Octavia Blake (
okteiviakom) wrote2023-07-08 03:16 pm
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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.]
(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.]
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He paused on the end of the dock when he saw someone standing by the gangplank, then approached slowly, guard firmly in place.
"Good morning," he said, neutral -- until he saw Octavia, clearly in distress. Then he dropped the cooler and went to shove himself between them. "Get away from her!"
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And then so was Ilian, backing up immediately, both hands held up to show he was not trying to be a threat. "I don't mean her any harm."
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"He's -- that's --"
Well, she'd tried.
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"Ai laik Ilion kom Trishanakru," he said, "en ai don ste em lukot." He raised his eyebrows at Octavia a little bit. 'Friend' was good, right? Close enough?
She gave a shaky nod against Duke's arm.
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“Duke,” he said. “Her snogon.” He rubbed Octavia’s back absently. “How’d you get here?”
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"The island," Octavia said, though her voice cracked a little.
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She straightened up just a touch.
And murmured, "It can raise the dead."
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Duke loosened his hold on her, but kept an arm around her as he turned towards Ilian. "Sorry. We've, uh. Been through a lot, lately."
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"World's still standing, though."
Something was slowly occurring to Octavia.
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Sorry, Ilian. Duke was a little thin on patience right now.
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"He's dead, Duke," Octavia murmured. "And it wasn't the first bad thing that happened to him."
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He was still not exactly giving Ilian his friendliest look.
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"You'd promised," Ilian replied, gently. (Again. Yes, she remembered how he'd used that line on him the first time.)
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There was nothing he could say to that. Nothing at all.
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Was it because she'd helped destroy the planet?
Was he trapped?
And Ilian just looked back at her, so gentle, and shook his head. Almost smiled. (Her chest ached.) "Sometimes it just takes spring a little longer to come."
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Something caught her eye, something silver glinting faintly at Ilian's neck, and she fell quiet, speechless.
Ilian noticed and raised his eyebrows a little, but got no response.
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"I know it's not your usual, but I feel like you could use a drink."
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She tried to break away from his grasp, now, stepping towards Ilian, her eyes still on his neck.
Ilian, for his part, still had his eyebrows raised, but he didn't move. (Kept making himself as non-thretening as possible.)
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