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

[coquettish_trees]

[ She laughs and is opening her mouth to demure when a particularly energetic wave takes that moment to crash into their legs, sending water (cold water) higher on her than it had been before, and she emits an alarmed shriek.

...And casts the sort of half-guilty-half-begging look on Bastien that wouldn't be out of place on Whiskey's face. ]

[bouchonne]

[ There's a laugh from the shore. In a particularly dark patch of night, there's a shadow that's only visible when it moves. And right now, it's only moving its head as it laughs.

But the voice is familiar. ]

A cruel lady, the sea.

[cozen]

[ Bastien grins at Alexandrie's shriek, in a sympathetic sort of way, hunching his shoulders as if feeling the same chill. He probably would be, if he weren't still damp from the last time he ran into the waves and now more cold in the wind than in the water.

The familiar voice doesn't make him jump, because he doesn't do that. He turns his head as casually as if he'd known the whole time. ]

You should not spy on people, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur. [ Heh. ] Now if you do not stop us from becoming pirates, you will be complicit.

[ He drops to one knee in the water and gestures for Alexandrie to climb aboard, even if her puppy eyes have since disappeared at the interruption. They were still very good. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ With some alacrity, in case there might be another one of those surprise waves coming, she does just that. It's more of a scuffle than it would be if she were sober (incorrectly judged approach the first time, ah, l'amour), but even if she is, for a moment, clinging to Bastien's head with both hands while adjusting herself to balance best, she is successful. Raises her hands jubilantly toward the sky and calls ]

Viva l'Orlais!

[ (Looks back over her shoulder and smiles brightly in the direction of the shadows. Hello, Byerly.) ]

[bouchonne]

A pirate has no nation, ma femme au coeur noir.

[ He emerges into a patch of partial moonlight. The smile isn't visible in the darkness, but you can hear it in his voice. ]

Come back in. You'll drown out asea.

[cozen]

[ Bastien stands up, Alexandrie aloft, with only a little wobbling difficulty. Entirely due to the sand shifting under his feet and the unfamiliar center of gravity. She's as light as a chevalier's feather, of course. But it will be easier deeper. So that's where he goes, one careful step at a time, turned backwards so they're both facing Byerly.

He didn't used to feel like an intruder—when they were just as much or more whatever-they-are than they are now—and what's changed is him, so he tries to change back. What would he have said ten years ago? ]

You will have to try harder than that. We have decided. [ Maybe that's what he'd say. ] Until we drown we will live.

[coquettish_trees]

We shall be our own nation!

[ Since she is safe out of the reach of the waves for the moment, and since it will add to their dramatics, Alexandrie looses the wrap from where it was tied up around her waist and lets it hang to flutter behind the two of them like a little flag.

The water is cold, but Bastien's shoulders are warm under her thighs, his back against her foot where she locks her ankles to help brace herself. Perhaps they are too old for it now; but for this moment it feels as if they are again united in that wild feckless disobedience of youth that dares defy even things like sea and wind.

She thinks she need say nothing; that the two of them in the moons-bright water off to adventure will look like nothing so much as a dare. A leap. She thinks the air is like a bird, hanging in the air before it dives.

Alexandrie raises her hand towards the shore. ]

[bouchonne]

[ It certainly leaves him no choice. He doesn't hurry across the sand; instead, he slouches, hands in his pockets, looking altogether unconcerned about this rather dangerous thing they're doing. In truth, it does worry him - But he will, he decides, look after them. And if these two precious idiots drown, then by the Maker, he will drown with them. ]

Very well, then. If you are so determined, may I beg amnesty in your new nation?

[cozen]

You may not.

[ In the water up to his thighs now—his hips when the waves are large enough—Bastien stops retreating and waits. The little sailboat isn't far, but all things equal he'd prefer not to lose his footing and dump Alexandrie into the water. Then he'd have touched an Orlesian noblewoman's bare knees in public for nothing. So another pair of hands wouldn't hurt.

Not that Byerly needs to rush. Bastien's footing is fine, at the moment, and surely everyone currently looking at him enjoys a nice sauntering Fereldan. ]

But you may found it with us, without begging for anything. [ Up to Alexandrie, as well as he's able: ] Non?

[coquettish_trees]

[ In response, Alexandrie telegraphs deep thought, humming and tapping her finger on her lips before nodding. ]

D'accord.

[bouchonne]

Very well, then. I will join you on this journey.

[ He stoops down to roll up the legs of his trousers. He shucks his shirt, as well - it's warm enough tonight that it isn't really necessary. And he makes his way out into the water, surefooted through the waves.

He thumps Bastien affectionately on the shoulder when he gets there, and taps Alexandrie on the knee. ]

Now, where do we plan to sail to?

[cozen]

[ The correct answer is a spot further out and still in view of the beach, at most, or perhaps nowhere at all, depending on how difficult it is to pull up the anchor. But the wind is stirring, and the beach and everyone on it feel much further away now that Byerly has joined them, and Bastien is (stupidly, childishly, his bardmaster's spirit will burst through the Veil to box his ears any week now) bolstered by the shoulder-thump. So while he turns to close the distance to the sailboat, he looks up at Alexandrie (again, as best he's able under the circumstances), with her wind-whipped flag and grand sweeping romanticism, and leaves the choice to her. ]

[coquettish_trees]

Do pirates make plans?

[ She makes a little grab at Byerly's hand as he taps her— a catch-and-release program— reaches to tousle his hair because she is tall enough to at the moment, and then points grandly forward. ]

Let us rather commandeer our vessel first, my countrymen.