2020-03-15 - Laundry day is a very dangerous day.

Everyone needed to do laundry right? Though most people had in-house washers and dryers these days. There were some things, however, that just needed bigger washers and dryers. Like comforters. So that is why Esme was here at what felt like an ungodly hour of the night/day. She was finally getting around to getting all the winter bedding washed to be put away for next winter and getting the spring bedding washed to put out because her dad certainly wasn't going to do it - even if he wasn't still grieving the loss of his wife.

Esme had claimed a chair that allowed her to recline against the wall while her legs stretched out across a couple other chairs. She was poking at her phone and every now and then looking at the drink machine as if she was debating needing more caffine because oh my god why did doing laundry take a thousand years?

More than just clothes get laundered up in here, that's all that needs to be said to explain why Graham Stewart would have the brass to come strolling into this particular laundromat, blowing a plume of smoke out over his shoulder. Which, yes, is technically in violation of some kind of code about smoking within X number of feet if a doorway, but what are the consequences, really? Is someone going to arrest him? Since he's ninety-percent sure he won't get arrested...

Graham enters the laundromat, peeling off sunglasses and drumming up the kind of perfectly perfect smile that makes people either like him immediately. Or worry. The woman behind the plexiglass in the little manager's space overlooking the laundromat seems to go with the latter, rising to knock on the plexiglass and shake her finger at him, like no-no-no. He turns up the wattage on the smile and heads over and -

And manages to hop over Esme's ankles rather than trip over them, but it makes him stop and side-eye her. "This seems kinda unsafe, yanno."

Esme's gaze flickered up towards Graham - having not even registered someone else was coming in until he almost tripped over her. There's another look towards the manager lady and then back up to him. "Didn't figure anyone else would be so crazy as to do laundry this late at night." She only moved her feet a little bit. "Seems like I'm right." Because he didn't have any laundry with him that she could see. A bit of a dubious look given to the man. If Esme recognizes him at all she doesn't seem to let on for now.

"First off, it ain't that late." Graham says that, then actually checks his watch, and his eyes get enormous for a second while he whispers a surprised 'holy shit' under his breath. Looking back to Esme with a new smile, chagrined, he continues, "A'ight, so it's a little late. But I'm just picking up." He raises his voice on the last bit there, rolling onto his toes and looking pointedly toward the back room. The manager has scribbled a note on a piece of paper and plastered it to the glass. It says PICKUPS ON MONDAYS ONLY. "Second off," once he laughs, shakes his head, and peels his eyes away from that note, "pretty sure you just called yourself crazy, sunshine."

Esme eyed Graham for a minute. She has mentally marked him as suspicious as hell but doesn't recognize him. Another glace towards the window. "Looks like you're out of luck on picking up, hm?" Shifting a bit in her seat so she had a better view of him and also the manager at the same time. Though her focus was on him and a wry smile graces her lips. "Never said I wasn't." Crazy that is. "Everyone's got some crazy any how."

Looks like Graham is out of luck. "Looks like," with a quick click of his tongue against the back of his teeth. He'll just be dragging one of the chairs in this joint over to the end of one of the rows of washers, backing it up there, and then parking himself in it. It's a good vantage point if a person was, say, keeping an eye on the manager (who is now on the phone) and the front door. Or just really wanted to sit down. "Whatcha washing, crazy? Looks like - " He peers at the nearest spinning machine, which may or may not have Esme's clothes in it. But, since she's the only one here, that's where he puts his money. " - hotel linens. Housekeeper?" Jabber jabber.

Esme watched Graham sit down and then looked over towards the washer. Then back to Graham. "Helping out my dad." She shrugs. Apparently not ready to divulge her line of work just yet. "And this is going to be my only opportunity for a bit to do it. What about you? What're you picking up?" The default answer might be dry cleaning - but Esme didn't want to say that guess and him just agree to it. Her spidey senses were tingling ever so slightly! So she just wanted to see how this whole thing played out. "Esme by the way."

Ah, says the nod that Graham issues. "Dad's a housekeeper?" He's just making educated guesses and/or idle chit-chat. "Me and my girlfriend owned a motel for a minute, so I'm housekeeping-adjacent," he adds like that totally legitimizes both the assumption and his curiosity. Although he just got settled, he unsettles enough to lean forward across his knees and hang his hand out into the long space in between them. After a quick bit of mental math, he scrape-drags his chair across the ground, so now he's only arm's-length from Esme, thus facilitating the handshake he's offering.

Bonus: the noise is really loud, and the chair leg gouges a bit of a scrape in the linoleum. The manager knocks on the plexiglass again, with the handle of the phone this time, shakes her finger at Graham again. He ignores this.

"what's up, Esme. Cool name. I'm Graham. Like the crackers."

"You make any more noise you might get her to come outta that thing." Esme muses with a fleeting smirk. "Graham Crackers." He left himself open for it and Esme was going to take advantage. "Nice to meet you." She gives him the handshake, it's brief but confident. "Motel huh? Which one?" Just curious as she settles back in her seat. "And no. He isn't. My mother just passed away so I'm helping him out with a few things." Esme explained. She also notes that he totally didn't answer her question about what he was picking up and that's filed away for later too!

Despite that he's pointedly ignoring the woman, Graham smiles with delighted avarice at the notion that the manager might come outta that thing. "Can always hope, anyway." The handshake accomplished, he makes sure to make additional noise when he scoots his chair back, jamming it into the glass viewport on the front of the washer behind him. Not hard enough to break the glass, but it was completely unnecessary. Which motel? "That fucking shitty one down by the boardwalk. I mean, it wasn't shitty when we owned it, but it's definitely shitty now." And it makes him shrug, like what're you gonna do? But the shrug switches up, brows furrowed over the frown he wears. "That sucks about your mom. I'm sorry for you." But, like, legitimately. Not like all the bullshit he's been spewing thus far. He really is sorry for her. 🙁

"Ohh the murder motel." Esme looks a little interested in that. "Yeah I've heard that place isn't so great these days. But I guess every town's gotta have that one place, yeah?" Her brow quirked. She looks towards the manager again mostly just to see what her reaction is to the unnecessary seat slamming. Then back over towards Graham with nod. "Yeah, I'm sorry too." And still feeling guilty as all get out, but such is life. "Thanks though." A light smile is summoned up. She finally stands as the washer stops so she can start transferring the bedding to a dryer. "So, have you just committed to sitting here until she gives in or Monday rolls around?"

Yeeeep, the murder motel, that's what Graham's nod and accompanying wry chuckle confirms. "My girlfriend's parents are the ones that got - " He pantomimes a gunshot to the temple, index finger pointed to his forehead. "It was fucked up." Hence his sympathy for Esme's lost parent, seeing as he's dead-parent-adjacent (along with being housekeeping-adjacent), and he answers her light smile in kind.

While Esme is fishing her laundry, Graham is leaning forward to keep tabs on the manager, who has decided she's going to try to WORK. It's hard, though, for her to do her paperwork or whatever and keep an eye on the lobby to be sure she's not getting ROBBED right this exact second. It keeps him entertained. "What's that?" he asks, like he wasn't paying enough attention to immediately answer Esme. Definitely not like he's just buying a second to come up with a credible lie. "Oh, nah. I mean, what's she gonna do? Not give me what's mine? Pretty sure that's illegal." If he was actually this dumb, his life would be so awesome.

Lucky for him that esme was more focused on stuffing a blanket in the dryer. She seems to buy his answer. "Yeah, probably. " she agrees as she closes the dryer and adds in a few quarters. "But don't worry , nothing illegal is gonna happen here tonight. " She assures him as she sits back down. At least not while she was on premises!

Brows up, Graham asks, "Oh yeah? Why's that?" Like any normal, everyday concerned citizen would. DEFINITELY not like someone that's just waiting for a giant black guy to show up and help him shake down this stubborn fucking manager.

Esme reclined in her chair and reached into the pocket of her coat that was laying beside her. The badge was flashed 'GHPD' - long enough for him to properly get a look before she stowed it back away. "That's why." Giving him a sort of look that maybe expressed she was not in a mood to be dealing with shenanigans. Especially off duty. However, she summoned up another smile before sighing and looking at the dryer timer. "It's gonna be a long night." Because blankets take longer than 30 minutes in the stupid dryer.

Well, it's a good thing Graham already had his brows raised, 'cause they stay there while he eyes the badge. "No shit," he says, impressed, leaning back into his chair and ever-so-casually digging his phone out from his pocket. "What kinda cop are you, Officer Esme? Like," he looks up from the text he's tapping out, giving her a sympathetic frown for the dryer situation, "obviously not the appliance police. What's your - what do you guys call it? Beat? Department? Gig?" There, text sent, he stuffs the phone back in his pocket, fishes out a cigarette to fiddle with - the manager bangs on the plexiglass again and points to the NO SMOKING sign in the lobby - and looks attentively at Esme. He's totally listening, officer!

"I've done a little bit of everything." And she can get by in 5 or so languages to prove it! Esme shrugs. He hasn't lit the cigarette yet so, you know, she isn't going to say anything about it. Yet. "I'm on homicide right now though. Detective." She elaborates though, finally. She eyes his phone for a beat too but then focuses on him again. "And what is it that you do Graham Crackers? Since you don't co- own a hotel anymore."

Graham's not going to light the cigarette, don't worry. He'll just be fiddling with it idly from now on, pretend-smoking it in the way of a person that really needs to cut back to one pack a day, dude, this is getting to be a little expensive. Plus cancer and stuff. "Coooool," he says of her current job. "Must be a busy fucking job in this town," with a grimly amused grin. "You help catch that serial killer from the summer?" Without missing a beat, he rattles off immediately, "I'm a driver. Not like Uber. I drive rich people around. It's a pretty all right job, honestly. They have nice cars."

"Yeah, you're tellin' me." Esme shook her head about it keeping her busy. "Not over the summer, no. I haven't been back that long. But I've got plenty on my plate, yes." She offers and raises a brow. "A driver huh? Didn't think there were that many rich people in town. Do you drive outside the city too?"

Graham repeats, "Back," with interest. He's sure all up in other people's business for some rando in a laundromat. "Like, you're from around here? Left and came back?" With another of those grimly entertained grins, he can't help asking, "To be a homicide detective in Gray Harbor. You piss someone off in a past life or something?" The cigarette-wielding hand waves vaguely in the direction of the towns that he mentions when he answers for his own occupation. "Pretty much wherever. Hoquiam, Cosmopolis, New London. I'll go all the way to Seattle if the money's right, but most people'd rather pay local than import. Their loss, of course." Like this is a big secret, he tells Esme, "I'm an excellent driver." He gives himself two thumbs-up.

Yeah, he's got a fancy washer and dryer setup in his fancy apartment. But they must not be working....or, like in Esme's case, inadequate to the task at hand. One of those teeny HE deals, maybe. For there's Joe, in his shorter peacoat and jeans, with a huge sack over his shoulder, like he's Sailor Santa or something. He's got a faint limp and moves like he's tired, but his expression is pleasant.

He drops the sack by one of the biggest of the washers, shrugs out of his coat and sets it aside. Apparently it's warm enough that he's already back to short-sleeved t-shirts - no shame about the scars. Or the bruise that is distinctly a bitemark on his neck, a little purple crescent. Then he's busily plunking quarters into it, and then pouring laundry powder.

Esme's gaze stays steady on him, as if she is trying to determine how much she's going to tell this definitely-shifty-but-she-can't-prove-it guy. "Born and raised," She says with a nod. "Been back about, oh 6 months or so. I mean I could've transferred in to Narcotics or something easy. But the cases that come across in Homicide are fascinating." Says the woman who is way too interested in unsolved cases and may or may not think she could totally plan the perfect murder if she ever had to.

All this said as Joe comes in. She gives him a brief once over as if to assess if he's potentially trouble and then decides he isn't. If he looks in their direction she'll give him an upnod. Then she looks back to Graham to gauge his reaction to her words. If any. Esme is sitting in such a way to keep an eye on Graham and also the manager behind the glass window. Whereas Graham is seated to keep an eye on the manager and the front door.

"Plus," Graham happily tacks on to Esme's logic. "Who wants to spend all day chasing tweakers, am I right? Those fuckers run too fast." He pantomimes running, swinging both arms at his sides, but without all the effort expended to stand up. But homicide cases are fascinating so! "Yeah? Any good ones you can share? I like a good gory story." Sure, that's the reason you're asking, Graham. Sure.

In comes Joseph, and Graham sits forward enough to put eyes on the guy - just checking - then relaxes back into his chair again. "Homeboy gotta hickey," he adds out of the side of his mouth, pointing with the unlit cigarette toward Joe's neck. "Speaking of tweakers." He entertains the shit out of himself, slide-slouching in his seat while he giggles.

Not apparently any kind of threat. He's not armed, he doesn't move like he's here to start something. Very definitely on something, that's clear by the pinned pupils. Esme gets a nod in return, and a drawled, "Ma'am." If he's eavesdropping, it doesn't show.

Graham, on the other hand, gets an amused look slanted at him, from the corner of those sleepy blue eyes. "Nah," he corrects, still in that molasses slow Southern drawl that sticks out like a sore thumb in the PNW, "'s a bite. And I ain't tweakin'." His voice is smoky rough, but there's no scent of smoke to him, either tobacco or otherwise. A flickered look over the other man, and the faintest stitch of a frown between his brows. The one who talks like a cop isn't packing, but the other one is.

"Sounds like you might have some personal experience with tweakers there Graham Crackers." Yeah, he's kind of stuck with that name now. Poor guy. Esme looks he faintest hint amused. Though her gaze is drawn back towards Joe and the bite. "Is it the good kinda bite or a bad one?" Brow quirked, looking somewhat amused still. Though it finally passed. Her attention briefly back on her phone to check something or other.

"I mean. I live around here, so." Is Graham's excuse for having experience with tweakers. After a second, grinning, he goes on to add, "And apparently hang out in laundromats at odd hours." Again, he entertains himself enough to giggle quietly. He ahhhs about the bite, but doesn't bite (get it?) with any follow-up questions. Not least 'cause Esme just asked the most pertinent one, so he STFU and glances Joseph's way expectantly. Do tell~

He's in the process of hauling a comforter from the big canvas laundry sack and feeding it into the maw of the waiting washer. A little smile on his face, dreamy, abstracted - very definitely high. "Oh, 's a good one," he affirms, as he stuffs the thing into the washer. "Not pressin' charges or nothin'."

Slightly less dreamy, though, as he glances at Esme again. "You GHPD, ma'am?" he wonders, politely.

"Hey, I don't judge. Biting can be fun." Esme mused as she eyed the man. "Sure am." Giving him a bit of a two-finger salute. "Detective Esme Wilkinson. Wanna see the badge?" He's definitely on something but Esme's not looking to start things off duty unless someone else starts them first. She glances towards her dryer timer again and wrinkled her nose a bit. Almost done. Looking towards Graham there's a bit of a smirk. "You see a lot of tweakers running here? Maybe they're going to start a marathon team."

Please keep in mind that Graham is a 26-year-old man, and they are not notorious for being the most circumspect people in the world. "Dude, you should see what my girlfriend did - " Hold on, this requires him standing up and undoing his belt, twisting awkwardly to lift up his shirt and push down his jeans and THANK GOD the manager is still watching him like she expects him to rob the place any second and palm-slaps the plexiglass, pointing to the NO SHOES NO SHIRT NO SERVICE sign because that at least gets him to stop stripping entirely. "Man, she's a buzzkill." He glances at Esme for some kind of confirmation of his assessment - she's been her a while, too - then sits grumpily back down, shoving his clothes back into place.

"No, ma'am," for the tweakers. "Must be you boys-and-girls-in-blue keeping our streets so safe that's got the tweakers running outta town." And he smiles gorgeously because that is how Graham do.

"No, ma'am. I overheard ya," Joe admits, without hesitation. Her admission doesn't seem t make him uneasy - either no guilt on his conscience, or else he's too far gone to have any sense on the matter. A nod for the comment about biting being fun - that gleam of amusement there, behind his eyes.

Graham's offer only increases it. "Nah, I'm good, thanks," he says, as if the blond had just offered him a beer rather than a gander at his war wounds. There is no reciprocal offer. Apparently the one bite is either it, or he's keeping his own trophies to himself.

Esme straightens a bit, ready to tell Graham to keep his clothes on if need be. Thankfully it doesn't come to that. A glance towards the manager and then to Graham. "I think she just wants to finish put her night in peace." Giving a wry smile.

The buzzer goes off and she stands up. Finally done. The bedding gets put in the basket she has with her. "Alright. You two be good. I don't wanna have to come back here tonight." It's only a partial joke even though a smile is given with it. "See you around." The basket hefted up as she started to head out.

After all that... while Esme is on her way out, the guy that owns this laundromat is on his way in, and Graham's eyes light on him and brighten him right up. "Well, hello, sir. Just the man I wanted to see." He pushes up to his feet, grinning ear-to-ear. The guy does not look happy to see Graham in return, but says something about this not being Monday, rabble rabble, while Graham follows him into the back-room with a huge smile for the manager behind the plexiglass. Just before he disappears off-screen, he chimes back, "Have a good night, you crazy kids."