My unicorn got run over by a tractor

Duke didn’t know it, but all the clothing on the Rouge that wasn’t currently on his body vanished the moment he crossed into Fandom waters.

What he did know was that going from April 2010 to July 2020 was a much more obvious transition than it had been the other way around. It was like sailing into a vat of hot jello. He squinted into the sun, then stripped off his overshirt, letting it fall to the floor of the wheelhouse.

The overshirt vanished, too. That he noticed.

". . . Yeah, I'm definitely back in Fandom."

He sailed into port without managing to lose any more clothes, but the ones he was wearing (an undershirt and a pair of fairly threadbare cotton shorts) were rapidly going damp in the face of the sweltering, cloying air. He was hard-pressed as he dropped anchor and tied the Rouge down at her usual slip not to strip off the rest of his clothes and just dive straight into the water. He sent out a few texts, then flopped onto the deck to splay out like a starfish.

"Swear to god, if this place got invaded by a clothing-eating heat demon while I was away I will turn this boat around and go right back to Maine."

Well, no. He wouldn't. But he'd really want to.

[open! work is going to do its best to break me today, so some SP will be in effect BUT I NEED DISTRACTIONS]

Duke had plans to take Rey out on the water today, to show her the coastline and maybe teach her how to fish if they found a good spot. Even though he'd just gotten back from a trip on Monday, there was still some prep work to do on the Rouge to make sure she was ready to head out again. Boats like this one took a lot of upkeep and maintenance to keep them running happily and only looking like they might fall apart if they were hit by a medium-sized wave.

It was a nice day for it, at least. Bright and sunny and warm enough to work shirtless. Which was good, because getting grease stains out of fabric was a pain in the ass.

"Don't give me that look," he told Polly as he checked the oil reserves. "I'm not going to shoo you off this time."

Polly stuck close to his heels, clearly not believing a word of it. He would not be abandoned again!

[mostly for the one mentioned, but open before that. Slowplay advisory is in effect, because this week would have been crazy even without a visit from a horseman of the apocalypse]

As a rule, he didn't tend to do much for the winter holidays -- unless you counted "go somewhere it's not winter" -- but some combination of Fandom's festivities and the cold weather had actually put him into something of a Christmas-y mood this year, so the Rouge's deck was -- well. Decked. There were string lights and garlands all over the open deck area, especially around the table holding the big thermos of hot, buttered rum. He'd set up a little fire pit on the metal cargo-bay doors, and the door to the galley and lounge below-decks was propped open with a now-dormant loaf of yesterday's fruitcake, in case people preferred to go in where it was warmer.

As discussed, Duke had only mentioned the party to a few people since planning it with Rey. It was Christmas, though, so if people decided to wander up and say hi, he wouldn't turn them away.

[up early and ready for all the slowplay. A few people in the know expected, but as it says in the narrative, it's open for wandering in if you want, too!]

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!]