Travis Touchdown (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rank1) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
returnjourneylogs2022-03-03 08:46 pm
rank1) wrote in returnjourneylogs2022-03-03 08:46 pm
Entry tags:
#7
Passengers: Travis and the Foam Wife (allegedly)
Location: The Laundry Room
Date: March 3rd
Summary: Travis experiences a miracle.
Warnings: It might get weird.
Travis has spent the bulk of his adult life living in a motel for a variety of reasons. The most obvious is, of course, that he has been historically unable to get a background check or employment record or proof of income, and that scraping together enough for a first and last has generally been a bit lofty. Have you seen the rental prices in California, man? Motels don't ask questions, and though they don't have proper kitchens or storage, at least they have basic room service. Travis has changed his own sheets maybe a dozen times in the last ten years, and that's just fucking great. He has never touched a vacuum, never washed a window, and only scrubbed a toilet after he's puked in it or gotten a little crazy at Tag Team Taco Twins, and even then... not every time.
What he has done, every single week since he was a teenager, is his own laundry. It's not entirely miserable. He can sit there with a manga or a handheld console and while away an hour or two. He can people watch. And hell, weird shit goes down at laundromats. Who doesn't like some free entertainment?
Turns out it's no different in space. While his foam wife takes a "nap" in his bunk, he sits in the laundry room, idly scrolling through his communicator, waiting for his wash to finish, and for Claire's dryer to unlock.
Location: The Laundry Room
Date: March 3rd
Summary: Travis experiences a miracle.
Warnings: It might get weird.
Travis has spent the bulk of his adult life living in a motel for a variety of reasons. The most obvious is, of course, that he has been historically unable to get a background check or employment record or proof of income, and that scraping together enough for a first and last has generally been a bit lofty. Have you seen the rental prices in California, man? Motels don't ask questions, and though they don't have proper kitchens or storage, at least they have basic room service. Travis has changed his own sheets maybe a dozen times in the last ten years, and that's just fucking great. He has never touched a vacuum, never washed a window, and only scrubbed a toilet after he's puked in it or gotten a little crazy at Tag Team Taco Twins, and even then... not every time.
What he has done, every single week since he was a teenager, is his own laundry. It's not entirely miserable. He can sit there with a manga or a handheld console and while away an hour or two. He can people watch. And hell, weird shit goes down at laundromats. Who doesn't like some free entertainment?
Turns out it's no different in space. While his foam wife takes a "nap" in his bunk, he sits in the laundry room, idly scrolling through his communicator, waiting for his wash to finish, and for Claire's dryer to unlock.
no subject
But before they can delve into that psycho-social minefield, he's being handed a bunch of clothes. "Where did you--" He cuts himself off. The doll. He got clothes for the doll. He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure I can conjure something long enough for a video."