A/N: There's a community on LiveJournal called megamind_movie. Seriously, go there and chill. And if you'd like some awesome Megamind/Roxanne fanficion, check out The Croc Shop on this very site. Go to her own LJ for moar goodies.

And if you haven't seen "Megamind" yet, we are not friends anymore until you have! I wrote this as a response to a flashfic thread on the megamind_movie comm. And guys, I am trying to work on style. I have been majorly slacking off with practicing my writing and it shows. I get in the habit of convoluted sentences and bricking people in the head with tropes. I am now officially working on this because it literally embarrasses me how bad I've become.

Anyway, this. Tell me what you think.

Laundry Day

There was a small wicker basket in the basement of the Evil Lair, lined with a watertight plastic bag. Monochromatic and unadorned, the basket served an unorthodox function, its depths sheltering nary a trace of drier lint or spare change.

The basket was filled with people.

On first glance, of course, one might assume ice cubes or some odd metal, groping for some sort of ordinary conclusion. But this was no ordinary laundry room, and no ordinary Evil Lair.

Minion hummed as he lumbered down the stairs with a clothes basket under each arm, grateful for the momentary pause. Most of the laundry got done at times like this, with Megamind in prison (again) and no indication that headquarters would have to be moved (again). Any other time, Minion thought it best to stay as close to Megamind as possible, if not to look after him then at least to curb some of the, uh, less sane plots for revenge.

"Hello, washer!" But at least when Megamind was here there was someone to talk to. "Hello, drier! Let's see what we've got today."

Minion set the baskets on top of the machines and began to rifle through the contents for the distinctive dusty coolness of the dehydrated matter. He knew there wouldn't be too many today; these past few weeks had involved more nights-in than usual, so Minion wasn't surprised when only four citizens tumbled, silent and cuboid, onto the machine tops. He swept the lot without ceremony into the wicker basket and fed the various fabrics into the washer, reminiscing in the silence of the empty lair.

There were times Minion didn't care to remember, in the early days of the dehydrator gun, when pockets went unchecked and forgotten. Times when people wandered up the stairs sopping wet from climbing out of the washer, utterly bemused. More than once, Megamind and Minion heard the squelching of ruined leather shoes from a far room and, upon investigation, discovered the re-hydrated bystander standing dumbly in the middle of a room, waiting to be smacked or sprayed and shoved out the door.

These days things ran more fluidly, and Minion could count on one robotic hand the accidental re-hydrations of the past six-

"Huh-? Wh-?"

Minion turned, regarding the dazed young woman with good nature.

"That's funny," he remarked. "I could've sworn I shook them all out." The woman's eyed widened with a dawning horror as clarity returned to her gaze. "Wait here a second, will you? I left the can near the stairs this time."

"Aren't you-? Is this-?"

However, Patricia never did quite return to her full senses before abruptly being knocked out again. She could only shrug and offer up what she believed were hallucinations in return to inquiries related to her whereabouts for the past three weeks.

Meanwhile, back at the Evil Lair, Minion removed some sheets from the drier and began to fold them with neat creases, letting his mind wander to the forty-seven-step prison breakout plan to be executed next Thursday.

In the wicker basket, the cubes shivered and waited.