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

[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.