first one who touches the ground loses

Sometimes focus just wasn't really a thing.

Take Octavia's morning, for instance: she'd come to the drumming room/cabin to, well, work on her drumming. Which she had, for a bit, but there'd been something niggling at the back of her mind, something she needed to check online, so... That had turned into stopping what she was doing, and getting her phone out, and doing some research, which had led her into Youtube, which had promptly blasted her in the face with the usual colorful new video notifications.

And now she was just sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, catching up on what could probably be fairly described as her favorite channel, if only by virtue of her having actually watched more than two of their videos.

Maybe she'd be better equipped to stay on-task again in the afternoon?

(This was the most 2020s thirty-something she'd ever been. Not that she realized that.)

[ooc: Open in the usual ways.]

It had taken a couple of weeks of slow-going work, but Octavia's new drum room (or maybe music room? or maybe they would just end up referring to it as simply 'Octavia's cabin'?) was finally just about finished. The biggest and lengthiest part had been installing the soundproofing - including in some spots, re-installing it after she'd fucked it up the first time around. She'd wanted to do it all herself because it just...

Well, it just felt like something she needed to do by herself, for herself.

(For the one here right now, and the one who was long gone.)

This morning, she'd finally set up the drum kit, complete with the replacement parts she'd hauled back from the mainland a few weeks ago. She'd even made as much of an effort to sort of sea-proof it a little as she could, to minimize everything sliding around in case of a major storm, or if they took the Rouge out of port sometime.

But now she'd done all she could. And she was sitting on the floor next to the partially open door, admiring her work.

(Someone more mean might have called it stalling.)

[ooc: Open for the other people living on this rust bucket.]

Some days were more quiet than the rest.

But also, some people had their own take on what a 'quiet day' actually entailed. For Octavia, this particular 'quiet day' had meant staying in after her morning patrol - and spending the next few hours with her drum set. But, see, it hadn't been the aggressively loud banging she usually went for. She'd actually taken care, this time, putting more of her focus and effort into the interplay of the different parts of the set and the multitasking inherent in getting her limbs to do different things at the same time, and less on just hitting things as hard as she could.

(What a difference it made when you weren't using an instrument for free therapy, right?)

And by now, she'd just... stopped. She was still sitting there, on her little stool behind the kit, the sticks still held in one of her hands. But she was listening to her stereo as it played some Elliott Smith, and just thinking. She wasn't worrying about anyone's absence (even if she was yet to see Liam back), and she wasn't feeling particularly worried about anything else, either. At most, she just felt vaguely hopeful. Curious, even, about what the near future would bring.

Was this what being calm was like?

What a weird thing, especially after the past couple of months. Octavia had no reason to think it would stick around, but still, it was nice of it to drop by, if only for one quiet day.

[ooc: Open, natch.]