Yseult is not, as a rule, a party person. But she is a beach person, and while this isn't precisely a beach in the usual sense, it's much closer than anybody has previously been able to get without leaving the Gallows. One of the low-slung canvas chairs that's been stationed in the 'front yard' of her tent this past month has been set up alongside a block of upended masonry just the size and shape of an end table.
She's got all the necessary trappings for a pleasant afternoon: a glass of wine somehow dripping condensation in the heat, a hat with a brim wide enough to shade her face, a pair of tortoise shell-rimmed sunglasses from a long-ago rift haul, and a file of reports weighed down by another handy chunk of stone. If the way she occasionally glances over the edge of a page to see what everyone's getting up to beyond it has a chaperone-esque air, perhaps it's balanced by her apparent intent to get as much sun as possible without actually stripping down (again, not a party person), sleeveless dress unbuttoned low and skirt twitched up and over to bare crossed legs that could stand to be a few shades darker, or by the fact that at some point she sets the reports aside, tugs the hat brim lower, and stretches out to nap.
When she isn't reading, she might take a meeting (anybody looking for her would find a note pinned to her tent door directing them here), possibly on a stroll around the water's edge, or take a break to collect more wine—empty glass revealing a pair of dark stone cubes sat at the bottom that give off an icy crackle when poured over—or collect a plate of fruit and the least-sweaty cheese. She'll stick around until sunset, and then return after dinner when the bonfires are lit with a shawl and a bottle of rum to add to the table.
At some point, she might pause along the water's edge, lower her sunglasses to squint and ask whoever is nearest— "Do you see that?"
Or look up from making notes on a report with a stub of pencil to ask, with only a hint of the skepticism the words imply, "Are you going in the water in that?"
Or maybe warn, with a tone of last-second urgency: "Watch your step!" (She's really truly not here to chaperone.)
Or note, idly: "This would be a good day for sailing."
[ OOC: trying sort of a hybrid all in one open post/banter meme here since they're both Beach — feel free to respond to anything in here in whatever style, or wildcard me. ]
Yseult | OTA | log/banter
She's got all the necessary trappings for a pleasant afternoon: a glass of wine somehow dripping condensation in the heat, a hat with a brim wide enough to shade her face, a pair of tortoise shell-rimmed sunglasses from a long-ago rift haul, and a file of reports weighed down by another handy chunk of stone. If the way she occasionally glances over the edge of a page to see what everyone's getting up to beyond it has a chaperone-esque air, perhaps it's balanced by her apparent intent to get as much sun as possible without actually stripping down (again, not a party person), sleeveless dress unbuttoned low and skirt twitched up and over to bare crossed legs that could stand to be a few shades darker, or by the fact that at some point she sets the reports aside, tugs the hat brim lower, and stretches out to nap.
When she isn't reading, she might take a meeting (anybody looking for her would find a note pinned to her tent door directing them here), possibly on a stroll around the water's edge, or take a break to collect more wine—empty glass revealing a pair of dark stone cubes sat at the bottom that give off an icy crackle when poured over—or collect a plate of fruit and the least-sweaty cheese. She'll stick around until sunset, and then return after dinner when the bonfires are lit with a shawl and a bottle of rum to add to the table.
At some point, she might pause along the water's edge, lower her sunglasses to squint and ask whoever is nearest— "Do you see that?"
Or look up from making notes on a report with a stub of pencil to ask, with only a hint of the skepticism the words imply, "Are you going in the water in that?"
Or maybe warn, with a tone of last-second urgency: "Watch your step!" (She's really truly not here to chaperone.)
Or note, idly: "This would be a good day for sailing."
[ OOC: trying sort of a hybrid all in one open post/banter meme here since they're both Beach — feel free to respond to anything in here in whatever style, or wildcard me. ]