Being long-since accustomed to the chaos of LongNight in Torchline and with no experience of other ways to spend a week in the dark, you of course feel right at home walking into the frenzy of the beach. Bright bonfires, loud music, laughter and fighting and the sounds of the sea- it makes you feel alive in a way that you rarely do the rest of the year.
Your feet are bare as you walk through the sand, enjoying the way it feels between your toes, the way your weight distributes across it. There's a myriad of faces old and new, and you look over them in quiet interest, sipping from a flask clasped in your hand. A more empty flask, more's the pity- time to fill it up.
With this intent you draw to a stop in your wanderings, pausing at a fire where a woman sits alone, holding a bottle of you don't care what. "Reckon I could talk ya outta some'a that?" Still standing, you glance down at her with fire dancing merrily on your dark skin, the left side of your face obscured by shadows so as to hide your scar.
Zephyr
you can be the ripest, juciest peach in the world
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
