05 / 14 / 11 - Alessia, Belladonna, Jean-Paul, Lilah, Remy, Ritter, Zaza
=SC= Lexington Reservoir - Santa Cruz Mountains - California
Deep in the Santa Cruz mountains is a lake dammed by a low concrete rise. The reservoir is bordered on all sides by mountains, and for a short expanse by a high metal fence marked HIGH VOLTAGE. A thin gravel road meanders its way along the lake's edge between water and fence for some distance, leading to a gate and a gatehouse which is ominously labeled 'Use of deadly force authorized.' Just beyond the gate, a secured boathouse is visible to the side of the road.
A sandy shore and thin blades of grass lay between road and lake, an inviting stretch of beach for those who can ignore the looming presence of the secured fence. A turnoff leads to a small dirt parking area nearby, with a paved boat ramp that extends down toward the water to a small dock. Several yards away, an elevated wood cabin and shed overlook the shimmering blue waters and sit beside another small dock.
Afternoon is just starting to tip into evening, with the sun golden and the day hazy warm -- ideal, really, to sit on a beach, drink beer and stuff one's self full of food. Remy has been absent from the more inhabited areas of the base for most of the day, outside of small brief glimpses of a Cajun moving with as much of a bustle as his laissez-faire nature will permit him, toting coolers and crates and other things here and there, all with a distinct amount of shirtlessness, although he does wear khaki cargo shorts and sandals.
The fruit of his labours stretches out along the beach in front of the boathouse, borders defined by citronella torches stabbed into the ground and waiting only for darkness and insects to be called to duty. By the shore, a pair of fires burn, one down to coals and the former home of a large steel pot full of crawfish and corn sections, contents now freshly dumped out along newsprint covered boards set on logs and used as low tables. There are a few dishes for the less adventurous as well, of hot dogs and roasting sticks and marshmallows and others, but also including the contents of the second fire, which features a fine thick gumbo balanced on a trivet in another great big pot. Two large coolers blossom with a bouquet of beers and coolers and, for the boring people, sodas and fizzy juices too.
To the left of the feast, an area of flattened sand and a stereo blasting out a blend of Creole, Zydeco, blues and more conventional Top 40 suggests he's hopeful that if he builds it they will dance, and to the right, thoughtfully out of everyone else's way, a target has been spray painted onto the sand and two sets of old school lawn darts gleam pointily with their tips dug into the sand and awaiting competitors.
Fire, alcohol, food and sharp pointy things... what could possibly go wrong?
Fuck yeah, pointy things. Drawn to the sharp bits with all his usual native caution, Jean-Paul carries an opened bottle of a beer at his side. A recent arrival, he hasn't progressed much further in the course of celebration than a) get booze and b) look for entertainment. A few bottles of Canadian origin nestle with the rest in the coolers, his gift to all. He hefts a dart out of the sand and turns it over in his hand. Settling on his heels, he turns to track other arrivals.
Although the party hardly needs more drinks (of course it does), what with Cajun hospitality and all, Zaza comes bearing one of those big cantina types that are generally used for lemonade. A smile of her lips and a short, brightly patterned sundress swishing around her tights and dark hair left loose around her shoulders. The cantina is filled with a lemony gold drink that darkens towards the bottom, too dark to be good old lemonade and is liberally peppered with cherries. She carries it over to the area where the drinks are, taking careful steps in her strappy sandals.
Madrox arrives as two, a Madrox dressed in light, summery clothing, shorts and short-sleeves, and one who seems to be stubbornly denying the weather with a long-sleeved dark blue shirt and dark jacket over. Weather-apropos Madrox moves promptly toward the sand and zydeco to take a seat. Non-apropos Madrox deposits his own offering of crappy beer in the cooler and drops off some Polish sausages next to the hot dogs.
Remy himself is ringmastering from over by the food with beer in one hand and a crayfish in the other, already with the head twisted off, but the meat yet to be sucked out. He is complete with exhortations to "Step right up an' dig in, folks. Y'all ain't ever eaten a crawfish we got folks that can teach y'how... complete with as much innuendo as y'like." With that, and a cheerful raise of his beer to all arrivals, he pinches the tail and slurps the meat contentedly loose. OM NOM.
Iago's arrival is easy to track, snappily dressed as ever in in an off-beat sort of way in a grey suit with white and crimson plaid -- which thankfully the weather is cool enough to wear outdoors without fear of overheating. He is a guest that does not bring anything extra to the party, looking everything over as he takes long, swaggering strides towards the cooler, nodding hello at others. He roots around for a bit, seeing what's to be had, before selecting a beer and opening it. The section made up for lawn darts gets a brow raise, glancing between it and his beer before he comments aloud, "I wonder how long until someone gets stabbed with a lawn dart." He casts a glance towards Remy and his crawfish. "...there's a trick to it?"
Hazy and warm is an invitation, apparently, to shorts and shorter sleeves: Belladonna comes outfitted thusly, in faded denim and a basball-style tee whose equally faded screenprinting advertizes a local band ... but not from around these parts. Her hair is twisted up into a loose ponytail that bobs as she walks, and her smile warm-to-cheeky as she finds herself a plate and moseys to avail herself of the crawfish and corn.
Despite bringing a catina of a brightly coloured liquid that is more than likely /heavily/ alcoholic, Zaza dips into the cooler and roots around for a decent beer. Sadly she comes in contact with Madrox's crappy beer and decides that is good enough with a laugh. "This looks awful," she teases the less appropos of the man, ambling near him in the drink getting and food setting.
Jean-Paul flips the lawn dart again in his hand and eyes Ritter speculatively. Stabbing, stabbing -- no, wait. That's not his thing. He flips it back down into the sand and casts a brief smile toward the nearer Madrox. His words, however, are aimed back at Iago: "We all have basic field med, right? What's a little bleeding."
"It does the job," the less apropos (we will call him LA) says with a flashed smile toward Zaza. He veers back to pluck up a cooler himself. For variety. The more apropos (MA) Madrox smiles quick back at Jean-Paul, but it is the fallen lawn darts that appear to have his attention.
Alessia has made her way down, in sandals, a long purple sundress topped with a matching short crocheted cardigan. Red hair is pushed back with a headband, and she's carrying some stacked boxes that some will identify right off as being from Carter's. She's whistling as she finds somewhere to set them down, before she's heading for the birthday boy. "Heya, Remy."
"Pinch the tail, homme" Remy explains to Iago cheerfully, as he holds up another crayfish to demonstrate with spices from the cooking trailing down his fingers in the wake of the head being twisted off. "Suck the head." He then ambles over to Zaza, LA and his beer, giving Belladonna a hip-bump in friendly passing, and looks about to weigh in on the beer discussion when there's an Alessia inbound. Suggesting that he's already on his second beer at least, he sweeps her a bow to go with a greeting of "Salut, belle. Glad y'could make it -- the rest of y'partners in brain are all holed up with aspirin that I could see."
"Ya know me, always prefer the liquid relief. An' Ah promised to come." Al pastes on a smile, before there's a little wrapped box produced and handed to the Cajun. "Happy birthday, Remy."
"I'll believe zhat when it does it," Zaza says, chuckling and pausing to take a sip of the brew that is now cracked open. The flavor is rolled across her tastebuds somewhat contemplatively, nose crinkled. It is...beer, certainly. It's cold and refreshing, for now that's enough so she takes another sip.
Pls no stabbing. "We do now that it's required," Iago drawls with brows raised at Jean-Paul, glancing over at one of the Madroxes before looking at the lawn darts again. "As long as it's only a /little/ bleeding, I'm sure we'll be fine...at least for once the clinic is nearby." Unlike the usual wounds. Still, he doesn't /really/ expect horrible mishaps. "Well," he directs at Remy. "That does sound kinda dirty." He does not immediately go and try it.
Belladonna's grin broadens at the hip-bump from their host, but her eyes and mouth are all for the food, apparently. "Of course it sounds dirty," she says as she pops, pinches, and sucks like an old pro, anihilating the first of her crawfish. "Remy's the one saying it." --or, you know, it just sounds dirty no matter who is saying it.
"Mm. For once." Jean-Paul bends again to fetch up a dart. He swings it back and forth, a little careless, but manages to keep hold of it in the arc. No one is stabbed. "Still, maybe better to get the urge out now, while relatively sober." He sips his beer, swings his dart, considers the sand. Good combination? You bet.
"I don't think ze point is to engage while sober," Zaza offers, tipping her head contemplatively as she ambles over to where Jean-Paul and the lawn darts are hiding. Not too close, he is flailing that thing around. "Like botchi ball, zhere's more challenge later?" Maybe. She looks a little skeptical of flying blade-darts.
It would be pretty shameful is someone managed to get stabbed before anyone even got through their first drink. "Hmm, probably safer, anyway -- not that I'm against lawn dart games in any way. I think they have enough challenge without impaling your friends," Iago says with a grin and a wag of brows before looking Belladonna's way. "Uh-huh, like it'd sound /any/ better coming out of your mouth," he points out to the blonde, tipping his beer bottle to point at her a bit before taking a sip of it.
Jean-Paul is way too smooth and controlled for it to be called /flailing/. Jeez. "I suppose it depends on how you like your challenge." He flips the dart toward the target in a lazy underhand flip of his wrist. It pffts sadly short. "Make it a drinking game. Then you have competitive stabbing, followed by competitive vomiting."
Bending down carefully in the sand, Zaza sets her own beer aside and picks up one of the other darts. She examines it for a moment, never having actually seen one before, then standing once more offers it to Jean-Paul. "Zhat sounds /disgusting/," she retorts with a smile.
"{You -wound- me, brat,}" says Remy to Belladonna, in Cajun French because it sounds even brattier that way. He blows her a kiss, and then sizes upon Alessia's gift with a gleam and a "Thanks, belle," before pulling up a seat on the beach to settle in and see what lives within. (And so his player can scarf her own dinner.)
Alessia leans to kiss his cheek in an almost sisterly fashion, before she's abandoning him to get a beer (one of the good ones), snickering at Remy's aside to BD. She also starts loading a plate with crawfish. Yum.
Jean-Paul matches Zaza's smile with a quickly flashing grin. He takes the offered dart with a murmur of thanks. "No doubt you're just afraid you'd lose." He flails arou-- I mean, deftly swings the dart, getting a good feel for it.
Iago considers the lawn darts. "I'm usually stabbing someone with something much bigger than that. Might through off my whole game." He takes a sip of beer before continuing to say. "I think I'll skip the competitive vomiting, though. That's something best left in college."
Laughter rises from her throat at that, Zaza shakes head in a 'no' gesture as it bubbles forth. "Oh no. I cheat you see. It makes me obnoxious at games zhat require things to be thrown," she informs Jean-Paul looking over at him with bright eyes. She takes a half step back as he starts wiggling the dart around in the air. Careful now. "I think Iago is volunteering though." Or she's volunteering him, that's like the same thing.
Belladonna answers Iago with a wiggle of her eyebrows and a smirk over her next crawfishy victim; he is, of course, /right/. Remy's commentary gets a laugh, genuine, and a kiss blown right back. "{Then my work here is done,}" she brats back at him, before collecting her plate and re-moseying. This time, with a stop to collect a beer of her own, toward the site of potential future stabbings. "Didn't they stop marketing those things because people got impaled?" she asks the crowd at large, interest-piqued rather than dour.
Flipping the dart again toward the painted target, Jean-Paul scores an outer ring hit. Improvement! Totally nonchalant about his mastery of the game, he glances from Zaza to Iago with a thoughtful, "Hmm. I bet you do. I find it more fun to win through skill." The prickly edge is mild, but pokes up at the corners of his words. "Not scared of a little impalement, are you?" he asks Belladonna, milder.
"It is. Thus I don't play," Zaza assures, lips quirking up in a dimpled smile as she moves to snag her beer out of the sand. She takes a sip of it, eyebrows rising slightly at Jean-Paul's exceptionally mild tease. In any other context...she as a dirty mind and keeps her mouth shut and takes another drink of her beer.
"I think you'd have some trouble moving a lawn dart around," Iago drawls to Zaza, then blinks as she volunteers him. What? "As long as you have some skill to win with," he says mildly, after watching Jean-Paul score a hit. After taking a sip of his beer he mentions, "I think it was kids that got hurt so they pulled the games. No one cares if adults hurt themselves."
From Remy's seat there is a rustling of paper, followed by a flash of metal in the form of a keychain that flicks itself over his knuckles in a quick bit of showmanship, before he flips it, catches it, and disappears it into a pocket of his cargo shorts. Beer collected again, he breezes past Alessia to whisper teasing thanks in her ear before he drifts on to see how the others are getting on. Over at the impromptu dance floor, the music still plays on despite the lack of dancers (yet) and the low board-and-log tables are still well-provisioned with food. But the lawn darts off to one side... that's where it's -at-, and thus where Remy turns up. "Y'all need a ref?"
"Afraid of a little impaling? Never," Belladonna answers Jean-Paul after taking a moment to awkward-clap for his score, juggling beer and plate as she is. It draws a little cheeky, but just a shade, and she tips her beer toward the target.
"You could try ... /not/ cheating," Jean-Paul suggests to Zaza with an overly thoughtful pause that is, in itself, mildly sarcastic. His tone is not unfriendly, that said; the sarcasm is totally nice. "I have yet to convince anyone else to try," he says over his shoulder to Remy. "I think they are afraid of hurting themselves." He frowns at the rest assembled in nonverbal chide. PUSSIES.
Alessia laughs, blue eyes glancing up at Remy as he breezes by. She's indulging in crawfish. Remy will understand.
"No, you wouldn't be afraid of that, would you?" Iago says with a cheeky flash of smile and a wink to Belladonna. He snorts and unbothered by any nonverbal chide, asks of Jean-Paul, "Huh. Have you been trying to convince anyone to try? Or is that what talk of impalings and first aid is supposed to do?"
"/Now/ I'm just thinking zhat you're lonely and looking for someone to play with," Zaza teases in return, grin quicksilver and bright. "Well...if you don't mind me playing with an advantage for knowing when ze wind is coming. Or I guess I could just keep it away?" The offer comes with a casual tip of her head as she regards Jean-Paul, taking another sip of her terrible beer. She flashes a smile Remy-ward as he ambles up. Hello.
"Tsk, f'-shame-, folks," says Remy with a shake of his head and a swig of his beer before he holds the bottle out for whichever kind soul is willing to take it. "Frere Beaubier," he notes to Jean-Paul solemnly as he he reaches for a dart of the colour that Jean-Paul does not have. (Red or blue.) "I think we may have t'show these folks how it's done."
The sound of blasting music, especially such ethnic stuff coming from the stereo, and voices mingling with it brings a sprite from the forest, a home temporarily re-erected there in the form of a blue tent, drawn away from the edges of the wilderness. Lilah's feet are bare, and she wipes leaves and sticks off on sand when she reaches it, her fingers twisting through sleep-mussed hair for some semblance of order. Her jeans are only slightly dirty, more wrinkled, and the tee she wears has a faded baseball teamm written across the white worn fabric. She doesn't say hello, yet, opting to instead grab a soda as payment for her interrupted nap.
"Ah am not fetchin' Gabe if one of y'all does real damage." Al points out, finishing beer one and fetching beer two. "The food is delicious, Remy."
Jean-Paul rolls his eyes heavenward. "The threat of danger /was/ enticement enough for your attention. Why would you need further convincing?" He does not deign reply to Zaza beyond the scrunch of his nose at her. "Oh, good. Your turn, then." He ignores the out of bounds dart, idly going around to collect it (red, and it doesn't count, he was just warming up) and leaving Remy to take a shot.
"'Course not," Belladonna volleys back to Iago, but her, "hey now!" of protest is aimed entirely at Jean-Paul. "-I-," she continues, "happen to have my hands full already," which makes her perfect for spectating, rather than playing. "--This round, anyway," she adds over a sip of her beer, before lifting it in salute to Remy and Jean-Paul both. Have at it.
Jean-Paul likes the abuse, really. Zaza salutes him with her beer, scooting father back into the sands and half dancing away from Remy. It puts her next to Belladonna, who she gives a friendly and childish nudge with her elbow. "Zhis will be good."
"-Ought- to be," says Remy to Alessia. "I had them crawfish livin' in my bathtub overnight." This dinnertime provenance provided, he flashes a sunny grin, heft his blue dart, and steps up to the throwing line. Clearly there has been some practice involved in getting the dart range just-so, for he lands it in the second ring from the outside on his first shot. "Y'move," he says.
"Huh, how it's done," Iago snorts, looking a bit skeptical. Unfairly skeptical. "We were less lawn darts and more corn hole in my family," he notes with a one-shouldered shrug. "Less chance of impaling one of your siblings with a bean bag...Not everyone goes running up to give danger a welcoming hug, you know." Nevermind he's done that on at least two occasions now, sort of. He eyes Remy, squinting a bit. "I hope you bathed /before/ infesting your bathtub."
Alessia laughs at Remy, filling her plate once more before she's finding a spot to sit and watch the possible accidental impalings.
Jean-Paul gives Remy a sidelong, baffled glance that delays his reach for the next dart. "In your bathtub," he repeats. /Just checking/. He picks up the next dart, stabs no one, and adds a little more heft this time. He hits the same ring, the outer ring, but this time on the far side. "Oh, they don't? My mistake," he says all airily to Iago.
Lilah cracks open her soda, sipping at it with a slurp of noise as she tries to follow the conversation, losing the thread of it quickly. As if distance will help, she draws nearer to the darts, though with some slight caution for pointy things and being shoeless and such.
"Tramp," Remy greets Lilah with a lazy wave, pausing before taking his turn at the darts. "Welcome, jolie. Get y'self some food an' join in on the darts if y'so inclined. We gon' see you out dancin'?" And then the siren song of pointy objects calls to him again and he plucks up his next dart with an innocent look and a return to the conversation. "Crawfish," he informs the others. "Got to stay live until y'cook 'em... besides, Irish is a gracious an' charmin' lady an' let me use -her- shower."
"Maybe we could have done with a little more lawn darts in my family," is downright cheerful, as Belladonna cheers equally for both Remy -and- Jean-Paul's scores. She is an equal-opportunity cheerer. Possibly this has to do with the fact that her beer has mysteriously made its way down to nearly-empty while she enjoys the preceedings. The bottle gets settled into the sand at her feet, and she offers Zaza, now beside her, a wiggle of eyebrows before turning her attention baaack to the lawn darts. Hey-o.
"Gosh, Jean-Paul. Did you just say 'my mistake'?" Iago says with deliberately wide eyes, and puts a hand over his heart, even as he uses the other to lift his beer to drink again. To Remy, he merely shakes his head. "Hm." His focus is casually on the game, though he nods hello to Lilah as she wanders nearer to the group. "You dreaming of impaling your family with lawn darts over there, sunspot?"
"We really didn't do...family picnic sorts of things," Zaza admits, joining in the applause as the sharp and pointy objects are directed towards the scoreboard. "I'm reasonably certain throwing darts were kept for ze club and never outdoors." Remy is shot a mildly fascinated look as he explains the keeping and cooking of the crayfish, followed by a low chuckle and shake of her head. She takes a sip of her beer, wiggling her fingers in a greeting towards Lilah as she walks towards the group.
Jean-Paul looks Lilah over in idle evaluation of recovery, similar to a look given Alessia. He nods a greeting, but he does not call out as Remy does. "Very charitable of her," he says in dry response to Remy. He bides the time until his next throw, drinking the beer in hand. "Don't worry," he tells Iago. "I was sarcastic. It negates any admission of error."
"No, no dancing," Lilah answers with only a slight flush, shaking her head slowly. Pain hovers at the corners of her eyes to Jean-Paul's study, like a persistent headache is held in check. Hair remains unwashed, lanky, and she looks tired, but she's standing and drinking and talking. Her eyes slide to the darts, asking curiously, "How do you play?" Drinking SODA, unlike other people getting drunk over there.
Remy hefts his dart, eyes Jean-Pauls, eyes his own previous shot, squares himself up... and tosses. The dart flies free and true, but only manages to hit the outer ring this time as he overshoots the bullseye. "Like that," he answers Lilah, eyes taking in her condition and taking in the sugary soda with a hint of approval leaking off him. "Beaubier an' I take turns, an' the one with the most darts in the middle or closest to it wins the round."
"Might have been an improvement," Belladonna says, grin broad and cheeky; her attention wanders briefly to Lilah, greeted with a lift of her now-free hand, then turns back in time to catch Remy's throw. This one is met with a whistle, shrill, through two fingers stuck in her mouth. Then what's stuck in her mouth is another crawfish, after the requisite twisting and pinching. "Is it a forefeit if you impale one of your teammates?"
"Mostly it's the threat of death and impalement that makes it entertaining." Jean-Paul lifts a dart in a loose hold. He is desultory in his toss, and looks outraged when it hits one ring out from the center. "Hell. I think I want a different game. Want to swap in for me? We can pretend this is a team round," he offers Lilah.
"Oh, well, my fears are laid to rest then -- back to the status quo. Whew," Iago says in mock-relief to Jean-Paul, going so far as to wipe the back of his hand across his brow. "No dancing? Pity," he says to Lilah with his one beer (getting drunk, psh). "Don't or can't dance?"
Lips wet with only the tip of her tongue, Lilah glances from Jean-Paul and his dart, to the target before asking in a mumble, "Are you guys playing for anything?" To Iago, she shakes her head as an answer. No.
"Just the rights to braggin' an' mockery," is Remy's answer to Lilah, before he flashes Iago a high sign for his approach of the semi-feral telepath. "Incidentally, I am happy t'switch out if we got -two- somebodies who want to give it a go," he offers more generally.
"Zhere should always be dancing," Zaza says with a small smile. She gives Belladonna another light nudge, then removes herself from the group to go and get herself some of the good cooking. How delicious do those bathtub crayfish look? She's about to find out.
"Good luck," Jean-Paul says to Lilah, tagging out and wandering off with his beer to join Zaza at the food, and then maybe plop down on the beach where no one can see as he tries to figure out how to eat the darn things. Maybe he will just eat corn.
Beachin'.