Octavia Blake (
okteiviakom) wrote2024-10-11 12:56 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Entry tags:
The Cape Rouge, Late Friday Morning
So Octavia couldn't touch living plants without sapping all life out of them. So she couldn't go out into the preserve for fear of some young branch grazing her cheek and killing the entire tree. So Octavia was troubled, poisoned by Haven.
Big deal.
Duke was breathing easier than he had for months. Octavia wasn't sure she trusted it, that she could expect it to last, but the difference was too obvious to ignore. And that? That felt more valuable than whatever quiet suffering she was going through. No good ever seemed to come without a sacrifice, anyway. And, well, Blodreina was used to sacrifice.
Especially when it was her.
So she gardened with thick gloves on, and she didn't go to the preserve, and she ignored how it felt like the first several weeks (months) down in the bunker, when all, absolutely everything she'd wanted had been to go out and breathe and feel a breeze on her face, or the warmth of the sun, or something that couldn't be confined in a concrete structure underground.
She'd learned to contain that feeling then. She'd learn to contain it again.
So Octavia and her thick gloves carefully and clumsily harvested some peppers from the little garden on the deck, and brought them inside into the galley for one of the guys to use in their cooking later. She took no chances: she only took the gloves off once the peppers were safely on the counter.
She checked her phone for the time, and caught the date instead. It was October 11th.
She was 33.
Another year gone.
[ooc: Oooopen, of course.]
Big deal.
Duke was breathing easier than he had for months. Octavia wasn't sure she trusted it, that she could expect it to last, but the difference was too obvious to ignore. And that? That felt more valuable than whatever quiet suffering she was going through. No good ever seemed to come without a sacrifice, anyway. And, well, Blodreina was used to sacrifice.
Especially when it was her.
So she gardened with thick gloves on, and she didn't go to the preserve, and she ignored how it felt like the first several weeks (months) down in the bunker, when all, absolutely everything she'd wanted had been to go out and breathe and feel a breeze on her face, or the warmth of the sun, or something that couldn't be confined in a concrete structure underground.
She'd learned to contain that feeling then. She'd learn to contain it again.
So Octavia and her thick gloves carefully and clumsily harvested some peppers from the little garden on the deck, and brought them inside into the galley for one of the guys to use in their cooking later. She took no chances: she only took the gloves off once the peppers were safely on the counter.
She checked her phone for the time, and caught the date instead. It was October 11th.
She was 33.
Another year gone.
[ooc: Oooopen, of course.]
no subject
If he looked like he'd just woken up, it was because he'd just woken up.
no subject
"Some of the peppers have ripened," she said, with a glance towards the peppers in question. "There'll be more soon. Harvest time."
no subject
no subject
Even if all she actually said was a simple, "Good."
no subject
no subject
no subject
He pressed a kiss into her hair.
no subject
And she turned properly against him, to lean against his chest. It felt necessary.
no subject
"How are you feeling, darling?"
no subject
"It's my birthday," Octavia muttered.
no subject
no subject
"It's just another day."
no subject
no subject
There always seemed to be something louder going on.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
He was eventually going to stop suggesting things, honest.
no subject
It wasn't combative.
no subject
"Sorry," he said, his hand coming up to rub at her back. "Considering everything, I just..."
Wanted to do something special for her. Especially considering how strange things were between him and Duke (even if Duke didn't seem to want to acknowledge it).
no subject
How many years, out of the thirty-three?
"Just less directly, this time."
no subject
no subject
no subject
Genuine question.
no subject
no subject
It pried a little at a deep feeling of uselessness. But it was Octavia. He could remind himself that she meant no more nor less than she said and believe it.
no subject
And said, "You don't have to do circus tricks for me."
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Sometimes that was just her voice.
no subject
It was just easier to get stoned.
no subject
As much as Octavia understood the urge.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Luce. Honey.
no subject
Octavia was just going to give him a look for that one.
no subject
no subject
Did that clarify something a little?
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Actually asking.
no subject
no subject
He was taking this seriously. He just... needed... small words. Sometimes.
Actually, should he write this down? He glanced aside for a notepad.
no subject
Of course, now she was faced with the unenviable task of trying to come up with an example that might help, without being an actual thing they'd dealt with recently.
Using those did not feel like it would go well.
"Let me think for a sec."
no subject
Admittedly, the notepad and pen were probably more explicable than the reading glasses, but he found all three and parked himself against the counter.
no subject
"I don't think I'm going to be saying anything worth all that," Octavia hazarded.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"How about you pick it back up if there turns out to be something worth writing down?"
no subject
Leaving him with just a pen, which he was now fidgeting with.
no subject
Look, she'd said it wasn't a great example. She felt fumbly.
"That might be a moment where it would help to breathe and think about what I actually said. And whether there was maybe... something else, maybe making you feel rejected."
no subject
no subject
no subject
Trying! Trying. His best.
no subject
"Well, I guess that's a start," she rasped. "Because I don't know if I can come up with examples you won't feel like getting stuck on."
no subject
Talk about a difficult exercise...
no subject
no subject
"Well, that doesn't help me too much," he said.
no subject
Sort of.
no subject
no subject
"And why is that?"
no subject
And then started rooting around for a bottle of something.
no subject
She said nothing, just watched.
no subject
"Duke has been quite clear about his priorities," he settled on.
no subject
She didn't. Her arms hung loose at her sides.
"And what makes you feel like that?"
no subject
no subject
She was also aware that wasn't a who.
no subject
Another sip.
"And now he's just running about acting like everything's fine now. As long as we don't make too much of a nuisance of ourselves, I imagine."
no subject
So, so mild.
no subject
no subject
She glanced away. Maybe there was something for her to drink...
(There was actually nothing she wanted.)
no subject
He sat down in a booth.
no subject
She wanted to have something to say. Play mediator, maybe. Play her part.
Nothing came.
no subject
He had more to say, but not unprompted.
no subject
(The exhaustion, it could all come over her so quickly.)
She drank her big glass of water slowly but all in one go.
no subject
Rather than the vague tinkering he'd managed to do while under the influence of all the troubles.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
He was getting into the idea of prepping food for the winter.
He was getting into the idea of actually looking forward to winter. Or anything else, for that matter.
no subject
A sacrifice with worth.
There was something a little softer in Octavia's expression. "Sounds like a plan, snogon."
no subject
"Something else we can try together, maybe," he suggested. "Unless you want to stick to the current division of labor, with you growing and us cooking."
no subject
Octavia managed a little snort, then a shake of her head. "I'm not that strict about it."