[open] beach episode volume 2: gallows edition

[altusimperius]

WHO: everybody who wants
WHAT: (lukewarm) BEACH PARTY (on rubble, in harbor)
WHEN: late Justinian
WHERE: the Gallows, amidst its newly-acquired sea view
NOTES: he's trying

I. Prep

He didn't ask for help overtly, but Benedict is clearly working hard setting up the space he's designated for the company to have their beach staycation: drapings taken from his own stash and salvaged from the Gallows' erstwhile guest rooms are drawn across glyphed-in-place poles to create shade. He's hauled out a table, onto which he proceeds to place a variety of whatever canapés he could afford to procure with his own wages-- it's not a feast, all right-- and beside which he rolls two barrels of decent-ish wine.

From the baths come a stack of towels piled high in his arms, hindering his vision to such a degree that he may crash into someone not paying attention; pillows and the like come next, in armloads that take multiple trips, by the end of which he's visibly out of breath.

Lastly, it's his very own water pipe making an appearance, which he arranges amidst comfortable ground seating mimics how his room used to look: in fact, most of the accoutrements here are his personal belongings.
As such, he knows just how to set everything to create an attractive, if minimalist, space for an afternoon's leisure.


II. Party?

It may not be an all-out bash like their excursion to the sandier shores of the Waking Sea some years ago, but this, if nothing else, is an opportunity for work on the Gallows to pause in palatable increments. One can be clearing rubble or cataloguing property for the morning, then pop over for an hour of sunbathing and a glass of wine; they're all within calling out distance of the courtyard, and the party likely bleeds into the day's work in a manner somewhat more comfortable than if it were sequestered.

That said: the early summer sea water is cold, the sun is out but meek behind occasional cloud cover, and the festivities are on clean-swept stone rather than sand. The view across the water is of mainland Kirkwall, and all that that entails.
But it's none of it so bad, for anyone looking to take a break. A few musicians even show up a bit later in the afternoon, and Benedict provides a bonfire in the center of the party space as the sun goes down.

Anything brought to share is met with effusive thanks from Benedict, who ensures its appropriate placement and distribution. He doesn't spend much time relaxing himself, instead making the rounds with the air of a fussy host, where he's quick to offer refills or alternatives in libations, or diversions for unsatisfactory activities.

[make your own starters, do your thing, go hog wild-- if you have logistical questions feel free to ask on plurk or discord]

Comments

party :|

[atonally]

Redvers hasn't wandered by on accident, but neither has he wandered by intending to join. Not exactly. If uninterrupted, his trajectory would take him from wall-enclosed walkway to wall-enclosed walkway with only a brief interlude here along the collapsed wall and the newly acquired 'beach.' But he slows down along that path, eventually stops entirely, and considers the set-up. The current participants. More specifically the number of them, currently not many, which leaves plenty of space for posting up without joining anyone in particular. The fact that someone's brought a bowl of relatively fresh berries.

The berries decide it.

He eats them one at a time while he walks along the water's edge. Several minutes pass without clouds hiding the sun, and he considers removing his shirt, but it's still on when he finds a craggy rock to sit against. When ships cut through the harbor to the Kirkwall docks, waves knock up against it and spray over the edge. Further out in the water, rocks like it jut out of the water like rows of crooked teeth.

Altogether it leaves him in a good enough mood to mention, when someone passes close enough, "We could swim out to that rock from here."

[amaizing]

"No." Lia says simply with a smile on her face.

"No, we could not." She motions to the complicated braid her hair is currently in explanation. "But, I harbor no doubts that you could."

She peers at the berries. "Exactly how many of those have you eaten and how long ago was the first one?"

[atonally]

Redvers twists his head back to look at her hair, which makes his neck pop, and nods. All right. Fair point. Perfectly normal objection to have, and not fair warning at all that she's about to be weird, actually—

So he needs a moment, when she asks about the berries. In the span of that moment he eats two more.

Once he's thought about it that long, he says with arid gravity, "I don't know."

[amaizing]

Lia frowns.

"I suppose they could be harmless, but you really should not eat berries without knowing for certain."

She sits down and begins to take off her boots.

"You really won't know for certain how your body will react for awhile unless you get the blood flowing. So, I suppose swimming is the solution and I must come with you in case you die."

She stands up and motions to the water.

"Come along!"

[extortionate]

"Yeah," Reaching into the bowl of berries, thanks - "Could run in fuckin’ circles too, think they’re doing that up-shore."

A yawn. His fingers scratch red pulp over chin.

"Reckon your knees won’t give out?"

Called over his shoulder. He’s already shucking his own shirt, wading toward the waves.

[atonally]

"Never sure anymore," Redvers says, hauling himself up to follow. The berries are left behind. Then his shirt. If his knees give out—

Well, they won't. And if they did he'd swim back with arms alone. But if that were somehow a problem, Lazar is large enough to tow him back, so clearly the best person to do this with.

It'll take a fair amount of wading for the water to get deep enough they'll need to swim, so on the way he says, "I didn't know Anders could swim. But I guess you do have the sea. And a river. Right?"

Not all dead, blighted desert.

[extortionate]

"Ogres gotta cool off somehow."

Skin pimples and shrivels against wave. The water’s cold, day’s sharp. Still beats Val Royeaux this time of year. Less piss than le miroir. It's a rare thing Lazar bother to pitch his Trade any kinda way.

This is a special occasion. In decent brogue:

"Ander walks by a field, sees another in a boat, rowing at the dust. Come help me out, boatman yells. Second shakes his head. Would, mate, but I can't swim."