Laundry Room
[Between the cabins and the mess hall, there's a small, well-worn path. At the end of it, and old, decrepit building can be seen through the trees. Once-cheery paint peels in thick layers from its sides, and the shingles on the roof rattle in the slightest breeze. The ground along one side is scorched bare, and even now, hot air pours from the vents, killing anything that tries to grow. Faint on the breeze is the scent of burning lint.
The two large windows in the building's front are perpetually fogged up, but inside, rows of washers and dryers can be seen, lit by bare, flickering light bulbs. At some point, large plywood cutouts of rainbows and butterflies were nailed to the walls; whatever colour they once had has faded in the continual humidity, and here and there, rust-brown splatters have soaked into the wood. Here and there, a plywood tentacle rises from behind the washers, reaching up to the symbols above.
The machines are all old, the occasional washer straining against its moorings as it enders the spin cycle, banging against its fellows. A few industrial-sized machines line the back wall, their large hatches gaping open like toothless maws. And attached to each washer and dryer is a small coin box. No two take the same currency, but all accept 'laundry tokens' from the machine at the front of the room: a hulking device that offers no conversion rates, just a slot, a lever, and a spinning cylinder behind glass that turns to display 'Big Luck', 'Medium Luck', 'Luck', and, in deep, foreboding red, 'No Luck'. Beside it, a vending machine offers extra soap and fabric softeners in 'Rotting Field', 'Bloodsoaked Night', and 'Zombie Fresh'.
The burned-wood sign above the front door reads simply 'LAUNDRY'. And scratched below, by some long-forgotten hand, is, 'Bring me your cottons, ye mighty, and despair'.]
[... oh, right, and there's a Nobody folding sheets on one of the tables. But the rest is a lot more interesting.]
((OOC post went here!))
The two large windows in the building's front are perpetually fogged up, but inside, rows of washers and dryers can be seen, lit by bare, flickering light bulbs. At some point, large plywood cutouts of rainbows and butterflies were nailed to the walls; whatever colour they once had has faded in the continual humidity, and here and there, rust-brown splatters have soaked into the wood. Here and there, a plywood tentacle rises from behind the washers, reaching up to the symbols above.
The machines are all old, the occasional washer straining against its moorings as it enders the spin cycle, banging against its fellows. A few industrial-sized machines line the back wall, their large hatches gaping open like toothless maws. And attached to each washer and dryer is a small coin box. No two take the same currency, but all accept 'laundry tokens' from the machine at the front of the room: a hulking device that offers no conversion rates, just a slot, a lever, and a spinning cylinder behind glass that turns to display 'Big Luck', 'Medium Luck', 'Luck', and, in deep, foreboding red, 'No Luck'. Beside it, a vending machine offers extra soap and fabric softeners in 'Rotting Field', 'Bloodsoaked Night', and 'Zombie Fresh'.
The burned-wood sign above the front door reads simply 'LAUNDRY'. And scratched below, by some long-forgotten hand, is, 'Bring me your cottons, ye mighty, and despair'.]
[... oh, right, and there's a Nobody folding sheets on one of the tables. But the rest is a lot more interesting.]
((OOC post went here!))