Duke Crocker (
betterthanaplan) wrote2021-02-14 12:55 pm
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Entry tags:
The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, Sunday evening
Duke wasn't usually one to put much stock into holidays like Valentine's Day. Last year's had very nearly been a disaster, for instance. But Octavia was clearly feeling a little extra in-the-dumps right now, and Lucifer had sent him an enormous, gorgeous, queer bouquet, and Duke felt inspired.
He spent the day setting it up. Went through his hold and pulled out all the plushest, richest fabrics he could find. Fuzzy blankets and brocade curtains and lots of soft Persian rugs. He draped his galley, transforming the usually cool, open space full of hard surfaces into something warm and exotic, like the interior of a Mongolian yurt. He lit the space with candles and oil lamps and paper lanterns, and set Lucifer's bouquet prominently on the coffee table. To eat, he had berries and chocolate and oysters rockefeller, with wine and absinthe and some other items to help them all relax and feel good. There were soft cushions everywhere (including the stuffed shark and sun and moon pillows from last year's pillow forts, with the inclusion of a little velvet star-shaped cushion he'd picked up on a whim), and even a few vintage furs.
It was, he felt, about as cozy and warm and romantic (and hopefully not too fish scented) as his boat was going to get. Now all he needed were his partners.
He sent Lucifer a text (come over, bring octavia), figuring Octavia wouldn't rouse easily on her own, then settled in to wait, and second guess every single choice he'd made in decorating, worrying it would come across as too much.
He distracted himself with his guitar to keep from trying to tear it all down again, and waited.
[for the guests!]
He spent the day setting it up. Went through his hold and pulled out all the plushest, richest fabrics he could find. Fuzzy blankets and brocade curtains and lots of soft Persian rugs. He draped his galley, transforming the usually cool, open space full of hard surfaces into something warm and exotic, like the interior of a Mongolian yurt. He lit the space with candles and oil lamps and paper lanterns, and set Lucifer's bouquet prominently on the coffee table. To eat, he had berries and chocolate and oysters rockefeller, with wine and absinthe and some other items to help them all relax and feel good. There were soft cushions everywhere (including the stuffed shark and sun and moon pillows from last year's pillow forts, with the inclusion of a little velvet star-shaped cushion he'd picked up on a whim), and even a few vintage furs.
It was, he felt, about as cozy and warm and romantic (and hopefully not too fish scented) as his boat was going to get. Now all he needed were his partners.
He sent Lucifer a text (come over, bring octavia), figuring Octavia wouldn't rouse easily on her own, then settled in to wait, and second guess every single choice he'd made in decorating, worrying it would come across as too much.
He distracted himself with his guitar to keep from trying to tear it all down again, and waited.
[for the guests!]
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Easiest way to hide her face from him. She'd seen him looking, and knew he hadn't found what he'd wanted.
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Oh, her hair felt nice, too. "Your hair's like Egyptian cotton," he said. "Oh wow, I'm rolling hard."
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When had she even spoken last?
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He was trying very hard not to make her feel pressured to do anything tonight.
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Feeling things just enough to feel bad about not feeling good enough to keep him happy... was not really where she wanted this evening to keep veering towards.
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He pressed a kiss against Octavia's shoulder.
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Let's face it, Octavia's ability to contribute to the conversation was half relief that Duke was striving to talk about something other than her, and half being a seamstress's daughter.
One brought the motivation, the other something to actually say.
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Just watched them, and tried to relax further into the closeness of it all.
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"I just move the merchandise," he said idly. "Don't really worry about why it's good, so long as it is."
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The fabric-fondling was nice, what.
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Was barely listening. Her gaze had drifted to the table. To the tiny bag.
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OPf course he had them! See also, them surrounded by middle eastern opulence.
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"Mm, I should get oysters while I can still get up."
He was not getting up.
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Or maybe she was just getting more comfortable, and it didn't mean anything at all.
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