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[Santo - The Beach]
[master post]
You have to walk down a ramp to get to the sand. The ramp stretches over sand dunes, with sea oats dotting them, blowing in the near-constant breeze. On the same level as the ramp: a boardwalk, dotted with places to get sketchy-looking fried food, to try your luck at a number of games of chance, to watch performers, to ride roller coasters of the future!!!!
When you walk down the ramp, it's all white sand and blue water. Down about half a mile is a pier that juts out several hundred feet.
It's a nice beach. Not too crowded.
You have to walk down a ramp to get to the sand. The ramp stretches over sand dunes, with sea oats dotting them, blowing in the near-constant breeze. On the same level as the ramp: a boardwalk, dotted with places to get sketchy-looking fried food, to try your luck at a number of games of chance, to watch performers, to ride roller coasters of the future!!!!
When you walk down the ramp, it's all white sand and blue water. Down about half a mile is a pier that juts out several hundred feet.
It's a nice beach. Not too crowded.
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Uh, in case anyone was wondering about that one.
River casts him a glance that informs him of this, with more amusement than rancor. "Hides in the sand dunes," she says, though the beach is mostly flat. "Check the fried stands."
Thankfully, Santo is not one of those places where a stray poodle is likely to end up in the fried stands.
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But then he's distracted by River. Or the thought of fried food.
The remaining poodles certainly seem to approve.
"It does seem to be a popular choice among your brood, such as it is."
Galadan's voice is dry as dust, though his look at River carries something of amusement in it.
"I believe we shall leave you to it."
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"You got it, chief," he says, and immediately contradicts himself by adding, "Hey, weird. Usually they're much friendlier."
"Go on, boys," he chivvies, with a completely ineffectual tug on the handful of leashes. "Who's a good little hellhound? Say hi to the nice folk!"
River's letting Galadan lead the way, if he wants. She has no dislike of poodles, though no particular desire to stick around either, and she's amused.
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The poodles are not quite stupid enough to believe that.
"I find myself almost hoping you find your prodigal. Though you'd be better served to train them to heel."
His lips twitch in faint amusement, and he inclines his head just slightly to River.
Shall we?
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She does bend over to pet one poodle quickly, though. It whines quietly at Galadan's ankles; River scratches its fluffy ears for a moment, and then straightens with a quick cheerful grin and moves on.
"Nice to meet you!" the man calls to their backs.
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And the poodles begin barking again, twice as loud as before.
They do, however, wait until the Wolflord and the gunslinger are ten or so yards farther down the beach.
Galadan does not laugh, but the corners of his mouth flick upward for a few brief moments.
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Mournfully. Really.
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He only sounds mildly chiding, and even that is tainted with a sardonic amusement that never really goes away.
"There are worse things. Tying ribbons on lapdogs, for instance."
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River is totally just saying that for the reaction.
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His lips twitch again.
"You do seem enamored of fried foods, for instance."
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River's definition of good taste does not always quite align with everybody else's.
Speaking of fried foods, they're coming near another cluster of stalls. What a coincidence!
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Ah well.
One grows almost used to it.
"In some things, I suppose."
He hardly sounds grudging at all.
There is little point in it. And Galadan has eaten stranger things, in the past.
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Fried food is INFINITELY preferable to human flesh, she feels.
Honestly, now.
The only question is which kind of fried food. Santo has... lots.
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"You have your moments."
The Wolflord is hardly a bratty younger sibling.
But he, too, has had his moments.
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River's studying the stalls, now, with cheerful interest. Fried custard, fried battered fruit on skewers, fried dough puffs, fried and dubiously identifiable meat...
Plus whatever extra hallucinations River sees there, of course.
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And hardly pleasant.
But Galadan appears to bear up well under it, casting the occasional glance at River to see if she's discovered something to stop for.
He has, as is rarely the case, no personal preference here.
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Galadan gets one too.
(She'll eat it if he's too much of a snob to do so.)
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"You do make every effort to keep things interesting, certainly."
His tone implies that this is not appreciated.
The quirk of his mouth suggests something different.
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Why yes. Yes she does.
Because, as previously stated, she's right.
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"Hmm. Well, I daresay I won't die of food poisoning any time soon. It may be enough to be going on with."
The second one is raspberry.
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A slightly sugar-sprinkled face. River, while not exactly untidy, is not entirely matching the elegance here.
"We can add it for flavor."
Mm, apple.
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He offers her a handkerchief. It has lace on it.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
One of these things is doubtless deliberate. Possibly both.
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She doesn't bother to use it yet, though.
Either she hasn't entirely realized the purpose of it, or she's practical enough to realize that she still has half a skewer of sugary dough to go. The former is, sadly, more likely.
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He has no time for courtly or romantic gestures, even if his current crop of students seem to have targeted him for their efforts.
Ah, children.
The next bit of dough contains strawberry.
Hmm. That one is too sweet.
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And if any were here.
But instead they have fried food and miles of beach, and hours left before sunset. And no hurry at all to leave.