Under the Sea (Open)

[poeticverses]

Characters: Jehan, Grantaire, Byrn, and everyone who wants to join them!
Date: April 23rd, midmorning to late evening
Location: The edge of the turtle!
Situation: Swimming! A picnic! A party!
Warnings/Rating: I'm going to rate this PG-13 for naked/nearly naked people, alcohol, and smoking. Also R's mouth. And apparently terrible mythological comparisons.

[Jehan has never been this happy, he doesn't think. The ocean. The blue, warm ocean. He gets to see it again, gets to swim in it with his friends, gets to enjoy it. He's so happy.

Of course, he's taking a long moment to shed anything but his coat once the group gets to the edge. It's a beautiful shade of blue and he can't not admire it.]


((ooc: go crazy!))

Comments

[epigrammatical]

[Henry has made his way out to the shore to take in the sights. Swimming is not yet on the agenda, but he is, wonder of wonders, in his shirt-sleeves. And without his hat and stick. Yes, the Victorian gentleman has shed his outer carapace for the day.]

[poeticverses]

Get back here--oh, damn. Sorry!

[Jehan was chasing down a piece of paper, snapped out of his hands mid-poem, and it flew straight into Henry's face. He comes over, slightly embarrassed]

Damn wind.

[epigrammatical]

[Henry tried to catch the paper, but missed, and now the thing is plastered across his face as if it had been deliberately stuck there. He removes it delicately and blinks at Jehan.]

Ah, Jehan. This is yours, I gather?

[poeticverses]

Oh, Lord Wotton.

[He nods. He doesn't remember if Henry gave him permission to refer to him as anything else, so he just goes for the one he knows for sure]

Yes, sorry. I was writing and the wind decided it would rather play with my work than let me finish it in peace.

[epigrammatical]

Oh, Henry will do; there is little enough need to stand on ceremony here. I am sorry that Aeolus has interfered with your labours.

[poeticverses]

It's to be expected, I suppose. The winds have never liked Apollo, and here I am in the sun, writing poetry.

[He laughs]

Would you like to join us? There's a group of us just over that way, enjoying the ocean and the reprieve.

[epigrammatical]

Thank you; I should be delighted. You are quite right to make the most of this turn in our weather and our fortunes.

[poeticverses]

It'd be foolish not to! A shame it can't last forever, but all the more reason to enjoy it, yes?

[He laughs and starts heading back]

Ah, a warning. Grantaire is drunk. Again, after nearly a month of sobriety disagreeing with him, so he might be a bit...boisterous.

[epigrammatical]

Evanescent pleasures are some of the most magnificent, only I confess that I hope this is not too evanescent.

[Henry falls into step beside Jehan as they go to join the others. The news about Grantaire elicits a smile; having supplied Grantaire with a flask not too long ago, he is not surprised.]

I believe I can manage our cynical friend with equanimity, so long as he has not brought a troupe of Maenads along in his efforts to play at Dionysus.

[poeticverses]

No Maenads, thankfully. I don't think I would enjoy having my body ripped limb from limb by a troupe of women driven to madness with ecstasy. No, it's just Grantaire, his wine, and the rest of us. I imagine some will be joining him in drunkenness by nightfall, however.

[epigrammatical]

Take care that you preserve the means of intoxication to last until nightfall, then!

[Joking. Mostly.]

But you have chosen the intoxication of poetry? I hope you have found a suitable subject.

[virginprice]

Henry!

[Alcuin sits up and waves at him. He is as naked as the day he was born, his only adornment the marque running up his back.]

You are wearing far too much, aren't you hot?

[epigrammatical]

[Alcuin's state of undress only startles him for a moment; with a mental shrug, he files it in the same category as the sorts of things young men got up to on warm summer days at Oxford. He greets his young friend with a smile.]

Yes, I suppose it is rather warm; I have, as you can see, foregone the usual trappings.

[virginprice]

Yes, I suppose you have made some allowance for the weather. It is quite pleasant, is it not, after these past weeks?

[The bruise that touched his temple only recently is quite gone, of course, and he feels more relaxed than he has since the landfall. For once, he'd slept easily through the night.]

[epigrammatical]

It is more than pleasant, it is extraordinary. I feel wonderfully rested, and I gather that I am not the only one who feels thus.

[virginprice]

Surely not, I feel it too. This fruit is delicious- come, try a piece.

[He holds a chunk out, smiling. He is especially pleased to be able to share such a wonderful day with his friends.]

[epigrammatical]

[Henry sits down beside Alcuin and accepts the fruit, taking a bite before answering.]

Marvellous. Another delicacy to enjoy so long as we have it here.

[virginprice]

We must make the most of it. Pleasures rarely linger too long, after all.

[He eats his own carefully, not wanting to let any juice escape.]

[epigrammatical]

I wonder that we cannot stay in this place, but perhaps it is an accident of current and tide and weather. A happy accident, nevertheless.

[Casually, he reaches over and with his fingertip, blots a stray drip of juice from Alcuin's chin.]

[virginprice]

It does seem a shame, doesn't it? But we must take our joys while we can.

[He smiles and goes a bit pinker than he already is.] This fruit is so ripe- but the juice is marvelous.

[cynisme]

[It would seem that, despite all the advancements in politique and artistic theory that would come in the next 50 years following Grantaire's death in Paris, there is still one thing that the past has on Henry's present: a greater disregard for propriety. Or, perhaps, it was just a French thing after all, but Grantaire can't possibly know that something like a swimsuit would be invented in order to allow for mixed company without indecency. It's an unimagined future, and all he sees is a man in their company who chooses not to undress and allow himself the comfort of a dip in the water.

Really now, Henry.

Entirely in his altogether himself, enjoying the breeze against his bare skin despite any complaint of a chill or a burn that might pass from his lips, he slings an arm around Henry's shoulder, putting bottle to mouth and letting white wine drip past his lips before he nudges the Englishman with the bottle.]

Shit, is it really the fashion for the English to bathe in their clothes? Or are you simply too scandalized by the presence of a few women?

[epigrammatical]

My dear fellow, I am only slowly becoming accustomed to the prospect of a seaside jaunt without a bathing-machine.

[This is a joke, though buried somewhere within the joke is a tiny grain of truth, so far as Henry would normally have acquired some manner of bathing-suit before coming out here. He's slightly regretting his oversight in not having done so.]

[cynisme]

A bathing machine. You cannot honestly tell me that in your youth you have never gone to the sea with your friends without the need of a bathing machine. If not, then I may be inclined to believe you to really be a woman in disguise, in spite of the hair on your face.

[Bathing machines are, after all, unnecessary in the company of other men. It's only a formality, one which Grantaire is all to happy to ignore.]

[epigrammatical]

[Henry laughs at this; he does, in fact, think bathing-machines are ridiculous in the extreme.]

In actual fact it has been some time since I last went to the seaside at all—but I will acknowledge that yes, I have, and unencumbered by the trappings of civilisation. But the seaside in England is alarmingly civilised these days; the country is the only escape.

[cynisme]

And where are we now, Henry? The seaside of England or the country? Is this not the opportune location for a bit of seaside relaxation, free from the bonds of social propriety? Hm?