Paige found herself alone in the living room of the mansion, somehow. Who knew? Maybe everyone else had important crap to do or something. Unlike her, who spent her free time feeling down on herself or being given another reason to.

But it didn't matter that she was alone; in fact, she liked it that way, at least for what she was about to try. Mind you, it wasn't an idea as crazy as skinny dipping in the ice cold weather of the park, but it wasn't sitting around and reading "Shapeshifting for Dummies" either.

She noticed a quirk in her mutation; how sometimes it wouldn't work like she wanted it to, most notably when she was under pressure or her thoughts were occupied. For this exercise, as mentioned before, she was fully clothed. Well, in a Guns N' Roses tee shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans.

Taking a breath, the girl focused, thinking about the very shirt she was wearing. The size, the design, everything. But turning into an exact copy of the shirt wasn't fun, so she added her own touch to it. At least, in her focus she did. Time would tell if it worked or not.

In a flash, there was a shirt on the ground, much like the one she was wearing, only it was bright purple instead of black. Bingo.

Considering Clyde was on his last set of clean clothes, it was about time he did his laundry.

On his way to the laundry area, he passed through the living room, towing the small bag that contained the clothes that needed to be washed. That was when something on the ground caught his eye. A T-shirt. A Guns N' Roses one, to be precise. And, it was bright purple. That was a bit unusual for a rocker tee.

Why would someone leave their shirt in the living room? A shirt wasn't normally something someone would leave behind.

Anyways, Clyde didn't want to know. But, he now was going to think twice before sitting on that couch.

Without giving it much thought, he picked the shirt up and slipped it into the bag and continued towards the laundry room. The shirt had been lying on the ground, so it probably needed to be washed.

Paige suddenly found herself picked up and tossed into a bag of laundry. "Hey! What's the big idea?" She ranted and sputtered, but her voice was even more muffled than it usually was in shift because of all the clothes, it seemed. Her mutation was weird sometimes.

She tried to focus and shift back, but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her mind was so damn distracted lately...

Calm down, Paige...you can get out of this. Just calm down and shift. Then you'll be...stuck in a bag. Great...I'm screwed.

Clyde paused for a moment and glanced around the living room. Had someone said something? Weird, there wasn't anyone else there.

Shrugging, he entered the laundry room and walked right up to one of the machines. Clyde sat the bag on the floor so he could add the detergent. It took him some time to get the bottle opened. The lid was slippery – someone had made a mess of it, and Clyde wasn't thrilled. Grumbling, he then emptied the bag's contents into the machine, shut the door, and pressed “start.”

Now that that was done, Clyde was about ready to turn and leave.

Before she could comprehend what was happening, Paige found herself dumped into the washing machine, doused with water, then tumbled about with the rest of the laundry. At this point, she was sooo glad she couldn't feel while in shift. But she could still talk.

"Hey! Turn this damn thing off! Get me out of here you little--" The chain of words Paige said next were hardly flattering, and best left out, especially in situations involving kids or people that looked like one.

"Turn it off, damn you! The purple shirt! The ****ing purple shirt!" Then again, Kid-friendly wasn't exactly Paige's forte. Though, perhaps it was better for the kid's sake if Paige stayed in there.

Clyde hadn't even set a foot outside the door when he heard a muffled, yet angry voice. Startled, he spun around.

“What?” The voice sounded like it had come from the washing machine. Was someone in there? Clyde walked towards it, confused. Again, he heard someone yelling (and swearing) at him, and it was something about a purple shirt.

“Okay, okay. Sheesh.” Yeah, he'd put the purple shirt in the wash. It wasn't a crime. Rolling his eyes, he shut off the machine and lifted the door open. It was odd; nothing he put in there was supposed to talk. This was probably some sort of prank.

Okay, it stopped, good. And the door opened. The purple shirt quickly began to grow and shift. In the blink of an eye, Paige was...half in, half out of the washing machine. At the moment, all that could be seen was Paige's soaking wet, skinny-jean clad butt sticking out of the washing machine as she flailed and fought to get out.

Finally, after a ton of splashing and kicking and swearing, she plopped out of the washer and hit the floor with a soggy mix between a thud and a squish. Hardly flattering, she was now drenched, and she'd been stuck in a freaking washing machine. Standing to her bare feet, she wrung out her shirt and brushed her hair out of her face to the best of her effort, blonde clumps still clinging to her face. Her eyes were red with anger and embarrassment, and after a fit of coughing, and bubbles forming around her mouth, rabid would have been a fitting term to describe her.

"The washing machine...you threw my ass...in the *cough cough* Washing machine?!? What the **** is wrong with you?!? I oughta--" After another fit of coughing, she slouched against the wall, sputtering and beet red with a mixture of feelings.

Such was the story of her life.

“Whoa! What the hell?!” Clyde exclaimed, jumping back, away from the pair of legs that grew right out of the washing machine.

He heard the legs' owner swear a few times before freeing herself. It was kind of funny to watch, and Clyde had to stop himself from laughing, as that would have been just plain immature. That woman must had been in there when he'd started the machine, but how? Well, obviously a mutation was involved, but it still caught Clyde off guard.

Clyde could tell this person was upset with him. She was threatening him and blaming him for what happened. It would have been intimidating if the woman wasn't dripping wet and sputtering. Looking at the woman's shirt, Clyde noticed how similar it was to the purple one he'd thrown in.

“Wait, you wuh the shirt?” he asked. “Yeah, I put you in, but it's hardly my fault.”

"You, ya little brat, are hardly in any shape to ask anyone, what the hell. Watch your mouth, kid. If I were in any shape to I'd wash your damn mouth out. Not like I'm short on soap, thanks to you..." she grumbled. "No ****, Sherlock. Yeah, I was the shirt. I was practicing controlling my shifting, adding my own little twist on things in the process, then you decide to come along and play good Samaritan. Or maybe you were trying to steal an odd band tee shirt..."

She glared, standing to her feet. "Of course it's your fault! If you'd left me alone I'd have been able to go about my business without ending up ass-up out of a washing machine!" She clenched her fists, wiping her mouth on her arm to rid herself of the foam.

Okay, now Clyde was mad.

“Don't. Call. Me. A brat! And don't you tell me to watch my language! It was one minah sweah word compared to yo fifty!” Honestly, this woman had the mouth of a truck driver. She had no right to chew him out for saying that one word.

What also irritated Clyde was that she was acting like he'd put her in there on purpose. “Why would I want to steal a rockah tee? Look, I just saw it lying theah, so I figuhed it needed washing. How was I supposed to know it was you?”

He noticed that the woman's hands were in fists. She wasn't going to try to hit him, was she?

"It's different!" Paige argued. "I'm a grown-ass woman," after this, she stuck her tongue out, in a very mature fashion, mind you.

Stepping to him, Paige stuck her nose to his, deciding it was best not to punch a brat right now. As much as it would ease her stress and make her feel better...no. Not right now, anyway.

"I have no idea," she finally said, her voice calm, yet edgy. "You're the criminal mastermind, not me."

“Yeah right...” Clyde mumbled. Unlike him, she'd stooped down to sticking out her tongue. And, she was getting in his face. Clyde's response to that was standing his ground and narrowing his eyes.

“Do you think I would've thrown the shirt in if I knew it was a person? It looked like a normal shirt to me,” he stated plainly. “What was I supposed to do? Ask it if it was a person?”

Paige glared; her eyes and face were both bright red, her hair and clothes were sticking to her body, and she was leaving a puddle of water where she stood. "I don't know!" she practically shouted. "If it wasn't a person, someone probably would have come back looking for it. So you should have minded your own business anyway." She sighed, backing away.

"Besides, have you ever seen a bright purple Guns N Roses shirt? No. Never trust an oddly colored band tee." She rubbed her temples, this was just great. Reduced to arguing with a kid about doing laundry.

Clyde glared right back and crossed his arms. “Sheesh. I wasn't trying to ruin yo day. Yo the one who decided to be a shirt on the living room floor.”

The one thing the woman said that Clyde could agree with was that rocker T-shirts weren't usually purple. “Well, I hadn't seen one,” Clyde admitted, “but I'm not exactly a fan, so I don't know what theah T-shirts ah supposed to look like.” Even then, odd colors did not typically indicate that an inanimate object was a mutant in disguise.

"Well, try or not you did one damn good job of it. Most people don't bother picking up others' shirts anyway." She let out another sigh, backing off; she kept reminding herself it was only a kid and therefore she shouldn't punch him.

But for whatever reason, she did anyway. Okay, so technically she didn't punch him. She slapped him; not hard, but it wasn't a pat on the cheek either. Maybe it was because of his attitude. Or maybe it was the fact that he wasn't a fan of Guns N' Roses. Who could tell.