okteiviakom | Outside Lucifer's House, Very Late Tuesday/Very Early Wednesday

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Outside Lucifer's House, Very Late Tuesday/Very Early Wednesday

Duke had not turned up on the island for his class.

That meant that his 'couple more days' in Haven were officially up, and he was nowhere to be found.

Octavia didn't have the Portalocity app on her phone, so after his class she'd had to make her way down to the actual office in town - which meant she was now probably banned from there for her reaction to the news that all connections to Duke's universe were currently down.

And that had been before she'd come back home to the Cape Rouge and rage-screamed at the ocean.

And, then...

Fast forward to much, much later, so late it didn't even count as Tuesday anymore. (And, good, because Tuesday had not treated her well.) Octavia found herself sitting on the steps to Lucifer's mansion, cradling the remains of what was probably a rather expensive bottle of bourbon. And she was singing to herself, quiet and a little slurred. "Deimeika gonot, graun laik pauda... 'So ona trikova, ba ha na kik raun riskiwe, ba nowe na soujon --"

It cut off with a rough, bitter laugh bubbling up.

[ooc: For the patron devil of all drunken idiots, and SP.]

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Octavia was just hanging limply like a ragdoll, now. Also out of spite. Which explained why she was doing it even though it was actively making her feel worse.

"What do you think?"

Sorry, in her head right now this was frontpage news.

Lucifer, who had been in New York all weekend because Seivarden kept coming up with new things to do, squinted. "... Something Duke-related...?" he guessed, taking the last step onto the first floor landing.

Just in time for Octavia to suddenly try and wrench herself free from his grasp again.

"Yes."

"Octavia, for Pete's sake--"

Fine, they were upstairs. He'd drop her, then.

Octavia's feet hit the floor, first. Just... not really at an angle that was very conducive to staying upright. But whatever, at least it slowed her down some. Made the rest of the fall slightly less violent than it could have been.

Still fell with a thump, though. (Somehow without breaking the bottle she was still gripping as if her life depended on it.)

Then stayed there.

Lucifer's eyes rolled skyward.

"You're ridiculous," he told her. "To a point where this would be hilarious if it wasn't so sad."

Octavia rolled onto her back.

"Fuck off, Lucifer," she grumbled, somehow more to herself than to him.

"No, I'm not going to fuck off," Lucifer said flatly. His voice dived a register lower, and not in the fun way. "In fact, you're going to do exactly what I tell you to. Sit up."

Well. That made Octavia look a little more alert and focused all of a sudden.

Too bad it was just to send a sharp glare up at him.

"I will make you if you don't," Lucifer said simply. "Do you want to get carried all the way into the bedroom?"

Because the guest room plan just got scrapped by the state of her. She'd probably just fall out of bed in the middle of the night and brain herself or something.

Octavia kept glaring.

She also didn't move.

Lucifer took a deep breath.

"All right," he said, and plucked her back up off the floor.

Celestial strength meant her attitude didn't really come into it, once he'd decided to stop caring about her opinion.

Upon getting picked up again, Octavia made a noise not unlike the screeching of a feral animal - and tried to hit him with the bottle.

Because there hadn't been enough to feel embarrassed about tomorrow, yet.

Well, on one hand, it worked: the bottle broke, shattering in a million pieces on the floor.

On the other, it really didn't, as it utterly failed to hurt Lucifer in any capacity. "You're an embarrassment to yourself," he told her, carrying her into the bedroom without as much as a pause, all the way up to the bed.

There may have also been a little bit of bourbon on him now. But only a little bit. Octavia had made sure of that before he'd ever even opened the door.

Octavia was also just screaming, now, her indignance at not being able to escape his arms turning into rage because that was what she did with all of her emotions, wasn't it?

Everything she couldn't handle became fury in the end.

"Oh, do shut up," Lucifer said, and dropped her flat on the bed.

The fall was gentler, this time, and yet still made Octavia's vision spin a little. The scream tapered off into something more anguished, then died down entirely.

The broken off neck of the bottle was still in her hand: she tossed it away before pulling her knees up to curl onto her side.

The noise she made now was more of a whimper.

Lucifer sighed. He doubted there'd be a reasonable opportunity to change into something less robe-y and yet still Octavia-friendly in the next fifteen minutes.

He slid onto the bed on the other side, resigned to his robe. "He's still not back?" he asked.

Would Octavia even know if he wasn't there for the next fifteen minutes was another question. What inevitably followed rage after its flame burned out was grief.

And what followed screaming was sobbing, which she was now holding back very poorly.

Lucifer blew out a breath through his nose. He was terrible at this. Why was it on him to do it properly? He'd probably let her down. He reached for her, trying to pull her into a hug.

This time, Octavia's objections seemed to only be for show. She gave him a weak shove, yes, but it was the kind where her hands where curling into his robe immediately after like that could anchor her down.

Her face was already wet.

"Come on, Octavia," Lucifer said quietly, holding on. "Do what you have to."

Octavia curled up against his chest, tense, her shoulders shaking with every sob. The weight of the past few days was just coming down on her hard, now, forcing her to bow down to it.

This might take a while.

Lucifer's arms slid a bit more tightly around her, positioning her so she'd be comfortable.

He stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think please don't let me screw this up too hard. (Just give her time, said a voice that sounded a lot like Linda's.)

Octavia barely knew he was there, honestly. The comfort only got in at a subconscious level: the rest of her was now stuck on thoughts looping in on themselves, over and over.

What if Duke was never coming back?

(What if she'd driven him away and he just hadn't wanted to tell her?)

The worst of the crying seemed to subside eventually, though. She was at least starting to sound like she could actually breathe again.

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