faderift | OPEN LOG: A beach party.

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OPEN LOG: A beach party.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Absolument pas!

[ She whuffs with slight exertion, and there's a heavy thump of further sand on his thighs. ]

That is merely a regrettable side consequence.

[ This will continue with absolutely no explanation whatsoever, with pauses while she goes down to the sea to get more water, until the bottom half of him is entirely covered. Finally she sinks down beside him with a satisfied sigh and begins to pat the sand smooth. ]

Hmm.

[ He doesn't move throughout this whole process, allowing her to load him down with sand. When she starts to pat down the sand, he turns his head to the side and says: ]

All this just to get a handful of my pert bottom. I never.

[ A gasp, and the guiltiest of looks, both rendered entirely unbelievable because she continues her work. ]

Andraste miséricordieux, he has discovered me.

[ A windy mournful sigh, a distant look out over the sea. ]

I have spent years on this plan, and yet it has come to this. What shall be my sentence, now that I am caught in such amatory duplicity?

Rubbing my back?

[ A bold suggestion for the public setting. But it's a very appealing thought. ]

[ She raises her eyebrows, chuckles lowly, and murmurs: ]

Rare times, when thieves are caught at stealing gems and punished with gold.

[ After a quick glance about, she runs a light (and slightly gritty) finger down his spine and then continues packing sand. ]

But you must wait for me to finish, or your tail will dry wrong and I shall have to pour water all over you.

Tail?

[ He smiles lazily. ]

What manner of creature am I becoming, my Alexandrie?

Half a fish, since you have proved yourself one.

[ my Alexandrie, really. Right where the sky can hear.

But she smiles, small and pleased as she slowly turns him merman. ]

What gave you cause to learn?

Well, I was born under the sea, of course. Which - how dare you reveal my true nature so. Before the eyes of everyone.

Is it so terrible to be known as one is?

[ She dips her fingers in her pail of water and flicks droplets across his back, cool spots interrupting the sun. ]

But I beg your forgiveness; I should have asked if I might.

[ Wriggling backwards to taper the fin by his knees, ]

Would you like to be half horse instead? It is not too late.

Oh, Maker, no. Fish suits me much better. Horses are so difficult.

[ Then, smiling up at her: ]

Our estate was by the sea. I spent less time in the ocean than a turtle, I would estimate, but more time than a seal.

[ Her sigh is an appreciative one, half air, half hum. (For his easier smile, for the sea.) ]

And what is the sea like, in Ferelden?

I know nature has little respect for nations, but the land is different there and so I must imagine the sea is.

Oh, very much so. It's chill and ungentle. Staying in for more than a breath is quite a show of courage. As is braving the waves, which may become towering on a day that has even just the gentlest of winds.

[ The cold, the rocks, the elemental power of the water— her hands stop moving for a moment as she thinks of it. Thinks of a young Byerly, thin, doubtlessly. Counting brave determined breaths alone with the sea. Not to tell anyone, only to know.

She doesn't know if it is true, but in her heart it is, and it provokes such awful tenderness that she rinses her hands in the pail and walks on her knees to where she can sit beside him and comfortably settle her hands on his shoulders, press the pads of her thumbs with gentle firmness at the base of his neck to rub small circles there. ]

And how many breaths in the sea had you?

Many.

[ Her imagining isn't far off. Often, it hadn't been alone, but rather with his sister in tow, a fire started on the beach to warm his clammy skin and trembling limbs after, the exercise continuing long into fall and starting far too early in spring. He'd been proud of his self-control. ]

It hurt terribly, but it was rather satisfying to endure it. I guess I was a bit masochistic even then. - Oh, yes, right there - [ He purrs with delight as she presses into a knot in his shoulder. ]

[ Another low chuckle for the sound he makes, and she takes his words as tacit invitation to dig her thumbs harder into the knot of muscle there. She's stronger than she used to be, before the war. ]

I cannot imagine the sea took the time to be kind to you, afterwards.

The sea is not kind to anyone.

[ He sighs very contentedly. He loves a woman with strong hands. All the better, considering who those hands are connected to. ]

She is cruel and dangerous. Everyone was terrified of the sea.

Who should not be? She is only herself, and does only as she wishes, and she is too strong for anyone to make her cease.

[ She sounds distant, her thoughts in her hands as they seek out the next spot of tension once the first has released a little. ]

We have learned some ways to tame the land. The sea is wild and has only herself to answer to.

[ He closes his eyes contentedly. ]

Are you wishing you were the sea?

[ She pitches her voice low; velvety and self-satisfied. ]

I am the sea.

I am cruel, and kind, and lovely, and terrible, [ she leans over, murmurs, ] and men count the breaths they dare to be inside me.

[ And then, for immediate contrast, she drops a light innocent peck of a kiss at the base of his neck and laughs a little puff of air through her nose as she straightens. ]

Mais non. I am only a woman.

[ He laughs as well. Ah, he does love it when she gets filthy. ]

And that is all you ever wish to be?

I cannot truly be else, and I do not mind— I enjoy it quite well.

[ It's light and unconcerned as she walks her fingers up his back and into his hair to run her nails slowly through his hair, a languorous scratch. ]

But if we are making wishes, I would like to be a bird and know what it is to catch the wind. A flower, so I might know what it is to bloom. I would be a man for a little, I think, [ a chuckle, ] but not too long.

Not for too long - good. Men are unbearable creatures.

[ He may or may not be able to see the eyelash flutter, but it’s in her voice nevertheless, ]

I have sometime found it enjoyable to bear them.

[ ayyyy ]

[ In mock-shock: ]

What - have you borne children? Boys?

I suppose my meaning often leads to yours.

[ His hair being very convenient for pulling retributively at the moment, she does. ]

I have heard it is less enjoyable, however.

OPEN LOG: A beach party.

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