[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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"...I'm gettin' a little nervous," she admits, once they get closer.
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He looks at her, suddenly uncertain.
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He studies her face, and then glances back at the dance floor as they draw closer.
"It's up to you," he says.
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"You gonna throw some punches on my behalf if that happens before I sober up all the way?"
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"Whenever you are, xin gan."
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The fastest dances are a little too much for him, in the end; he gamely struggles through one, and then firmly sits out the rest of them.
There are plenty of slower dances, though, and the band will be playing for hours yet.
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"We could stop," she suggests. "I mean... if you're not havin' fun, then we don't need to be doin' it."
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A pause.
"One more dance?"
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The band's starting another song. Not one of the fastest ones.
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Kaylee lifts her head. Looks at Simon.
"This one?"
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Her left hand falls easily into his right; her right falls to rest on his shoulder.
"You can still back out," she warns.
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His left hand goes to her waist, and rests there comfortably. Like it belongs.
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On the next downbeat he moves, and if it's deliberate and careful and not as smooth as it might be, it isn't hesitant at all.
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And warm the lovers' glass, the vocalist sings, like friendly wine.
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This, she realizes, is Kaylee's kind of party.