivers it to the washer, adding in the less-Canceroned clothes and then a neat measure of detergent. "I'll teach you some time, Praety." Looking back to Lyn, he adds, "Yeah? Sounds like it could get pretty intense, small group of people, lots of games."
"Couldn't hurt to try," Lyn offers Rothschild. "We can have some beginner games the vets can coach, maybe, the we can play all out vets too," she suggests. She nods at Tavo's idea. "Yeah, that sounds like it could work. And yeah, it was...intense." In a lot of ways.
Rothschild glares at Tavo, but then she releases a heavy breath as both gang-up on her -- even if she knows she can easily refuse. She taps her fingers on the washer and then she offers a simple nod. "Alright. I'll play." She chuckles under her breath, muttering just loud enough to hear, "But we're going to blame Tavo for this." Then she straightens up from her haphazard lean from the washer.
"I don't know that we should believe her by the way. She had dinners, plural, with Eshfield." One of the veteran stars of the Scorpian Stingers. "If he's anything like he was in secondary school, he doesn't talk about anything but pyramid." Tavo closes up the washer and gets it started on a cold-wash, then heads back to the sink and adjacent washer to clean off the top of the washer where the muddy clothes were sitting, "I'm just trying to find something where I can actually win a bet."
"How many cubits would it take to bribe one of you to throw my crap in a dryer, then come wake me up when it stops?" Lyn asks, as the headache starts up again. "I think the pain killers are wearing off, and I need to nap through this."
"You have dinner with the Praetorian, and I promise you, you talk more than just Pyramid." Rothschild offers a quirked smile to Tavo before her expression takes on a concerned edge when Lyn speaks of her pain. She shakes her head slightly, and holds up a hand. "No cubits required. Go to off now, we'll see to it."
Tavo starts to open his mouth to respond to Lyn's request, but Rothschild beats him to it, and he shuts his mouth, finishing his clean-up and moving over to the washer he claimed for the Leonese woman's clothes and hops up onto it, sitting atop the rumbling machine, "Take care. You Recon types are kicking ass, we're gonna need all of you." And then he rounds back on Rothschild, "Dunno. I heard all those pyramid stars only have one thing on their mind."
"Thanks, I owe you," Lyn says, as she rises, creakily, from the chair, and heads back to her rack.
"They do. And it isn't Pyramid." Rothschild starts to chuckle before she draws herself up on top of the washer this time, which only helps her conquer the height between the two. She tilts her head slightly up at him, expression thoughtful as she looks after Lyn. "Imagine having your former lover getting assigned to the same tiny ship you're already on. I would murder him in his sleep." Of course, him would be Rothschild's husband, not necessarily Jonas himself.
That has Tavo clearing his throat again, and then he chuckles, and despite another blush, nods, "I'm sure. Especially in civvies." He glances toward the hatch again, then grunts an approval and agreement at the murderous statement, "Or just happen to not back him up as fast in the field? Seems too easy to frak things up."
"Hmph." Rothschild crosses her arms at her chest as she remains poised on the washer. Her eyes narrow at the hatch and then she turns her gaze away to look up at the Scorpian. "I will wait to pass judgment." Though it may be suggested that she has already. Then she breathes out a sigh, deflating a bit.
Tavo's eyes drop as she crosses her arms, but they quickly continue their drop, studying his boots for a moment over the edge of the washer. He grunts wary agreement, "Bad situation. Bringing up bad memories?" With the last question, he looks up again, a concerned frown on his broad features.
"Of course," Rothschild replies, but she just shrugs a bit at his concerned look. "But, there is some distance between the present and those memories. It is more like recalling a bad dream, but one that was incredibly real when you had it." She flickers her dark eyes up to his own, and her full lips quirk with a hint of a smile. "I'm not still obsessed about my ex-husband, if that is your concern."
Tavo lifts up his hands at the smiling concern, "Never thought it." Leaning back on his hands, he frowns thoughtfully, "Just figured there was no reason to linger if it still hurt." What's the best way to change the topic? Talk about pyramid, "So no one ever tried to teach you to play? Pyramid, I mean. It's a little... physical... but real good exercise. Even if you don't get really into it."
Tavo is given an arched look as he turns the conversation back to Pyramid again, and she starts to chuckle with a dip of her head. "Pyramid." She shakes her head before she looks back up at him, expression far more easily amused and brow arched. "No, I never played. I enjoyed watching it being played, but... come now... I was studying historical botany at university. Does that sound compatible with Pyramid?"
Tavo's burgeoning grin starts to fade as he realizes that he just came back to pyramid like he said all pyramid stars do, and he shakes his head in self-deprecating amusement. "Yeah. I figure it's compatible with everything. Unless someone's scared of a little contact." He glances over to the still-slightly-muddy washer top by the sink, "Considering that you tried to get inside Canceron, from what I can tell, I don't think that's you."
Rothschild bursts into delightful laughter, and then she shakes her head. "It is not my fault that Canceron thinks so fondly of me." Her mouth quirks a bit before she slides off the washer once more, resuming her modest height in comparison with the Scorpian. "I'll play. I agreed. But I think you will all be disappointed. Just because I'm a gunner does not mean I'm a good Pyramind player." She looks as if she is starting to depart.
Tavo grins at the laughter, responding before he has a chance to think about it, "I think it was just trying to grab your ass." Or other parts. He stays seated atop his own washer, the machine rumbling away under him, so he doesn't loom quite so high. "No expectations. It's not about being good, it's about the good it can do for you." That has the sound of a quote from someone else. Giving the washer a little bang with one hand, he adds, "I'll bring these by when they're dry. And yeah, I'll pull out the bras before they go in the dryer."
"Or other parts." Rothschild says the unsaid with another laugh. Then she offers a shrug at his vote of confidence. "Alright, well... then I'll participate." The bang to the washer draws a nod from her, and she starts to step away. She turns as if to remind him, but he's already reassuring her so she just raises her fingers in a gentle wave of farewell. "And I think we will be square after that."
The saying of the unsaid draws a faintly bashful chuckle, and Tavo nods. When she turns to tell him what he's already saying, he lifts his brows and points a finger at her, then nods, "Yup. Until the next bet that I somehow manage to make a hash of."
"Keep it up, Tavo, and we will be snogging in the closet for seven minutes." Rothschild doesn't need to look back as she steps over the coaming and out into the corridor. She leaves him with that, heading to the berthings once more.
Tavo's dark eyes widen at that, and he manages to sputter, "You wish," before she's gone, Or as she's going. Or slightly after she left. Clearing his throat, he looks down, and then abruptly realizes that he didn't bring anything to read or do, and he's left with his own thoughts.