This Laundry Thing


Who: Brody and Open
When: Morning
Where: Laundromat

After reading a few responses on his journal entry about laundry, Brody was determined to try and clean his clothes without begging, or bribing, someone to do it for him. He had the laundry soap, and the basket of dirty clothes and fabric softener and those little weird sheets you put in the dryer. He assumed they went in the dryer. Inside the laundromat he set his clothes down on the ground and stared. There was something about separating clothes. Whites in hot water. Cold water for everything else? Could he put bleach on his sheets? Or would that make them splotchy? Brody was almost of the mind to just dump everything in one washing machine, but he didn't want his clothes turning different colors, or shrinking or whatever. So he began to separate, shoving the whites in one machine and the colors in the next. And then he held up a white t-shirt that had a colorful design on the front and sleeves. Did that count as color? Or white? Shit. Laundry shouldn't be so difficult. It should be like washing dishes. Run them under water, scrub them and set them aside to dry. Piece of cake, yeah? Or have a universal machine that would do all the separating and work for you. With a sigh, Brody lowered the t-shirt, glancing at his laundry forlornly. He had a feeling he was going to be there for awhile.

 - .

The problem with surviving a sadistic experiment for five months, was that the odds of having your clothes torn, stained, or otherwise ruined beyond repair, went up dramatically. Calvin, who hadn't come into the experiment with much clothing in the first place, was down to pretty much a week's worth of wear. Which meant a visit to the laundromat. Now, it wasn't that he hated laundry, as a rule, but dragging his dirty business across town to wash it? Calvin wasn't a fan. Still, there wasn't much of a choice in the matter.

He'd just began to start his first load when he noticed the dark haired kid staring at his laundry like it was the god damn Gordian knot. Cal watched curiously, thumbing coins into the washer while a smirk grew on his face. Yeah, he remembered the post from the other day, and two and two were connecting in his mind.

"Hey," he rumbled, raising his tone just over the volume of the washer starting, "you're that kid who can't wash his own damn clothes, aren't you?"

 - .

It wasn't until the voice startled the shit out of him that Brody realized he wasn't alone. Yeah, laundry was just that mind consuming. He jerked his gaze away from his clothes to the guy, staring in confusion for a brief moment before it smoothed away into a slightly sheepish smile. "Wow, am I that transparent?" Was he going to be known as the guy - the kid? - that couldn't wash his own clothes around town now? That was a shit thing to be known for, in Brody's opinion, but he supposed there could be worse things. Brody shoved the colorful white t-shirt into the machine with the rest of his colors and bent down to grab another handful to try and sort. "I can wash them, I just don't know if I'm washing them the right way? All that talk about pre-treating, and cold and hot water and stain removers and dryer sheets and different cycles and shaking shit out... shouldn't be so difficult just to get some shit clean. Dishwashers do it all for you. Rinse, scrub and dry. I don't pre-treat my damn coffee mugs, you know? This shit you gotta stick around and wait for it to finish, and then move it to a whole new machine and hope you don't shrink everything. Walking around town with my stomach hanging out would probably give off the wrong idea or something and my ass can't handle tight jeans." Brody rambled on, not really sure what he was talking about anymore as he lifted up a gray hoodie. Color? Or whites? Shit.

 - .

The diatribe catches Calvin by surprise, and he listens mutely for the first few moments. "Christ," Cal cuts in as soon as the kid takes a breath, "if I'd known you were going to go off at the mouth like that, I wouldn't have said anything. Yes or no question, tiger. Keep it simple." Even given his words, he sounds more matter-of-fact than annoyed. He takes a moment to toss his second load in a spare washer, keeping an eye on the other man's laundry deliberation. He's tempted to have a little fun at the other man's expense, give him some bad advice, but he holds off for the moment.

"Now, don't mind me asking, but are you stupid, spoiled, or plain just lazy?" He asks in a conversational way, leaning back against the washer. Really, he'd been surprised no one had jumped the kid with that same question in his journal, but Cal figured the rest of them were feeling pretty much the same as him - tired. Didn't mean he was going to let the kid get off completely scot-free.

 - .

Brody hadn't really realized he had rambled on until the guy made mention of it. Hell, a part of him wasn't even sure what he had actually been talking about, since he'd been trying to concentrate on his color dilemma. Shaking his dark bangs from his eyes, Brody lowered the hoodie to catch sight of the guy again. "That was simple," he replied with a smirk. Simple for Brody, at least, but not many people knew that. Brody shoved the gray hoodie in with the whites before grabbing a pair of jeans and pulling the belt from the loops.

"Are those my only choices? Hmm. Well, I think I'm just lazy, but other people might tell you otherwise." Really, he was tired, but laundry had never been anything he enjoyed doing. He was trying though because he had to, and because it was normal and normal was what everyone seemed to be striving for right now. Brody grinned and shoved the jeans into the colors. "What about you now? Do I get to toss out three adjectives and ask you to choose one to describe yourself? I could probably think up a few with more than two syllables."

 - .

"You can try, sport, but I've been told I'm beyond description," Calvin huffed out in a laugh with a shrug of his shoulders. He pushed off from the washing machine before ambling over to the bench near the window, parking himself down and for the wait. "Tell you what though, champ," he continued, "you ever hear me whining to a bunch of strangers about how I can't clean my own clothes, then you can throw whatever god damn adjectives you want at me, excessive syllables and all." He looked the kid over as he spoke, sizing him up with a sort of casual suspicion Cal carried almost constantly these days. There didn't seem to be much to worry about from some kid doing laundry, but if there was one thing the House had taught him, it was that appearances were as deceiving as all hell. No way was that lesson fading anytime soon.

 - .

Brody snorted once and found it was easier to sort his clothes now that he had a pattern going. He shoved the last pair of jeans into the washer and picked up the laundry detergent, thinking he ought to read the instructions before dumping a bunch of liquid in. "No one's beyond description, old man. If people say that it's probably because they don't know you, or you do a really good job of being complicated enough that people can't pigeonhole you into particular attributes except for maybe... yeah, complicated. But not knowing someone doesn't stop first impressions from being made." Since his inability to do laundry had the guy thinking he was stupid or spoiled. He started reading the detergent bottle somewhat absently. He was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand and talking at the same time. "And I wasn't whining. I was asking for help, but I guess to some that might come across as whining. But hey, no one's perfect."