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

[highborn]

How thrilling, congratulations on your station.

[ Meat isn't exactly his passion in life, but ... cooking is, unfortunately. The grill holds his restrained attention for a few seconds, until he sighs and -- ]

You haven't just the meat here, have you? Any oils, spices?

[altusimperius]

If you want to make them more interesting,

[rather than continue speaking, he gestures to a table bearing various sauces, condiments, and accoutrements.]

...I mean, someone already put them together, I'm just cooking them. [He shrugs vaguely.]

[highborn]

[ He does, unfortunately, want to make them more interesting. So he shows himself to the table, and takes a moment to study the little collection there.

In a few moments he's back, having requisitioned a tin of salt and a jar of oil.

Holding them out: ] Here. For the love of those you're feeding, add these.

[altusimperius]

[Bene gives him a tired look, like he doesn't want to be so rude as to tell him to fuck off, but also definitely isn't doing that.]

If it bothers someone that much, they can apply it themselves.

[Flip.]

Or you're welcome to take over, if it's that important to you.

[highborn]

[ He looks pained and reluctant, but ... unfortunately he does care. He cares a lot. He moves forward, a shoo gesture aimed to claim him his rightful place behind the grill. ]

Move.

[ Not even a please, sorry. ]

[altusimperius]

[Though surprised, Benedict is hardly dismayed by this turn of events, as it frees him up to take care of some of his less greasy responsibilities.
He yields the position instantly, with a look of fascination. Who likes doing this?]

[highborn]

[ Unfortunately, Vanadi likes doing this. It's really a shame. He takes over with a quiet and practiced efficiency, getting straight to work with the seasonings and flipping. The most-done of the lot is a lost cause, but he can at least make the news few waves a more pleasant experience. ]

You can go. Come back in half an hour or so, that should be time enough to treat anyone with taste to a better experience.

[altusimperius]

Enjoy.

[He is definitely not coming back.]