OPEN LOG: A beach party.

[bouchonne]

WHO: Everyone.
WHAT: A beach party.
WHEN: On a very hot day. At some point during the month.
WHERE: A beach just outside of Kirkwall.
NOTES: It is a beach party.

During a particularly hot and oppressive week in Kingsway, the Diplomacy division announces it will be diverting some of its funds to organize a party on a nearby beach. Kirkwallers are invited as well - a relationship-building sort of effort - but the party is mostly intended for morale boosting for Riftwatch itself.

The party features the following:

• Transportation to this lovely beach from the Gallows and from Kirkwall.


• Sunbathing and swimming in skimpy (or non-skimpy, if you're a fuckin square) bathing suits.


• Live music and dancing.


• Delectable grilled meats (and some vegetables, if you're a fuckin square).


• Rum drinks served in hollowed-out fruits.


• A sandcastle-building competition.


• A swim race.


• A few fun little sailboats bobbing around out on the water.

Does all that sound too wholesome? Great! There's also a cave system in the cliffs next to the beach. These little grottos are full of nooks and crannies and are perfect for a bit of sinful action after dark; in one cavern, there'll be some gambling games where some of Kirkwall's citizens are losing money; in another, you're likely to run into people making out.

Have fun! Soak up sun! Don't get in trouble! Or do, whatever, it's a beach party.

Comments

Benedict ota

[altusimperius]

I. GRILLMASTER

Ostensibly under Byerly's supervision, Benedict has been allowed to leave the Gallows for the first time in a year, for the purpose of helping the party run as well-oiled as it can (which is not even to say how well-oiled the guests are).

He spends most of the day overseeing and assisting with the party's various amenities, whether he's keeping a watchful eye on the grill, helping deliver the drinks, or keeping score for the sandcastle and swimming competitions; and while never an especially emotive fellow, he maintains the sort of quiet, pleasant focus with which he was known to conduct business as chamberlain, albeit this time with no shirt on (linen trousers rolled to the mid-calf serve as his uniform) and his hair tied back in a neat little tail.

II. Resting

With a hand-rolled cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, Benedict sits alone in the sand and watches the festivities. He hasn't personally partaken in much, seeming comfortable enough on the administrative side of things, but there's serenity to be found in just sitting for a while and absorbing the enjoyment of others.

III. Wildcard

He's not getting trashed anytime before sundown, at least, but who knows what can happen?

II

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie comes to sit with him, a drink in both hands. One of them she keeps, the other she nestles in the sand between them. It’s for him, if he’s out. Otherwise it’s for her.

She’s quiet for a while, burying her feet in the sand.

“Which coast is your favourite?” She asks finally.

[altusimperius]

He's a little surprised to see her-- both because he knew she was out of town, and because they haven't been on the warmest terms lately, though at this point he can't even remember whose fault that is.

Probably his own.

He picks up the drink with a gracious little nod, extending it towards hers to clink it gently before taking a sip.
"Nothing like the south Nocen," he admits, in a low voice, as though afraid of being overheard.

[coquettish_trees]

She wraps both hands around her drink, cradling the coconut husk as she might a mug of tea, and hums softly.

"My lord grew up with it," she muses softly. "Marnas Pell. It is still his favourite of the Asgard holdings. I regret I have never seen it, nor any of that coast." She sips her drink, watches the waves.

Looks terribly lonely, for a moment.

"Tell me of it?"

[altusimperius]

He's quiet for a long moment. She's sad, missing her husband, needs the warmth of remembering or at least imagining a kinder place.

But some places, to some people, need to be forgotten.

"I'd rather not," Benedict says slowly, looking at his feet half-buried in the sand, "that place is gone to me now."

[coquettish_trees]

"If you say," Alexandrie replies with a genteel incline of her head. The silence following sounds like she's not finished, though.

She isn't. "You need say nothing of it, but... the land is not its people," she continues, unburying and reburying her feet as she speaks towards the water. "The coast of the south Nocen sea cares little for politics. Perhaps the city is gone to you, or the country, but not the land. The land can still be yours, even if you never see it again in this life."

[altusimperius]

It's a bit rich, coming from her: he knows that ultimately he is responsible for what happened to himself in the past year, but for the direct facilitator of his imprisonment to lecture him on how not to be homesick...

...it takes a fair amount of restraint not to snap at her and become the petulant child to which he's so capable of reverting.

Instead, a measured "I'd prefer not to talk about it," will have to suffice, accompanied by a tentative sip of his drink. No good to cause dramatics at an event intended for harmless fun, especially with himself and Byerly on fairly thin ice to begin with.

[coquettish_trees]

That it might not have been the comforting sentiment she'd thought it doesn't occur to her in the slightest. Ah well, she'd tried. A dip of her chin to acknowledge the refusal and she goes back to watching the sea, the children that run on the sand.

If he'd like to say something he may, otherwise she'll simply do her best to make it a companionable silence.

[altusimperius]

Perhaps surprisingly, Benedict isn't content for the silence to continue; in this time of mending (or entirely reconstructing) bridges, uncomfortable silences can't suffice anymore.

He doesn't have to just roll over and sulk when he's unhappy, and he doesn't have to lash out about it either. He can just.

Be a person.

"How was your trip?" he asks after a short while.

II

[keenly]

It's good to see Bene outside the Gallows. After a short time has passed, Colin moves to relax beside him, rolling out a woven mat to avoid getting too much sand in too many places. His hair fans out under his head as he lies down.

"Good?" he asks, blissed out from the sun and the cold fruity drink.

[altusimperius]

"Mmhmm," comes Bene's easy answer, and he reaches lazily over to start arranging Colin's hair, with no particular agenda in mind.

"You look happy."

[keenly]

Having his hair played with only makes him relax more. He hums softly.

"I love the sun."

[altusimperius]

"It's been a good day," Benedict agrees. He takes his cigarette out of his mouth long enough to sip from his drink.

"Nice being away from the Gallows."

[keenly]

"Nice to see you away from the Gallows." Colin opens one eye to squint at Bene before closing it again. "I don't get out much either." Not that he has an excuse. "It's good to take some time and enjoy it."

[altusimperius]

"You do look like less of a ghost," Bene remarks, and settles back on one elbow to start braiding, as long as he's fussing with hair.

[keenly]

"Mm. Speak for yourself. Hold on a minute."

With Herculean effort, Colin turns over onto his stomach, allowing the sun access to his back and Bene better access to his hair.

[altusimperius]

"Someone's feeling punchy," comes the prim reply, and he pauses long enough to let Colin get comfortable before he begins braiding again.

I

[muckspout]

Where there is food, Edgard will follow. He steps up to the grill ready to grab one of the sizzling items when he notices the person behind the grill. It's someone he met recently who made an Impression. Edgard's head cocks to one side and his voice lowers slightly.

"Benedict. Hello. How are you?"

[altusimperius]

Cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth, Benedict daintily turns a sausage with a grilling fork and glances at Edgard out of the corner of his eye.

He shrugs a greeting, and if he didn't look so indifferent he might be confused. Who are you again?

[muckspout]

Edgard senses that he’s not been recognized and wilts a little inside. He does his best not to show it and continues on.

“It’s Edgard. We met in the tower and...uh, smoked your hookah?”

He stares down at Benedict turning the sausage and blushes slightly.

[altusimperius]

A memory serves: a greasy Orlesian. His voice tips Benedict off before anything else, now that he's thinking about it.

"Oh." He prods blandly at another sausage, testing its firmness.

"Hello."

[muckspout]

Edgard should take a sausage and go, but instead he locks himself in to continue this conversation. Possibly to torture himself, who knows.

“Hello again. So, you’re a cook?”

[altusimperius]

"Today I am." He turns the sausage and moves to the next one.

"Want one?"

[muckspout]

Edgard squints in confusion for a moment and then looks at the sausages on the grill. He nods.

“Alright. Uh, can I?” He stutters a little. “Two actually?”

[altusimperius]

With the same amount of hesitation, Benedict then moves to pick up a plate and serve out two of the sausages. He hands them over.

"Rolls are that way," he murmurs, nodding his head in the direction of a table that contains just that, in addition to condiments and sides.