betterthanaplan | The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, Wednesday morning

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The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, Wednesday morning

There were bags all over the Rouge. Duke was doing his best to ignore them. He had a standing appointment with Octavia for breakfast, so he was just going to focus on getting ready for that, and not the very large suitcase with a particular tattoo embroidered onto the front of it. Or any of the myriad other bags and crates and trunks and cases taking up most of the counter and floor space of his galley.

Really. He had an entire hold for these sorts of things. The island dumping them in his living space was just rude.

[for one!]

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"Right."

The bags behind her said things like murderer and destroyer and worthless.

Duke just kind of silently took note of those. And reached for the Bailey's.

"Coffee?"

Octavia still hadn't even noticed them.

So she just shrugged a little, eyeing the bags in front of her. All his, not that she'd really gotten that far in deciphering this whole thing. (Nothing was attacking, so did it even matter?) "Sure."

Well, they were kind of a tripping hazard.

Duke poured a the coffee, topping both off with a shot or two of Irish cream. And nearly ended up brained by the tool bags and boxes appearing in midair, labeled things like parentification and weaponification.

"Jesus," he hissed, hopping back, then glared up at the ceiling. "Seriously?!"

... Well, scratch that about nothing attacking. It was enough to startle Octavia, to put a little tension in her demeanor as she looked up at the ceiling, then back at him.

"You okay?"

Duke nudged one of the bags with his foot. "If these things are what I think they are, then -- no. I am pretty demonstrably not okay." He flicked her a rueful smile. "But I'm not injured."

"'S what I was asking," Octavia said, with a little nod of confirmation, though only after her eyes had flicked towards the top of his head a second time. Look, she was maybe having a little trouble... connecting with any of this, but worrying about him getting hurt broke through most things.

She looked towards his feet. "What do you think they are? Look like just... bags with random words on them."

That little thump of a sound that followed was a duffel bag - red, obviously - embroidered with never going to be right in the head again (maybe never was) hitting the floor behind her.

Duke glanced over at it and winced. Then pointed at a few of the other bags. Such as unworthy of love. Or the one with the tattoo. Or blood-driven heritable serial killer curse.

"They're, uh. Me." He shrugged. "All the bad shit in my brain."

He hadn't entirely realized that the red bags she was trailing behind her weren't meant for him, too.

Octavia looked behind herself at the new arrival.

"... Why are they bags?"

She'd heard of 'emotional baggage', but apparently not enough times to readily make the connection.

"Because Fandom thinks its funny."

Universe's favorite punching bag was a low blow, Fandom.

"How is it supposed to be funny?"

The little coin purse type thing at her feet with the words perennial outsider was a nice touch.

"It's a pun," Duke said. "Emotional baggage." He shook his head. "Low hanging fruit, if you ask me."

"Right," Octavia said.

Then she reached out with one hand.

"Coffee?"

"Coffee, right." Duke handed her one mug and took a big sip of his own. Ignoring the family history of addiction bag that appeared on the liquor cabinet.

Octavia took a sip of her own. Looked around at the bags, a little absently.

It was still quite a few bags.

It was a lot of bags. Not even including the ones she'd brought with her. Which he still hadn't realized weren't more of his own.

"Think I might spend the day in town. Or maybe in the woods." He gestured around. "Somewhere that all of this isn't."

That perennial flight risk bag was just unnecessary, Fandom.

"Sounds like a decent idea," Octavia replied, mildly.

Fandom didn't actually tend to like letting people off that easy.

"Should, uh. We try moving breakfast to the Samsara instead?" Duke asked. There was a little denial change purse on the counter by the coffee pot now.

Tiny shrug.

"If you think that'll help."

"You okay?" Duke asked. He'd asked her some version of that every morning this week, and wasn't really expecting much of an answer, no. But he'd more than earned that only value in service to others steamer trunk in the corner.

Octavia took a sip before looking up at him again. Her lips twisted faintly into something that was supposed to look reassuring.

"Just tired."

It was very similar to what he'd gotten the other times he'd asked, yes.

"C'mere," Duke said, holding out his hand for her. They sometimes did better at these sorts of conversations when they were holding each other.

Octavia took his hand. Let him draw her closer.

Starved for intimacy, read an overnight bag on the floor a little to the left of her.

Duke settled his arms around her waist. Then noticed another intimacy related bag on the other side of the room. He looked at the one by her feet again, then at her.

". . . I think some of these might be yours."

Octavia pressed her face against his chest.

"Oh."

She didn't sound surprised. She didn't sound particularly anything.

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