The Scout's Guide: A Team Fortress 2 Story

04

And so began some of the most tedious work Kaethe had ever done.

The very moment the laundromat closed, the employees set straight to work on unloading the truck outside, as well as the second that had arrived ("The other three will come tomorrow," the man in the blue uniform had explained). One by one, crate after crate after crate was removed from the back of each vehicle and placed in the laundromat. It took quite a time, but eventually, the crates were unloaded -- and as soon as the last one was removed, both of the trucks departed.

"Now," said Mrs. Armani as she studied the enormous crates that were now stacked everywhere, "let's open a few and see just what we're dealing with, shall we?" She nodded to Stella. "The honor's all yours, mia cara."

A wicked grin came across Stella's face. "Why, thank you," she said, positively swaggering over to one of the nearby crates, and taking the lid off with a flourish -- but the instant she did, her face fell. "... oh dear."

"Stella, what are you saying 'oh dear' about? Is this just you being theatrical?" Anise said drily.

"Normally that would be the case, but, um..." Stella grimaced as she reached into the crate, and pulled out a sweat-stained blue t-shirt that was covered in bloodstains and dirt. "Not this time."

Maria made a sound of disgust. "¡Ay guácala!"

Anise snatched the filthy shirt from Stella and held it at arm's length, scoffing a bit scornfully. "Ugh. What on earth?"

Took the words right out of my mouth, Kaethe thought to herself, equally aghast.

Wrinkling her nose, Mrs. Armani took the shirt, brought it the ever-so-slightest bit close to herself, and began to gently tug at the seams around the sleeves. "I wonder how sturdy it i--"

But she never finished her sentence -- for in that instant, there was a loud RRRRRIP and the shirt fell to the floor in several pieces.

There was a collective gasp of appallment at the shirt's lack of integrity. "Are they all like that?" Maria whispered, her eyes wide.

"It would seem so," Stella said, holding up another t-shirt. She pointed to the seams, which were so loose that the shirt was all but falling apart. "And look at this." She reached into the back of the shirt's collar, and revealed its tag. "You see who made this shirt?"

Mrs. Armani retrieved her reading glasses from the pocket of her apron and put them on, before reading the words on the tag aloud: "'Manufactured by Mann Co. in Australia.'"

"Mann Co.?" Lisa repeated with dismay as she came out of the back. She had arrived just as they had finished unloading the truck, and had been putting her things away up until now. "We're gonna be here a while, ain't we?"

"Yes," Stella said with barely contained hostility that was rare for her. "They make nothing but worthless trash -- and I bet you every last piece of clothing we've got to wash has been made by them."

A somber silence fell over the laundromat as the full realization of the mess in which they had likely been ensnared sank in. However, it stayed this way only briefly as Mrs. Armani spoke up: "Well, regardless of that, we still have work to do, and it certainly won't get done if we continue standing around like this. We've got two days to finish this and fifty grand on the line, ladies, so let's get to it!"

The reminder of the sheer amount of money they had been promised made the girls' despondency fade and become sheer determination. "Yes, Mrs. Armani!" they all chimed, and went to work.

The rest of that day was spent in hard labor. Soon after Mrs. Armani's reminder of the fifty grand, they set up stations and began to dash around as they frantically shoved clothing into all available washing machines and driers. Time itself ceased to exist as naught but a few distinguishable acts were performed: wash, dry, mend (if needed), fold, and repeat...