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]

Excuse me.

[ A voice from behind her, sounding a bit affronted, as she gives Whiskey a piece of meat. ]

[windyvoice]

[ Both Whiskey and Jenny Lou look up with twin expressions of total innocence, having never sinned in their entire lives. ]

Sup.

[bouchonne]

Are you giving my dog an upset stomach?

[ He crosses his arms. ]

[windyvoice]

Noooooo?

[ Not intentionally!!! And also it's not her fault if Whiskey steals another piece of grilled meat from her while she's looking at Byerly. ]

[bouchonne]

[ He sighs, and sits down, the grumpy expression he's put on dissipating. ]

Well, if she throws up, you have to clean it up.

[windyvoice]

[ Jenny Lou grins, rubbing Whiskey's ears. ]

Hey, if she throws up out here, that'll be easy. Just gotta bury it. But she won't because we're totally practicing like restraint and all that shit.

[ Subtly inching Whiskey away from the food and toward Byerly.
See look they're so responsible! ]

[bouchonne]

Yes, when I think Jenny Lou, I think self-control.

[windyvoice]

Rude! And anyway all the more reason to practice!

[bouchonne]

Practice self-control? Is that something you're after, my dear?

[windyvoice]

Sure, why not. I mean like... maybe. Kinda?

[bouchonne]

[ An arched eyebrow. Well said. ]

And how do you define it? Self-control.

[windyvoice]

[ This feels like a test. Jenny Lou makes a face. ]

I dunno... Not... Doing things impulsively?

[bouchonne]

Hmmmm.

[ He has opinions on that, but, well - this is the beach. Maybe it's not the time. ]

[windyvoice]

What's hmmm.

[bouchonne]

A noise of acknowledgment. A thoughtful hum. The beginning of a song. Take your pick.

[windyvoice]

The song, but you gotta sing it.

[bouchonne]

As you wish. What shall the song be about?

[windyvoice]

[ Jenny Lou lifts Whiskey, waving her paws a little. ]

You know one about a dog?

[bouchonne]

I'm Fereldan.

[windyvoice]

Soooo yes?

[bouchonne]

[ Girl.

In a fine, rich baritone, he launches into Andraste's Mabari. He sings it all the way through - and does it with charming hamminess, lowering his voice at the dramatic parts, ensuring that the chorus is rousing and boisterous. ]

[windyvoice]

[ She applauds him when he's done, whistles included. ]

[bouchonne]

Oh, don't encourage me.

[ He flutters his hands in thanks. ]

I'll keep singing as long as there's applause.

[windyvoice]

Shut up, you know you're good at it.

[ She nudges him playfully. ]

I liked that. How many songs does Fereldan have about dogs?

[bouchonne]

Loads. We're known as dog-lords, you know.