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 Posted: Mon Aug 05, 2013 12:09 pm
Harland had recently moved into room 192.
By "moved into," it was in the vaguest sense possible: the set of clothes he was wearing was one of maybe three outfits he owned at all, and he had no real possessions of his own. And what he wanted most, Coyote having shut up and been desummoned into a sheriff's badge navel piercing accessory, was just to take a very long shower.
Why not? Harland dug up a towel, which had not belonged to him but he supposed would now, and stripped in order to wander his way to where he thought showers would be, a tiny bottle of shampoo-body combination wash in hand. He didn't even have a wash cloth, or a loofa, or anything.
After a good twenty minutes wandering around in only a towel, looking extremely disheveled, Harland finally found a shower. It was glorious. Washed, primped, and content, Harland wandered back to his room and let himself back in, before staring at his disheveled clothing.
It was really filthy. There were more than a few cigarette burns, and some ichor, and probably blood.
He stared down at himself: he was so clean, and his freckled, tanned skin screamed Don't touch me with those terrible garments of filth! But Harland was also reasonably broke, so he figured: "I'd say ye've got a date with the laundromat," he told his clothing, with one of his characteristic wide smiles.
"Now where might that be..." And, naturally, Harland's first inclination was to go next door, and knock: "Pardon my showin' up-- Name's Harland Belle-- but would you ken where I might find some kind of laundrette? Or do y'all wash your clothing by hand?" Harland called through the door, or towards it, at any rate. He was leaning against the frame, in his towel.
His accent was a mutt amalgamation of his Texan father's roots, and his Irish mother's insistence that they at least spend half his life in Connemara-- he'd never been able to settle down in either place.
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Posted: Thu Aug 08, 2013 5:52 pm
At first Jake wondered why the person at the door didn't just bother opening it, since 90% of the time it was Sherry, and 95% of the time he forgot to lock his door. Locked or not, nothing really stopped that woman from coming in whenever she damn well pleased, and really, by now, he was used to it, and possibly somewhat expected it, considering they were... well, he supposed one could call it "dating", though he still found the whole thing hard to grasp.
When they continued knocking, he only sighed, dropped his pen and walked towards the door. Rather than a blond-haired woman greeting him, it was... a guy. In a towel. Oh god he hoped it was a guy, not that... it really made the situation any better. Rather than respond, the death trainee only gawked at him, wondering why the hell a guy in a towel was showing up at his door. And then he decided he really didn't want to know. Oh wait, guy was asking a question.
"...Laundromat?". Jake frowned, scratching the back of his head. "We have a laundromat?" It probably didn't help that the hunter was asking probably one of the few hunters that didn't even own enough clothes to wash as a load, let alone have his clothes actually LAST long enough to wash.
"I, uh, usually just wash them by hand, since I don't have much clothing to begin with, but I suppose there is one... somewhere..."
No help at all.
"... I sincerely hope you're not going to look for it dressed in THAT."
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