Spin Cycle
Spin Cycle
Summary: Thea's perched on the washing machine again, and Roubani keeps her company.
Date: PHD026
Related Logs: None

Kharon - Laundry Room

Laundry. Machines spin and hum, creating their perpetual white noise in the somewhat humid room. Roubani is sitting on a chair near a running washer, wearing Navy-issue T-shirt, sweatpants, and a pair of beaten sandals probably meant to be used in the shower. One foot drawn up on the chair, he has a notebook open and a pen in hand. His elbow against his elevated leg, his closed hand is against his cheek and his focus is somewhere a hundred miles away from the washer he's looking at.

Thea wanders in wearing sneakers without socks and a loose tank top over her sweatpants. The top is much looser than her usual. "Mornin, Thumper," she murmurs, hair mussed and a pillow crease on her cheek. She's toting only a small bag of laundry.

It takes a second. Roubani lifts his cheek off his hand and looks past his bent knee, sliding the pen behind his ear. "Good morning, sir."

She's not got a whole lot of laundry at all, which can only mean one thing - she's here to visit the spin cycle. "How're you doing," she asks, moving to an empty machine to begin The Process.

"Fine, sir." Roubani keeps his foot on the chair. Hands free, they fold loosely around his shin. He glances at her multiuse washer and then back at her. "Yourself?"

"Probably throwing you out in about fifteen minutes," she quips, closing the lid and turning dials. "How many people are you doing laundry for?"

"Just myself, sir," Roubani gives his washer a glance, perhaps checking the timer after that first comment of hers. "Why?"

"You spend more time in here than I do," she replies, turning to slide very carefully up onto the machine, rather than her usual hop. "I know why *I* come in here so often."

"Ah." The tic upwards of one of Roubani's dark brows is self-conscious, and he rubs the end of his nose with one fingertip. "I suppose I've come to like the white noise at times, is all."

Legacy chuckles softly and dips her head to that. "Fair enough," she murmurs, looking a touch distracted. "I like it because it's warm."

Roubani nods, murmuring in an offhanded sort of manner, "I have heard women tend to prefer warmth for comfort. I don't know if it's true but it makes sense in an intuitive sort of way."

She grins crookedly. "Considering I've been staying cold of late, well. It's either here or the engine room, and I can't explain why I'm down there." She eyes him for a moment, clearly about to make a crack, but she actually, gasp, behaves.

Roubani tilts his head, running his pinky along the underside of one eyebrow. "I'm sure you could," he says, a little drily. "They just might not trust you round the grease anymore."

"Mmmm," she murmurs. "I haven't had to swipe some of that for other uses for a very long time now." Thea has one of those sweetly innocent smiles on her lips.

"Ah. I'm…happy for you, sir," Roubani replies, in that kind of tone that's not really sure how one should respond to something like that.

She glances over at him, eyes going a little wide. "Butter's better," she says simply.

Roubani clears his throat softly. "That sounds a little unsanitary."

"You'd be surprised," she says, leaning forward on her hands. "While, yes, it IS a dairy product, sometimes it's necessary for lubrication. Vegetable oil is too heavy. Olive oil is the same. Sesame oil has potential, but the viscocity is off. Butter's light enough to be cleaned up easily."

Roubani absolutely doesn't know what to do with this information. "I suppose I'll place my faith in your experience, sir."

Thea's head cants a little to the left as she watches him, brow arching. "Why looking so lost, Thumper? Seriously, a little butter goes a long way toward lubrication. I prefer the cold to melted, honestly. Melted loses some of the necessary properties." Now she's looking a little baffled. "Cold, or cool, also stays in place better."

Roubani folds his hands. "I believe you, sir," he says, insincerely. "I am merely trying to avoid any undue conversational connections to yeast."

Blink. Blink. "Yeast," she asks, brows furrowing. "Where in the hells does yeast come in?" Yep, baffled. Utterly.

Roubani chuckles through his nose, just a small huff of air. "Never mind, Captain. Carry on."

Poor Poet can see her mentally connecting the dots. She goes down one path, then the next, hitting dead ends. Seriously, she looks like a blonde trying to catch a thought. And then, just as the washer hits spin cycle, it hits her. Of course, it took the washer hitting spin cycle, which distracted her, which…yes. Train of thought, proudly brought to you by the letters P, E, R, and V. Blink. Then her eyes go huge and she just stares at him. STARES. "ENSIGN NADIV ROUBANI," she squeaks, cheeks flaming. "You…You…You WENT there." Congratulations. The Raptor Captain is -sputtering-.

Roubani looks ever so briefly smug. "I assure you, sir, I haven't the faintest clue what you mean."

Every bit of Thea's blood has gone to her cheeks. "I was talking about recalcitrant tools," she huffs. "Not…not…" She looks at him, narrowing her eyes for a moment before pointedly looking to his lap. "Recalcitrant tools."

Roubani's lap is handily blocked by the foot up on his chair. He lofts a slender brow. "And I was making a reference to baking. Why so red, sir?"

"Because one doesn't generally bake with engine grease," she says, lips twitching despite the fact she's trying to look stern.

"Oh. Goodness," Roubani replies, utterly mild. "My bad."

She humphs quietly and wriggles a bit on top of her washer. Apparently the spin cycle is doing its magic. "Of course, the engineers may find their engine grease disappearing now that we're on rations," she murmurs.

Roubani pauses, letting the more serious implications of that set in. "Yes, I suppose they will. But the heart of engineering is ingenuity, they'll…manage."

Thea simply bites her tongue at that. It's difficult for her to behave, but the washer's providing a wonderful distraction. "So, have you tried spin cycle yet?"

Roubani clears his throat, quietly. "No, sir. It seems rather a sacred bond of the feminine persuasion."

A hand waves delicately. "Nope, you need to try it," she says, dipping her head. "It's been decreed."

Roubani gives her a slightly uncomfortable look, scratching his fingers over his upper arm by the T-shirt hem. "I don't think so, Captain."

Thea grins at him, head canting a bit. "Afraid to, Thumper? It won't bite. Nor will it give you girl cooties."

"Sir," Roubani says, gently but firmly. "I said no."

"Actually, you said you didn't think so," Thea points out with a laugh. "But I can take the hint. Well, the brick thrown at my head."

Roubani replies, "I didn't think I'd have to be explicit." He slides the pen from behind his ear, looking down at it as he clicks the back a few times. Clickclick. The discomfort is still in the tension in his body. "I'm very sure it serves its purpose."

Thea just sighs softly and shakes her head, laughing a bit. "Not really, no," she says. "It's like riding a motor cycle. No matter how long you ride, you still want more." Wait, is she looking…wistful?

Click. Click. "I'm sure that's just the way life is, sir," Roubani says, diplomatically.

Her eyes cut to the pen for a moment and there's indecision on her face. "Doesn't work that way with men, though," she murmurs. "So, how was your day?"

Roubani keeps his eyes down. Her first comment, predictably, gets no response. "Not awful. Yours?"

While he's looking down, she takes the chance to simply study him. "It was a day," she replies quietly.

"So it was." Roubani loosely folds his arms low on his chest and lifts his eyes again. "Did you see the…performances, in the lounge?"

"I…was otherwise occupied," she says, with a hint of regret. Just a hint. "How were they?"

"I didn't see them," Roubani shakes his head. "I suppose I meant to, but the time got away from me."

"Ah well," she murmurs. "I'm sure that someone took a vid of it. I'd considered taking the stage with a dramatic reading, but didn't get up there."

Roubani murmurs the question, "And what might you have read?"

Thea's smile softens a little as she glances down. "There's a Gemenese philosopher and playright, Abraham Indesha, whose work I enjoy. In fact, the first monologue I ever memorized was from one of his morality plays."

Roubani makes a negative shake with his head, barely moving it. "I don't believe I'm familiar."

The smile softens even more as she clearly taps a memory. "His plays usually were lightly written, aimed more toward children - or at least, that's how they were used. He used cadence and verse in such a way, though, that the lines were almost like songs in the way they'd stick in your mind."

Roubani nods once. "You're an avid play reader then, sir." Half question, half statement.

"Was," she corrects. "I have a couple of my favorites with me. They stay in my pack wherever I go. My mother was a theater professor, acting, on Gemenon." Acting. Thea? Nah. "I took classes for years."

"I see." Roubani considers this for a time before he nods again. "It suits you."

Legacy pulls her attention back to him, head cocking to the side. "Which, acting?"

Roubani looks passingly amused at the question. "Yes, I suppose so."

Legacy crinkles her nose slightly. "Never thought of that, honestly. Were you planning on performing or just watching tonight?"

"Watching, surely." Roubani rubs the side of his nose and around the orbit of his eye, as though it's been aching. His washer beeps to a stop and he unfolds himself limb by limb, standing up to start tossing things in the dryer. Much like hers, it's a very small load of clothes. "Would you be so kind as to keep an eye on this? I've a few things to do while it goes and I'm sure you wouldn't mind a little privacy for a while."

Thea chuckles quietly. "I'll make sure no one walks off with it," she tells him quietly. "It'll be safe. Get some rest when you get the chance, Poet." She pauses for a moment. "And…thank you." The teasing is gone now.

Roubani keeps his eyes down on his hands as he tosses the last damp sock into the dryer, shuts it, and starts it up with a button press. "Of course, sir," he says - what part of all that he's actually addressing? Who knows. "Gods bless." He taps his knuckles against the edge of the dryer and looks at her long enough for an absent half-smile, then heads for the hatch.

She watches him go, an odd little smile turning her lips up at one corner. It's clear he baffles her a little, but it's even more clear that she adores him.

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