[ Why he agreed to this, hells only knows. The appearance of a beach date on his card had been less than thrilling to begin with, far less enthused than his companion, but at least the sun overhead is not currently hot enough to threaten to cook them alive. Adelis has, most definitely, learned his lesson.

Mishka offered to take care of mostly of the details, since he had been the one to offer, but he hardly felt like letting him do everything. So, he brings the drinks (not all alcoholic, because he has some suspicions), and does his best to not look like he's giving the lapping waves the death glare.

It feels odd to be so bare outside, dressed in little but a pair of shorts and a loose white sweater, zipped pulled halfway up his chest as he eyeballs Mishka with an unimpressed frown. ]

I hardly think you're in any position to talk. [ Somebody else looked pretty lobster-red after that, motherfucker. ] And no, I haven't yet.

[ He's squinting at the bottle as he did with the little container of sunburn cream back home, clearly unimpressed with all it's medicinal jargon. ]

...At least back in Ostoya, I knew what I was slathering on my skin.