Author's Note: Hiiii fleshbags! Judy here with another fic! This is something Judy promised to write for Zorn Sable a while ago, but Judy is forgetful and apparently speaks in the third person now.
Judy will cleanse this world with bees!

Much love,
Judy -

James was down to his last clean pair of underpants.

He hadn't meant to go this long without doing his laundry, but Harry's washer had been possesed by a cranky spirit and well, what was he supposed to do? Go to a laundromat? No way in hell, everyone knows laundromats are just magnets for supernatural activity! (Harry insisted that James had merely added too much soap during the pre-soak cycle, and that he was being silly. But James knew better!)

So James sulked on Harry's couch, drinking Harry's apple juice (after certain events that had taken place the previous weekend, alcohol was no longer permitted in the Mason residence), naked except for his pristine tighty whities.

"James," Harry strolled into the living room, arms folded across his chest, a book (The Complete Sherlock Holmes, Volume Two) tucked under an arm, "You've got to do your laundry sometime. This is getting ridiculous."

James crossed his arms with indignation. Harry sighed and took a seat on the other end of the sofa, "I'm not going to do it for you, you know."

"No, and you shouldn't, either," James turned to Harry, eyes pleading for him to listen."You shouldn't do your laundry with that washer-no, listen to me, Harry! That washer is dangerous! It's EVIL!"

"James."

"I'm serious!"

Rubbing his temple, Harry gave James a tired glance.

"Look, how about this," Harry said, putting his book on the coffee table, "I'll go do a load of my laundry and prove to you the washing machine isn't haunted. How about that?"

James felt a tide of anxiety wash over him, "I don't think that's a good idea, Harry..."

Harry got up and headed for the laundry room. "It'll be fine, Jim. I'll be back in a minute!"

Fidgeting on the couch, James wrung his hands and stared at the hallway door. Maybe Harry was right, perhaps he'd overreacted a bit. A possessed washer, how silly was that? Yes, now James was certain he'd just imagined-wait, did he smell smoke?

"JAMES! I NEED THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER! NOW, JAMES!"

TO BE CONTINUED!