returnjourneylogs

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He leans back, like this might actually be menacing.

"Bullshit," he hisses back. "You've got someone here in your pocket, which means you told other people you were here before me. That's fucked up."

"And what a surprise, that I would want to avoid you!" She huffs, crosses her arms. "You're lucky I'm speaking to you at all, after that stupid video. Literally objectifying me. I ought to go find someone who'd treat me with respect."

Sylvia taps a finger to her lips. "You know, I think that Rhys guy might be just eager enough to impress people he'd do whatever I asked."

Travis opens his mouth to be pissed –– there's so much to be pissed about there –– but it occurs to him that this is weird. She's weird. She's being fucking weird.

"What the fuck are you talking about, objectifying?" Travis asks. Have you seen your own outfits, woman? "And Rhys? Are you feeling okay, Sylvia? Bonk your head on the transport ship? Because I know you wouldn't look twice at that idiot."

And there's the turning point. Should he keep pushing it or disappear into the ether? Although that would likely leave Travis wondering if he's going mad. Best not go that far.

...Just a bit more, though.

"Maybe I would, if it would get a rise out of you. Which it clearly is." Sylvia smirks and, well, frankly it looks a little out of place on her face. "With all you've put him through, he's earned a little comfort, don't you think?"

It does look unsettling. It kind of freaks him out, actually, though maybe that's in part the idea that she's going to step out on him with fucking Rhys.

"I'm not kidding around, baby," he warns her, and it's his turn to inch forward. "Cut this shit out."

Ohhh, fine. Loki holds a hand up, and in a flash of green-gold light, it's his own, the rest of him resolving soon after. With a little flourish of his hands, he grins back at Travis.

"Ta-da!" He drops his hands, shrugging a little. "Someone had to speak up for her, right?"

Yeah, that's what's going on. Sure.

Travis makes no effort to hide how startled he is, jumping a full foot back. A myriad of expressions slide over his face –– shock, anger, denial, awe. When it settles, he's annoyed. Maybe not at the prank, because even he has to admit it had him going, but for Sylvia.

"Hey, asshole! What makes you think I can't speak up for my own wife?"

Loki rolls his eyes. "Were you speaking up for her when you made her into a doll? I just wanted to remind you there's a real thing out there."

Which he's more inclined to believe there is, given Travis' reaction. He'd been prepared to find out the whole thing was made up.

"You seemed rather happy to see her. I didn't expect to be quite so convincing, having never met her myself."

The ship is full of little things, the sway of the hem of Claire's skirt around her legs, the way his chin lines up with the top of Alice's head when he steps around her in the dorm doorway. The little flex of Jack's abs when she sits up straighter. The world is full of women who aren't his wife. He hardly needs a reminder, but he doesn't say that.

He says, in perhaps an entirely different unnecessary show of self-defence:

"Why wouldn't I be happy to see my wife?"

Loki raises an eyebrow. "If she wasn't real, for starters. At least we've somewhat confirmed that, hm?"

He leans back against the nearest machine, crossing his arms. "Not that it'd be terribly convincing for anyone else, now that you know. Though I would like to see some of their faces." He grins, laughing to himself. "Norns, some of them would probably wonder if the foam model came to life. At least for a moment. You never know around here, right?"

It stings to have this many people in a matter of days be surprised that he could bag a babe like Sylvia, but hey, they don't know her either.

Still, he raises a brow at Loki.

"Might be a pretty cool surprise," he says, thoughtfully. "Rub it in people's faces."

Rub it in people's faces? He's not a fan of that necessarily, but...

"It would be fun to spend some time in someone else's skin for a while." He cocks his head to the side, thoughtful. "Assuming you won't be bothered by it."

Or...weird about it.

The more he thinks about it, the easier it is to envision this being fun instead of a dig at his pride. Yeah, he thinks, everyone can see him with a babe on his arm. It won't be far from the truth, either.

"Are you kidding? I could look at her for weeks and not get tired," he replies. "Let's do this thing. I'll help you make it real convincing."

This is silly. A complete waste of time, and likely not going to help Travis in the least. If the goal was to remind Travis to treat people more considerately, Travis saying he was looking forward to staring at him was probably a step in the wrong direction.

But...it is the sort of thing he and Betelgeuse would have gotten up to. And bonding with wardens had done him some good, he thinks. Not to mention he could use a laugh. A distraction. Perhaps Travis could too.

Alright. What's the worst that could happen?

Well, one thing, actually. Loki thrusts a finger into Travis' face, expression stern. "Fine. But I am not sleeping with you. Understood? This is just a joke."

With a finger in his face like that, he's not sure he'll have to give Loki much instruction, anyway.

"Do I seem like the kind of guy who's gonna cheat on his wife?" he replies. Actually, given how many people have reacted with skepticism to Sylvia's existence in his life, maybe he shouldn't ask stupid questions.

But here they go, anyway. Travis opens the nearest dryer, thrusting a hand in and producing a few articles of clothing: a white blouse, a skirt of some sort.

Loki stares. "When you put it like that, I do wonder. Given you're saying I should look just like her."

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."

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