Lucifer Morningstar (
my_own_advocate) wrote2024-12-31 08:19 pm
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The Marina, Cat Island, Tuesday Night
They had traditions out here on Cat Island - or, well, ways to entertain the tourists that came through here week after week. Spirits had flowed freely well into the evening, and dances and costumes and all sorts of razzle dazzle had come through the diner and engulfed the docks in light.
But somewhere near the end of the evening, close to the big finale, three people wandered further and further away onto the beach. Lucifer, of course, was carrying a cooler in one hand, and his long, thin teal shirt hung loose and open around his body.
He was smiling a bit.
"I think we're almost far enough away," he said.
[[ for them ]]
But somewhere near the end of the evening, close to the big finale, three people wandered further and further away onto the beach. Lucifer, of course, was carrying a cooler in one hand, and his long, thin teal shirt hung loose and open around his body.
He was smiling a bit.
"I think we're almost far enough away," he said.
[[ for them ]]
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He looked up at Octavia and raised his eyebrows.
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"Express my feelings," because unlike some people, she'd never had a problem feeling her feelings, as everyone here was sadly familiar with, "and why did it take you until someone told you to say that?"
(Maybe it would've helped if she'd tried to take another deep breath or something, here.)
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He looked away -- from her and from Lucifer.
(He didn't pull his foot from her lap, though. Or pull back from Lucifer's weight at his side. )
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And now that thing had an uncomfortable chance of festering as her mouth snapped shut, instead.
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Only, you know, he actually cared what the two people here thought of him.
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"If you think it's pedantic that I would like to feel like what I was saying was understood," Octavia replied, measured tone sounding particularly forced, "then you should maybe get right back off your high horse."
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Now he flicked his eyes between the two of them, wondering how Lucifer would handle this part of the 'nitpicking words' argument.
(He felt frozen in place now, muscles tense in what had started as a relaxed sprawl on the sand.)
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Although what she said was, "Well, you're gonna think whatever you want to think, so I'm not going to bother."
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. . . Fuck, that was not going to help anything at all.
"Ask us for what you want. Luce and I are very accommodating. But we're not perfect beings, for fuck sake. And that needs to be okay."
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(Far less offensive than probably several of her choices in this conversation, but, well, something had snapped there.)
She suddenly couldn't see very well through the blur in her eyes, so she addressed... their general direction. "Well, you can think in peace, now." And she grabbed her shoes and turned to stomp off further down the beach.
(Something that didn't feel safe right now was letting them see her crying.)
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"Are we supposed to chase after her now?" he asked. Lucifer, nominally, but also the universe at large.
So much for their track record of people not leaving.
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He kissed the top of Duke's head. "I'll talk to her," he said. "I'll leave you the wine."
And he gingerly attempted to disentangle himself.
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He tipped his head in the direction she’d stormed off, without actually looking.
“Go.”
He’d be here. With the wine. Which he might or might not drink.
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He let his hand fall to Duke's shoulder. "I love you," he said, softer. "I know you're trying your best."
Only then did he step away. Let his hand fall, and his eyes settle on Octavia's retreating back.
Then his feet followed.
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This was what she got for trying to go into a big conversation half-cocked. As if she didn't know how these things went, as if she didn't know what she was like. Wasn't she proving at least some of their points by storming off?
But she'd been trying to hold something in and hold something together for most of the time they'd been on this island.
And whatever she'd been holding that together with had just given out.
... Much like one of her legs seemed to, right then, as her foot caught on something, and sent her toppling onto her knees in the sand.
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Then she went down.
"Octavia!" he yelled, taking off into a run.
He didn't stop until he got to her.
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(You know, for the Octavia later who would have to look back on her own actions.)
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He gathered her into his arms without even thinking.
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Same as the noise like a wounded animal that she made.
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He didn't let go.
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Still crying, sobbing in a way that seemed to only barely give her a chance to get a breath.
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