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 Posted: Fri May 08, 2015 12:52 pm
Initially, Shale was uncertain which rankled his nose more: the stench of death, or the stench of fast food. He grimaced on entry; this was the second time he set foot in a restaurant of this sort, and had no further plans to revisit it. While he took a moment to deduce the location of the bathroom, Jack sprinted ahead from behind him and dodged around the corner, where he heard a door slam violently. Following produced a very telling sign that explained his tragic loss at the race in bold letters:
RESTROOM
Shale tried the door, but the lock had engaged and it rattled beneath his grasp. <********> he thought with a huff. Part of him urged breathing through his mouth while he waited. "Jack, did you just lock the door?" Another rattle confirmed it. A glance spared toward the dining area confirmed a few suspicious souls looking in his direction.
Come on, now is a shitty time to get modest. If only you left your pick sets outside. Now would be a great time to learn about lockpicking. You could even give me a tutorial from the other side. While you're washing your everything. And leaving me to baste in the stench of death and terrible food choices. "Jack, I'm going to suffocate out here..." He knocked insistently. And I'm not lying. I might vomit on this carpet at any minute.
Another try at the door, complete with casually pressing all his weight into it, yielded no movement. "Jack," he called in a strained whisper. "There's got to be two sinks in there. Let me in."Ivynian totally the companion rp to MAAAAOOOOW
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Posted: Sun May 10, 2015 3:56 pm
His hestitation on entering the establishment proved he didn't go into such places often. Maybe he didn't road trip a lot? There were plenty of states where if you weren't keen on risking poison ivy, the only safe porcelain to be had was at a McD's. Certainly never the skeeze rest stations with the styrofoam cup coffee dispenser, pay phone that had a dial front, and sticky floors. the one guarantee about fast food places was that the restrooms were almost always down a dingy hallway to the right immediately on entering. Or if you entered register side, passed the registers and immediate left. Usually there were two, one for each of the usual gender poles on the binary system. This place was so small and sketchy as to only have one bathroom fits all sort of going on. "Hahahaha, not unless you consider the toilet its own sink. And you don't wanna put your face there, believe me. Weren't you the one calling this a race?" Jack was already pants down and considering if it was really better to stand bare-socked on the floor compared to the outside of the boots- Dead thing or 10 year old who knows ....hmm. "There's another door down from this one, there always is, it'll be the chemicals and cleaning closet. It's probably not locked, they never are in the one bathroom joints. Grab the bleach, or vinegar, or whatever cleaner they got in there for us to dump on the floor in here, and you've got the keys to the kingdom of bumper butt with me."
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Posted: Mon May 11, 2015 2:32 pm
"A toilet's just another bowl of water," he grumbled at the flush connection between door plane and door frame. "I already smell like decomposing body as it is. I don't think it can get any worse." The implied combination of decomposing body plus s**t begged a certain amount of consideration. Would it amount to similar repulsiveness as body odor clouded over with heavy perfume? And did that prove worse than body odor itself? He didn't want to think about it right now.
The floor can't be that terrible. Shale departed from the door momentarily to find the closet - and surely enough, it sat at the end of the hall like she said. Inside he found the area impossibly cramped, with rags heaped in the corner that prevented the door from opening to its full swing. A shelf sat at eye level with a haphazardly-arranged assortment of foam cleaner, a chemical spray bottle with label ripped off and 'orange cleaner' written over the remnants, and a box of disposable nitrile gloves. A piece of paper with the word 'rainbow' sat taped near the door, and a phone number read off beneath that. He didn't spare time to think about why anyone would tape a number in the janitor's closet.
Beneath that was a clearly decommissioned utility sink, with wet floor signs propped against it. Buckets large and small were piled inside one another and left in the basin. More cleaning agents were strewn in the remaining space, from brand names to more relabeled generics (not that Shale deduced much of a difference). Interestingly, though, he found a set of keys with some black plastic piece hooked on a ring. Those were hooked on his smallest finger in no time.
Looking beneath the would-be sink revealed the larger jugs of cleaning supplies. Some looked like refills, but the white plastic jug with the word BLEACH printed across the front. A few bottles down sat another similar container with VINEGAR on its label, and a denotation that it wasn't food grade. Did she want both? No. No.
No.
Shale made off with the bleach (which was apparently 'clean linen' scent) and knocked at the door twice before trying the keys from the janitorial area. They fit, unlatched, and he let himself in while the patrons were more distracted with their food.
A glance down left Shale frowning. "You can't be serious about dumping this on the floor. This isn't any worse than the subway floor in the useable area. You prefer contact burns over dirty tile?" He set the jug against the floor, and kicked it over her way - which wasn't more than wheelchair-accessible distance.
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 11:55 am
In the meantime, Jack had gotten bare save small clothes, standing on boots, and was rinsing sub-par pink industrial soap in shirt material. Rubbing the shirt against itself like it was boyscout camp at a creekside with no large, flat rocks to beat clothes against instead. Pants and bag were draped on the towel dispenser so as not ot touch the floor while waiting their turn. Jack laughed when the door just opened, a little disappointed but equally amused that keys must have been procured from somewhere. "Join the party. Actually, you know, we're not going to get contact burns from the bleach on the floor. You ever played with bleach before? As long as we wash off our feet we'll be fine. You know what bleach does? Not so much burn you, as you'll feel your fingers get all slick while you're using it to clean- that's because its physical breaking down your skin cells and turning them into ....well....soap. Primitive, creepy skin soap, but soap. At least that's what I've heard. And it's seemed true so far every time I've cleaned with the stuff." Jack left s**t dangling on the side of the sink a moment, taking the bleach bottle and uncapping it immediately to pour out onto the floor. "Well, get stripping man. Ugh, I think it got exponential on us with both of us in here. the bleach will be a godsend if it burns out our senses of smell for the next three days. " It was followed by wringing out shirt of water onto it, then every paper hand towel in the dispenser tossed down into a wad and foot-smooshed around in a jig until there was a painfully obvious swath of whitened, shining floor around the sink back to the door. Jack bent to gather the wad and splook it into the trashbin with a squinched nose and emphatic "ewwwwwewewewewew" Then chortled, and rubbed hand on whatever of Shale was accessible at that very moment, "Skiiiiiiin soooooaaaaappppp."
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Posted: Mon May 18, 2015 8:41 am
Bleach suddenly sounded far less appealing while Jack elaborated on the actual processes behind it. Shale stripped his pants off while listening, to come off with the shoes during Jack's awkward dance across the floor. Tossing the shoes into the sink seemed the only option unless he wanted to ruin them with bleach - and considering their secondhand origins, it sounded pointless to take great care in washing them. And his socks were already destroyed, by virtue of black touching bleach. They simply went into the trash once scraped off his feet.
He tossed pants over the tampon dispenser and only just stripped his shirt when Jack came at him with hands outstretched, rubbing her bleach-laden soap-hands on his flank and back. He recoiled abruptly and sent his shirt at her face, only afterward realizing that was probably a bad idea. Even if it went into the garbage due to bleach destruction, he could still legally walk around shirtless. Only the pants needed to survive.
"Little cretin," he muttered with nose pinched, but he couldn't suppress a smile. Jack's whimsical nature in the face of discovering death and imminent danger held a certain contagious value about it. The skin soap bit proved especially disgusting - Shale wasted no time in checking the dispenser for more paper towels, and was both shocked and dismayed to find none left. Jack used the lot of them on the bathroom floor, rendering a swath of it shockingly cleaner, but the thought of suddenly melting into a pile of bubbles had Shale much more interested in cleaning his back off. He couldn't simply let it wait until one of the employees came in to restock.
Not that they could, since he still had the bathroom keys.
Any contents left in the sink were promptly tossed at Jack before Shale could get to washing away some of the death-stench that soaked to his skin (the bleach, though, was still at the forefront of his mind). Mixed subpar hand soap and water turned into an impotent lather that was quickly slapped on and rubbed into skin for a gas-station-bathroom-clean smell. And since the corpse stench clung to his skin, that meant it clung to his hair, too... Bleach sounded out of the question for something like that.
Shale quickly washed away the swaths of bleach-water left by his companion. He loosed a disgusted grunt at the thought of his skin slowly melting away into soap - feet, back, all of it. Standing in the sink might be the better option. Flushing Jack for her antics sounded equally viable. "So since you used all the paper towels, how are we supposed to dry anything? Tampons?" He tossed a glance over his shoulder while hastily scrubbing down one thigh.
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 10:53 pm
"Ack-" Jack backed, from the shirt assault, squinching up brows with uncertainty and retreating towards the door a bit with new, stinky shirt acquisition. Oh ******** you man, redirtying when I've gotten at least halfway. It wasn't worth getting riled about, since they were both only ever going to get 'halfway.' Jack threw the shirt back at him to deal with as he pleased, however it landed at or on his back and shoulders The next tossed implements, returned ownership, were just donned. There just wasn't going to be a 'finished' until there was something more robust. Maybe a blowtorch. "Drip dry, yo? We're standing in a pisshole where the only clean floor is one that's been purified by raw bleach, and you're worried about drying? We're not hanging around to get food, so we can dry out outside in the fresh air. No need to blend with the natives in dryness." "Oh gag, I can't imagine eating like this. It is getting a little thick...we need to jet. You got far to go?" To get home would usually be the end of that, but he might be going somewhere else first. I'm going to go to the sports house and use the showers there. Maybe one of the neighbor-dormers can be bought off to bring me some peroxide, baking soda and dish soap. Deskunk elixir has to work, right??
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Posted: Mon May 25, 2015 6:54 am
The sink water was cupped and dropped over soapy skin in a vague approximation of cleaning. The stench of bleach offered fumes to dizzying proportions, and stomach cramps flourished. He wondered if they were due to the smell of death or the smell of cleaning supplies, but ultimately he'd find himself gassed out if the pair remained. Shale tossed the shirt from shoulder into sink, and washed in quick fashion to alleviate some of the stink.
Smell of death will have to stay. I don't want to pass out in here.
"Fair." A shame I still distract myself with minutia. Shirt, pants, and shoes were all donned quickly. If dry spots remained on any article, they soon blotted out with Shale's wet skin. He coughed from the oppressive choke of bleach, and started toward the door beyond his companion.
"It's twenty minutes," he managed around a cough. "Less if I run. Better not bus home, Jack. And next time, you choose the place - just make sure there aren't bodies." He swung the door wide, grateful for the inflow of (relatively) clean air. Immediately a few stares came, with one employee frozen in place. She looked like she intended to investigate the unusual bathroom activity, and upon seeing him emerge drenched, probably thought better of it. Shale offered her no explanation, either. He headed to the door immediately, grimacing at the feeling of wet shoes.
I should just carry them. Or would, except that my heels are melting into soap. He crossed the threshold out of the restaurant, passing a pair that looked relatively bemused at sighting him, and started out onto the sidewalk. He broke into a jog thereafter, more interested in getting home and showering for the rest of the day than trying to play the part of 'mindful citizen'.
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