Duke Crocker (
betterthanaplan) wrote2022-08-29 01:59 pm
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The Cape Rouge, Monday afternoon
So after a brief attempt to outrun his baggage resulted in running into Dwight in the park and then feeling guilty for abandoning Lucifer (he hadn't noticed the "compulsive need to take care of others" fanny pack that had strapped itself around his waist, too distracted by that ever-present weight of the silver "killer destiny (literally)" chest), Duke was back at his boat, doing his best not to fall down the stairs to the deck under all that weight.
"Luce?" he called. "Uh, honey, I'm home?"
[for the boyfriend!]
"Luce?" he called. "Uh, honey, I'm home?"
[for the boyfriend!]
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There was a metaphor here about letting other people help you with the weight of your baggage, but he was just. Not going to look that closely at it.
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"Oh my god that feels so good," he muttered, eyes shut as he twisted one way, then the other, rolling his shoulders in alternate directions to try to loosen every muscle along his spine. "When did I get so creaky?"
Which would be when a beat up old satchel labeled "absolute terror of getting old" landed in his lap.
This fucking day.
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Largely libido driven was definitely one of those 'duh' ones.
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"I would love a massage."
Hello "just likes to be touched" bag. Were you really necessary?
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