obsidianlogs | august mingle;

i;; The Laundry Room
[ Really this is where the magic happens. (Not really) It's an industrial laundry room if that toots your horn. Aside from the rumble of the washers and dryers and rolling bins of laundry, the impressive thing is that there's actually music. Too bad for you that it all seems to be pop's greatest hits from the 80's, 90's and now. ]

ii;; Dominion
[ Welcome to the Starcourt Mall, the newest addition to Hawkins, Indiana! Upon entering, it looks like any other mall stuck in a mid-80's motif. Bright neon signs adorn all the shops and the carpets are in bright colors and geometric shapes. There's even peppy, ambient music coming from the speakers. There apparently weren't enough niche malls in the world, and Starcourt aims to fill that void. At first, things seem fine. Completely normal, even! You aren't alone in this mall by any means. There are patrons milling about and the dull murmur of chatter can be heard above that cheery ambient music.

Upon closer examination, it's easy to see that all the guests are faceless. Void of any sort of identifying feature or anything at all that would make speech or living possible. They don't seem to realize that everyone else is faceless, too, just carrying on a normal conversation Listening long enough to anyone's conversation will prove one thing- it's not a sustainable conversation at all. Instead, it's the same Russian phrases with different inflection and intensity. If you're lucky enough to understand Russian, it all sounds a bit like nonsense.

The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to China sounds nice if you tread lightly.

To make matters worse, you're late to work, enjoy the uniform which you're now wearing. Scoops Ahoy is waiting for you! The interior of the ice cream parlor is more bright and vibrant than the rest of the mall, done in blue and white nautical striping and mahogany seating. To make matters worse, it has its own playlist which is even louder and more annoying than the ambient music out in the mall. There's a sliding glass window behind the counter that's completely dark despite the bright lighting of the shop. From behind the counter, you can see the entire shop and out into the mall and the food court across the way. All completely normal except for the pool set into the floor that seems to suck all the brightness from the mall. The only source of illumination around the pool are the lights inset in the submerged walls.

But don't let that distract you from the faceless queue that stretches out the front of the shop that seem to be yelling in that same Russian gibberish. ]

iii; Wildcard
[ Anything goes! ]

Edited 2020-08-05 20:36 (UTC)

Reno hadn't heard this much Russian in a long time. He'd been there, naturally, as his job would take him just about anywhere -- but it was hardly a familiar place. He didn't understand all the words and the ones he did understand didn't seem to go together with the rest of whatever conversation was happening. It quickly became overwhelming.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling like he was severely hungover, as he sat up from... a padded booth? Was he in a diner? If he got drunk and passed out here, that tracked.

"Nu, ch... chto? Chto? Uhh, ya ne panimayu*..." he grumbled plaintively before opening his eyes and squinting up at...

No face.

Reno heaved himself back against the wall as far back into the booth as he could manage, staring in terror at the blank-faced "woman" thing. "Fuck! Th' fuck are you!" It was then, too, that he also noticed his bare knees and the strange childish sailor suit. "The fuck is this??"

[*"What? I don't understand."]

"Hey!" Steve's tone is exasperated and stressed out as he levels Reno with an unimpressed stare. He gestures wildly to the line with his ice cream scoop.

"If you can figure out what they want, they'll probably leave." He can't understand what they're saying even though it sounds familiar. Either way, it's exceedingly frustrating trying to figure it out on his own.

"Figure out what they want? Hell, all I can tell is something about the days of the week and cats. Someone is real insistent about a cat."

Reno scooted up into the seat and then began to make his way to the counter by stepping over and across the booths. The faceless customers did not seem pleased in the slightest that he was putting his shoes on the table. Reno didn't care.

"At least you have a face." Reno hopped down and slipped behind the counter, feeling slightly better to put something between himself and the line of weirdos. "Speaking of, why do you have a face and they don't?"

It takes a minute for his brain to catch up to what the hell Reno is talking about and he snaps his fingers, pointing. "So it's bullshit, got it."

Steve watches him move across the tops of the tables, absolutely baffled.

"I've always had a face, why do you have a face?"

"Absolute bullshit. Hundred percent."

Reno leaned over the counter to get into one of the "customers'" faces. "Nyet," he said slowly and loudly with emphasis. "Ne koshki illi sabakii."

Tapping on the display glass, with great exasperation and a poor accent, he added impatiently, "Marohdjenay." Reno glanced back over his shoulder again at Steve, his impatient expression becoming one of incredulous confusion. "I've always had a face, why wouldn't I?"

[ Fortunately, Eliot likes the greatest hits from days gone by. He seems to know almost all the old bops that come on, and has no qualms singing along (also fortunately, Eliot is actually not a bad singer, so his fellow workers can't be too tortured). And, honestly, apart from the heat, it's not a bad gig. This is so much better than scrubbing toilets

And the guard presence is minimal at best.

Eliot glances over at Steve. A fellow cell-block inmate, but also Billy's best boy, so that makes him actually important and worth talking to. ]

Hey. Can you help me fold these sheets?

[ His tastes are basic but he doesn't really feel guilty about it, and it's great that he's got someone to sing along with when the mood takes him to do it. There are definitely worse places to be, though learning how to do it in the first place had been a trial.

Seriously, why were there so many rules for washing clothes? They have no right being that fussy.

He stops hefting another load of sheets into a nearby dryer to move over to Eliot and takes up the other end. ]

Yeah, no sweat.

Thanks.

[ Eliot smiles quite pleasantly. He separates the sheets so they can grab them as they go, then gets the first one prepped for folding. ]

I don't actually remember the last time I did laundry. Most of my shit was dry clean only.

I don't think I've ever done laundry before I got here.

[ He takes up the end of the sheet, bringing the ends over to Eliot before picking up the bottom edges to do it again. ]

We had a housekeeper a few times a week. My parents went on business trips a lot.

Is that how you ended up here? Rebelled against your cozy, suburban lifestyle in an attempt to find yourself, but then you caught up with bad boys with questionable hair?

[ That's a better story than whatever the truth probably is. Eliot hopes that's the truth, though. It's a plot worthy of a novel belonging to a lonely housewife. ]

[ Steve might be looking for more random staff members, but the woman who walks through the door looks more like she's robbed the Dynasty wardrobe department. Carrying shopping bags from the lingerie and perfume stores (this third-rate mall doesn't even have a Nordstrom, let alone a Bergdorf Goodman or Neiman Marcus. What a rip.), she bypasses the line entirely, ignoring them, and walks right up to the counter. She doesn't comment on the more bizarre aspects of this place or the people -- she behaves as if this were all quite normal.

Tapping her finger, she looks over the menu and the flavors. ]

I'll take the chocolate-vanilla swirl in a waffle cone, cutie. With hot fudge.

[ The faceless mob behind her repeats their phrase, clearly annoyed with her for skipping the line, but unable to say anything different. The woman pays them no attention and simply smiles at Steve. ]

[ Of all the things he could have expected, seeing a normal person is at the very bottom of his list. Right above that person being stunningly beautiful- like she'd just walked off a movie set. He gapes openly before his brain catches up to him and he shakes his head and offers her what he believes is a charming smile as he prepares her ice cream.

Weird stuff after. ]

No S.S. Butterscotch or Cherries Jubilee to take you on an odyssey to flavor island?

As tempting as flavor island sounds, I'm afraid I'm too fond of the classics. But if you'd like to adventure with one yourself, I'll buy.

[ She looks back at the line of blank heads, empty skin. Even if they order, they certainly can't eat ice cream. It makes one wonder why they bothered coming in at all. ]

They're a fitting allegory for food service, but you don't have much of a job with their mouths, do you? Take a break.

No, I'm good. I don't eat a lot of ice cream, I'm trying to watch my physique.

[ Steve holds out her cone after he adds a dollop of hot fudge to it, trying his best to ignore his creepy customers. ]

I would, but they won't leave and I don't understand what they want.

[ She takes the cone and gives it a lick that's only a bit suggestive. Sliding some cash across the counter, she gives the crowd a second glance. Nope, still weird and she doesn't get it (she speaks Italian, not Russian). ]

Sweetheart, I don't think you could help them if you tried. Don't let it stress you out. Come on, be bad.

[The ridiculous sailor suit is exactly the sort of costume Villanelle would put on for one of her jobs, only she doesn't remember how she got to the mall or who the target might be. Touching her head to see if she bumped it or something, all she feels is a hat. ...A sailor hat, naturally, that reads Ahoy on the front when she plucks it off to look at it. Great. So helpful.

She stalks through the mall, vaguely unsettled in the back of her mind by the faceless drones, though she's not paying them much attention yet. When she sees the huge line at—oh, of course—Scoops Ahoy, she heads for the entrance and starts elbowing her way past people to get in. Which is when she finally hears what's being said clearly enough to realize that everyone is talking gibberish. Seriously, is she having a stroke?]

What?

[She's responding in English because she doesn't like to speak Russian anymore, but she understands perfectly well. Or rather, she doesn't, because none of that?? means anything??]

You're just shouting words. I can do it too! Green hippopotamus dances on tables!

—Get out of my way.

[ Steve is stressing out behind the counter which seems to be the only thing separating him from the faceless crowd. He'll take what he can get. He's surprised to see anyone else- especially dressed as she is and points an accusatory finger at her, which he flicks toward the line and back. ]

You know what they're saying?

[ It took only a little while to figure out where he belonged after finding himself in this ridiculous uniform. The legend 'Scoops Ahoy' emblazoned on his hat makes it clear, however, and when he finds the shop with that moniker, he pushes his way past the guests and marches in to his apparent place behind the counter. ]

What the hell is happening here?

[ There's no one in his apparent line of sight who can answer that question, but he asks it regardless. ]

Edited 2020-08-13 13:35 (UTC)

That's what I'd like to know!

[ Steve bursts out of the door to the back room with a large tub of ice cream, which he hefts into the cooler to replace a missing flavor. Once it's slotted in place, he closes the cooler door and leans with one hand against it. ]

I've been doing all this by myself. Normally it's not a big deal, but they're--

[ He makes a large, sweeping gesture with his free hand. ]

That.

I am not an employee of this establishment.

[ That's the part he'd like to make clear, right off the bat. He pulls off the hat with the place's name on it. ]

How did I end up in one of your uniforms?

[ Billy has spent the last few minutes trying, in vain, to tear that goddamn uniform off. Try as he might, he can't seem to remove it. It's like this stupid sailor suit is fused to him, and there's only one person he can think of to blame for this.

Harrington.

The faceless Russians don't even seem to catch his eye; like a bull seeing red he's drawn towards Scoops Ahoy, stomping his feet as he walks (which looks downright ridiculous in this stupid outfit). ]

The hell's going on, Harrington? [ He scowls, though he notices that Steve is wearing the same stupid outfit as he is. ]

[ The laugh that bursts out of him is equal parts relief from no longer being alone with the faceless crowd and how funny Billy looks in the Scoops Ahoy uniform. And Steve thought the shorts were short on him. Whoever designed it should probably be shot in the foot and forced to clean out a cooler in it.

He gestures wildly to the line reaching out the door and to their surroundings in general. ]

I wish I knew!

august mingle;

Steve Harrington

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laundry~

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dominion

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