[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

[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.