(OPEN) Come down, come down sweet reverence

[homeostatic]

CHARACTERS: Bones and you!
LOCATION: Sim room
DATE: Couple days after mission end.
CONTENT: Chill time with McCoy on the beach. Stars, s'mores, drinks, snackage, music and reminiscing.
WARNINGS: none atm!



The invite goes out via word of mouth versus anything formal, a wistful mention to friends that maybe travels a little farther than intended. Fine really: the only requirement to join is beachwear and a potluck item of the invitee's choice.

Salty air, soft white sands, the susurrus of a gentle surf, and distant guitar greet those who stop by the sim room that evening. A simple sign of 'Shoes off!' has been plunked onto the nearest dune, with an open basket beneath it for tossing forbidden footwear.

From the top of the dunes, the path leads down to the beach proper, where a small bonfire has been built up a little ways from the water, flames licking high at the emerging stars. Blankets and a few low-slung beach chairs rest in the ring of orange light, welcoming all, with other supplies neatly arranged farther out: a small chest of ice and drinks, a low table of finger foods and the makings of s'mores, a few selections of hard liquor lined up in the sand. There's even a kettle sitting on a stone near the fire, boiling water for tea.

McCoy himself has already snagged a glass of bourbon and a square of blanket, lifting a hand from Jim's acoustic guitar to greet any and all who show up. He plays mostly quiet pieces, with some favorites he remembers (most of) the lyrics to, but will happily give up the instrument to others wanting to play. Maybe add more vigor to the get-together?

First arrivals get the best seats as the sun sinks at last below the horizon, ahead of the silvery moon emerging over the water. There's a surprise a half-hour later: a second moonrise, gleaming golden as she follows her sister's path across the dark, star-studded sky.

Latecomers will find themselves equally welcome, with sticks offered out for roasting marshmallows, and warmer beverage available for imbibing. The breeze coming off the ocean is cooler now, so more blankets are handed out to snuggle up in, either alone or with a friend. Talk, share, tell spooky ghost stories or tales from home, or just stuff yourself with noms and get delightfully buzzed.

Stay all night, if you like– he won't hustle anyone out, but in the morning McCoy may snag you to help distribute the odd hangover remedy, or carry dishes back to the kitchen.

In the meantime? Relax.

Comments

yennefer of vengerberg | ota

[choicely]

It's events like this one that Yennefer is more willing to seize advantage of, compared to regular orber gatherings like the movie night or something that encourages more boisterous energy. Here, she may not be dressed entirely for swimming, but the black crocheted cover-up and coordinated swimsuit underneath are a bit more suited to her personal tastes, her dark hair worn down for a change rather than secured back from her face in a braid or more careful updo.

She doesn't arrive early, nor is she late, but somewhere in the middle once the sun is already down and the second moon has risen, though it's entirely possible to encounter her in several places:

• hovering closer to the bonfire, stick in hand, where she's currently struggling with exactly how long to roast her marshmallow without it becoming charred


• lounging in one of the beach chairs, tanned legs stretched out in front of her and features much more relaxed in repose


• standing in front of the bottles of liquor wedged into the sand, looking a bit torn while she tries to decide which one she wants to help herself to


• sitting on one of the blankets further away from the fire and the rest of the group, with another draped across her shoulders — there's more than enough room to share it, provided you're willing to cuddle in closer

[ ooc note: if you want a more specific prompt or to run into yennefer at a different point in the night, feel free to hmu on plurk or via PM with alternate plotting ideas! will match player-preferred format in terms of prose or brackets! ]

blankets

[homeostatic]

He's drifted a bit from his spot over the course of the evening, content to provide a bit of background music, to refill cups or quietly check in on others. Despite all his assertions that one's value doesn't come from their usefulness, he feels miles better here than just moping around his room like a sad sack.

"Hey, Yenna. This seat taken?"

Silhouetted by the firelight, McCoy smiles at her, and offers a gently steaming mug. "Made you a hot toddy."

[choicely]

Yenna. No one else calls her that — at least, no one else who's on the station at the moment — but as far as she's concerned, there are few that have earned the privilege. While she might have mostly been keeping to herself, apart from initiating the occasional quiet conversation a short distance away from the bonfire, her cup — which once held liquor of a sort, the name of which escapes her now — currently stands empty.

Given the slight chill that's come over the beach, likely the product of the sun long having set, she reaches out with one hand to collect the mug he offers her, cupping her fingers around it — and then lifts her other arm on which the blanket is draped, an indication for him to come and join her underneath it.

"Remind me what's in one of these again."

[homeostatic]

Invitation accepted. He settles in beside her, taking the edge of the blanket to pull over his shoulders. Maybe slouching, just a bit, easing out a low sigh. A log in the fire snaps, sending a shower of sparks up against the dark backdrop of quiet ocean.

"Honey, lemon, a little cinnamon, and bourbon. Just somethin' to take the chill off."

[choicely]

“I would have thought you’d accomplish that solely from your company.”

At least in terms of sharing body heat — she doesn’t have any qualms about cozying up to him beneath the blanket, their shoulders pressed together as she cups both hands around the mug and takes a sip, letting the contents warm her all the way down to her toes.

“This never fails to be a good idea.” It’s not the first time they’ve had a conversation like this, on a beach that resembles this one, and it proves to be exactly what she needs to rejuvenate herself on the heels of another mission.

Chishiya Shuntaro | Alice in Borderland

[dispassioned]

Potluck

[Ah, beachwear. It’s been awhile since that was a dress code Chishiya had to follow. It would almost be nostalgic if The Beach at Borderland hadn’t come to such a destructive end. If it wasn’t McCoy who put this together he might have passed on it, but he actually trusts him to organize something that won’t turn completely unhinged.

He ends up arriving pretty early, wearing a simple pair of swim trunks and a hooded linen shirt. He’s carrying a couple of packs of Ukon no Chikara as his potluck offering. In his experience people get drunk at beach parties, okay. He’s covering the bases. He puts the packs down near the booze.

If anyone asks, he’ll supply an explanation, of a sort:]

Try it before you start drinking. It might help you later.

Just Chillin

[Later he can be found lounging on one of the beach chairs, eating cookies and people watching, like he often does at public gatherings. This evening has been much more pleasant than the last beach bonfire he attended.

When he notices the second moon rising, he raises an eyebrow.]

I guess this isn’t a simulation of one of Earth's beaches.

chillin'

[homeostatic]

Risa, ( McCoy confirms, plunking down into a chair beside Chishiya's, ) We're still in the Milky Way, just. A fair distance off from home.

[dispassioned]

I've never heard of it.

[Which may not be a huge surprise, all things considered.]

What inspired this?

[homeostatic]

It'll be a couple centuries.

( He looks down into his glass, the whisky turned to glowing amber in the firelight. They've known each other long enough now that he can be vulnerable with his honesty. )

Didn't much fancy spending tonight alone, so I thought other folks might like a quiet evening too. ( After a shrug, he takes a long sip of his drink. )

And I hate movie night.

[dispassioned]

[He raises an eyebrow at that, maybe a little surprised. Not about McCoy not wanting to spend the night alone. That's relatable, though Chishiya isn't the type to admit that too easily. It's the dislike of movie night that surprises him.]

Always? Because of the movies or something else?

[Though he supposes not everyone vibes with movie night. He didn't much care for the most recent one, although the food was pretty good, at least.

But sometimes it's not so bad. The gay cowboy matrix was one of the better parts of being stuck on the old Ximilia.]

tony stark | ota

[irondad]

Tony is entirely not beach-ready by any stretch of the imagination, but having skipped movie night in order to work feverishly on the suit, he figures he might as well attempt to attend some kind of social function around here. Dr. Foghorn Leghorn's get-together sounds more his speed, and he even locates shorts and a tank in the supply drop.

(Tony brings a bag of pretzel sticks he found in the back of the pantry. Whatever, it counts.)

Besides, as he wiggles his toes in the sand, still warm from baking in a sun that's sinking rapidly toward the sea, Tony finds himself grounded, centered in a way he hasn't since before he got to the station. Yeah, sure, it isn't real – the BARF that Stark R&D's cultivating only wishes it were this advanced, truly – but it isn't the cool, sleekly mod interiors of the station, and it damn well isn't the blackness of space outside. Beaches, bonfires, blankets and booze? Got it. Totally in the realm of Normal.

He takes it easy on the drinks, mixing a pretty rough greyhound out of vodka and grapefruit juice, and sets himself to mingling.

"Pretzel?"

[laviny]

[Yelena is completely beach ready and is just making herself comfortable on a blanket when she hears a familiar voice. She turns, startled.]

Tony Stark?

[She almost asks when he got back but notices that he seems…younger. And after what happened with Peter Quill she knows better than to make it awkward by acting overly familiar. He’s used to being recognized, so she doesn’t worry about it seeming weird that she knows his name.

But modifies her original question slightly:]

When did you get here?

[irondad]

( It's subtle, the way he hears his name from an unfamiliar voice and shifts, a sudden guardedness in his body language. )

Yesterday. I think. Was it yesterday?

( It was the day before yesterday. Tony takes a pretzel from the bag and crunches it, eyeing her like he expects her to knife him, at odds with his breezy, nonchalant tone. )

Do we know each other?

[laviny]

I have no idea of it was yesterday. If I knew I would not have asked.

[But actually she gets it. Time is weird in space, she's been here long enough to know that. She sighs, more exasperated with the orbs and their shenanigans than with Tony Stark being himself.]

No. [Not any more, anyway. Thanks, orbs. She flops back on her blanket.] You know my sister.

[deaddrop]

"Can I get in on one of those?" Natasha asks as Tony offers his salty snacks around. She feels pretty good about the fact her voice comes out level, schooled to the perfect level of wry irony. Not that she was ever in doubt considering her training, but it still feels like it should be harder to keep the emotion out of the words.

Seeing Tony—this Tony, looking so many years younger than the last time they saw each other—stirs up something in her chest that she doesn't want to interrogate. Something she'll shove aside and deal with later, because right now she needs to find out what she's working with.

Taking a sip of her beer, she adds, "Just get in?"

[irondad]

Tony turns right around like he's on a hinge, hand still out with the bag of pretzels. She looks leaner than the last time he saw her. It isn't just the longer hair that tells of the passage of time, but an overall mien, somehow, though he can't put a finger on it.

Tony plops right down on the blanket opposite Nat, feeling the warmth of the fire tickle up his back.

"Fashionably late, per my usual." Seriously, Nat, have a pretzel– he sets the bag gently between them. "They didn't tell me I'd find anyone I know here. What's the deal?"

[deaddrop]

Natasha sits, legs crisscrossed on the blanket, and reaches into the bag. Who is she to pass up a salty snack?

Her eyes crinkle just a little at the corners as she smiles, the expression both a little softer and a little harder than it was the last time he would have seen her—she can guess just how long that might have been, but can't say for sure. Something to find out as they go.

First, "Not everyone does. You're just lucky that way—get a familiar face to help you settle in."

closed to bones ;

[ascetical]

[ Ah, sand. It's an element all too familiar for the former Jedi Master, but what makes this different (and not quite so traumatic) is the sight and sound (and smell? somehow?) of the water nearby, an endless simulated ocean that spreads into the equally simulated horizon.

It's beautiful.

He can even, somehow, feel the residual heat from the day's sun as it fades into the evening. And while he is perfectly capable of wearing his full robes and cloak in blazing heat and sun, it doesn't quite jive with the rest of the party that has assembled on the beach this evening; as such, Ben thinks to remove his cloak, at least, draping it over one arm. (He'd already left his shoes by the basket as requested, and it's very, very strange.

Someone has never experienced a job like beach before.) ]

Hello there. [ He approaches Bones now, raising a hand to offer a small wave. There are all the makings for tea already provided for — in other words, the perfect way to end an evening and a mission. ] I don't suppose you'd mind a little company?