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

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly's response is a miserable groan. It seems she has a point.

He pushes himself up from where he's flat on his face. Sand clings to his beard, mustache, and eyebrows. ]

Perfectly well, thank you.

[ He climbs to his feet, waving away the proffered hand. ]

[thereneverwas]

All's well, [he calls back to Alexandrie, then grins at the pair.]

Well, you're welcome to join us for some juvenile hijinks, should you wish to get your revenge.

[This to Byerly, though he's grinning at the laughing Wysteria.]

[bouchonne]

Oh, I'm always in the market for unleashing my wrath.

[ He straightens his shirt, and gives a little sigh, and makes his way over to the circle. ]

[muckspout]

[A little suspicious, a little curious]

What sort of game is this?

[coquettish_trees]

[ Banished worry, prolonged consumption of rum, Wysteria's raucous laughter, and the fact that Byerly's facial hair is now sand (and the fact that he bothered to straighten his shirt but not brush any of it off) combine to cause Alexandrie to dissolve into the sort of helpless laughter that is like to go hand in hand with tears in a few moments. ]

It is—

[ —she tries, half a gasp, but can't manage any more than that, and pulls up her knees to bury her face in them and laugh. Someone else tell him. ]

[heirring]

[She takes advantage of Barrow's arm, more or leas clinging to it through the dregs of her laughter as they wobble back toward the circle until she can collapse back to the blanket beside Alexandrie.

As with most games, it is best explained by demonstration. So as to allow both herself and her indisposed friend time to recover, Wysteria offers the metaphorical peace offering to Byerly—]

Truth or dare, Ambassador?

[thereneverwas]

You'll see, [to Edgard, as he helps Wysteria down and then follows. Is he still a bit tetchy about the bucket of water earlier?

...yes, but it'll be fine.]

[bouchonne]

[ Historically Byerly has, nearly without exception, always answered dare, because dares are far less dangerous than truths. But he is also trying to be less of a liar, at Athessa's request, and so he gives the very bold answer. ]

Truth.

[heirring]

What terrible thing have you done that no one else knows about?

[Is asked perfectly thoughtlessly, Wysteria being somewhat more seriously engaged with figuring out where—ah, there. She fetches up what remains of her drink.]

[bouchonne]

Ooh.

[ Now, this one's easy. There's plenty he could share that would have no importance for anyone, but he thinks...Ah, yes. He steeples his fingers, and then looks directly at Alexandrie, and declares: ]

Once, when I was dreadfully hard up for money, I stole one of Alexandrie's silk petticoats and sold it.

[ A true story. He had been tormented with guilt afterwards. He'd have been tormented with guilt over it as recently as a month ago. But now, with how they are together, it doesn't really feel dire any longer. ]

[heirring]

[To Edgard, Wysteria makes a motion of the hand which must more or less to translate to Voila.]

[coquettish_trees]

[ Alexandrie— whose laughter had turned to a cough and was all ready to Look at Wysteria— freezes and sits up abruptly to stare at him. For a moment, silence, and then— ]

Le rose avec trois niveaux de volants! That is what happened to it?

[ She knocks over the last of her current drink into the sand as she scrambles to get to Byerly so she can shove him. ]

Homme misérable!

[ But she is laughing again, because she had bought it to wear for him, and it being his fault that he never saw her in it is some kind of long-denied justice. ]

[muckspout]

[To Barrow or whoever’s close]

I think I get it. You just ask questions?

[thereneverwas]

[Leaning away, Barrow allows the violence to occur with a wince. It seems deserved.]

Now now-- [and then Edgard asks him a question.]

If someone requests truth, you ask them a question and they're not allowed to lie. For dare, they're not allowed to back out of what they're told to do.

[bouchonne]

[ He's laughing, and curls an arm around Lexie's waist to pull her into his lap. You know. Like totally platonic friends do.

To Edgard: ]

So, dear fellow: truth or dare?

[muckspout]

[Edgard lifts his eyebrows. He takes a swig from his flask, lifts it to Byerly]

Alright, truth.

[bouchonne]

Who did you work for before coming here, and why did you work for them?

[muckspout]

I didn’t work for anyone.

[He grins at Byerly. It may be semantics, but it’s true. He shrugs and takes another swig.]

I was a thief with other thieves. It was fun.

[There, truth. Some of it anyway.]

[thereneverwas]

An acceptable answer, I should think.

[coquettish_trees]

[ After a brief show of outraged struggle at being manhandled by a dirty petticoat thief, Alexandrie has settled herself in Byerly's lap to watch the game with her eyes half-closed in contentment, head tucked under his chin. Like totally platonic friends do.

To Edgard, with curiosity made idle by comfort: ]

Did you work together and share spoils? Have a shared code of conduct?

[muckspout]

[Edgard frowns, he thought his turn was over.]

We worked together.

[As he takes another drink, his frown turns into a sly grin.]

Have you taken a turn at the game, Mademoiselle?

[coquettish_trees]

Madame.

[ An absent automatic correction which may or may not lead to certain assumptions, given the current state of things.

And then Alexandrie actually processes the question and considers its possible outcomes. One: she'll be a poor sport at her own game, two: she'll have to tell the truth, or three: she'll have to get up. On the whole she doesn't like any of them. She's opening her mouth to admit she hasn't when she hears the telltale jingle-jangle of a myriad of bracelets, which means— ]

Athessa~

[ A singsong call over Byerly's shoulder (and, unfortunately for him, right next to his ear,) in an attempt to lure the woman to come and join them before she's asked anything, ]

Come play with us!

[ She doesn't know enough about Edgard to know if a pretty shiny elf will draw his attention, but it'll give her at least half a chance to fend off the inevitable for a little longer. ]

[sulahnan]

[ Athessa was just meandering by, without aim, so she's easily diverted. Meanders over, her sundry jewelry heralding her languid approach.

She's got a smoldering joint in hand, Riftwatch-issue sunglasses on her face, and parks her hand on her hip as she surveys the group. ]

What're ya playing?

[muckspout]

[Edgard smarts a little at the correction, but brushes it off as he turns to Athessa]

Truth or dare. It’s your turn. Which one?

[sulahnan]

Dare, of course. [ Said without needing to think about it, and in the moment before bringing the joint to her lips. ]