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

rolls along~

[coquettish_trees]

[ Her eyebrows raise over a widening smile. ]

What a delight!

[ To meet him, that he speaks Tevene, that it's conversationally enough to be purposefully informal which she will forgive for its amusing novelty; any or all of those. ]

And daring. I think if we continue speaking this way— [ a slight conspiratorial lean towards him and she whispers loudly, ] —everyone will think us Venatori spies.

[pittance]

[ It’s been a year or twelve since he sat drilling over lesson books — and a language rarely spoken is a language that fucking atrophies. But fake it 'til you make it.

(She sounds Orlesian, he sounds underground: It was only ever gonna be so good.) ]

We’ll need a mark, [ Points to a random beachgoer, ] That guy?

[coquettish_trees]

[ She raises a hand to lift the brim of her hat rather than shifting the angle of her head and nods.

And then waits patiently until their poor chosen fellow looks in a direction that points his ear toward them and he might be able to see them in his periphery before hissing a loud admonishment at Vance. ]

How is it you came to learn? [ A genuine inquiry, although delivered as one might a warning. In Trade: ] He will hear us!