Velma gets a shoeshine, a little differently.

Rosie's eye dials tilted so the lash-like tips pointed to concerned angles. "Uh-oh... Sounds like Mr. S got another bad roll. This is why I always warn Mr. J to stay away from the tables! Well, that's life. I'm gonna clean the boots next, honey, but Mr. S wants it done a particular way. You've been standin' since we put that funny armor on you. While you're here, why not experience the furniture of the future? Take a seat and put your feet up!"

"You mean you, uh... want to clean the boots while they're on me?" Velma asked with a shaky smile, looking between the robot's hands and the twisted remains of the helmet she'd been handling. "I'm not sure that's a great idea."

"I'll give it a tender touch this time. Trust me, I'm a house-cleanin' robot. If I malfunctioned and hurt anybody, I'd be fired and put out on the street, or into a scrapyard. And if I did it on live television, I'd never live it down. So take a load off! You'll be savin' my hide, too."

Velma supposed that if she wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery, she had **** but to play along. She walked over to one of the oddly-shaped couches and planted the seat of her metal shorts onto it, pleased to see neither the armor nor the furniture were as stiff as they looked. Still, even if it was for a big prize, and even if it was done by a pleasant-enough robot, having someone mess with her footwear on live television was going to be an interesting experience that she'd probably omit from her memoirs. From this angle, sticking her soles out for the maid to clean, she felt especially aware of her exposed thighs. She wondered if she should consider the robot's face to be an acting camera...

That was a conjecture Velma wished she could take back. Rosie had taken up a pose only a robot could easily make, bending 90 degrees by rotating her body from the hips up. Her chest was down, but her head was rotated to put her face forward. If someone was looking through Rosie's eyes, they'd be getting a close look at the soles of Velma's boots, followed by a look at the hands she was using to chastely protect the area between her legs. That was habit, forgetting she was wearing armored shorts instead of a skirt.

"Gosh, robots sure are flexible," Velma commented, raising an eyebrow. "Those arms of yours can reach my feet from there?"

"Uh-uh. Like I said, Mr. S wants this done a particular way. Now, don't think anything of it. I'm a pro-pro-pro-" Rosie reminded her as she began spraying liquid from the inside of her mouth slot like a water gun all over the boots. Splashes of it sprayed around like a hose, flecking Velma's thighs as they got the footwear soaked. When the boots were fully wet, the robot began using the metal tongue Velma had seen earlier, which extended further than Velma had guessed, to scrape against the boots. As Velma had guessed, it was too much to expect this would be a thorough cleaning; instead, the tongue was peeling through metal, taking the boots apart in loud, curling strips.

"E-easy there, Rosie! Finding out about the furniture and fashion of the future is one thing, but I can do without learning about the medicine or the prosthetics."

By the time the robot maid had finished "cleaning," the only thing left of Velma's boots were metal rims that had formerly been their tops and scattered metal scrap hanging from them. Before Velma could protest, Rosie had risen back to straight and pulled her legs up into the air by the ankles, forcing Velma to slouch onto her back on the couch. With precision, the robot's tongue picked the remaining dangling pieces.

The befuddled detective stared up at Rosie and her barely-covered legs, covered in cleaning liquid and metal bits but without a sock in sight. Putting this together with the idea that Rosie might be broadcasting her POV of her captive's squirming legs, soft soles, unpainted toenails, she began to get a better idea of what the mysterious "Mr. S" might want. "Jinkies... Rosie, I think I'm starting to get an idea of what your employer is after. You called this round two. How many rounds of this are there?"

"... He says there are five. What, are you worried about five rounds of a harmless cleanin'? Think about those prizes, Ms. V!"

Velma did some counting in her head. If round 3 was the gloves... were rounds four and five the rest of the armor? Before that could happen, she would need to decide if she was happy with that happening in front of a live audience. The boots hadn't come with any socks, so there was no reason to believe there was something decent below the rest. She still didn't have any proof this was being widely seen, but Mr. S's communications with Rosie at least convinced her one person was getting a nice view.

"Okay, Rosie, one more thing I want to add to my request! If I last through these rounds, I want answers to just what's going on here. Who's running this gameshow? Who is Mr. S, and what does he get out of it?"

"... He says he'll do what he can. Since it wasn't one of the original stipulations, he might not be able to tell you everything you wanna hear. But he says that by the end of this game, he figures you'll have earned more than some dog treats and some glasses. Believe it or not, he's rootin' for you, Ms. V!"

Velma gave her a dubious look from her position with her bare legs still hoisted in the air.

"Let's go on to Round 3, why don't we?"

Rolled 2!

Outfit durability: 24/28 (Armor on chest, shorts, gauntlets; hi-tech glasses)