The Cape Rouge, Somewhere Along The East Coast, Friday Morning

It had been almost two weeks. Wednesday's encounter with Michael was needling at him like an annoying gnat. Cabin fever had fully set in. Booze and naked time with Octavia could solve a lot, but it was beginning to get a bit much.

And after Summer's spectacular failure at portaling them back, it was obvious that the only person who could fix this was Lucifer.

Sure, yesterday's trip to the mainland had once again turned up nothing but terrified sailors, some nice, small ornamental vases (he was getting truly sick of staring at Duke's unending parade of nautical doodads) and some better-quality clothes hangers (he may have distracted himself for a bit by rearranging Duke's wardrobe, at least until the sheer quantity of plaid became too much for him).

But today was a new day.

And things were finally looking up.

"Wings!" the man yelled. "Wings!"

"Yes, wings," Lucifer said irritably, "Which are currently holding you aloft, so try not to jostle them, will you? Fasten your seatbelt, we're about to descend, yadda yadda yadda."

"Wings!"

He was an annoying one. But allegedly he knew how to sail, drive, whatever, old metal fishing boats. Lucifer set him down by the wheelhouse and pushed him inside, over the man's wide-eyed flailing. "We have a deal," he pointed out. "You're helping us take this ship back to Maryland."

"Um," the man managed.

"Well, get to it," Lucifer sighed. "And then you can use the money I'm giving you for that nice midlife crisis backpacking trip you want." He pointed at the controls.

The man threw another wide-eyed glance at him, but, at last, finally started bustling around all the electronics and buttons and things. Whatever they were.

At least one part of this nightmare was almost over.

[[ expecting one, but also open to she who has been stuck at sea with him ]]