ʟᴏɴɢ ʟᴏꜱᴛ .

Devon rested against the side of the DJ booth, a half-burnt cigarette hanging loosely in his lips as his fingers flicked through a box of borrowed records. It was the closest he’d got to ‘ joining the party ’ since his arrival at Fire Island eight years ago and he was ( begrudgingly ) enjoying the atmosphere; the orange horizon, the smell of barbecues and sound of laughter. The DJ certainly knew their target audience — summer vibes and family-friendly sing-along classics. The bands themselves were talented, and Devon felt an ancient itch to join them, to see if he still had it. He held back, as always, and instead agreed to protect the DJ’s precious decks as they went to grab a well-deserved pint from a nearby bar. A figure approached, and Devon removed his cig to throw them a serviceable smile. 

“E’enin. Any requests? I’ve got full reign o’the decks ‘til the professional gets back for another round of Bryan Adams. I think I saw some Aqua at the bottom, here.”

WHO: @fireislandstarters​ WHERE: beachside 

It was almost starting to get embarrassing at this point. She didn’t look athletic, and by all means, the girl wasn’t. She was a buck twenty soaking wet, and that was a stretch. Her muscle was nil, and her athletic prowess was less than that, however, her secret talent laid in yard games. In this case it turned to beach games, and while she wasn’t one to really– get out much as of yet, doing these things was her thing. She was extraordinarily good, she couldn’t help it. She liked to thank the big southern family reunions she went to every year where her sole goal in life was to kick her cousins ‘ asses in every event she could manage, but the one she shined the brightest was cornhole. She didn’t question it, she just did it. Three people down so far, there she stood in wait, patriotic bean bag in her hand, “I just– don’t know why people don’t think I’d be good at this.” She tossed the bag in the air, promptly missing it as it easily came back down to the ground. She didn’t know why she had to hustle this, but she felt the need to do so, “oops, I swear, I’m the best.” She shrugged a bony– err petite shoulder. There was a thin line between the two, “wanna play a game?” 

☆

THE PLAN was to show his face, buy some food and get the hell out of there. Sports and competition weren’t really his thing — particularly those played in, near or over water — and cutesy community gatherings even less-so. Devon could count on one hand the amount of times he’d touched the ocean in his eight years of living on an island and, even then, it had been apprehensive feet hanging from his houseboat. The land games weren’t much better, he came to realise, raising an eyebrow at the beanbag Magnolia held out. He recognised her more than he did the game ( he ran an entertainment rental store, of course he did ), but he dutifully stuck his beer in a hole in the sand and picked up a bag of the opposite colour.

“Aye, alright,” he said, “let me guess – bag in the hole gets ye a point, or are there any secret rules I should know about? Though I don’t know how I feel about my first time bein’ against the best in the business,” he added, nodding towards her missed shot.