The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, Wednesday morning

[betterthanaplan]

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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[betterthanaplan]

There was a bag there, nestled in amongst his other necklaces, but it was one he had most of the time. The little pouch he'd made for the sacrificial figure Nina had given him.

Thankfully, it hadn't sprouted any extra text-based decoration today.

"You want me to try to get rid of it?"

[okteiviakom]

"I don't want you to touch it."

... That came out quick.

[betterthanaplan]

“Okay,” Duke said, just as fast and a bit relieved. Which only made him feel guilty, which resulted in a few more bags to crash down on his side of the bed.

[okteiviakom]

More than anything else, anything to do with the bunker felt like -- like it would stain his hands, too, if he touched the bags. And Octavia couldn't let that happen.

She was starting to reach a state of couldn't with other parts of this too, though.

The tension in her body wasn't letting up.

[betterthanaplan]

Yeah, Duke was noticing that.

“What do you need?”

[okteiviakom]

Sure, start with the easy questions.

"I don't know."

[betterthanaplan]

At least he was trying asking at all.

"Has anything worked so far?"

[okteiviakom]

Octavia didn't have an answer to that. barely even understood the question.

Far too much of her attention was now going towards feeling the subtle shifts in the mattress whenever a new bag showed up.

[betterthanaplan]

“Octavia.” Duke stroked his hand down the back of her head. “They’re just bags. Not — not an attack. Or a judgement.”

[okteiviakom]

"I know that," Octavia said, even and mild. And slow.

That didn't mean she enjoyed him seeing anything about the bunker. She couldn't even bring herself to care much about them on her own account, but that, that felt like something.

[betterthanaplan]

“Then talk to me, please. Help me figure out how to help you.”

[okteiviakom]

Octavia's voice stayed mild. "I don't know how."

She pressed her forehead against the top of his chest. She should find more to say, something like --

"Moba."

[betterthanaplan]

Duke sighed through his nose, pressing his face into her hair.

“What are you thinking?” he tried.

[okteiviakom]

Octavia was quiet for a long moment. Thing was, she kind of felt like she wasn't thinking anything. Took a moment to find something she could actually verbalize, even if came out quiet and mild and kind of toneless.

"That I don't care about the bags," she said, "as long as you don't touch the... bunker ones."

Not that any of this was really about the bunker to begin with.

(Beyond how much everything was always about the bunker, in certain ways.)

[betterthanaplan]

“Then I won’t touch them,” Duke promised.

He was pretty sure she really did care about those bags, though.

[okteiviakom]

But she didn't, not anywhere at the level she was pretty sure she should have.

That was the problem.

"Mochof," Octavia muttered.

[betterthanaplan]

"De nada," Duke murmured. And did the only thing he knew how to do.

He just kept holding on.