[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

campfire

[armd]

"Okay."

Abby's been sitting near the bonfire and staring into it in moody silence for quite a while. She's been nursing a glass of barely-touched red wine for even longer but now she brings it to her lips to finish it off in one go, smacking her lips, nose wrinkling. Then, she starts to unlace her boots. "I'm going in."

To the ocean, that is. It is very decidedly nighttime and it has become chilly now that the sun has gone down, but still Abby stands, shrugging off her vest, folding it over her arm. "Dare you to come with me."

[elegiaque]

Earlier in the day, Gwenaëlle had been negligibly dressed for the express intention of sunbathing; not noted for her frequent participation in morale boosting enterprises or (more specifically and pressingly) large social gatherings, laying in the sun and occasionally humouring Stephen's little golden paste had been about the extent of her joining in. Her presence at Abby's side is motivated twofold: to be a presence, not pressing, in case that's what she needs. Also—

Abby has very large muscles and an expression that suggests not approaching her. It's not not a perk of sitting here, drinking red wine a little faster. That having been said,

it is easy enough to shrug off the bear slanket she's wrapped around herself for the evening, nearly stripped enough to run to the water in one move (she is also pulling her chemise off over her head), the roadmap of her scars long since become too ordinary to her to hesitate at public semi-nudity,

“I'm in.”

driveby —

[portalling]

(Somewhere in the background, Stephen Strange is in the middle of renewing some inferno magic exercises, the occasional blast of flame visible against the darkening sky since he doesn’t have to squint against the sun anymore. And he happens to slide an innocent glance over to where the two women have been hanging out, what are they up to,

whereupon he realises that Gwenaëlle is now half-naked and running to the water like some slow-motion Baywatch model and he makes a strangled noise, huargh! and his aim goes completely askew and the fireball goes sailing off too far to the left, and this is what leads to accidentally setting the beachside tent on fire.

He hurries off to fix the problem.)

irl laughter

[armd]

Abby is not getting naked, only near enough, trousers and shirt off and left folded near the fire so they'll be warm when she comes, shivering, back to them. She finds she doesn't care if anybody else thinks they're being weird, she just — needs to move and do something rather than sitting and stewing in her own thoughts, making herself angry for no reason. It's stupid. This whole thing is stupid.

She follows Gigi down to the water, sans slow-mo Baywatch running, more watching where she steps because there are bits of rock everywhere and —

"Holy shit," yep, it's cold, but she drives her legs hard through the surf anyway, wading in without reprieve. But not without yelping, which she does once, when a wave smacks her hard below the belt.

perfect no notes

[elegiaque]

Something lights on fire behind her, but Gwenaëlle — already running — sort of assumes it was meant to. Probably not something she needs to worry about, especially when she is rushing the water at speed. It's not as if she doesn't know it's going to be cold. This is hardly the first time she's got in this water, specifically, and it's never been warm, but at this hour and in this moderate weather,

she is almost certain her nipples have instantly become lethal weapons. She has goosebumps places she didn't realise have hair. There's a little jump, so her feet and her knees hit the water first, and then about seven different parts of her body clench without her say so as it comes to hip-height, and she laughs, reaching for Abby's elbow.

“What the fuck!” is an incoherent question, not requiring an answer.

[armd]

"It's fucking freezing," she shouts, as if they both didn't know this before they went charging in at all, and crosses her arms tightly across her chest. This does not really help. It's like they're doing a winter swim or something — "Why is it so cold!"

Doesn't make any sense.

Gwenaëlle is grabbing her elbow and Abby turns toward her instantly, body curled inward like a leaf in an attempt to converse any body heat that might be left. Maybe if she goes under the water it'll all... even out?

She needs a minute, first.

[laruetheday]

Clarisse's glass of wine: not barely-touched. In fact, she's been refilling it semi-regularly since she got here. She's been watching the bonfire, too, and thinking about fireworks. The fourth of July. It'd be coming up soon back home, and the Hephaestus cabin would be prepping the show. Probably pointless to wonder what they'd have chosen for this year, but she's wondering anyway.

She turns to look as Abby unties her boots and stands up. The Gallows isn't exactly warm at night, even this time of year, and Clarisse knows the water's going to be fucking freezing. Still, she starts pulling off her own boots even before Abby's finished daring her.

"Wanna race?" Because Clarisse always has to make it a competition.

[armd]

"You're on," Abby says, her brief grin a flash of teeth, and to be a good sport she waits patiently until they've both rid themselves of clothes before she yells in one breath, "Readysetgo—"

Imagine what this could have been like: hot sand out at Santa Barbara, down on West Beach where they came in and moored the ship. She thinks about it for seconds, how stinking fucking hot it was, the endlessly blue sky, that afternoon spent trying to dig a massive hole while the tide was coming in and Lev laughing like crazy while he bailed the water out of it.

Racing Clarisse down to the water's edge while trying not to slip on rock? It's just as good as that.

[laruetheday]

Even though she's the one who asked to race, Clarisse is paying more attention to where her feet are than to who's winning. Not slipping on a rock and eating total shit in front of everybody is the more important thing here, clearly.

Then they've reached the water. Clarisse barrels in, bravely not complaining about how cold it is until a frigid wave smacks into her upper thighs and stomach. The cold feels like it short circuits her brain for a second and the only thing she can yelp is, "Mētrokoítēs!" but she's laughing at the same time, doing a ridiculous jump in the water like that's going to stop the next wave from hitting her in the exact same place.

Stupid and fun. She needed this.

[armd]

So stupid. So fun. She laughs hard the moment Clarisse swears — in Ancient Greek, do you ever forget that your friend can do that? — and charges right in after her despite the clear warning, so that exact same wave slaps her in the stomach. The skin there feels so tender suddenly, so thin, the water so damn cold.

Abby screeches, no words, only pure offense. Then she gasps and goes, "Oh my god —" as another wave smacks into her. Isn't it supposed to be summer, or near enough to it that the ocean shouldn't be like this? The vision of sunny Santa Barbara is so, so far away from her now.

"This sucks!"

What the hell! She's still going in, though.

[laruetheday]

"It was your idea!"

But in a weird way it's actually kind of nice, how shocking the cold water is.

It's like the sheer surprise of it has switched off the morose, anxious, overthinking part of her brain and left her only with the part that can process what's happening in the immediate moment: the waves rolling into them one after the other, the pebbly sand under her feet, Abby beside her, and the way they're both laughing over how dumb they're acting.

"Bet I can swim out further than you before it gets too cold," she dares Abby. Then, for added insult, she swats some more frigid water at her.

lemme know if I should tweak :V

[armd]

Abby, in the middle of unbuttoning her trousers, snorts at his caution. "Yeah, okay."

It's just the ocean —

And she isn't in there for very long, is back within twenty minutes and shivering hard, pale-faced, teeth chattering. At least she thought to leave her clothes by the fire — she takes them up and pulls her shirt on instantly, steps into her trousers and pulls them hastily up. Her braid is wet and dripping from the tail-end. She collapses into a heap near the fire, holding out her palms to it, still panting.

It wasn't a bad idea, but it was a short-lived one for sure. To Mobius, still sitting there, "Isn't it supposed to be summer?"

[armd]

"That's bullshit," is disagreement made much weaker by the way she hunches up, making herself as small as possible so the warmth of the fire can wash over all of her. It's summer, so it should just — be warmer. So there. But she's actually grinning, rubbing her palms together briskly. That rush of adrenaline from the cold water is still working. "Yeah. Pretty good."

It was fun.

She looks at him, scoops back some wet bits of hair that are stuck to her cheek. "You good?"

[armd]

Abby wrinkles her nose, shrugs, an equal amount of non-answer. Her smile starts to fade.

Thing is, she decided to go do the dumb thing to keep herself from sitting around and doing something equally as dumb: turning Ellie's disappearance over again in her mind, flipping it in her palm like a rock from a tide pool, looking for something that makes sense. She's overthinking it all, maybe, but she can't seem to drag herself out of it. It's always there.

She rubs the back of her neck with her hand, cups it.

"Wanna talk about it?"

A problem shared is a problem — that belongs to somebody else and not to her, and she'd much rather hear about that.

[armd]

"Ha ha," Abby says under her breath, rolling her eyes, but visibly stiffens as Mobius keeps talking. Her jaw sets. Yeah, she was asking, but if he's going to be an asshole about it... She draws her wet braid out to the side with one hand and squeezes water from the end of it, staring into the fire and hoping he can't tell that her ears are going red out of embarrassment. The bridge of her nose is suddenly hot, prickling.

It's been so fucking hard. You know? Trying to figure out how she feels about all of this, trying desperately to keep herself in check around Clarisse at all times. She can't be sadder than Clarisse right now. She can't be sad at all, she shouldn't be — and hearing Mobius drop that Loki has disappeared again so casually makes her breathe in funny, her eyebrows drawing together. She didn't even notice. So wrapped up in her own bullshit, as per usual.

But, hey. Maybe they'll be back some day (like that helps, like it doesn't untwist the knife. What did the last round of false hope ever get her? Four months in a cage). Abby's expression screws up. Realising she's about to cry makes her feel like she's in a horror movie, like whatever happens next is inevitable.

"Maybe," she manages, getting it out past the heavy press of her teeth. Another tight breath in and she immediately gets up, drawing her arms tight across her chest.

She wants to say 'forget it' but it's far more important to get out of here before she loses it on him, so she takes a hasty if inelegant leave, walking away fast across the rocks, in the dark, heading out where nobody can see her.