betterthanaplan: (bartending)
It had continued to be a hectic week after they found the silver box in the basement of Rassmussen House. Duke had dragged Octavia with him to a fake catering gig to try and grill the grand dame of one of Haven's oldest families on the box's origins, which had resulted in them having to hide in a barn from rampaging vines fueled by a family feud. Then Audrey had pressganged Duke into entertaining Chris Brody for the morning while she went to deal with another trouble, which had originally been fun -- Duke had loved getting to show off his waffle making skills for someone like Chris Brody -- but ended up feeling kind of creepy, when Nathan finally told him about Chris's charm trouble. Apparently everyone loved Chris on sight except Audrey. Which at least meant that Chris could date Audrey without having to worry about magically roofying her, but still. . . .

Creepy.

Today was looking to be quiet, though. With Audrey off at work and the bar hours from opening, the Gull was a nice and private space for Duke and Octavia to hang out. One with a much larger, better equipped kitchen than Duke could fit onto even a boat the size of the Rouge.

Even if it was only really set up for bar snacks.

"Fresh nachos," he said as he set a platter down in front of Octavia. "Piping hot. And a mudslide to go with it." A milkshake glass full of alcoholic goodness joined the platter, and Duke slid into the chair across from her. "Have I mentioned lately how lucky I am that you put up with me?"
This will not end well. )

[NFB due to distance, NFI, OOC welcome. Preplayed with the magnificent [personal profile] okteiviakom. Adapted from The 100 ep 6x09, "What You Take With You".]
betterthanaplan: (this is a very serious beer)
So. Lunch with Octavia yesterday had not ended well.

It had, in fact, ended pretty spectacularly badly. (Though at least Eleanor had probably gotten to finish Octavia's shrimp after she stormed off.) And Octavia hadn't come home last night.

Which meant Duke hadn't slept last night, spending the hours vacillating between running the argument over and over through his head, rehearsing everything he didn't manage to tell her before she'd stormed off, and trying to lose himself in boat maintenance to get his brain to stop doing either of those things.

He'd fallen asleep on deck around sunrise, only to be awoken by porgs bringing him rocks maybe an hour later. Octavia still hadn't returned. He stumbled his way inside to sleep through most of the day, and now sat stretched out on his bench on the deck, nursing a bottle of bourbon and trying to tell himself he wasn't brooding.

He wasn't going to go find her. She shut down when she was mad, he'd told Lucifer as much. And dammit, he was still angry. (At her, at himself, at Claire for telling him to express himself.)

So he was just going to sit here.

And brood stew watch the porgs.

[for the one!]

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Duke Crocker

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