2237-09-30 - Rosebud

Things in the laundromat get a little bit weird. Don't ask about the title.

Date: 2237-09-30

Location: Laundry

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1440

Jump to End

Laundromats are a dangerous place for tired soldiers. They're warm, they smell nice -- usually, anyway -- and the low thrumming sound of the dryers is purely sedative. Soldiers are already a tired bunch as a rule, and Ines is especially tired today, having scraped together only an hour or two of sleep between a stressful flight the day prior, a solid run to vent her frustration about that, and multiple hours of watching her own flight footage today to try to pinpoint her failings.

The tl;dr: she's currently seated at one of the tables, tablet in front of her playing that very same footage, notepad underneath her head, a slim and terrible pillow on which she is presently face down, sound asleep.

In spite of being a Captain and a rather busy surgeon, Sarita Hargrave -- like every other member of the Timber Wolves -- has to find time to do her laundry herself. What horror! It cuts into precious... whatever the Canceronian woman does in her spare time. Today it's laundry. With her hair bundled up into a sloppy bun and dressed in CF sweats, she does not cut the ever-fabulous figure her twin does as she hikes her way into the laundry room, bag slung over her shoulder. The woman grunts a bit as she hauls the sack up onto the table next to Ines and summarily dumps it out to start sorting through her things. The scrubs must be separated from uniform. And those scrubs? Are not pleasant, in the least. Mystery stains and the smell. Oh Lords, they give kitchen clothes (dat fryer stench) a run for their money.

The Laundry Room claims yet another soul. Kyle Costello steps through from her own busy schedule of being ready for combat drops or dirtying herself with the hardpacked dirt of Sagittaron. Wide awake and bright eyed, Kyle's wrapped her hair into a loose, messy ponytail over her dual-toned tanks and her duty khakis, but with the bag over one should comes the scent of tea in the air. "Evening ladies," Kyle dips into her her step towards the table, setting down the DAUNTLESS branded spillproof mug atop it. "The two of you look absolutely thrilled to be doing laundry this fine evening, don't you?" Kyle sarcasms to the open air, tugging open her laundry bag.

WHUMP. Sarita's laundry piles out and Ines sits upright with the kind of speed and sudden look of alertness that most soldiers are capable of, given unanticipated alerts and the like. But it's a moment or two, still, before anything like cognition slides in behind her blinking eyes, and she lifts one hand to slide it up underneath a tendril of dark hair that escaped the tail she's wearing it in, smoothing it back over the top of her head. "I'm awake!"
There is pen ink transfer on her cheek, where it's red from pressure against the table. She doesn't notice.
What she does notice, gradually, is the stink. Her expression slowly shifts around a sour look, and she casts her gaze around until it lands on the scrubs. "Ai gods, Doc, that...is..." Words fail. She looks at Kyle as though the Marine might have a more colorful way to end the sentence.

Van is shoved into the laundry room abruptly, and Isolde Asa-Newton is quick to follow in after him. "I'm telling you, I can't get the washer open. This is not some ploy to get you into the laundry room. It's really stuck, Van... and all my underwear is in there." The dark-haired ECO is dressed in her off-duties with her short hair drawn into a stubby ponytail, and her longish bangs heavy against her forehead. She has a pair of glasses perched on the top of her head, holding back some of her forelocks. She takes quick stock of the room, and beams when she spots familiar faces, even if the only person she knows by name is Kyle.

"You don't want to know what that is," Sarita answers Ines, blithely, in her Virgan-tinged accent. Got to love those colonies that dear Virgon occupied oh-so-recently. And in Canceron's case... recently enough that it still has an effect on certain things. Not so much culture, but definitely influences parts of speech, as well as their science and industry. She's picking through the pile, with a glance over her shoulder to Kyle at the marine's words. There's an arch of her brow: "I can think of roughly a dozen things I'd rather be doing. Perhaps I should start engaging in these 'laundry bets' I hear about so often." There must be a reason they're so popular. At the arrival of the other two pilots, she offers a nod before she goes back to separating her laundry. Only once she has all the scrubs in one pile does she swiftly (to save everyone from the horrors) dump them into the nearest available machine.

"...smells like a box full of crushed assholes? Yea, I wasn't going to mention in but damn." Kyle's nose scrunches up in a sour face. Working quickly, she tucks her hair away from her eyes and pulls out her detergent atop the mixed collection of clothing. She spins the white, mesh bag around and frowns at a hole in the side of it, but after poking her pinky through the frayed fringe, she shudders and refocuses on her work. "Just make sure you make a laundry bet with someone qualified to carry a bag of class two biohazard, amirite?" Kyle giggles into her turn towards the washing machine, laughing openly in time for the newcomers to walk in on the jovial magic that is...the laundry room.

Isolde, however, gets a strange look from Kyle. Matched with the smile and upward tick of Kyle's head, it's a friendly gesture, but eyes narrow ever-so, as if piecing something together. Thunk! Kyle blinks it away and shoves open her washing machine. "Uh-Oh, underwear rescue squad."

Stumbling his way into the laundry room and trying not to laugh, Van shakes his head, "Oh, I believe you, I believe you." He turns about to look for the machine in question... and finds that they have an audience. A faint smile touches his lips, and he inclines his head in greeting, "Apparently, there is a washer emergency. Excuse me." Van looks back to Isolde, one hand touching the small of her back as he half-turns so that she can indicate the stuck washer, and he can start in its direction, "I'm also not quite certain why you brought me here rather than one of the Marine giants." Still, he approaches the edge of the indicated washer, giving Kyle a bit of wary side-eye for her description of the biohazard in question, and starts to study the machine.

"Yes," Ines says, very seriously, in a decliate Leonese accent that makes the sentiment wholly ridiculous. "Like a bag of crushed assholes." She covers a yawn with her hand, and blinking in the aftermath notes, "Nobody likes doing laundry, Doc. But at least if you do it yourself it gets done properly."
She swivels her head to look as this so-called rescue squad arrives, and on spotting Van her eyes narrow. It hasn't been long since she met him on the tarmac not half an hour after getting dropped off at Argyros, but she's met a lot of people since then. "Milk Money?" she says quietly, to herself. Trying to remember. "Milk Dud?" What was it, again?

"You didn't believe me like five minutes ago," says the Tauron. "You first were being very Picon about it." Then she snorts a bit at the mention of the marines. "I'm gonna tell Cate you said she's a giant." Then she indicates the broken washer, several units down from the one where Kyle is working. "That one." Kyle's comment gets a wry smile from the innocuous woman, and she nods. "If he's not careful, I'm gonna petition for that to be his new callsign." Speaking of callsigns, Isolde beams toward Ines with her usual shine of dimples. "Hi. It's... Kes... trel, right?"

"Just remember," Sarita offers in an aside to Ines (perhaps Kyle, as well), "if Tomak ever makes claim to the state of his shorts... you can remind him of these." Her scrubs. She gets that machine going before returning to the rest of her laundry. Which is much more sane. Her officer uniform and general clothing items. Nothing awry there. "Can't say I've ever heard it described as a bag of crushed assholes before. Though I suppose the aftermath of surgery to rectify rectal prolapse could qualify if one wanted to describe it in that fashion..." She looks to the problematic washer as she gets the rest of her laundry in another machine; likely mentally making note of it for future reference, so as to avoid it for her own usage.

By the lack of care that Kyle takes in dumping a week's worth of bras, shirts, pants, and other assorted black and white underwear into the washing machine, the marine may very well being a couple's dispute with her clothing. "You know, I actually like doing laundry when it's for the right cause, like a date night, or because something interesting is happening and you want to make sure the good underwear is ready, but all of this uniform code blah-blah be ready just takes the fun out of it." Kyle beams when both Sarita and Ines make 'box of crushed assholes' sound so classy. Well, classier than the Caprican can say it. "Oh my god, Doc, please never say rectal prolapse ever again while you're yoinking that smell around. You both had me at box of crushed assholes but rectal pro-no. No." Kyle pats her belly with a grossed-out face and spins the dial.

Part one done, Kyle saunters down towards the table and dumps herself into the chair next to Ines, slumping into a slouch and slapping one booted heel onto its top. "So what's being Picon-y like?" Kyle looks over to Isolde and Van. "I totally need to compare notes with the Piconese in my bunkhouse."

"Ursa," a generous interpretation of the acronym, "Would be a rather impressive callsign, actually. Until I had to explain it." Light humor touches Van's features as he studies the door closely, leaning this way and that to look at the latch and hinges from all angles. He even risks his uniform blues to grasp onto the top, pull himself up a little with a grunt, and study the top. Evidently, he doesn't mean to try to open the dryer through brute force. "Ah yes, Kestrel. I believe I met you on Argyros, before all the chaos. Van Newton-Asa. How are you settling in?" Looking back to Kyle, he responds, "I believe she means that I was asking if she had been sure that the cycle was done, and that there wasn't anything jammed in the latch, and other reasonable, logical issues that might be construed as 'Picon.'" His gray eyes flicker over to Isolde, the senior pilot barely holding back a smile with a commendable but imperfect deadpan.

Ines snaps out of her fruitless attempt to remember the proper callsign as she's addressed, glancing up at Isolde with the suddenness of someone who feels they've just been caught at something. "Ah?" Processing. "Oh! Yes!" And then the guilt creeps in, as she tries to place a name with the face and fails, miserably. Her smile freezes in place as she wracks her brain. The panic is well-concealed, but her eyes widen gradually until her brows finally knit and she's forced to admit, apologetic, "I'm...I don't...um, remember. Your name." Surely they must have met, right? The guilt ratchets up a notch when the other pilot -- Milk Man, gods, that was it -- remembers her without a hitch. She feels like the worst, but brightens, anyway. "Pretty well. Everyone's been..." She hesitates. "Good. To me."

As Kyle drops into the chair next to hers, she turns her head and knits her brows, murmuring sotto: "Really? 'Prolapsed' is where you draw the line?"

Laliru waddles into the room, a massive bag held before her, her arms stretching around it. How she saw where she was going was another feat all together, as no one can see her eyes, her torso, or even her head. All that proves it's something human are her lean legs, the show of her upper limbs, and the very tips of her fannining, flooftastic curls. Humming to herself, she moves along, slowly, trying to peek around and glance about the surroundings in search of an open table, and better yet, open washing machines.

"I'll try to remember to only mention rectal prolapse when I have other smells, marine." There might be a ghost of a smile on the Canceron woman's features. Fortunately for Laliru, Sarita has just abandoned a section of table after sorting her laundry. It leaves a decent section to work in. The woman grabs up her bag and drops it atop one of the machines she's using as a marker for 'occupied.' Not that one can miss the rumble and tumble of the machine working away. She moves across to lean against a couple of others as introductions start going about. All she can provide, finally, is to tilt her head towards Ines. "I only know Correa here." So helpful, that. "The joys of being in sickbay all the time." She may actually be serious. For a note, the Captain (along with a number of the other doctors) showers in the medical lounge and not in the Head. But then, considering the state of her scrubs, that may be a blessing for the others in the Wolves as well. "Sarita Hargrave," she provides, as a last.

Isolde beams at Ines, and nods. "I'm Pi." She catches the panic and holds up her hands, all nine fingers extended and an obvious nub where her ring finger had once been on her left hand. "No sweat. You're new. I don't think I knew everyone's name until like... maybe yesterday." She flashes another grin before she looks over to Kyle, smirking a bit at the idea of what it means to be Picon. "It's kinda like going for a nice stroll on a beach, and then a seagull poops in your hair. Quite lovely to look at," and she looks at Van, "but then there's always more shit to deal with." She at least hip-checks Van in her loving way as she saunters along after him. "Isn't that how your callsign already is?" She asks Van, and then looks back to the ladies gathered. She smiles to Sarita, bobbing her head. "Isolde Asa-Newton, and this is Van Newton-Asa. But you can call me Pi and him Milk Man. Air Wing."

Kyle props her hands against both sides of her face, pulling back gently on the skin that runs the sides of her eyes. While she rubs in circular ways, her eyes tighten into slits, but the hazel orbs manage to the corners of their sockets to meet Ines' attention. "I'm going to be honest with you all? I don't know what a prolapse is and I don't want to, but right now I've got an image in my head of those grinder machines that make ground beef or my brother's first wife. She's definitely a-" Kyle blanches, tongue pulling back. "-a thing that Sarita Hargrave just said."

Kyle bites down on her grin, mock-grumping in a sudden reach for an empty box of dryer sheets on the table. She lobs it towards Sarita. "Kyle Costello. Marines."

Kyle tips her chair back onto two legs and stretches her neck high, eyes brightening at the shock of hair Laliru is bringing into the Laundry Room. She lifts her arm to give the woman a raise. "Ooooo that's a good way to describe the Piconese." Kyle snap-points to Isolde, then to Van. "But wait, do you mean the Piconese are lovely to look at, or did you mean that they're lovely to look at after a seagul bombs in their haiSSSHWait." SCROOOCH. Kyle stands up. "Did you two get married before or after I, you know, fell out of that Raptor?"

Hipchecked, Van rocks easily, mock-scowling at Isolde at her description, "I'll have you know that being... blessed... by a seagull is considered good luck in some parts of Picon." That lasts a moment longer, and then he adds, "Usually by those who were not so blessed though." He fiddles with the latch for a moment, frowning as the washer door does not yield to his initial foray, "Don't worry, I try to remember the callsigns at least of all of the new pilots. I remember all too well how awkward it was when everyone treated you only as the 'Eff-Enn-Gee.'" He sniffs at Isolde's mention of his callsign, wryly adding, "Not particularly. Milkman mostly sounds boring and is boring." Kyle's question draws a faint chuckle, "After. During our last shore leave, actually. We were just engaged when Izzy when down. I had forgotten you were on that Raptor as well. Welcome back." Finally, he looks over to the doctor, "And welcome aboard, Sarita. Unless you've been onboard for a while, and then I'm sorry -- and very glad -- that we've never met before." The newcomer gets a nod, but with all the discussion whirling about, that's the best Van can do.

Laliru sets her things down, lavender eyes wide as they move from face to face, drinking in their conversation, as odd as it was, and blinking a few times. Mouse like, she sinks back a bit, starting to shuffle out her belongings into neat piles before stuffing them into vacant machines. "Um," she starts, a hand up to get someone's attention. "What y'talkin 'bout y'insides bein' on de outside of y'butt?" Pause, blink, then back to her work.

<FS3> Sarita rolls Reflexes: Success (7 5 4 1)

Kyle's answer has Ines lifting her hand to momentarily cover her eyes, her cheek hollowed as she bites the inside of it, waiting for the urge to laugh to pass. It's a giddy look, and it owes itself to the fact that she's entered that stage of tired where her whole body feels as though it's humming.
What she has for Isolde and Van, though, is gratitude, and it shows plainly on expressive features. "Pi. And Milk Man. I'll remember this time. Is that...pie, as in delicious, or pi, like numbers?" While she asks, she answers Sarita's mention of her with a finger-gun gesture and half-smile, which she cultivates to the full deal for the new arrival, once they've put down their laundry so that they can even see it.

It's by sheer luck that Sarita manages to deflect that box of dryer sheets from hitting her upside the head. It careens off on the floor, harmlessly, as she tilts her head a bit for the marine. "Well, if you're really curious, I could show you come slides sometime, Costello." For the two pilots, her brow furrows. "I spent so much time with marines, I'm used to using surnames, but in your cases-" Asa-Newton, Newton-Asa... "Callsigns might be easier, I think?" She looks a bit concerned, briefly. Helpless. There's a worried glance cast towards Ines. But then Laliru pipes up and she blinks towards the newcomer, gesturing. "Well, ah, they felt my scrubs smelled like crushed assholes. It was the closest comparison, even if I had no such surgeries today." She shrugs, moving to retrieve the box she'd flung off across the room. After picking it up, she does look to Van. "I was transferred in while the unit was at Agryos."

Isolde laughs brightly at Kyle's reaction, and she nods. "Yes. Very last minute when we were last on Scorpia." Then she shifts aside to make room for Laliru, and she beams to the woman. She finally catches on to the side conversation that has to do with butts, and she glances over toward Sarita, and then to Ines, and to Kyle and Van, and she casually adds, "Well, every body poops." She manages to keep a pretty straight face before she cracks a mirthful smile. When Van goes back to fiddling with the washer, she stands on her tiptoes to peek over his shoulder. "I tried that," she says, not at all helpfully. Then she pops back onto her feet and smiles to Ines. "Bit of both, but mostly Pi like the numbers. Spider, our old CAG, dubbed me Pi after some rather dirty jokes about my mother's famous chocolate pie. But he knows I like numbers, so I think he was pretty graceful in making the slight adjustment."

"Oh frak me, lady, that's what that is?" Kyle stops in place and covers her face with her hands, scrubbing furiously. "Maybe if all I see are spots my imagination will stop. No. Doctor. Noooo." Kyle turns on her heel and drops back into her chair, face in hands, semi-ruined.

A long, mournful croaking sound escapes from between Kyle's fingers while she shoulders against Ines. Somewhere between a horror movie death rattle and a rectal prolapse trying to 'throat sing'.

"Save me, Ines." Kyle mutters, then drags her fingers over her face. Her face is white and streaked with red lines from her fingers when she looks to the Asa-Newton clan. "Congratulations, you two. And...thank you. I-" Kyle cringes Isolde's way. "I recognized you from the Raptor and I think I gave you a look earlier, which was that. I didn't know if it was right place or not but...thank you." Kyle lulls her eyes closed and huffs a charmingly sarcastic gust of air. "And my sister in law is definitely a...prolapse."

"How dey know what dat smells like? Dey bottle it up 'r somet'ing?" Laliru smirks, a bit of pink flushing across her cheeks as if the question, or topic, was a bit questionable. "Dats what scrubs for dough." She relents with a passive shrug of her shoulders, finally putting the rest of her laundry in their proper place. Soap in, door shut, the machines rumble to life. Laliru, on the other hand, hops up onto her table, crossing her legs like a mocha lotus, and looking out and over the rest of those present. "Sorry, don' mean t'int'rupt, but s'nice t'meet y'all. M'Laliru. Don' got a fancy call sign, dough."

"Callsigns are perfectly acceptable, Doctor." There's a bit of weary acceptance to Van's words, "Off-duty, given names are also acceptable on-ship, if you are so inclined." He nods at her response, casting Isolde a vaguely put-upon look over his shoulder, "If you want me to open this washer, you're going to need to let me try what I want." He gives Laliru another nod at the introduction, "It seems to mostly be the pilots who do. And a few Marines, I suppose. You're not a pilot, are you?" Checking over the hinges again next, he gives the washer's door a little tug from that side, frowning and then offering a faint smile to Kyle, "Thank you."

"I see. Well." Ines glances between Isolde and Van, and gets a twinkle of a look with all of the marriage talk. "Milk and pie, they do go well together, traditionally." She draws her shoulders up in a lopsided little shrug -- at herself, for being corny. "Congratulations."
The doc's worried look perks her brows, but before she can ask Kyle is having something adjacent to a meltdown, and somehow expects Ines to save her. That's going to be pretty difficult for the pilot to do, laughing the way she starts laughing: silently, but hard enough that it makes her voice a little strained when she's finally able to say, "What, are you a squeamish marine?" Fascinated. "I've never seen -- " Pause. Somber, suddenly. "But the doc is very brave."
She lifts a hand as she glances up to introductions, and points at herself for the new face: "Ines. Or Kestrel."

Laliru smiles Van's way and shakes her head, sending those massive curls swaying and bouncing. "No, sir. M'a medic, n' feet t'de ground." Nibbling her lower lip, she glances around once more, trying to link faces to names, stories to voices. "S'nice dat y'happy now, 'gardless of what's happenin'." A nods, briefly, the girl rubs at her somewhat roughed up arms, fingers and knees before adjusting her seat on the table.

Having just gotten off CAP, Charles drags his duffel in with little regard for the contents. Suit tied over his waist, he reaches the closest unoccupied washer and opens his dirty laundry bag and begins tossing items in. a nod to the folks he might recognize is given but not much else.

"Please don't say 'dough', even though I know you weren't actually saying 'dough'." Kyle throws her head back, ponytail mostly unraveling and hanging against the back of the chair. "No, it's just not fair. Now everything I'm hearing and thinking is like..." Kyle holds up her fingers in a circle. Her fingers explode the circle outwards. "Frak, even Milk and Pi over there, talking about trying what I want and in my head, I'm just-" Kyle raps her fingers against her temple and furrows her browline from Laliru, to Sarita, then to Ines. "-I'm not squeamish, I'm not. It's just stuck in my head now."

Kyle blinks and looks around the room.

"What's that medical procedure they do on crazy people where they jam the needle in past your eye to poke your breain?" Kyle, again, makes a circle with her hand, then crushes it. "Do I need staff approval to request a temporary version of that?"

"I... am sorry for your sister-in-law?" Sarita clearly doesn't know what to offer in response to Kyle there. For Laliru's query, the woman gives a small shrug. "I find with marines, it's often best to just go with the flow. They... have their own language, after a fashion." She lifts her hands to her hair, re-adjusting her bun somewhat; tightening it, despite it's rather sloppy state. "Only the pilots have official call signs, though some others have... nicknames, I suppose." When Kyle speaks up about other procedures, she blinks. "A lobotomy? There's no temporary version, though there are certain medications that can emulate what you're requesting, but I'm not very well-versed in those other than a generalized knowledge, so I can't say if they're temporary or not, though I'd imagine you'd be taken off-duty for some time."

Isolde opens her mouth, closes it, and glances at Van. "Have you ever made that connection before?" She actually sounds a bit surprised, perhaps not having thought of it until this very moment. She then smiles toward Ines and Kyle, settling herself up on the washer beside the one Van is toiling with. She hooks her hands on either side of her, glancing up to Laliru, and then beyond her toward the incoming pilot. She smiles slightly to Durant, and then looks back at Kestrel and Kyle, and she flashes a wry smile to Sarita. "I think we're all going to remember this conversation," she says helpfully. Then she looks toward Kyle and nods with Sarita, prompted with, "Yup, a lobotomy. Not recommended." Though Sarita offers a lot more professional advice on the subject.

Laliru offers a ndos Sarita's way. "I know. M'one 'f dem." She winks, giving away her station in life. Kyle's request, however, causes the girls face to darken with worry. Clear concern on her features, she slips off the table and pads closer in the woman's direction. She keeps her distance, however, offering Kyle a bubble all her own. Hand up, she gives a wave of greeting, and then smiles anew. "She's right," Laliru begins, nodding toward Sarita's lobotomy talk. "M'new, I get dat, but if y'need 'nyt'ing n' I c'n help wit it? Y'lemme know, ok?" Standing taller, she looks around the room, to new faces (all of them to her) and older alike. "Y'all like cinnamon rolls?" She inquires, skipping her violet eyes about for reactions. "I made s'm earlia, just didn' know where t'take'm." A playful grin tugs at her lips. "How 'bout we share, non? Ain' a hamma to de head, but...it's s'mt'ing betta."

Van nods to Ines, chuckling softly at her mention, "Traditionally, and usually, yes." He glances back to Isolde, "Except when Pi keeps looking over Milkman's shoulder and telling him what she's already tried." There's enough of a smile on his lips and in his voice to make the words fond annoyance, rather than actual annoyance, and he finally grabs hold of the washer's handle and just gives an almighty yank. It doesn't open, but it does move, and something clicks inside of it. Popping it open with an easy pull on his next attempt, he grins faintly at Isolde, "I'm sure that you loosened it, Izzy. And no, I had not made that connection." Durant's arrival gets a nod, and then he nods to Laliru, "I understand the impulse for some people to keep their boots on the ground, even if it runs completely contrary to my preferences. And we certainly all need medics now and then." Kyle's description of the procedure she wants to attempt causes Van's eyes to widen slightly, and he even looks a little green, where he did not at the mention of crushed assholes.

Durant pours the liquids used to clean clothes into the machine before he lets it rip. The conversation the girls are having catch his attention but he only smirks and looks down to the spinning device as it cycles to start phase one of washing. "Sure. I believe most people do," he answers Laliru.

"I think a temporary lobotomy is called 'very drunk,'" Ines stage-whispers for Kyle. She glances up to find another face she doesn't recognize, but there's no time to wave before he's doing what most people, contrary to all available current evidence, come to the laundromat to do: laundry.
Which reminds her, finally, to get up out of her seat and go to check on her own laundry, which she hasn't done since being unceremoniously roused from face-down slumber on the table by Sarita's intensely pungent load of scrubs-laundry. She pops open a dryer door along the wall and leans, rifling through the contents to see whether or not any of it is still wet.

"I might have to get in on that, since, you know, lobotomies are off the menu tonight, Ines. Not that this would actually be happening. Frak, so much brass in one room." Kyle rubs at the side of her face one last time, furtively, then plants both of her feet onto the table. She folds her fingers together then traps them against her belly, looking over to Laliru. Her head tilts and slowly, she smiles. "I'm Kyle Costello, and you're a special person for trying to change the subject, which I want to take a moment to tell you that I appreciate." Kyle extends a hand to the woman to shake.

Kyle turns in her lean to look upside down at the room behind her. She points menacingly at Sarita with angry brows, then falls into an upside-down study of Durant. "I know right?" Kyle calls out to him. "I'm amazed you're not running from the room. You're a very brave man, I wager."

"I specifically recall saying that you didn't want to know what it was on my scrubs," Sarita says in her own defense, lifting both hands. Nor has she said what it was. "There was mention of crushed assholes. I just noted what... such a thing was most likely to be." The woman frowns, looking down at her feet. There's a glance to the washing machines that are running with her laundry. "I should leave. I can come back later for these." She pushes upright from the machines she's leaning on and turns, as if to aim for the door.

"Hey, look... you fixed it." Isolde peeks slowly into the washer, as if expecting something to be totally nightmarish inside. Instead, she pulls out a pair of simple hipster underwear -- not regulation! -- and gives it a good shake before she shrugs. "Looks to be okay." She then slides off her washer so she can start hauling the clothes to the dryer, listening to the back and forths as she goes. She hauls all the clothes into the dryer, and then promptly shuts the door. "Alright, we're back on schedule." She smiles to Van, and deposits a rather innocent kiss to his cheek. "Thanks, Milk Man." She teases him now before she gives his shoulder a light shove. "Cm'on... I promised to get you back to that game... what were you guys playing anyway?" Beat pause. "Please tell me it was not that Picon swashbuckling piratey game..." She starts to shove Van for the door after Sarita, waving to the others as she does. "Good meeting you all... and seeing you again, Ky!"

Durant grins as his browns look up to Kyle. "I take marines from point A to point B efficently, so yes, bravery is something that helps." He offers his fist so she can bump it as means of greeting and trying to be cool. "Charles Durant. Raptor." He does wave to Iso as she preps for take-off.

Laliru keeps her smile, but it's pensive. The worry lingers in her gaze on Kyle, but she gives her hand out in return. Her skin is a bit rough, worn, used; apparently she wasn't a stranger to hard work. She smiles a bit more and pulls away. "Ok! I be right back!" She promises, giving a little jog, curls bouncing, as she heads off to fetch said rolls.

The sound of imminent departures causes Ines to bend her knees so that she can look through the clear part of the dryer door at the colorful blobs making their way toward the door. She waves through that improvised window, just in case any of them glance in her direction, and calls, "See you!"
She's starting to turn and search out the basket she needs for carrying her clean clothes in when she hears Sarita, and with a pivot she grasps the edge of the dryer door and leans up onto one toe, leaning far enough to look around the edge of it, her expression -- or at least the top half of it, which is as much of her face as becomes visible to the rest of the room -- one of mild concern. "Doc?"

Van peeks into the washer as well, his brows lifting slightly until Isolde pronounces the washer's bounty unharmed, "Excellent." He smiles faintly at the kiss, then rolls his eyes in tolerant amusement at the use of his callsign. The commentary on his choice of enjoyment causes the Picon to scoff, "'Wooden Ships and Iron Sailors' is not just some swashbuckling piratey game." Beat pause, "It's the best swashbuckling piratey game any of the colonies every produced." He offers nods all around, and then trails after Isolde, teasing and bickering with all appearance of enjoyment.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles. We appreciate the safe rides, we do." Kyle offers to Durant while she shakes Laliru's hand. She tucks her hand free and waves Lolly out the door. "And Doc? Doc." Kyle shifts her attention to Sarita. The pink tip of Kyle's tongue pokes out at the edge of her mouth. "I'm seriously just frakking with you. Things I've been through, I'm not going to throw up over the idea of an outtiewhere there should be an innie. Really, it's hilarious."

Kyle twists out of her seat to rise. Arms high above her head in a stretch, a hint of ink shows at her hip when her belly bares, and after a yawn, she's hopping to sit on the washing machine that's currently mooshing her clothes together.

"Okay, new subject now that the newlyweds are leaving the room. By-eeeee." Kyle waves to the departing, then clears her throat. "Room discussion: Which colony's Quorum delegates do you think with have the first major scandal? I'm kinda leaning towards a Leonis sex scandal."

There's hesitation from Sarita as both Ines and Kyle call after her. The woman leans back a bit on her heels, looking towards both, dark gaze uncertain. She crosses her arms over her chest. "Alright." It's a somewhat defensive word and pose, but at least she's not fleeing. "I'm sorry, I'm just... not so good outside of sickbay. Sometimes." That's an understatement. She gets far too much 'in her head' if she's not paying attention. At the question from Kyle, she blinks a couple of times. "Chances are it will be Virgon, without any colonies to invade."

Laliru returns with haste, but before she's even near the space of hot air, hot water, and suds, vanilla and cinnamon creep into the door. Practically beaming, the wild haired girl sets the platter down, a batch of rolls all nestle together, each stuck to one another, tops glazed and pastries still warm. "Dere y'go." She offers out, meeting each remaining member with her eyes and invitation to feast. "Com'on, now, don' be shy." She urges, waiting.

Durant nods to Kyle and nods to Van as he passes by to vacate the room. Rubbing his nose, "Aquaria is boring as Hades, and I am not current on social or political events, but you can bet sex sells news." He chuckles just s Laliru bolts in with pastires. He does pick one up and gives it a whiff before biting into it.

The concerned look from Ines softens to something sympathetic. "Oh, Doc. Soldiers are a box of crushed assholes as well." The phrase she borrowed from Kyle doesn't sound any better rolling off of her tongue now than it did the first time she said it -- always that vague sense of something awful, wrapped up in lovely wrapping paper with a bow stuck on top.

With Sarita drawn back in, she begins to rifle through her dryer again, folding things and setting them down in the nearby basket. "Mmm...there will be a Leonese sex scandal," opines the Leonese pilot, "But it won't make the news. It'll be sorted out behind closed doors with vicious threats and maneuverings, and someone's daughter will be married to someone else's bore of a nephew..." It's possible to hear the roll of her eyes.

She freezes with the aroma of baked goods, and bends to peek through the dryer door again, but after a long (longing) look, she sucks a breath in and exerts the willpower to refrain. "I can't! But thanks."

"The least those Quorum members can do while making decisions for all of us is to be entertaining about it. Tauron and the mobs there are old news. So a Virgon or boring-ass Aquarian sex scandal would be great." Kyle's belly makes a hollow, splorch of a sound the moment the invisible waves of pastry goodness waft in front of her nose. She snaps her head towards the tray and follows it like an animal tracking prey. Once it's set down, Kyle's off of the washer, stalking over to grab one for herself. "Thank you; you're a lifesaver." Kyle grins to Laliru, then takes her rightful place back atop the washer.

"It's alright, Doc. We do form our own little pockets of social language. I play, but I don't bit-wait, what do you mean you can't?" Kyle looks over to Ines. "For medical reasons or are you seriously on a diet with all of-" Kyle waves to the BATTLESHIP around her.

"I try." Laliru grins, taking the compliment for its double meaning, and her station. She leaves the tray there, open and waiting for anyone else who may want one for themselves. Ines' refusal, however, causes her head to cant curiously, but Kyle is quick to voice her own questions. Moving away from the plate, offering Durant a smile in passing, she returns to her table and looks over her machines, still tumbling and wiggling about with bubbly water. Back up on the top, she pulls her knees to her chest, and hugs around them casually, looking very much like a dark plant with a frizzy top.

"I've been embedded in zones with marines before, but I still don't always... understand them." Sarita frowns a bit, shaking her head after a moment. Maybe it's a doctor thing. Maybe it's a marine thing. Likely it's a Sarita Hargrave thing. Outside of on-duty, she's got her moments of being just slightly out of phase. This is one of them. She does, however, perk up as the cinnamon rolls appear, drifting towards them. "I shouldn't," she opines, reaching for one, "but they do smell wonderful." Ultimately, she does pick one up to pull pieces off of to nibble at. "I'll need to spend more time in the gym this week to make up for this."

Durant pans his head briefly towards the doctor and smiles a bit before he licks his lips. His washer stops and it seems that the rinse cycle is about to start. He puts the roll in his mouth and pours the softner into the machine. He takes the roll out. "Been flying with them for years, doctor and I still they amuse me." He glaces at her as he downs the last piece of sweetness.

"I went on a run with a marine last night and it almost killed me," Ines says by way of answer, her tone theatrically morose and self-pitying. She's exaggerating, but only a little. "I've got a lot of work ahead of me as it is without -- you know. Making it more difficult than it needs to be." She sounds grudging about it; she's never been the sort to eschew good food, as is probably to be expected given her colonial heritage. Ten hour meals are not unheard-of on Leonis.
"I'm starting to think all you need to know, dealing with Marines, is that taking them seriously is a huge mistake." Pause. "..Unless you're in combat," she concedes.

Laliru just smiles. She looks from face, to face, much like she has before, and her teeth nibble to her lower lip. "Oh, I don' know," she begins, rejoining the conversation all in due time. "I don' t'ink we all dat bad." We. All. Laliru did say she was boots to the ground after all. Just letting that settle, she gives a wiggle and slips from her table, doing much the same as Durant was, but with her own effects. "S'm'times, I like bein' takin' seriously. Den 'gain, I don' really put on airs 'bout t'ings."

Kyle closes her eyes as she sinks her teeth into the roll. Eyelashes flutter, and though the sound that it escapes her is pleased, it's quiet. She tears a hunk of the roll off with her teeth and chews by her lonesome. "Is it now? I'm a marine and I should always be taken seriously. For instance." Kyle hops back off of the washer and moves to stand in front of Ines, holding the roll in the air. "This is a cinnamon roll. I fell out of a crashing Raptor two months ago, and if it ever happens again, I'm going to think that I roll'd when I could." Kyle makes a pronounced effort of taking a bite in front of Ines, then turns. "We're given few joys in life, this work we do."

Kyle squeezes Ines' arm, then heads down the row, nudging and squeezing shoulders, from Laliru, to Durant, to Sarita. "I'll be back in a little bit to swap out my laundry. I'm going to eat this thing and twinkle my toes and float down the halls back to the bunks and hide half of it where it'll benefit me later." Kyle stops by the door and mock-curtsies with a dip of her knees. "Gentleman. Ladies."

Picking at her cinnamon roll, Sarita shakes her head. "I think I'd rather stick to the infirmary," she notes, finally. "Or drinking. I like going out drinking." But who doesn't? "Everything else is-" she waves a hand off past her head, still holding a bit of the roll between her fingers. "This war has just... messed so many of us up, really."

Durant plucks a second roll of the tray as he waves to Kyle on her way out. He listens to the women and smirks, "None of our jobs are simple anymore. I mean, I was in Artic base Thula freezing my nose off for months and now I wish I was back there." He shrugs and bites the cinnamon delicacy.

Behind the dryer door, suddenly there is a Kyle, exacting wicked revenge for all of that earlier prolapse talk. Ines puts on a very fine show of appearing thoroughly scandalized by the marine's audacity, to so obviously enjoy her cinnamon roll right in front of Ines. The nerve! All in good fun, of course, as the rueful but genuine smile attests, her answer to Kyle's friendly squeeze of her arm. "See you, Kyle," she singsongs by way of parting, folding laundry all the while.
She has to lean to respond to Laliru and Sarita, at least if she wants to make eye contact. "No...I don't think you're bad." Her tone is apologetic, reassuring, and a little amused. "I was thinking about it today, and I think I actually know more marines now than pilots. The ones I've met just seem to be constantly..." She grapples for the words, and settles on a Virgon saying: "'Taking the piss.' But going out drinking, yes. That's one thing we can all get behind, hm?"
For the first time since Durant came in, she considers him thoughtfully, then asks: "Do you really?" Pause. "Wish you were there?"

Hand up, she waves Kyle away, watching after the departing woman with a healthy level of worry. Tsking, she shakes her head and fixes up her clothing, listening as the machine starts to spin, rapidly, to fling out all the water and excess moisture. Sarita's comment causes her face to soften, returning to a somber expression, and once reclaiming her seat, she falls silence once more.

Once she finishes the cinnamon roll, Sarita looks to her hands and purses her lips a bit. "Ah, well now-" They're a bit sticky. Rather so, actually. She glances around to the others, lifting them. "I really ought to take my leave now. I need to wash my hands before it's time to dry my clothes." She tilts her head at the others. "I'll see you around." Beat. "But hopefully not in medical."

Durant pans to Ines and sorta hitches a shoulder adding, "It is not my best comparison, but being shot at by cylons and making sure the holes in the raptor get patched up afterwards feels a lot worst than living in sub zero temperatures." He nods to Sarita as she announces her departure. Another bite and the roll is nearly gone.

When Sarita announces her decision to leave, Ines leans and looks again with an echo of that earlier concern -- like she's checking to see whether or not the doctor really does have sticky hands, or is trying to escape again. Whatever she sees must content her, though. "Alright. See you, doc."
She, herself, is almost finished with folding her laundry, but she takes her time. If she doesn't do it here, it's all going to wind up shoved into her locker. She glances at the other new doctor, and then at Durant, but it's a moment before she says anything else. "Why do you do it, then?" The words aren't flippant or challenging -- just curious.

Laliru didn't have much of anything else to say. She watches, listens, and keeps her attention set on her laundry. Once done, she starts moving the wet clothing to some free dryers. Set, running, she blinks and presses a hand to the base of her stomach. Muttering something in Leonese, she clears her throat and smiles to those who remain. "Excuse me." She then rushes herself away, pointedly leaving the cinnamon rolls behind.

As his machine stops, Charles opens the lid of his washer and begins to take hs garments out. "I might ask the same of you," he says as he recalls seeing Ine's face in the squad room before missions. "We don't really have the option of deciding if we want to be placed in a battlestar to fight the evil forces." He smirks, "I guess for me it all boiled down to me wanting to get off Aquaria."

Ines curves a small smile, the tone of it tired -- she still has backward writing on her cheek where she fell asleep on the pad she was taking notes in. She glances around to lift a hand and wave, but the new medic moves quickly, and she's only waving at the woman's back.
"But I do want to be here," she tells the raptor pilot, returning her attention to him as she folds a shirt against the front of her body. "I don't wish I was anywhere else." That might be debatable, actually, but she sounds sure of herself.
She stoops to put the shirt in the almost-full basket. "I can understand enlisting to get away, though."

Durant nods. "I guess it is a somewhat dumb notion for a military pilot not liking to be shot at, but I honestly did not believe it would be so... frakked up." He slides both his hands into his side pockets and leans over the washer to look at Ines. "Viper pilots tend to have stronger nerves than us taxi drivers." He gives her his warmest smile. "I do love my job, but this war messed with my head often these days." Charles is absorbed in the manner you handle your clothing before it darts to the rolls. Too much sugar, he muses.

It's only because of the relative quiet of the laundromat that the little laugh from Ines is audible, kept for the most part in her throat. "Nobody-" She begins, then stops. Thinks. "No, some people probably do like being shot at," she amends. "But most of us don't. It's..." Straightening, she lifts the basket and holds it propped against one hip, regarding him thoughtfully. "It's about everything else. For me, at least. And I do love to fly." She shoots the tablet on her notepad over on one of the tables a look, lips pressing together more thinly, but doesn't share the thought that provokes the look, only adding, "Usually."
With her hands occupied with the basket, she steps around the dryer door and nudges it closed with her shoulder, carrying the basket to her earlier table. "It sounds like you've had a tough time of it."

The corners of Durant's lips curl into an ample grin and adds a nod of his head in acceptance to her little laugh. He listens as she further details about why she does the job and scratches his cheek a bit. "Usually. Okay." He crosses his ankles and watches her walk to the table she claimed before he arrived here. "We all have our share of difficult times and mine are not any special or too horrible to bare," he offers with a slight smirk.

Ines only sets the basket down long enough to reach for the notepad, tablet, and pen she left on the table, and tuck those things down into the side, beside her folded laundry. Then she picks the basket up again, obviously preparing to leave, though she faces the raptor pilot again for a moment, anyway. "Everyone's got a sad story," she agrees, a little subdued. "It's a war, right? But at least here, you can make a difference." She even seems to believe that little piece of fresh-faced idealism, still too new a soldier to have grown cynical. "Anyway, it was good to meet you. Have a good night!" When she reaches the door she remembers, and glances back. "Oh! I'm Ines." And then, after smiling in that friendly way of hers, she heads out into the hall without waiting for his name in turn.
She's really tired.

Durant gives a waves as he turns out the hatchway. Her repeats her name a few times and chuckles, turning to focus his attention on drying his clothes.


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