The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, Sunday morning

Duke had made it out to the diner this week, and then had been . . . let's call it "thoroughly exhausted" by Lucifer after. So he'd spent a couple days recovering, alternating between napping and puttering around his boat.

So he hadn't seen a certain piece of news until this morning.

There weren't many celebrity deaths that he felt much more than just sort of a vague sadness about, but this one hit a little close to home. So he was out on the deck this morning with a bottle of rum and his guitar, idly strumming along to a song on his phone.

[open for slow play. It may be tacky but bah. No small amount of my personal playlist for Duke is Buffett, m'kay?]