Deck of the Cape Rouge, Saturday Morning

Octavia had been dreaming of many things, this week. Mostly Haven, mostly horror, but many other messy things, too. Sheep and tilling fields and glowing butterflies and a week on a farm (sheepskin blankets and bonedeep exhaustion and a warm voice in her ear talking about what use was fighting at the end of the world?) had featured in jumbled everything of it all, but that was not out of the ordinary enough for Octavia to have really paid it much mind.

(And, well, she always felt drawn to the woods. And particularly when traumatic shit had been going down.)

So this was just any old Saturday morning.

She had a coffee cup in hand when she emerged onto the deck, with faint plans of at least finding some nice stretches to do in a bit that wouldn't irritate her wounds too much. But of course, all that was forgotten when she looked up and saw a young man standing at the edge of the deck, just barely over the gangplank.

The cup fell from her grasp as she stared at him.

[ooc: Opennn.]