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

[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?