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

after;

[heirring]

Her arms are slung around his neck and at this proximity it is impossible to disregard how her breath smells of sweet fruit and spirits.

Wysteria is also, it must be said, heavier than she looks and unaccustomed to being carried on anyone's back and only in the last dozen paces or so has stopped unintetionally trying to choke him out and settled into being hauled through Kirkwall.

When they'd left the party, she'd drunkenly insisted that there was work to be done at the Hightown house and that if he was determined to escort her from the party then it must be in that direction rather than back toward catching the last Gallows' ferry. They'd made it as far as the Hightown market district before her threats to lay down and fall asleep in the street were resolved and still have a various blocks and squares to go before they arrive at the club house.

It is dark and mostly quiet in the way a city is never fully asleep. She holds her slippers in one hand (they'd been falling off anyway and it's a good distraction to keep her occupied with as opposed to strangling Ellis with his tunic) and with her chin resting somewhere in the loop of her arms and his shoulder, Wysteria is saying: "—I have always thought the idea of navigating by the constellations to be very charming, but I knew almost nothing about them in Kalvad and even less here in Thedas. Did you know we only have the one moon there? Do you have a favorite?"

[heorte]

This is not the worst walk back from a party Ellis has endured in his lifetime.

The first leg of the journey had been trying on both of them (so Wysteria told him, very clearly for someone intoxicated) but at some point Wysteria had relaxed enough that Ellis didn't need to split his attention between keeping her on his back and walking forward. If Wysteria recalls the handkerchief that slipped away some time back, he'll be in trouble, but for the moment it seems that the only obstacle left is making it all the way back to her home.

There had been a moment, early on, when the weight of her draped across his back had reminded him of another night, a long while back, when the mad dash away had been marred by the grind of metal plate and the spatter of blood and the wet rasp of breath in his ear. But the impression of the memory hadn't lingered. Wysteria crowded it out, and has kept anything that might follow at bay with lively critique and commentary. His input has so far been minimal, and it takes a few moments, and a minor hitch of her weight before he replies.

"No, but there's a constellation I liked best as a boy. I'll try to find it for you when we get to the house," Ellis answers, remarkably steady considering his present exertions. "If you're still awake."

[heirring]

"If I am awake," she repeats back in comically morose tones before brightening to announce: "I'll have you know that I am perfectly alert. What is the name of your favorite constellation? I always was very found of Pyrastes, which in the books is a great lovely bird. But it only shows in the very late summer and very early spring and I have never been good at finding it."

She shifts her grip on her shoes, and his tunic front, and then changes trajectory seemingly without realizing she has already posed one unanswered question to him.

"Did you have a pleasant time? At the party."

[heorte]

Momentary weighing which question to give his attention to first, Ellis chuckles over the imitation.

"I don't think we can see my favorite for another month or so. It's called Megáli Arkoúda," Ellis tells her, weaving around a pair of tipsy Kirkwallers. They lurch one way, Ellis steps aside, shifting Wysteria accordingly to keep from overbalancing them into the street. "It's meant to be a bear, a very large one."

Did he have a pleasant time at the party? Who knows.

"I'll find the story for you in one of the books from your inherited library."

[heirring]

"Naturally it is a large bear. That seems somehow quite in character." On account of the general sense of lumbering quiet, and something to do with how hard Ellis hits things with his mace.

She shifts a little in an attempt to be helpful with the distribution of her weight. The results are firmly mixed.

"When it is properly winter, we will all have to arrange for some evening to go outside the city in order to study properly. If either Misters Stark or Fitz can stand to lie still for a few hours at a time, that is. A clear winter night is, I have read, the very best time for such things."

[heorte]

It is fortunate Ellis was aware of the break in the road before Wysteria decided to be helpful, or it would have ended poorly for everyone. As it stands, Ellis makes it around the corner, does not sigh at the slight incline and instead gives a short huff of agreement while he recalibrates his pace.

"The bear was the end of the story," Ellis says, considering the possibilities of winter star-gazing. He likes the proposition enough that it makes him want to stall against it somehow, but—

"And I think you could persuade them to lie still, but maybe not to stop complaining about the cold."

Ellis did travel with Tony in the Frostbacks last year. A beat, then as his hands readjust slightly where they've laced behind her knees, Ellis reminds, "I think we're almost on a year of having Fitz with us."

Had they not found him in the mud during the winter?

[heirring]

"Surely not," she protests, slightly too loud near his ear. Mercifully, she seems to realize the excruciating volume and moderates herself accordingly before continuing. "It can't have been so long. The man barely knows the difference between a Dalish and Tevene rune. Anyway the temperature hardly makes a difference. I will bring along a great big ugly rock and enchant it to hold some heat. Like a blanket warmer."

Wysteria starts to gesture with both hands to mime the opening lid of such a pan, feels herself sway, and so resorts to using just the one hand clasping like a crab claw. Which is slightly less illustrative, but needs must.

[heorte]

The passing urge to defend Fitz's honor (Ellis could also not tell anyone the difference between a Dalish and a Tevene rune) is derailed by instinctively tilting forward, off-setting Wysteria's sway backward. The effect is probably hilarious to anyone awake to see it. Righting himself includes a hopping little hitch, Ellis huffing at the exertion.

"I'd like that," is what he says, at last. "It's been some time since I camped out in the open, and it was always better in the cold."

Which sounds contradictory, but.

"Did you have a nice time at the party?" he questions, pausing at the top of the incline to catch his breath before starting down the side street. It seems most of Wysteria's neighborhood has turned out their lights. Potentially a good thing.

[heirring]

Perhaps having sensed at last some of the difficulty involved with hauling her around on his back, she has resolved to be less difficulty. For by the time Ellis catches his breath and sets off again Wysteria has ceased her fidgeting—arms wrapped loosely, a slipper in each hand, and her chin tucked vaguely near his shoulder.

"Oh, it was tolerably pleasant. It is the first time Lady Alexandrie and I had seen much of one another since her return from Antiva, and naturally I missed her fiercely while she was away." He smells like the sun and salt water, like the tang of something alcoholic—No, that last one at least is her own breath. "But truly, it is difficult to ruin a party entirely. I don't think even the likes of Byerly Rutyer could manage such a thing."

[heorte]

Just in time to lurch towards the street upon which she lives. Ellis has a few blocks to decide whether or not to test Wysteria's ghostly roommate by going in the front door or around the back through the garden.

"What has Byerly Rutyer done to you?"

A question Ellis may or may not regret asking.

[heirring]

She wrinkles her nose and frowns. Why must everyone ask that question? Surely it is perfectly obvious why someone might find the Ambassador irritating.

"Nothing, save perhaps delighted in my discomfort when I was very newly arrived. It is hardly my fault if I take him at his word when he insists on a reputation as an intolerable lech and a rogue besides. Yet saying so is liable to either get the man's back up or deflate him like—like a bellows with a hole poked through it. And gods forbid you say anything to imply the opposite, for then he will be truly irritating and sour tempered besides."

She takes a deep breath as if she means to continue, and then simply exhales it. At length, she asks,

"Was there no one who treated you as a child for longer than you wished, or were you born with a crease between the eyebrows?"

[heorte]

Contemplating the route forward, the wisdom of cutting down a side street or pressing on along the sidewalk, gives Ellis a few moments to stall before thinking of Wysteria's question.

There are two answers that come to mind, but one is closer at hand than the other. But Joppa hadn't exactly treated him a child, and the fleeting period before Ellis had proven himself useful and trustworthy in a scrape had come and gone very quickly. So the honest answer—

"No, I wasn't so serious when I was younger. I daydreamed a fair amount, and people remembered that about me," Ellis says at last, as the darkened windows of Wysteria's house looms on the corner of the street ahead of them. "I had a lot of things I wished to do that people thought were...fanciful, I guess, because they still saw me as a boy."

A small shrug, so as not to disrupt her position.

"I knew the Ambassador teased you. I didn't know he was so temperamental as well."

Steering back to safer ground.

[heirring]

"He makes himself into an extraordinarily difficult person," she affirms, slightly less sullenly only because by the time they return to the subject she has already begun to lose the thread somewhat in favor of imagining some silly little boy being scolded into paying attention during lessons and chores.

And for a moment as the dark house looms nearer, it seems as if that is the extent of what she has to say on the subject.

"Mr. Stark thinks I should tell the Division Heads about my project. But I know the Ambassador won't take it seriously until it's off paper, and the Provost will disapprove."

[heorte]

There's a pause. Ellis hitches her up higher, offsetting the inevitable moment where she slides a bit down his back as he prepares to wrangle the garden gate.

But he's thinking about the blueprints spread across the table, Wysteria's pride over them. Will that be appreciated? He doesn't know the Provost and he doesn't know the Ambassador. The Commander is so practical that his only concern will be whether or not it can be fired and the Scoutmistress is...impossible to predict. One known quantity among three make him aware his advice is only so useful.

The gate creaks as he opens it. Inside the house there's a quiet clatter, as if the ghost has realized someone's come home.

"I don't think you should let their disapproval deter you," Ellis says finally, paused on the worn path inside the gate. He should put down paving stones. Maybe before the weather turns—

"Do you think it's ready for that kind of attention, the Ambassador aside?"

[heirring]

"I think," she says, haphazardly untangling one arm so she might whack the gate closed behind them. It's a touchy thing, but Wysterja manages (by luck rather than skill) not to over balance and topple them over in the process. "That it would be vastly preferable to have a somewhat functional prototype to show them rather than a few poorly scribbled drawings on paper. Besides, those are the terms I swore de Foncé to and I would prefer not to renegotiate the terms of our partnership."

The prospect of that makes her want to lie down on the ground, though she will concede to finding the concept generally rather attractive even without any frustrating motivation. Her face is very warm and lying down usually has a way of balancing out the temperature. But also, it must be acknowledged that it is so much more difficult to refuse a thing in practice than in theory.

—Which may be motivation for why she begins to wiggle free of Ellis' grip in an attempt to slide to her feet rather than simply asking to be set down.

[heorte]

Before Ellis has a chance to validate any part of that answer, Wysteria is moving. Having managed to avoid toppling during the gate closure, Ellis is more or less prepared to release Wysteria in a more or less graceful fashion.

He doesn't drop her. That's the main thing.

"Then wait," Ellis says, as it seems easy enough to him. He pauses to stretch away the ache and cricks that have built up after carrying Wysteria all this way. "You have time. And maybe it'll all go quicker after you meet with the dwarven merchants."

Assuming that goes well, but it's a little late to question Wysteria, Tony and Fitz's people skills.

[heirring]

The ground comes up with shocking speed. Her knees manage not to buckle under the abrupt acquaintance with her weight, and she stumbles only slightly - catching herself with a rattle and clank of metal on the shut gate. With excessive care, Wysteria tucks some strand of hair come loose behind her ear.

"Quite right. Though in my heart of hearts I should like to have something drafted before winter's end. I will have come into a bit of money quite soon, you see, and so there will be no need to wait any longer. But it would help. Orzammaran expertise, I mean. Would be invaluable to it. And then of course"—she lowers her voice considerably, a conspiratorial hiss that doesn't qualify as a whisper by merit of inebriation, and sways forward; the gate rattles once more as her weight catches the latch—"We can begin testing it."

[heorte]

Perhaps he put her down too soon, Ellis thinks. But the thought manifests in his hand at her elbow, encouraging her away from the gate.

"We'll have to be selective about where," Ellis says, which can be mistaken as being sensitive to the secrecy of the project instead of his real concern, which is split between property damage and potential for injury. "Here, come with me. We should have some water."

Throughout the entire journey home, Ellis has made no comment on the status of Wysteria's sobriety. But he can make some attempt to head off the effects of it for her.

[heirring]

"Hold just a moment while I—" Leaning into his hand, she takes a moment (or a half dozen of them) to put her shoes back on lest she ruin her stockings by tottering around on the uneven paving stones in them. Once reshod to her satisfaction, she simply hooks her elbow in his and allows herself to be led.

"We'll want to test it outside of Kirkwall. The place I recommend to Enchanter Rowntree for the mage training would be perfectly suitable, I think. The question of range is an important one, and you can never be too careful with the first castings of a thing. It's very possible that the barrel will be overdrawn by the enchantment and"—she makes a demonstrative 'Ka-pow' sound—"explode."

This meandering agreement sees them as far as the back door. Before she can spend too much time searching her pockets for the key, the lock unclicks itself to allow them indoors.

"Ah, bless. You see. I told you it's becoming more agreeable."

Or maybe she has just been thinking it. The rate of flung objects seems significantly decreased in any case.