Bahamian Beach

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Where: The Bahamas

When: July 3, 2012; Late Afternoon local time

What: Survey shows, thus far the vacation has been more than just okay.

Outside the hotel there lies a long stretch of beautiful Bahamas beach. Blue water, warm sun, tourists, the whole lot. There's a pool at the hotel, too, but lord knows why.

Stretched out on a beach chair, under a ridiculously large umbrella, Rylie reads a book. Her damp hair and wet towel nearby give away that she hasn't been doing that long, but the amount of her mai tai that's been sipped away tell that it's been long enough. She doesn't seem to mind the other people out on the beach, as if their chatter and play bounce off some sort of solitude barrier. But no, it's just her ignoring them hard.

It isn't long before Zan appears out in the surf. Clinging to a boogie board he bobs with the roll of the ocean, squinting against the spray until a swell with enough power behind it catches him and the board and drives them toward shore. Just as the smallish wave crests he tumbles, as he has most times, into the shallows with a bit of a laugh. A bit, since the water typically cuts it off.

Of course, seconds later he's standing again, no trouble in sight, and hefting the board to make his way up the beach to where Rylie's sitting. One hand combs back through his hair, pushing it away from his face as he approaches, then pulls the velcro'd leash connected to the board from his opposite wrist.

Looking up from her book, Rylie catches sight of Zan coming up out of the water. And while her smile isn't visible from behind the cover, it's clear in her eyes all the same. "Aren't you supposed to be in slow motion?" She asks with a crooked smile.

Her book flops to her lap there, and she reaches over to pick up her drink again. Which she drinks through a crazy straw that sit next to a pink umbrella. It isn't vacation until there's an umbrella in your drink. She was insistent on that.

"Only when Chariots of Fire plays," Zan replies with a chuckle. Still, he drops into exaggerated slowness for the last few steps taken before he's reached the umbrella. He tucks the board in behind her chair, brushing a kiss against her cheek before he straightens again.

He scrubs his hands through his hair again, then seats himself on the sand beside Rylie's chair. His arms hook around his knees, hands clasping in front of him. After a moment of just watching the other vacationers, he looks up at her with a grin. "This an okay trip so far?"

And for those few steps, Rylie makes a show of fanning herself. Nearby, an older couple laughs at the pair of them, but Rylie is far more taken by the fact that she's getting kissed. "You're soaking," she complains with a laugh, wiping at her cheek. But she turns on her side, setting the drink and her book off to the side. "I think it gets more than an okay, but yes. You enjoying yourself?"

"I am," Zan responds, giving his head a shake and sending off a light spray of ocean. Soaked, he is. He leans over, resting his chin on the arm of her chair. His grin softens a little, more smile, and he nods. "Yeah. I am having a good time."

"I hope so. I would accuse you of being impossible to please if the Bahamas couldn't keep you satisfied." Rylie smirks at him, with his face much closer to hers and all. "There's some music thing going on tonight a bit down the beach. You into a little beach partying? Supposed to be fun."

"What?" Zan sounds teasingly indignant. "I'm very easy to keep satisfied." He squints at her, just a little, though a grin tugs up the corners of his mouth. "Mmh, party on the beach? Sounds like a good time. We should go to it."

"Ha. That remains to be seen," Rylie says. It's hard to say if she means the innuendo as an innuendo or if it just happened to come out that way. But when he smiles, she smiles and nods, "Seems like something we should pass up. Since we're here and all. You know, no one's going to believe we came here, you know that, right? Oh, where did you run off to over the holiday? Oh, you know. The Bahamas."

"You doubt," Zan asks, brows lifting a little. "Sounds like a challenge." He lifts his shoulders up a little, though a grin sits more broadly with her observations. "I told my brother we were going to Minot. Haven't talked to my parents since they told me I'd have to move out, so no idea what they know." He chuckles, then looks up at her again. "We should take pictures."

"I never said I doubted! I just mean, it's too soon to say, for sure." Rylie leans over to belatedly return the kiss to his cheek. "I didn't bring my phone out. No place to put it." Swimsuits. They lack pockets. "Think disposable cameras still exist in the world?" She teases.

"Sure," Zan replies, feigning indignant disbelief. At least until she kisses his cheek, when he grins again. "Sure, they're still pretty popular for their convenience." Or something. "Probably some in the gift shop."

"It'll be the most expensive film ever, but let's grab some." Rylie grabs her drink to finish it off, because apparently she means now with the gift shop. Of course, when she tries to stand up, it's less than successful on that first try. Must have been a strong drink.

"Probably," Zan agrees, "but better than nothing." He starts to reach for his board, getting as far as a knee up, when he aborts to catch Rylie. Mostly. Enough to keep her from crashing completely into the chair. "You alright," he chuckles.

Rylie puts a hand on his shoulder, chuckling a little herself. "Probably not," she answers fairly honestly, but she doesn't seem drunk, just a little tipsy. Maybe a lot tipsy. On the way toward drunk. And she uses that hold on his shoulder to get herself up to her feet. She hangs on for just a moment before letting go to stand on her own.

"Maybe we should get you some water too," Zan suggests. She might let go, but he keeps an arm around her waist. Which is an interesting feat when he grabs the board from behind her chair. Straightening again, he watches her a moment before carefully starting toward the hotel.

Leaning on him, Rylie grabs her wrap to tie around her waist, but that arm on her waist is needed almost the whole time. She doesn't seem to notice. "That's a very sensible suggestion," she says, although with a smirk that might not mean she agrees. But then, if she was in the mind to agree, she probably wouldn't need the looking after.

He's concerned, obviously, though he keeps a grin in place and that arm around her waist. "What time's this party," Zan asks as he guides her along the beach and toward the hotel. "If we've got time, we could hang out in the room and cool off a little before we head back down. Maybe order some food?"

"Oh, plenty of time. Sundown." Which is at least a couple hours off. Rylie looks over at him, her smile softer suddenly. "I'm that bad off, am I? Whu-oh." She chuckles, but her arms swing over to wrap around his shoulders. To hang on. "Point us that way, I've always loved ordering room service."

"Nah." Zan shakes his head, then holds up the hand that'd been around her waist, without actually letting her go on her own. Two fingers are held about an inch a part. "Just a little." He pauses the return back to rearrange his hold on things, strapping the board to his wrist again then slinging the leash over his shoulder. Hands are freed up and he quite casually picks her up, cradled, to carry her the rest of the way back to the room. The gift shop can be visited later.

"This is why I never indulge at those parties. One drink in and Iwhup," Rylie pauses when she's picked up, and she glances down at the sand below them before she looks at Zan again, " need to be carried." Luckily for Zan's arms, they're right outside the hotel. But she settles in against him all the same, her head ending up on his shoulder.

"I blame the heat," Zan says. Not that it's any better in the desert known as Nevada. With the ocean breeze it's easier to forget how hot it is on the island. He glances down at her when her head finds his shoulder and smiles a little. No less concerned. He nods in an easy hello in passing of the front desk, the few other guests coming or going getting barely a glance.

It probably isn't the most unique of situations. Tourists. But it's not too hard to get the girl up to their room, although it might be a struggle with the weird door keycards, they do eventually get inside. And Rylie collapses into a chair right there near the door. She'll get to the menu across the room on the desk eventually.

It's a juggle, getting the door open and getting both of them inside, but it's managed. After seeing Rylie to her chair, Zan eases the door closed. He fetches a glass from beside the ice bucket, and a bottled water, pouring one into the other. The filled glass is offered to her with the bottle set within easy reach. Then he moves himself into the bathroom to clean himself up some.

Rylie takes the glass with a smile, and even starts to drink it before he starts for the bathroom. By the time he's out, though, she's made her way as far as the bed, glass empty, but the bottle has been dragged along with her. Apparently, having a pillow under her head is way more comfortable than some chair. But at least she didn't fall asleep.

Cleaned up some, at least a little less salty and sandy. Zan frowns slightly finding Rylie moved. He walks around the bed to kneel on the floor near her head, arms folded against the edge of the mattress. "Rylie," he says quietly, not quite masking that niggling worry. He moves a hand to brush a lock of hair from her face. "You feeling alright?"

"I'm okay," Rylie reaches over to take hold of his hand, "Just a little loopy, is all. Should have probably eaten before drinking, like a smart person." She gives his hand a squeeze, her smile tilting crooked, "Haven't you ever been a little drunk before?" Whatever his answer, she gives a little tug to his arm, scooting over to make room.

Zan's thumb brushes against the back of her hand after she takes hold of it. He smiles faintly when he's tugged on, his concern muted but still present. "No," he answers her honestly, climbing up onto the bed beside her. He slides an arm under her shoulders, easing in close to her. "Slightly buzzed, enough that I felt mellow. Not drunk though."

"The most well behaved college boy ever," Rylie laughs gently, even as she slides in close to him, close enough to nuzzle under his chin. "I was terrible in college. I don't think I ever took a test without some kind of hang over. And let me tell you, you have to be dedicated to irresponsible behavior when you're a drummer, because there is just nothing in the world worse than drumming with a hang over."

"Just have to remedy it," Zan says easily. He tilts his head back a little, and brings his other hand up to brush down her shoulder and come to rest near her elbow. "I can only imagine trying to take a test hung over, let alone trying to concentrate on anything. And drumming? You play drums?"

Glancing down at his hand when it passes over her arm, Rylie smiles a little more warmly, her eyes eventually sliding closed. "I do play the drums. Preeeeetty well, if I do say so. And it takes practice. The tests, I mean. Well, and the drums." She presses a kiss up under his jaw, which is where she lingers when it occurs to her. "You've never heard me play the drums before." It's almost a question, but only because she can't quite believe she let it go so long.

"No," Zan answers, even if it isn't a true question. He tips his head back a touch more when she kisses him, his hand curls around to cup her elbow, fingers lightly brushing the back of her arm. He glances toward her, eyes slanting in her direction before lifting to look at the ceiling. "I …it's kind of weird. Didn't know you played."

"I guess I need to let you upstairs in my apartment," Rylie chuckles softly, but follows it with another kiss. "I haven't played for anyone but myself in a long time, though." She leans back a little, face scrunching like that thought only just occurred to her. "Weird."

"It's alright, when you're ready you can show me." Zan shrugs slightly, then gently pulls her in close again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He's quiet for a few moments, head tilted so that his cheek rests against her forehead. "We'll have to compare notes. Or something."

Rylie wraps her arms around him, holding tight as her eyes drift closed again. "What? About all the things we haven't told each other yet? I suppose it's sort of a long list," she notes with that same gentle laugh. "Well, depending on how detailed you want it."

"Guess that'd be one place to start," Zan replies with a quiet chuckle. He looks at her, trailing his fingers along her upper arm a little, folding his arm behind his head. "Actually I meant for drumming. Sort of my other hobby, besides movie making."

Rylie pushes herself up a little to look down at him, eyes narrowed some. "You play the drums? And you never told me. This whole time, the music room's been so neglected." She laughs lightly, shaking her head a bit. "Abandoned for video games."

Zan pushes one shoulder upward, though he grins apologetically. "Yeah… I'm not great at it or anything, but I can play. Some. Just kind of picked it up over the summer before I started high school."

"I've been crazy about music for as long as I can remember, really. Drums just seemed like the most fun when I was a kid. Well, and now." Rylie grins as she drops back down to lay on her back, hands behind her head and face turned to look at him. "Banging around on stuff, can't really beat that."

"I …it was a whim," Zan says as he tilts his head to rest it against hers. "Started out just chasing a rhythm with pencils while listening to music, decided to try it on a small kit. Eventually convinced my parents to get me an electric kit." The last comes out slightly amused, as if it weren't a traditional argument he won. "It is fun, though."

"Oh, I bet they loved that," Rylie says with a laugh. She presses a kiss to his cheek before she starts to get up again, steady this time. "We were going to get dinner, weren't we? I'm starving." Which is probably because she drank instead of eating this afternoon, but who's counting.

"Yeah," Zan says with a chuckle. "It's in the gig bag, if you ever want to drag it out and try it." He rolls after her, catching her hand just as he pops to his feet. "Dinner, drinks, then dancing," he offers as he tugs her playfully toward the desk and the room service menu. "Yet another perfect evening."

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