PWD #01: The Glass is Half Full (or half naked)
The Glass is Half Full (or half naked)
Summary: Gathering of crew air out their dirty laundry and wash it, too.
Date: 03/01/2013 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None?
Thaddeus Cole Madeline Cassie Iphigenia 
Aboard a battlestar everyone except Command Staff does their own laundry, from ranking officers down to the lowest enlisted. This is one of many rooms just like this throughout the ship, and each one is nearly identical. There are baskets for holding clothes when they are pulled from the dryer and long tables for folding that run down the center of the room. Chairs sit along one wall and some magazines are stacked on a small book shelf near the door.
PWD #01: 03 Jan 2004

Extra-special-readiness patrols. Extra hours in the sims. Cross-training on the Predators. Training the Marines how to ride in the back of a bus. The Air Wing's been as busy as a kicked hornet's nest. It's mid-evening by the time Thaddeus has enough time to catch up on his laundry — and have a very late supper, if the PB&J dangling out of his mouth is any indication. He stands in front of two washing machines, sorting his clothes between them with tired gestures.

And with all this hub-bub in airwing, it's no wonder that laundry is a thing that falls to the wayside. As such, Cole tramples in with a heavy sack of his own (that being his laundry) slung over his shoulder. A cigarette must have just been lit out in the corridor and now it hangs by the benefit of wet lips and paper alone as Cole shoulders the hatch open, "Dub-dawg." He greets before he hefts his load with a clang up on top of one of the washers.

"Jrrrh-trrr." It might be Cole's callsign, run through the corner of his sandwich. He turns to glance sidelong toward the Viper pilot as he lets the washer lids crash down, looking ever bit the dashing Captain with a sandwich dangling out of his mouth. It flops wildly as he works a mouthful off before finally reaching up to tear it free. After a couple chews, he gives Cole an up-nod and says, "Heard they're running the Viper squads on twenty-eight hour days, too."

Shoulders pop up and settle back down in a shrug. "Doesn't bother me." Janitor states a bit gruff for his usual demeanor before flipping his cigarette out of his mouth, inverting it to rest on the edge of the washer with it's ash-end over the floor. The drawstring of his bag is slid open and he turns it upside down, dumping it's contents on the floor. "Dinner?" Not an invitation so much as an observation about the waggling sandwich.

And Thaddeus, of course, presses a hand to his chest and says, "Love to. There's this place in Caprica City that serves steaks that're two inches thick…" His smirk drops down to his half-eaten sandwich, then lifts again to share with Cole. "Yeah. Been running my ass off since 0730. Command's determined to get all our Ensigns into those frakking Predators, and it's gonna be the end of me."

Cole smirks despite himself. "Not without a frak first." Janitor toes at the collective mass of his laundry and just decides to bend over and scoop it all together and shove the whole of it into the washer. Not to be left out, he criss-crosses his arms over his chest and peels off his dual tanks, tossing them on top. The man /really/ needed to do laundry if he was down to his last clean set. "So what are you complaining about? You don't sign up on a Pyramid team to ride the bench, do you?"

Cole is given a sour look, mouth screwed up almost comically as he tries to scowl and chew at the same time. "What am I complaining about?" He throws the question right back at the other pilot, mumbled around large bites of his sandwich. "Answer me this- what'd you spent two years in Flight School, maybe four before that, learning how to do?"

Cole stuff stuff stuffs his laundry in the washing machine by the benefit of two flattened palms and a little bit of jumping. "How to sleep with shore leave bunnies?" Soap gets dumped in without the benefit of measuring and then Cole retrieves his cigarette, flicking it into an ashtray instead of merely to the deck plating. Clanging the top shut, he hops up ontop while the water fills the basin.

"Smartass." Thaddeus's scowl is ruined by the very unsexy way in which he stuffs the last corner of his sandwich into his mouth with one finger. "You spent all that time- and the Colonies spent all those cubits- to teach you to be a Viper pilot. AND." He glances down, digs out his cigarette case, and starts fishing out a cancer stick of his own. "Fresh out of flight school, Ensign's pins all shiny and perfect, you barely knew how to do it. Same as every other Ensign that's come out of flight school, ever. Takes time and practice to learn it properly- and you get it by being a Viper pilot. Command waltzes in, some sort of nuclear frakking bee up its starched arse, and decides it's gonna chuck those Ensigns who barely know their ass from the stick, into Predators. It's-" A pause for breath, and to light up. "Not even stupid. It's dangerous."

"Spoken like a true pessimist." Cole gives a lazy scratch of a patch of ink that covers the left part of his chest. "Look at it this way, when is it better to teach them? When they're babies who've just earned their wings. Young. Impressionable. Or when they're grizzled old assholes who are set in their ways." A pause. A bite of the inside of his cheek. "No offense, Captain."

Thaddeus barks out a single, smoky laugh. It's mirthless edging on bitter — like a true pessimist would laugh, one could even say. "None taken," he replies, smirking down at the floor as he flicks his cigarette filter with his thumbnail. "I'll even give you- there's a few who'll pick it up easy as breathing. The ones with a knack. But you don't need to be a wunderkind to earn your wings. And the ones who squeaked in- the ones still figuring their shit out- the last place they should be in a new frame. Some people only get so much talent. Spread it too thin, and you end up with someone who's shit at everything." He's frowning by the end of it, brows twitching with frustration. "Shitty thing to do. Someone up the ladder's padding his service ticket at our expense."

"Those that don't cut it, will get pulled. But you're not going to know what they're capable of if you don't test them. I can say the same for some vetted pilots." Cole is sitting on top of one of the machines, shirtless as apparently all of his clothes have been shoved into the machine he's currently perched up on. The pair of air-wangers are currently smoking while they wait on their loads, "You've got a little peanut butter on your scowl." With a crook of his finger, he indicates the corner of Thaddeus' mouth.

Slipping into the laundry room, Madeline carries a small basket of laundry, which is probably weird for most people. Her ponytail bobs happily behind her as she makes her way to the macines as she starts to pull out her undies and starts to sort her bras and panties into a pair of small piles of cottons and delicates. She doesn't notice the two officers yet, which is why she's probably humming to herself in a catchy little melody.

"Smartass," mutters Thaddeus for the second time tonight, reaching up to clean the corner of his mouth as indicated. He slaps a few bread crumbs off his fatigues, following that, before he retrieves his smoke and goes back to polluting his lungs. "They're never going to /see/ a Predator again, after this tour. It's busy-work bullshit, is all it is." Grumble, mumble, grump. He leans back against his washing machine, giving his cigarette filter a few more agitated flicks. "Bet they'll get used to fart out fireworks in the President's Colonial colours at the end of the tour or something, and…" His rant loses a bit of speed as Madeline walks in. "…that's it," he finishes. Hey. There's girlish underthings. He's allowed to lose track of things.

And just like that, Madeline has two pairs of officer eyes trailing her, but Cole is less distracted than his counterpart. "Better then that they don't crash, dontcha think? So teach them well, and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside. Give them a sense of pride, to make it easier…" Janitor quotes the song deadpan while he watches Madeline sort her girly things through a haze of smoke that drifts up from his parted mouth. "I know, I know. Smartass."

Lace and satin, and girly frilly things are set aside. Instead, she throws in the cotton boy shorts and granny panties first, before removing the sweats she's wearing, stripping down to a pair of boxers and her sports bra to start the wash. And that's when she feels eyes on her. She turns to the two officers and the red head offers a salute. "Evening, sirs." What, boys have seen more of her in one of her swimsuit shoots.

"You and your frakking optimism," mutters Thaddeus, shaking his head dubiously. As Madeline carefully sorts aside her frilly garments, his pale eyes slant sidelong to Cole. One corner of his mouth tugs just a fraction upward. Whatever he's thinking will likely send him straight to Hell.

"She salutes." Cole observes dryly, the comment likely for the Captain though it's said sidelong to Thaddeus without looking at him. "In the version I tell the Missus later, we're all fully clothed." Just so Dubs corroborates his story, should the need ever arise, perhaps.

Madeline rubs the side of her head and sticks her tongue out at the two officers as she loads the frilly stuff in the other washer to get it going. Apparently that's all the laundry she has. She hops up on the washer and perches, kicking her flip-flops idly. "I could always just say it was an autograph session for your children if you have any, sir." A smile at that.

As Thaddeus excuses himself for a piss, Cole helps himself to one of the Captain's clean shirts. At least, he deems it clean after a quick sniff. "My girl's only old enough to know nursery rhymes. And I have my wife's trust. Explicitly. Just a joke…Madeline somethingorother, right?" He spreads the base of the shirt apart with each of his forearms, then ducks into it.

"Cervantes, sir. And I know a joke when I hear one." Madeline flashes a brilliant smile, kicking her feet casually and stares down at her toes. "Huh. Wonder if I can get Bridget to paint those for me."

"I am told I have a steady hand, but painting a girl's toes is akin to giving a man's wife a foot rub. It's just not done. Sorry for not volunteering." Ari reaches into the shirt he's stolen and donned from Thaddeus' laundry, pulling out his dog tags to drop them with a jingle so they resettle on his chest. Janitor is sitting on a washing machine that wobbles off balance from being overly full, perhaps perched there to keep it from making a racket.

Madeline is perched on a nearby washer, studying her feet. "Well, my husband used to do it.. until he passed away last year." she shrugs, the sports bra moving with a sigh of her chest. "I lost his child I was carrying a couple of weeks later. Guess it was the grief." she says and continues to stare down at her feet. "So no, I'd be mad if he had tried to paint some other girl's toes, too." she winks at Cole with that.

What looks like a large duffle with legs teeters precariously into the laundry room, the person bearing it holding it with their arms around the girth instead of trying to carry it by its handles which conceals their identity. It isn't until it's dropped that Cassie 'appears', her face flushed from the weight. "I think this teaches me not to put off my laundry," she grumbles before kicking the overly-weighty item towards a wash. Voices draw her gaze up from it and towards those talking, Cole and Madeline getting a bit of a wave from her.

And this is where the conversation gets even more uncomfortable then Madeline washing her underthings /in/ her underthings. Cole slips down off the top of the washer he was perched on, stubbing out his cigarette into a nearby ashtray. Some would just grind it out on the deckplating and let Support do the clean up work, but it seems Janitor at least minorly respectful of their surroundings. "Sorry to hear it." He comments to Madeline without meeting her eyes. "Oh, hey short stack." Cole greets Cassie. "As junior officer, it is your solemn duty to keep an eye on mine and Captain Kostopolous' laundry. Any ill comes to it, shall then befall you."

Sitting on a washer, in her undergarments - in this case a pair of boy shorts and a sports bra as she washes her clothes, Madeline shrugs. "I've had a year to recover as someone told me recently. I can't pine for Jacob anymore. And his legacy.." she reaches up and touches her stomach, "Was my own fault for losing. Someday, maybe I can have a legacy again. But for now, I will enjoy that I have a second chance in life. Please, you don't have to leave sir. I'm not offended."

Cassie isn't really sure what's more worthy of a double-take. Cole's mention of how it is her responsibility to look out for the laundry or the sight of someone in their underwear while washing clothes… it's close but she eventually just glances at Maddie before gawking outright at her fellow pilot. "Oh. Is that right," she asks while smirking, the half-grin given just as she manages to scoot her duffle to an unused machine. "I never really bought into that kind of bullshit but if you want me to watch the wash I will." Right after she gets her own laundry started. "So how are you guys?"

You know, if Iphigenia was back home, she'd just dump her laundry in a hamper and not even have to think about until she was next ready to wear said garment. Of course, she's not at home, and so in she comes, humming an old bit of jazz as she hefts her laundry bag over her shoulder.

And if Madeline was on tour, she wouldn't have to do her laundry either. As it is, she has Phin doing it for her anyway. <3 Well, except for the undies. She has to do it for herself. "I'm well, sir." the little songbird offers as she feels the washer starts to grind to a halt. "Whoops, time for fabric softner!" As she hears the humming, her eyes lift and perk a bit as she hums along with the source.

"Didn't think you were, Cervantes. A whole year?" Before anyone can read too much into Cole's expression, he's thrusting his hands deep in his pocket and he heads towards the hatch. "Thanks for the solid, Cass." As Iphegenia enters, he steps respectfully to the side. "Sister. Fairing better?"

"Yeah, yeah. You owe me, Janitor. A solid for a solid… or whatever." A tee-shirt is pulled out of her bag and given a bit of a look before it's tossed in, followed by some others without the effort made to sort. Cassie would but there's just too much of it and she doesn't want to have to spend hours in here. "Good to hear, red," she calls out when Maddie responds but she's soon distracted by the Sister's entrance. Iphigenia's given a smile and a polite nod, her way of greeting her.

Iphigenia offers a bright smile to Madeline as she harmonizes, and then notes to Cole, "I'm fine, honestly. It was just a dream." Her smile is a smooth mask. Woman should learn to play triad. She'd make a killing. "Though that request you put in certainly raised a few eyebrows." To the other women, "Evening, ladies. I hope you're both well?"

"Year and three months now." Madeline says simply. "And a little bit shorter since I lost my child." She adds the fabric softner and smiles back just as brilliantly to Geni. "I caught your tune. I love the bluesy stuff!" she admits with a grin as she closes the washer back up to start it again.

Cole gives a small shrug. "So let them be raised. It was made for the comfort of a friend and breaks no regs or I wouldn't have offered, so. Anyway. I'll let you get to your laundry." He looks back over his shoulder. "Ladies." He calls back in parting to the others in the laundry room.

"I am doing well, Sister," Cassie responds to Gen easily although she does give her a bit of a glance upon the mention of a dream. She tries not to look concerned but a faint line does crease her brow. "Wait… request?" She looks at Cole but he's off so he'll have to be pressed fo explainations later. "See you later, Janitor." The rest of her laundry's forced into the basket of the washer she claimed, soap is added and it's started, the last of which takes only a few seconds to accomplish. "I am sorry to hear about that, Madeline," she intones, her voice filled with sincerity.

"It made me very greatful, Ari. Even if it did raise eyebrows." Gen says quietly, though she's smiling. "Have a good evening." She likewise looks to Madeline. "I'm sorry to hear that as well. But you seem to be recovering with good grace."

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