[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

[portalling]

He watches her technique, eagle-eyed; they hadn’t actually clarified any specific rules, so the layered spell only makes a faint smile flicker at the corner of his mouth. He appreciates someone thinking outside the box.

Vega plants the magic like mines going off beneath the rock, an explosion beneath it shoving it into motion. When he steps up to the plate for his turn, he still relies on brute-force telekinesis, which is a strain: like trying to dead-lift a boulder.

Is he actually able to move more than he was, two years ago? He likes to imagine so.

Strange is sweating in the sun. They keep working at it. The competition is surprisingly well-balanced, which he wouldn’t have expected from the start: Vega is younger, but he’s newer to local magic. Strange has been immersed in more powerful spellcraft, but it comes so painfully difficult here, a bird struggling to fly with one wing clipped, a hand tied behind his back; and force magic is her specific forté.

By the end of their best-out-of-three, she’s the winner, and he’s sitting exhausted on the very rock they’ve been flinging around. Perhaps a little sour at having been bested by a Youth™, but at the end of the day, the sorcerer doesn’t genuinely mind: failure is a learning state, and there’s also that pleasantly-exhausted buzz of a good workout, his whole body humming with the Fade. He owes her a favour.

“I need a drink,” he announces.