Logs:Flock
| Flock | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2020-08-05 "{Excellent style and brazen thievery. You two should love them.}" |
| Location
<NYC> Rockaway Beach - Queens | |
Last night's storm has passed, its respite from the heat an extremely ephemeral thing. Today August has settled soggy and hot back over the city. The bright and bustling expanse of Rockaway beach reflects the many New Yorkers seeking a reprieve from the heat rippling up off the pavement -- large umbrellas litter the sands, the Italian ice stands are doing brisk business, a host of people splash in the falling tide. High up the beach, not too far from one of the long blue mats rolled out over the sand, Lucien has staked a quiet-ish section of beach. A pair of large colorful umbrellas cast shade over large towels unfurled on the sand, green with black vines curling around the edges. There's a cooler set beside these, a large-wheeled chair sitting empty next to the cooler. Dressed in green trunks, dark glasses, Lucien is just making his way back to their camp, a number of lemon-ice cups tucked together with a large carton of fries in a tray in his hands. He steps out of his sandals, settles back onto his towel to distribute his small cache of treats. "I hope I did not miss any excitement." Matt has been lying on his side on his towel, head propped up in one hand and a paperback copy of Desperate Measures by Stuart Woods in the other. His swim trunks are sharkskin gray with green piping and hang loose on his skeletal frame, his extreme pallor all the more striking without his shirt. There are dark shadows under his sunken eyes, but his smile comes easy and bright when Lucien returns. "Wind tried to make off with Desi's hat--again--and a few seagulls came by to heckle us." He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper to add, "I think they were just scouts and will be back with reinforcements. Best we guard our booty." He underlines this by plucking up a fry and popping it into his mouth. Who knows where Gaétan has been. Not here -- but he's swooping back in at the siren call of Italian ice, jogging over to nab one of the small tubs from Luci's tray. "In your state?" He is looking both his brothers over, skeptically. "My money's on the gulls." Beside Matt, Desi has been reclining on her own towel in an amethyst two-piece swimsuit--bandeau top and side-tie bottom, neither of which looks likely to stay on through anything but the most casual of actual swimming--with a floppy straw hat and large cat-eye sunglasses. She sits up, setting her reading--Kawai Strong Washburn's Sharks in the Time of Saviors--down in her lap to start in on her lemon ice. "The wind was in cahoots with the gulls, clearly," she opines lightly, "luring me away so they could get at Matthieu's near-absence of booty. We'll know better when they come back in force." "A wise alliance for shorebirds to make. I commend the gulls on their foresight." Lucien sets the tray down between himself and Matt, taking his own ice and scraping the little wooden paddle lightly over the top. "{Should they return it may behoove us to bargain.}" He seems none too concerned, propping himself up against a folding backrest. Matt sets his book aside and picks up his own tub of ice. "Mmm. If they've got the wind on their side I don't think we're any match even if I were in fighting trim." He takes a minuscule bite of his rapidly melting treat. "{Air is my element, though.} I hope I've at least a bit more charm than the average seagull, even now." "{I met a girl who says her brother is the wind,}" Gaétan muses, wiggling his toes down into the sand. "{I wish I'd known how much we have in common.}" He eschews his scoop to lick at the top of his ice cup. "I don't know why seagulls have such a bad rap. {Excellent style and brazen thievery. You two should love them.}" Desi chuffs softly. "These two may be stylish and brazen, but against a whole flock of seagulls, I think we're outmatched--wind or no." She waggles her wooden spoon at Matt. "{Unless he's going to charm them, too.}" Another gust of wind threatens to steal her hat, but she pre-empts it this time and manages to look elegant doing it. "{Your friend's brother is very charming, too.}" This with a little curl of a smile. "{Who says we were criticizing?}" Lucien tips a hand up, out, fingers unfurling towards a nearby gull stalking after a nearby family's unattended potato chips. Snatching it and darting away to the abrupt sound of consternation. "{Only appreciating the artistry.}" He rolls his head to one side, peering over at Gaétan with a slight lift of brows. "That's quite a family tree, no?" "Mmm. There's a whole flock of us, too." Matt seems more interesting in tracing patterns in his snack than eating it. He grins wide at the seagull's successful heist. "{Exquisite form, really.}" He blows across the rapidly melting surface of the ice, then tips the cup back to drink the melted juices. "{Indeed. And I can only imagine you'd have to be at least kind of a force of nature, yourself, when your brother is the wind.}" He slumps a little lower, but does finally dig in, his smile undimmed. Gaétan's teeth scrape against the top of the ice. For a second he looks at Matt, and then away to the ocean. "I feel like you need at least five to be a flock." Kind of casual as he leans down to pluck a fry from the carton and wander back off down the beach. | |
