betterthanaplan: (tiny and patient)
Duke had been staking out the boat he'd woken up on for hours, tucked up next to a pylon with a stash of scraps scavenged from the restaurant dumpsters. So far he hadn't seen anyone go in or out, or any signs that anyone was actually on board the thing. If he hadn't seen the inside of it already, he'd have guessed the thing had been abandoned; it looked even rustier than any of the rust heaps his dad had had over the years. But the ropes holding it to the docks were fresh, and the hull looked solid enough under all that rust. And the inside was really nice.

Maybe the owner had just gone on vacation or something.

He sorted through his food stash, pulling out a moldy piece of bread, and broke it apart to toss to the weird puppy-bird things that lived all over the place around here.

"What do you think?" he asked one of them as it hopped over to sniff at his leg (they were super friendly, way nicer than the gulls that lived around the docks back home). "Should I risk it? It was nice and warm in there."

And it was getting a lot colder out here.

[open! He's not immediately visible if you're by the docks, but he's not especially well hidden, either.]
betterthanaplan: (sex-swap -- perturbed)
The Rouge was reasonably soundproof -- the ocean was a noisy place, and it was just generally a good idea when you used your boat for various illegal activities to make sure that you couldn't be overheard by the outside world.

Anyone walking by the docks Monday morning would still manage to hear a very clear, very alarmed "WHAT THE FUCK?!!!" coming from inside.

Duke burst above decks a moment later, clutching one of his own shirts around himself like a robe -- or a dress, like it would usually fit the various ladies he'd spent the night with over the years -- and yanking pieces of laundry off the lines strung there with rather more force than usual.

"Goddamn fucking -- insane -- fucking island," he grumbled. "Couldn't give a guy some fucking warning. . . ."

[open!]
betterthanaplan: (all sooty with Nathan)
Duke was feeling extremely good this morning as he kicked back on the deck of his boat, in board shorts and an undershirt, enjoying the sea breeze with his cup of coffee. Yesterday had been so much better than he'd thought. Nathan was here. Nathan was here. Nathan was, in fact, on Duke's boat at this very moment, and not up in Haven being a stuffy cop and drinking his father's kool-aid.

Nathan was with Duke in a town where two men could make out at a group event and all the local gossips on the radio did was coo over it being cute.

He wondered how hard it would be to convince Nathan to just never go back to Haven at all.

[open deck, open post!]
betterthanaplan: (over the shoulder)
So. Duke had been in Fandom for two weeks now. And while he'd absolutely never say out loud that he felt like he had a handle on things . . . he felt a bit like he had a handle on things.

Case in point: he was lounging on the deck of his boat, sipping bourbon and pondering whether or not he could sail to 2008 Baltimore, stash an inexpensive bottle somewhere, then walk across the causeway to 2019 Baltimore, pick it up, and sell it all nicely aged. He was pretty sure he could get away with something like that without breaking time. So long as he didn't manage to run into his older self or something. But wouldn't his older self know to just avoid Baltimore in 2019?

He was not so lost in such thoughts as to not notice the small green thing creeping around his crates, though. He dropped his hand down to the butt of the gun taped under his chair.

"Pretty sure biting your subjects is a big reporter no-no."

The gremlin made a sort of grumbling, snarling noise, and scuttled off. Duke nodded to himself and sipped his bourbon.

Yeah. He was getting a handle on things.

[open boat deck is open!]

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Duke Crocker

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