Cammie & Manuel: Laundry ((Early Afternoon))

[x-scorpion.livejournal.com]

Laundry day for both Cammie and Manuel starts with a childish prank and degenerates from there. ((Early in the afternoon.))

Cammie had to do her laundry, especially her sheets, three to four times a week if she didn’t want to make anyone stopping by her room for anything sick. And after a few days the smell even started to bother her. Cammie brought a book down with her entitled The Culture of Fear. It was actually a sociological book, and one she found interesting.

And it was something to read while her laundry was getting done. She was doing her laundry all at once and was going to hang out with it until it was done. It left her with one pair of pants and a black sports bra. Her bandages were a different story, so her left arm was still ace bandaged as she sat down and opened her book ready to read for the hour or so she was going to spend down here in laundry limbo with her sheets.

Manuel walked in and dropped his laundry at the foot of a washing machine without so much as a glance at her. Valentia was no where to be seen but that was because he put her in summer school, morning lessons that did not go past the hour of twelve and he enjoyed the light four hour reprieve where he could do what he wanted, or do what was necessary when a little girl changed her attire four times a day.

He was dressed lightly compared to his usual prestige, a white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his long hair tied back and black slacks to match, his lesser clothing selections, ones that were not made for him but he would not wear his finest. Not for laundry turn over.

Sorting the colours was the most difficult and time consuming, as his hip was bothering him this morning. Thus he relied heavily on the cane for full support while he lifted the bag up onto the top of one of the free washers and began sorting one article of clothing at a time between three washers.

“Are you going to pay the toll?” Cammie spoke up, turning a page in her book, “Not just anyone can waltz in here and use these machines, ya know.”

"And what is the price of said toll?" Manuel asked, humoring her.

“Five bucks,” Cammie returned, holding out her hand, “I’m the cheapest damn laundry troll you’ll ever find.”

"That is for certain," he replied evenly with a completely different context.

“So, you going to pay up or am I going to have to break your other kneecap?” she said, with another page turn.

"Charmed."

He continued to sort. "I am afraid I have my own toll to charge and the price is much higher than yours."

Cammie laughed, “Yeah? And what’s that? I have to say I think I could take you in a fight. After all, you were nice enough to even bring me down a stick to beat you with.”

"You could not afford my price. It is out of your...hands," he replied over his shoulder. He closed one machine after distributing the detergent and set it before doing so with the other three.

“Awww, he thinks he knows what’s in my bank account. That’s cute,” it was said in the tone of ‘aww, he thinks he’s people’ that someone would use with a dog.

Manuel turned around and leaned against the running machine. "My price is your silence."

“That’s not a price, that’s wishful thinking,” Cammie said laughing.

"Call it what you will. As I said, a price you are unable to afford."

“Fine, it’s wishful thinking, numbnutts,” She returned, flipping another page in the chapter about why the mutant menace was mostly a child of media concoction.

Manuel did not have the mental energy to banter today and hung there for a moment, before pushing himself off the machine and heading out of the room. He was not interested in this.

Cammie rolled her eyes when he left. And when it was apparent he wasn’t coming right back walked over to the washing machine, opened it and pulled out every piece of sopping clothing she could identify as his and tossed it in the corner where it landed with a sickening wet slopping noise. She wasn’t going to take out her wrath on a four year old, after all. But he? He could suffer. And she would be the bigger man and not even suck detergent out of the cloth. She had some in a cup next to her chair, after all.

The next five minutes saw the finishing of a load of clothes in the dryer that let her change out her bra and pants into a tank top and running shorts, as she curled back up in her chair."
He reentered the room a half hour later and went to the washer machines, taking idol notice that Cammie had not repositioned herself in the room, but only changed to a tank top. He continued to ignore her and opened the first machine, pulling out the clothes. The pile was considerably light and he separated what he needed to air dry and what he needed to dry. It wasn't until he got to the second machine that he noticed how small the load was and how none of his clothes were there. The third machine was opened, a quick discovery of the same thing and he turned around, accusations on the tip of his tongue when his eyes fell to the heap on the floor.

A long silent moment passed as he stared down, grinding his teeth and checked his watch. There was still time to cycle one more load and have all three done in time to pick up Valentia. He made his way to the heap, crushing the impulse to hit her with his cane and picked up the slopping wet clothes and walked a hand ful to the machine, dropping it in. Three trips back and forth had most of it in before the fourth trip, he spun the shirt and cracked her on the thigh with it.

Cammie shrieked, she honestly hadn’t seen that coming, chewing on laughter and a retort about that was what happened when someone didn’t pay the laundry troll. All of which was swallowed with that one sopping wet whip-cracked shirt.

“OW!” her eyes flashed, “What the fuck?!”

"What the fuck?" Manuel echoed, whipping the shirt up into a ball and throwing it at her head. His accent slurred the words and he had difficultly saying it, as mad as he was. He nearly slipped into Spanish to convey this but corrected himself. "And this proves what?" he gestured to the clothes.

“That you didn’t pay the toll,” Cammie returned, catching the shirt right handed, even though it stung her still healing chest to do so. “Jesus fucking Christ, grow a sense of humor, will you?”

He grabbed his shirt from her and shook it. "This is funny? This is obsurd and attention that only a little girl would want. Grow up."

“I’m laughing,” Cammie said with a chuckle, “There’s a fancy German word for it, but I can’t pronounce it,” the smile on her face was all twisted. “Joy at the suffering of others, I think it means?”

"As I said, only little girls," came his curt reply as he left her and threw the shirt in.

“You saying your sister pulls shit like this? Damnit, you better raise her better than that,” Cammie returned, “Or, you know, just pay the toll.”

He turned the machine on and continued to put Valentia's clothes away. "I expect it of a nine year old, not of a nineteen year old. "

“Well, you see, my parents never really loved me and abandoned me at a young age, so if you think about it you could be staring at the future of your sis. Wonky, innin’t?” Cammie said.
"You are a disgrace to yourself and it is a poor excuse. Valentia would never be like that. Yes, she may disappoint me one day with her behaviour but it will be nothing as a bar fight. She is much smarter than that." And much more powerful than him, he was sure.

“Oh no,” Cammie said in mock horror, her hand going to her mouth as if she was holding it there in fear, “There’s a girl who doesn’t care what someone else thinks and knows how to have a good time. What should we do?” she finished then started laughing, “Sorry then she won’t know how to have a good time.”

"A shame," Manuel replied drily, remaining in his position to protect his washing. He was not entirely sure he wanted to stand here for a half hour and would eventually be forced to sit in ten minutes. Regardless, he maintained where he was, though not particularly interested in carrying on a conversation with her. She was much better with the lights off, bag over her head, tape over her mouth and two bottles into Scotch.

“It really is. Most people are ghosts who don’t live their lives. After all, you could drop dead tomorrow. Though I couldn’t be that lucky,” Cammie said.
"If there was an off switch for you, I would have hit it by now."

Cammie had to laugh there, “Oh, you know what it is,” she said, more to herself, thinking back. Which just resulted in more chuckling.

Manuel pushed off the machine, forced to sit much sooner than he anticipated and set his cane aside, five seats between them while he stared ahead and counted his misfortunes.

“Oh, look who’s gotten shy,” Cammie said, leaning forward and smiling, “No need to be like that. I’ve seen you naked. Pretty much removes most personal barriers, don’t you think?”
Manuel turned his gaze slowly and locked with hers. "I am not shy. I enjoy my peace and quiet."

Cammie’s green eyes were unflinching, “Then you shouldn’t live in a house with a bunch of fighting mutants.”

"Fighting mutants with a cause," he supplied. "That is a far cry from what you are doing with your past time."

“I’m considering new callings,” she returned, sitting up straight. She was only mildly offended at the statement, “Besides, you obviously have a lot to learn about punks. The fight is the reason. The fight is the cause, kinda.”

"Kind of," he echoed her. "When there is a problem, they seek out a solution and that is as close to a similarity that you will have out of me concerning what you do compared to them. Perhaps you should channel that slightly better than where you are going right now."

“You don’t know a damn thing about where I’m going right now,” Cammie snapped. “Horribly violating someone on a kitchen counter doesn’t mean you know that person.”

"Tell me I am wrong then. Here is your moment. Explain to me that you are simply going out to have bottles lodged in your body." Oh yes, he knew about that, but he said nothing of it up until now.

“Anarchy. Or the fact that some fat old bikers didn’t like the fact I told another member of their fat old biker game where he couldn’t shove it. Shit happens, that’s life and I got to bleed all over Jake,” Cammie returned. “It may not have been a part of my grande plan, but what can you do? I lived to fight another day.”

"I understand what fuels you. However, you have no specific destination with this power that you have, nor do you have a focus. If you do, I am still waiting to hear it."

“Not everyone puts on leather and dances around for justice,” she said dryly.

"No, however, you will do it for other things," Manuel said and an eyebrow quirked with interest.

That spiked a totally different chain of emotions, ones connected with a different sort of good time, “What, you saying you want to see that? I do like alternate applications of leather. It’s shiny.”

Manuel checked his watch again and it may have passed by in his head somewhere that his prestige should not even consider her as an option. Logic had a way of sobering him, had he been interested in listening.

"Close that door and lock it. I have time for a preview."