first one who touches the ground loses

"I think my spring is coming, Octavia. And I can't wait to see what it's like."

There had been no surprise in how hard it had been to say goodbye. Ilian had been impossibly calm and steady, and Octavia had just done her best to keep it together. Be brave, like he'd wanted her to be. Nou fir wamplei in, em bilaik stoda kom nes soujon noumou. Easy for him to say when he'd already done it, when she was the one left to mourn him all over again.

(That last glimmer of someone seeing something human in her before the bunker, The Dark Year, the valley. The last time in six years before the multiverse saw fit to yank whatever had been left of her back to Fandom, to put herself back together again.)

"If you want to honor me, maybe you should plant something. Grow something."

How was she supposed to do that, Ilian?

Everything hurt again.

And Octavia was finding it very hard to even get out of bed. In fact, she hadn't, yet. Just kept laying there, either staring at the ceiling or the line of already slightly smudged dots along the inside of her forearm. Ilian had drawn them with a marker, explaining to her about the tattoos of his clan. Just another thing she'd never had time to learn before.

She knew this had all been a gift.

But right now it was a little hard to ignore how much it also felt like having been stabbed in the gut again.

[ooc: Open for thems that live here, should they so wish.]

Octavia had left for the mainland pretty early, much earlier than had really been necessary for her appointment. Had returned pretty late, too. She'd spent most of her day after therapy in Baltimore, first visiting the swim center again, then just... walking, with no real destination. She'd visited some shops, bought lunch.

Bought a pair of earbuds on a whim for her phone.

Immediately regretted it after it turned out she couldn't stand to walk around feeling like someone could sneak up on her.

And then, as the sun was setting, she'd finally come back to the island. Maybe a little more settled, maybe a little more understanding of the thing Duke had said yesterday to set her off. A lot drained. She'd gone to the Rouge first, but had found it empty. (Not that that was surprising: she knew what day this was.) She'd gone back and forth on staying, for a while, to wait for them, but ultimately decided not to.

It just felt like too much. With everything.

And the Samsara was small and quiet and manageable. Nothing but her, and her thoughts, stretched out on her bed, alone. Her phone on her chest, playing a song.

Over and over and over again.

(And no, she didn't know that there was a text still hanging in the ether, trying to get through.)

[ooc: Open, if you dare.]

Duke was out for his class thing. Octavia wasn't sure for how long, but she was taking a chance, and so she sat at the table in the galley with two things in front of her. One, the phone Duke had given her after she'd shown up. Two, the locket Niylah had made her in the bunker. She'd finally opened it. Taken out the SIM card, and carefully, almost hesitantly put it in the phone.

She was honestly surprised to find it still worked. As soon as she turned the phone on, the notifications poured in. Texts, voicemails, missed calls. Almost all of them from Duke.

For a moment, Octavia just stared at them. And considered just deleting them all without looking.

But when had she last made a sensible choice like that? So instead, she went through the texts, from the selfies with goats through the increasingly worried questions, all the way down to just a picture of the ocean meeting the sky, with no caption, no words attached. She checked the date. A day, two days before she'd come back.

Then she moved on to the voicemails. "You missed lunch. You're not at the flower shop." The texts hadn't been easy, but at least they were short, quick to get through - a little more distant than the voicemails. They were his voice but not his voice.

(And then there was a voicemail that wasn't from Duke -- "So if you don't mind, I think it's time to come out of hiding." -- and that was its own kind of tangled emotion.)

"What's the point of anything if you can just go away? Fuck!" The texts hadn't had the sounds of glass breaking. None of Duke's shaky breaths. "I was and am very fucked up, and people need to stop asking me how I'm doing before I start stabbing them with your sword." She wanted to stop listening. But she also didn't want to miss even a second. All those years of wanting to talk to him, and he'd been talking to her, and his voice was -- "It's okay, you know. If you come back broken."

She wanted to stop listening.

She didn't. There was just one more voicemail left.

"Someday, we'll both be butterflies. And then we'll both be sharks. And then something else we haven't even dreamed of yet, but -- we'll find each other."

She'd just... sit here and let that last one loop a few times.

(Too many times.)

[ooc: Open, but angsty. Duh.]