[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

Yseult | OTA | log/banter

[hassaran]

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. ]

[portalling]

All things told, they’re sort-of-better circumstances than the last time Strange sat down for a drink with Yseult. Today he joins her while hauling his own stack of work-related reading to do; some things never changed, and it was hard to turn off that perpetually-ticking part of his brain which rarely relaxed fully, and was almost always thinking about the next task, and the next, and the next.

He hauls up his own folding chair and settles in, glancing at the magical cold steaming off the Scoutmaster’s glass with barely-disguised envy. He does flip through his books and waits, however, for the woman to eventually stir and readjust her hat and straighten to reach for her drink again.

“How do I get some of those?” he asks, voice arch as always. “What are they, frost runes embedded in whiskey stones? My god, I should’ve gone into boutique enchantment instead of all this.”

[hassaran]

"Tevinter isn't wrong about everything," Yseult replies, pressing the cool glass to her throat in a way that might be considered gloating. A rivulet of condensation forms to pool in the hollow of her collarbone. "I was pleased to find they hadn't been lost among the other chunks of stone now littering my quarters. I'll keep you in mind if I encounter a set next I'm there."

She straightens up, the now lukewarm water soaking into spread collar, and sets the glass aside in favor of the next report in the stack. She retrieves a stub of pencil and gestures with it at his books. "What are you working on?"

[portalling]

“Supplies,” Strange says, with the wincing half-shrug of what else is new. Trade was already difficult even before the attack, and now with the city in the state it is…

“Brushing up on growth cycles and where we might be able to find certain plants in the wild. Part of the herb garden got trampled in the collapse and people needing to set up tents nearby, so I’m going to be restocking the seeds with Tav’s assistance. We can never have too much elfroot or Arbor Blessing, if you ask me.”

He should probably get better about setting the work aside and being able to unwind those tense shoulders, learn to take a breather every once in a while, but considering Yseult’s own stack of reports he’s likely in good company. He nods his chin towards her own work.

“You?”

banter 1

[extortionate]

"Nope," Reflex. He didn’t see nothing, mouth shut, all that - but following her eyes - "Shit, is that a coffin?"

[hassaran]

She bends nearer the water for a closer look. "It's an odd shape."

[extortionate]

"Could get one of the kids to fetch it." Sure, he can swim. There are enthusiasts out there freezing their tits off already who'd make it a game. "But ain’t you supposed t’be relaxing?"

[hassaran]

Yseult squints as if in thought. "Relax? That doesn't sound right." She would never.

But still. "Do we want a strangely-shaped coffin fetched?"

[extortionate]

"How bad you want what's in to be your problem?"

Curses? Sharks? Cursed sharks? A yawn.

[hassaran]

"Surely it would be a matter for either Research or Forces."

What could it possibly contain that would be Scouting business? Wet maps?

[extortionate]

"It's on water. Practically a sailing vessel." Even if he hadn't seen her handle herself shipboard, the problem's hers by marriage. "Hell, dunno if the other two even swim."

[luaithre]

The last time Yseult looked up and scanned the area, among those subjects would have been Marcus who had gone about a foot into the water and no further, observing Kirkwall or the sky in equal measure. Then, turning and exiting, skin smarted pink in patches by the cold sea.

Later, an approach. He has dried off, and the rolled cuffs of his trousers around the knees are still a little damp from a wayward upswell of water, feet bare on the rocks. His shirt is loosely tucked in, sleeves also rolled in a subconscious attempt at getting some sunlight while the going is good-ish, and though it's a stark difference for someone who is normally quite buttoned up, he doesn't appear to mind.

Certainly not enough to avoid following an impulse, and he has a near-empty wine bottle in hand, stolen off the shared table. When she appears to notice him, his greeting is hefting it up to demonstrate, a slight shake of the liquid within, offering to refill her also near-empty glass.

[hassaran]

Yseult inclines her head in agreement and thanks both, and lifts her glass when he is near enough to reach it. She lifts her hat as well, setting it aside with a book weighting the brim and ruffling fingers through hair, letting the freshening breeze erase any lingering impression. The afternoon sun has lost its edge, and she tips her face up into the golden warmth of it like a cat or a leaf or whatever other bit of unselfconscious nature.

"Thank you," she says when a measure of his wine has become hers. "You've survived the water without frostbite?"