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

[thereneverwas]

Then why is my own exclusivity so important, Barrow might snap back if he had the mind for it, but by now the wind has all but entirely left his sails. His expression once more colored by his characteristic softness, he nods at Fitcher, feeling rather a fool but nonetheless unable to make himself leave her side.

"...hope is for Chantry sisters and children," he sighs, "I suppose the rest of us can manage with happenstance."

Glancing in the dimly-lit direction of the cave opening, from which the sounds of revelry have dwindled but still remain in some capacity, he nudges his head toward it.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," he mutters, "I need a drink."

[unshut]

"Happily," she confirms, and at last lets her hands slip from her hips. She straightens her skirts - absently shifting the empty knife sheath as it lies at the small of her back under some sweeping drape of fabric -, and with a leading tip of the head she moves beyond him.

A brief glance is cast in the direction of her creditor's retreat as she does so, but it's a quickly satisfied kind of curiosity. And way they go.