[ RELAX ]
-- THE CABANA IS A touch more comfortable than Randal might've anticipated. He had expected all of this to be a politicized, glorified, and overpriced school dance, but it seemed overpriced allowed for little pockets of respite.
He glances over at the line of empty chairs in front of him, bottles of wine glistening with condensation in their ice bucket. It is almost a shame- a waste of good company! All of these seats and no one to fill them.
Well, almost no one.
He tips a faux hat over at Niamh, stepping over the sand and onto the cabana's wooden planks. "Oi! If it ain't Lady Niamh, gracin' the common folk with her presence. Glad to see yer takin' a load off. How's th' weather? Warm enough? And the wine cold enough?"
He's rambling, but he's done worse. He sits himself down besides her with little plan for asking invitation.
It was, above all else, crucial for Niamh to pinpoint locations such as this. It's away from the crowds. There's somewhere to sit. She can see the setting sun, and hear the ocean waves as they sway in and out.
A recipe to ensure that, as she ventures about the venue, collecting trinkets, attempting new dance forms, and making conversation, she also has somewhere that she can take things at a her leisure. Does she know it's because the large crowds and clashing sounds make her mind spin? She's...getting there.
As she rests on one of the chairs, a familiar voice calls out to her. She glances over - it's a bit intimidating, with the spooky anglerfish mask she has. But her own voice holds no threat. "...the weather's comfortable here. It might be because of the ocean nearby..."
A wine glass rests in her hands. She takes a sip. "....depends on what you consider cold..." So, probably not frigid, but that's at least a sign that it's not lukewarm. Still, she gestures to one of the buckets. "I've started with this one..."
A gesture to offer trying it with her, if he wants.
