Octavia Blake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
okteiviakom) wrote2024-06-27 01:40 pm
okteiviakom) wrote2024-06-27 01:40 pm
The Deck of the Cape Rouge, Thursday Morning
Octavia had been having a lot of thoughts since her visit to Engelsøy the other week. About her past, sure, as always. About the present, likewise.
But the future, too. Her own, that of her loved ones, that of the planet.
A lot of that last thing, actually.
And all of those thoughts were beginning to trend towards action. Like there was a restlessness in her bones, reminding her there was still time, there were resources, there were fights to join and pursuits to engage in.
(Maybe even ways to make amends for everything she'd done wrong in her own time.)
She'd been quietly compiling things in two notebooks. In one, she was trying to collect every last bit of information she could remember about how the first Praimfaya had come about, whether it was something she'd been taught on the Ark, something she'd heard on the Ground, or something she'd read down in the bunker. Anything and everything, no matter how small.
In the other, she was putting all of her research into... well, the jumble things that were running the planet into the ground right now. Who the big players in fighting it were, and what the big things they were doing were.
Probably no surprise that Octavia had been sleeping progressively worse over the last week or so. Just the cost of throwing herself at something that called to her, for the first time in years. Still, right now on Thursday morning, after a too-early breakfast, she was working on something much more practical, easy, and very, very local: the little garden of planter boxes she'dhandwavily established on the deck of the Rouge at the beginning of summer.
Putting her hands in some soil was doing a lot to center her.
[ooc: Open, ofc!]
But the future, too. Her own, that of her loved ones, that of the planet.
A lot of that last thing, actually.
And all of those thoughts were beginning to trend towards action. Like there was a restlessness in her bones, reminding her there was still time, there were resources, there were fights to join and pursuits to engage in.
(Maybe even ways to make amends for everything she'd done wrong in her own time.)
She'd been quietly compiling things in two notebooks. In one, she was trying to collect every last bit of information she could remember about how the first Praimfaya had come about, whether it was something she'd been taught on the Ark, something she'd heard on the Ground, or something she'd read down in the bunker. Anything and everything, no matter how small.
In the other, she was putting all of her research into... well, the jumble things that were running the planet into the ground right now. Who the big players in fighting it were, and what the big things they were doing were.
Probably no surprise that Octavia had been sleeping progressively worse over the last week or so. Just the cost of throwing herself at something that called to her, for the first time in years. Still, right now on Thursday morning, after a too-early breakfast, she was working on something much more practical, easy, and very, very local: the little garden of planter boxes she'd
Putting her hands in some soil was doing a lot to center her.
[ooc: Open, ofc!]
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"Didn't they originally come here with Rey?" she asked, then. "She might know what they're scared of in their... natural habitat."
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He hadn't spoken to Rey in ages. And wasn't sure if he was up to trying, while he felt like crap warmed over.
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Why was everyone thinking she needed things done for her? It was her garden, she could manage.
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"Sounds like a plan," Duke said. He leaned his head on the back of the bench to watch her work for a bit. "And you look like you're in your element."
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"It's not much."
But it was getting to be dear to her, as much as she'd hesitated to get started.
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Did that go for anything else she was currently working on? Hard to say.
"See how this goes before I start... expanding."
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"Snogon..."
He was in a bad way again, wasn't he?
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"It's fine," he assured her. "It's just my . . . everything."
He was not fine.
"I'm starting to feel jealous of Nathan's inability to feel."
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She spent a lot of time these days not thinking about what all this was doing to his insides. This moment was no exception.
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She honestly couldn't tell.
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It was hard to relax when your insides were trying to escape.
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Well. She could clean her hands of the dirt, and move to stand up.
"And soon?"
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The garden didn't terrify him, for one.
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Then she bent down to pick up one of the support sticks she'd been working on, the ones that were supposed to be keeping the sun shade up above the planters.
"Do you wanna hear about what I've been doing?"
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Instead, she began to explain about the porg problem, and what she thought the specific problem was with the sticks not staying upright, and the solution she'd been working on this morning to make them more sturdy --
All he really had to do was listen. That was all she really expected of him, here.
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If the rest of his life could be spent sitting in this bench listening to his partners. . . . That’d be more than alright by him.
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And veered into talking about some of the other work she'd done on her tiny garden, how some herbs seemed to be thriving, some not so much, with most of the vegetables still something of a mystery...
"Anyway, Lucifer's thinking strawberries," she landed on, eventually, "so that's gonna be another thing to porg-proof."
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There were probably less nonsensical ways to word that question, but here Octavia was.
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