Laundry Woes
Laundry Woes
Summary: Martin is doing laundry. Jules comes in to do the same and they have a convo about their woes.
Date: PHD132
Related Logs: None
Players:
Jules..Martin..

The laundry is empty save for the form of Martin 'Dash' Black and his rocking washing machine. The solid laundry construct has one leg that's just short enough to be annoying, and if the look on Martin's face is any indication he's trying his best to ignore it. Sitting on a chair with his feet propped up on a similar chair at just the right leg's length, he stares blankly at the pages of a novel held in his hands.

A jauntily whistled tune pre-empts Jules appearance in the hatchway to the laundry. It transitions to a soft sung song. When she appears it's in her sweats and lugging a largish plastic hamper stuffed full of unmentionables. The one on top is white with pink kittens. Definitely -not- military issue. Moving on over, she sets her hamper down near Black and with a smile in his direction, starts loading up an empty machine. Her singing trails off and she says, "Evening, sir!"

Looking up just in time to see her start loading the machine, Martin's eyebrows lift at the white and pink-kittens in her posession. Blinking, the power of cute assaults his brain and causes it to stall. Shaking his head as if to ward off dizziness, he turns to look at her. "Evenin." He says, sliding his bookmark in between the pages of the book. Closing it, he pulls his feet away from the chair to give her and option of a place to sit. "What's the word around marine country? Anything new and interesting in your world?"

"There was some drama the other night… One of the Marines told a joke that wasn't very funny and one of the others got real upset over it. Ended up tossing his stuff out of the berthings," Jules rolls her eyes at the thought of the whole thing. She chucks some more underpants into the washer and looks Martin in the eyes, smiling, "How about you, sir?"

Martin looks up, eyebrows lifting at the idea of a fight in the Marine berthings. Ironically, he's sporting a fairly nice shiner over his left eye. It all becomes more apparent as he catches her field of vision. "Me? Well I'm a model citizen." He chuckles, sliding his book into his back pocket as he rises. "It's been an interesting last couple of days but nothing too serious. Did you catch fight night? I wasn't able to make it."

"Even model citizens have bad weeks." If Jules knows more than what she's said, she doesn't let on. She does look into the man's eyes though, gaze drifting to the black eye. "Fight night was pretty good. Marines on top, again. Pilots didn't do too badly, though. They put in a good showing, anyway. I imagine if fight night was in cockpits, Marines wouldn't do so hot… it's all relative." Then, with no preamble, she traces a finger along her left eye and asks, "Are you okay?"

Martin's lip pulls to the side in a cocky grin. "What this?" He points upwards in the direction of his eye. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just a random running, jumping, climbing on trees injury." He waves her off, downplaying it. The small bit of redness at the tip of his nose from a healing near-break screams fistfight. Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and flipping it over in his hand appraisingly, he looks back to her. "Well, you know, there's a reason why you guys get trained like you do and why we get trained the way we do. Different versions of the same animal." He extends his hand for a shake. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Martin Black. Callsign's Dash."

"Killers, we all be." Jules flashes Martin her best smile, lots of pearly whites there and takes his hand, gripping it firmly. "Private Juliette Ozymandias. Most people call me Sunshine." Shaking the hand in her palm, she adds, "I'm not an expert in hand-to-hand yet, but you look like you ran into a doorknob. A really tall doorknob. With a fist." Letting go of the hand in hers, she finishes with her laundry chucking and reaches into a pocket, coming up with a packet of detergent. It's torn open and drizzled inside. "Dash is a good callsign. Pretty sure I've heard tell of you on the coms every so often… You a hotshot ace pilot?"

"I can see why, you don't have that general aura of bitterness and spite. Don't see that too often nowadays." Dash smirks as he takes his hand back. Leaning against one of the dryers, he chuckles inwardly, shrugging as if to coyly refuse to admit just where he hid the stolen box of cookies. "Sometimes doorknobs with fists punch back. Who knew?" He grins, offering her a cigarette. "I haven't checked the killboards but I haven't been shot down in any capacity yet. But I'm pretty sure I'm up there on the top half of the board." He pauses. "Cigarette?"

"Naw, thanks. I don't smoke. But feel free," Jules says with a dismissive hand wave, tossing the empty packet in the nearest trash recepticle. "I'm not doing too badly either with my killcount. Can't really remember the exact number, but then again the Centurions all look the same." She punches the button the washing machine and let's it go, hopping up on top of it to keep it from jigging around too much. Despite her small mass, she does a fairly decent job. "So what were you reading?"

Martin pauses to light his cigarette with a zippo style lighter. Clapping it shut, he digs into his back pocket and produces a well worn paperback with a sultry lady in a green dress with a pistol on the front of it. Motioning that he's going to toss it over to her as a warning, he lets it lob in her direction. "I've made it through half of the horror novels I could find and I drew the shorter straw. It's this oversexed, stiflingly nor murder mystery. It's not bad. It's just not my usual." He chuckles, taking a moment to drag off of the cigarette. "I didn't know marines tallied kills. How hard are those things to bring down?"

Jules catches the book and oggles the cover. "Mmmmm. Classy. Mysterious. I'll have to make a note to pick it up… the pistol is telling me no, but the heaving bosoms are telling me yes, yes, yes…" Grinning, she flips through the book and skims some pages. "We don't really keep track officially or anything. But, it helps morale to think of all the hordes of toasters we've put down." She looks over the book at Martin. "They're… resilient. You have to aim for the head to really knock them out and without armor piercing rounds, you better say a prayer first."

Chuckling, Martin turns his gaze from her eyes towards the girl on the cover. "Yeah, bonus points for the dress with the plunging neckline but the fact that she's packing heat's a bit of a dealbreaker." He replies, laughter in his eyes. Turning to the ashtray, he taps the ashes from hsi cigarette into it and then looks back to her face. "Yeah, it's tit for tat, right? Out where I fight they're squirmy bastards that don't sit still but when you cut into them they go down faster."

"I'm a machine gunner, so that helps. Volume of bullets in the air and whatnot. Really puts the fear of the gods into the motherfrakkers." Jules sets down the book and lifts her hands like she's holding a phantom gun and pointing it at the pilot. "Bang bang." Her face is serious for a moment, but she cracks a wide smile. "So you fly a viper then instead of a raptor. Are they much different?"

"Friendly fire…not again…" Martin says with a bit of stand up comedian to his voice. Leaning back against the dryer and placing a flattened palm against his chest as if he's been shot, he smirks and nods in her direction. "Yeah…worlds apart, really." He says, adopting his previous posture with his left leg planted to the floor and his right boot pressed back against the machine. "Raptors don't focus so much on speed. They don't have weapons either, so they tend to hang back and do some jamming. Driving a Viper's a lot like strapping a rocket to your ass and drawing two pistols. Fly and spray, dodge and pray."

"Gods. No wonder all the boy Marines hate you guys." Jules shares this in a conspiratorily low voice. "Total envy there." She cants her head and says, "Don't worry though. They don't say it, but they have some girl machine gunner envy too. They don't have the biggest guns in the squad, they get their panties in a bunch. And any one of them that tells you that it's not the size that counts, but how you use it? They're a Liar McLiarPants." Picking up the book again, she offers it back and asks him a blunt question. "When this is all over, what do you want to do?"

"Open a restaurant." Martin says quickly, knowing damn well what he wants in life. Taking the book back, he sets it on the top of the dryer beside him. "If it's back home or somewhere habitable, someone's gonna have to cook. If it's on some bum-frak alien planet it's either deal with the sour taste or find some bastard with enough culinary know-how to mix it together in something worth being downright happy about." He grins at the thought of it, getting lost in the idea. Being the first to turn alien meat or vegetable into barbecue? Unlimited power. He brings the cigarette to his lips, taking a soft pull off of it. Pulling the smoke into his lungs, he lifts a slender brow in her direction. "What about you?"

Eyes lighting up as she listens to Martin, the Marine nods enthusiastically and says, "That's a really nice one. Dream, I mean. Not everyone gives me an answer when I ask that question. Sometimes they get mad." She smiles sheepishly. "I want to be a veterinarian. One of the good ones with lots of pets hanging around the offices and quirky but cute assistants." Jules isn't shy about her dream, either. "I'm hoping we can take back one of the Colonies. Maybe all of them, if we find enough people. But at least one."

"One's all we need for now anyway, right?" Martin says confidently. "That's a real nice one too, Juliet. I imagine after this is over people are gonna be sick enough with machines that damn near everything from a horse to a housecat's gonna be needing lots of love." Martin replies, the side of his lip cresting in a grin. "I see no reason, no reason whatsoever to paint all of this with a dark brush. What happened was bad, what's happening can be bad, but I just can't live a captive of all of this. It's my life, right?" He shrugs and then folds his arms across his chest. His washer suddenly buzzes, shutting down. "Now if only we could find a cure for needing to do laundry that wouldn't get ya thrown in the brig."

"You could always try sitting on it. I overheard some of the lady marines saying something about these washers being the better than the battery powered kind." Jules pauses there for comic effect, before adding, "They like to think that because of my age, I don't know about the birds and the wasps." She adds, hopping down off of her washer, "You're right. There's no reason to get negative about the future at all. Not even when doorknobs leap out and attack you, as they're wont to do."

"Lady that's of no help to me whatsoever. I'm an outtie, not an innie and according to Mister Instruction here…" He motions to a small line of instructions printed onto the open dryer beside him. "If I stick my arm in it while it's still moving it might get broken in three different places." He grins back at her, stepping over to his washer. Opening it, he looks inside and leans in to grab his multi-colored ball of college style home-ec madness. "Now, I wuoldn't be a good officer if I didn't fess up. I punched the doorknob in the face first." He pauses, throwing his laundry into the dryer as if he could care less about it. Clearly he doesn't like doing laundry. "In front of my CO." He adds bashfully.

"Why would your CO care about you punching a doorknob?" Jules sets up the punchline annnnnnnd, "Oh, you mean the doorknob wasn't a doorknob, it was a person." Her tone is sarcastic and mocking all at the same time, but she softens it with a grin for the man. "You seem like a lot smarter guy than that. So either it was something he did or something you thought he did. Something that hurt you, real bad."

Martin smirks as he softly closes the door to the dryer. "I'm not the violent type." He pauses, blinks, and turns to grab a dryer sheet. Opening the door again, he tosses the sheet inside and then smacks the machine on with the back of his hand. Turning to lean back against it, his face scrunches as if he's admitting something he'd rather not. "Well, the going rumor is that it was about a girl. The truth is, the doorknob is a Raptor pilot that I've bailed out of the fire a few times." He shrugs his shoulders again. "I lost my cool. It's a cool I've been hanging onto so well ever since this all started." His lips flatten. "Everything's okay now though, but I did get 86'd for it."

"People don't get violent for no reason, unless they're psychotic. And you don't strike me as the 'skin a woman and wear her around like a human suit' type." Lips twisting, Jules looks the man right in the eye and says, "Hitting people isn't good. And it's also good that you learned that lesson. But whatever made you do it? I'm guessing you probably haven't addressed that yet." She raises a hand and says, "I'm not going to butt into your business, but… you should probably talk it out. Before you get in the cockpit again."

"Yeah, him and I'll have a talk sooner or later. It's just too fresh right now." Martin replies to her, returning that look directly into her eyes. A lighthearted look passes across his face as he rolls his eyes slightly. It's not a derogatory gesture, but instead it's more of a self deprecating one. "I'm picking through it. Chalk it up to just heading down a direction that I should have probably thought harder on before it all started. So I'm taking my time to watch the corn grow, read a book, get back to square one. It's just a long story. A long, gossipy story."

"And we've all had enough gossip…" Tossing her blonde hair a bit, Jules focusses back in on her washer, laying her hands flat on it. "You're on the right path. And you've got a good idea for what you want in the future. I'd say that's the hardest parts right there. Now all you have to do is survive the apocalypse." She reaches into her pocket and tugs out what looks very much like a granola bar. "The guy I've been seeing told me last night he needed time because some old fling of his is onboard the ship and there's still feelings there."

"Wouldn't happen to be a new pilot on board would he?" Martin replies, turning his eyes to the wall. Focusing on a large list of laundry room rules, he traces his gaze over a large numbered '1' on the list as he settles back against the vibrating dryer. Letting it massage his lower back, he takes another drag from his cigarette. "I was off and on with a girl who decided she wanted to commit, and then four weeks later was sweet talkin a doorknob over CAP channels."

"Of course not, that'd be against regs," Jules states with a hint of teasing in her voice. "I know I'm not the most experienced person onboard, but don't you pilots flirt all the time out there? The Marines sure seem to think so. Are you sure she wasn't just being friendly?" She lifts her chin and turns to face the man. "I'm friendly with most people I meet. Doesn't mean I sleep with them." The wrapper is shucked from the granola and she takes a bite.

"You don't?" Martin replies with teasing sarcasm. "Shit, we do. Don't ever go into a pilot's berthing after midnight. It's a nightmare." He huffs inwardly, shaking his head in his best mockery of soap opera disgust. Losing the look, he looks to her. "Just kidding. I dunno, some do flirt over the CAP. I might have once or twice but it's not that widespread because no one wants to come across as irresponsible. The berthings are actually pretty quiet save for one or two couples, but I think most people rush off and find quiet mail rooms that aren't being used." He lifts his shoulder in a lost shrug. "She might have been being friendly, yeah, but then she took a nap in his arms. Then she told me should would have slept with him if not for me." He scratches his temple, blinking. "Now, I know that's not exactly a capital punishment but four weeks into this big commitment I just felt like I was seeing the writing on the walls. So…I called it off. But then I saw the guy and after all those times I bailed him out of having a Raider on his Raptor's tail I thought…you asshole." He lifts his eyebrows. "That's not psycho, is it?"

Jules takes a few moments to consider her answer. And also to chew her food. Swallowing, she says, "No. It sounds like you still have feelings for the woman, is all. Even if you broke it off, which… sounds like it was the right thing to do." She smiles a muted sort of smile. "My guy? I've already decided that I'll wait. He's… well, he's my first serious crush that's gone past crushing. If he needs time, he'll get it."

"I might. But I think it's just not meant to be." Martin replies with a shrug. Turning, he opens the dryer and begins stuffing the clothes into a mesh laundry bag without folding them first. "Hey, track me down in two days and the book is yours if you've got a trader. On top of that, if you do video games, drop by the games room. I usually haunt that place. We'll get a zombie blasting team together allright?" He smiles, giving her a friendly nod. "Was a pleasure meeting you, Juliet." He says, heading for the door.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License