Summer Under The Sea [Open]

[Cecil Wathen]

The community field day was something Cecil had been looking forward to for a while now, and since he had started the preparations for it he had grown more and more excited at the prospect. He had been in Pilot Ridge for about a year and a half now and though he felt he was an active part of the community (largely in thanks to owning a bar), he didn't feel like he had done much in the way of contributing to things outside of being an alcohol supply. Today would be one step towards changing that.

At the stand that Cecil and two of his bar staff had set up for the occasion, a 'Churchkey Bar' banner was displayed proudly above a table holding four large drinks dispensers full of punch, and resting on a small table to the side was a half-barrel labelled with 'cider'. The main table held small taster cups of each of the drinks, a bin was nearby for trash and Mephit the Kelpie was snoozing, her lead attaching her firmly to the cider barrel. Also on the table was a small pile of business cards for the pub, along with a little sign saying that all the drinks offered today were non-alcoholic, along with their prices.

The humidity was something Cecil was still trying to get used to; even after three years state-side it was still always cloying and uncomfortable. Still, the gentle breeze helped break it up a bit and so far trade had been pretty good. The small group of Churchkey staff that were manning the stand were taking it in turns to go off exploring around the fair, and for the moment Cecil was running it solo. He'd asked Becky to bring him back a funnel cake, though whether she would remember or not remained to be seen.

[Callum Bowen-Lund]

When Callum heard about the Pilot Ridge Community Day, the blonde almost jumped for joy. God how long had he hoped for something exciting to happen around the quaint town. As if the move from a big city to a quiet, quaint town was hard enough, his Facebook feed had been filled with his friends’ photos in the recently concluded Pride Weekend in Vancouver. God he wished he was there. Celebrities, a leading gay club along those parts, supposedly didn’t even check ID. FML.

But this was his chance to redeem himself. It might not be as extravagant as Pride, but it’s something. He hadn’t updated his Instagram account for a long time too, and it’s about time.

Going alone wasn’t really the Canadian’s style during events like these, but Patrick (the guy he’s supposed to come with) suddenly came down with the flu. Supposedly. If he knew any better, it’s just that the brunette finally wooed that girl a floor down and they’re, well, getting to know each other in a biblical sense. He’d normally be angry that he’s blown off for some random skank, but hey, he’s only known Patrick for three days and, well, it’s too early to call him a bro just yet.

So he went down by the lake and within an hour, he figured he’d explored most – if not all – of the booths. He’s already tried the ring toss, almost won the shoot-the-shark game and got the number of the blonde managing the kissing booth (as well as a few bonus kisses at that). The boy was feeling hungry and was currently looking at the food stalls when one particular sign caught his interest.

“Churchkey Bar?” he said as he approached the kiosk, eyebrow raised as he saw the sign about the drink selections and that they’re all non-alcoholic, “But you’re not serving alcohol? That for real? Boo.”

Maybe he can get his power to activate and make this man more agreeable. Maybe.

Damn he wished he knew how to activate it.

[Cecil Wathen]

It was surprisingly easy for Cecil to relax and find a way to unwind at social events like this. He'd worked in bars on and off for most of his adult life and so the constant coming and going of people was second nature to him, plus being the husband of a fashion designer meant that he'd been to his fair share of big social gatherings and such. This was a lovely change from the bustle of fairs in New York; sedate and rural. It reminded him a little of the country fairs back some.

A ping of homesickness fluttered into his chest, but Cecil pushed it back relatively easily. It was a skill he found he was having to perfect now that he was alone in a foreign country.

As a young lad approached the stall Cecil offered him a small smile and polite wave. Mephit's eyes slowly blinked open at the approaching footsteps. The Kelpie was very used to the hustle and bustle of people and paid little attention to them as a general rule, but she could be relied upon to act up when needed.

The Welshman gave a soft laugh and nodded his head. “Afraid so mate, sorry. We figured vodka and Ferris wheel's were a bad mix.” Besides, even if they did have alcohol Cecil wasn't the sort to serve it to minors. “Anything else I can get for ya instead?”

[Callum Bowen-Lund]

The blonde puffed his cheeks and gave the man a frown. Or in other words, his best attempt at a puppy face. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t exactly the best idea if he wanted the man to think he’s of age. (He was originally thinking it’ll just be three more years after all, then he remembered he’s in the United State of A-fucking-Merica and it’s 21. Just his luck).

“Really? Nothing you can do about it?” The man didn’t show signs of budging, and him being new to town and all (in case he ran into the man again and all that; considering the size of the town, that’s not a remote possibility at all), decided to not push it. Some other time maybe. (When he’s had better grasp of his powers). “You’re probably right. Old man’s knowledge and all that right?” he answered jokingly.

He looked at the fruit punches, and while they all seemed nice, he had no idea what they are. “What else do you have anyway? And are you offering any food items or just drinks?” Callum’s obviously too lazy to check Cecil’s signs. Apologies. “Cute dog by the way.”

[Cecil Wathen]

Cecil had been working behind a bar long enough to have a pretty good eye for guessing ages, as well as for spotting fake ID's, and even without the young lad's failed attempt at a puppy face he'd pinned him as nowhere near of age. Cecil gave a small shake of his head. “I've got nothing here. Sorry kid.” There was a slight emphasis on the last word, making it clear that, even if Cecil did have something on him, it wasn't going to happen.

However, beyond the hidden hip flask for Cecil's own use, the stall was as booze-free as a nunnery. He did laugh softly at the boy's attempt at a joke, melodramatically rolling his eyes. “Right. I learned that back when I was inventing fire and riding around on the back of a dinosaur.”

Indicating to the drinks dispensers, Cecil said “just drinks today, but we do have a Brit-centric lunch menu at the Churchkey.” A bit of side-promotion never hurt, after all. “Today we've got lemonade, mixed berry, orange and pineapple or sour lemon and lime. Or there's apple cider fresh from the barrel.” He smiled at the compliment to his dog and gave a small nod. “Thanks, she's mine. Rising two years old now.”

[Callum Bowen-Lund]

Callum let out a sarcastic laugh when the man called him a kid. While he might be oblivious at times, that little hint was as clear as Pamela Anderson’s breasts were fake. (Because those can, in no way be, natural, could they?). “Such a drag,” he said as he rolled his eyes and flashed the man a grin, “You rode around the backs of dinosaurs? I would’ve thought you were around even before they started roaming the earth. My bad. I guess once you reach a million years, you just stop aging and all look like decrepit old men, do you?” His grin got a little bit wider after saying that, to the point that it looked fake even. Hopefully that’d convey that he’s only joking and what they’re exchanging was just playful banter.

Who knows, maybe if he got into the man’s good side he’d share some booze with him. Because Callum just can’t shake the feeling that he’s got some hidden on him, he just needed to figure out where and how to grab it.

“Brit-centric? I’m guessing you’re the owner?” said Callum, scratching his chin as he tried to decide which one he’d like to try, “I mean, that’d explain the accent and all. Unless you’re one of those who can fake it, then just fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” He’s not actually in the mood for something sour (which would probably cross lemonade and sour lemon and lime off), but he’s not quite sure he’s adventurous enough to try mixed better or orange and pineapple. “I’ll try the cider please. How much is it again?” Grabbing his wallet, he opened the zipper that had his change and laid them all down on the counter. “Sorry, American money still confuses the fuck out of me.” Why can’t they just be colour-coded (and colourful) like his home up north anyway?

“She’s a beauty. What breed is she? The only one I can think of right now is an American Bulldog but she clearly ain’t one and I don’t think I’d love to risk being laughed at anymore.”

[Cecil Wathen]

Cecil had always had an easy laugh and had no problem sharing it at the kids little jest about his age, he didn't really care. He knew he was probably older than a lot of the people here but it didn't bother him in the slightest. He was still young at heart, and the twenty-sided dice tattoo on his wrist was as relevant to him as a person as it had been when he'd got it done nineteen years ago. “Yeah, as soon as you hit a couple centuries old you can't tell much difference any more. Then once you've been around a couple millenarian we all just look the same. There's still debate about if I'm even a man; I can't remember any more and you can't tell by looking. You've still got all that to look forward to once you hit a century.”

Giving gave a small nod of his head. “That's right, I took it over about a year ago and opened it back up in December.” Another soft laugh left his lips. “My accents faded a bit, been away from the homeland a long time, but it's real. I'm guessing you're not a local lad yourself.” This was confirmed when the kid clearly struggled to sort out the money, and after pulling the glass of cider for the boy and handing it over Cecil counted out the correct amount and slid the rest back towards the boy. “Don't worry about it, it confused the hell out of me too at first. It was like learning to count all over again.”

Smiling softly, Cecil looked down at his overgrown pup. “She's an Australian Kelpie. Very different to a bulldog, but still a dog.” Cecil's tone was playfully teasing, a very gentle callback to the boy's own teasing of his age.

[Callum Bowen-Lund]

“Wait what? You can’t even tell if you’re still a man?” Callum gave the man an incredulous look coupled with a loud gasp, “You mean after a million years it just broke off, or just didn’t work anymore?” His index finger briefly pointed on the general area where it meant – given that Cecil was standing behind a kiosk and Callum couldn’t really see anything past it – as he took a sip of his drink. “I mean if it just doesn’t work, there’s always Viagra. Or is everything so old in you now that things just don’t work anymore?”

He then realized that, well, (1) this man was way older than him and (2) a total stranger. And that things like that, though said in a jokingly manner, just weren’t appropriate for small talk. Or at least, that’s the norm was. Callum honestly didn’t mind either way and secretly hoped the man wouldn’t give him a beating or something for it. “This is some good juice. Would’ve been better spiked, but hey, you can’t win everything right?” he added quickly, hoping it’d at least deflect some of the attention from his previous statements.

“Nope. I am proud not to be of this land. Canada all the way!” he laughed, beating his chest like a stereotypical gorilla as he did. Not that he had any animosity towards the States, but growing up North, well, it’s just been a general thought that their universal healthcare and beaver-love was superior to anything that their barbaric neighbor down south had to offer. Even if they had way lower prices when it comes to goods, groceries or otherwise. “Tell me about it. The fact that their loonies are paper money is annoying too.” Oh how he misses his loonies and toonies.

He knelt down and attempted to pet the cute canine. “Dogs are amazing. I’ve been planning to get one myself, but neither of my parents would let me. I thought moving to a new school would finally give me the freedom to buy one, but sadly there’s this weird policy that only small pets are allowed. Like lizards or tarantulas. What’s the fun in that?”

[Cecil Wathen]

“Once you get to a couple thousand or so you have no real use for it. You're too busy trying to keep your back in one piece and your hips attached to worry about things like that.” Thankfully Cecil was exceptionally hard to offend and generally rather laid back and easy-going, so the thought of beating up the kid over a bit of utterly harmless banter never even crossed his mind. As long as it didn't get properly inappropriate he didn't really mind much.

Cecil smiled and gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, Becky made that one up. If you come back when you're twenty one we can see about upgrading you.”

Giving a nod of his head, Cecil pulled a cider for someone else who ordered and after a brief interaction with them, he turned his attention back to the boy. “I've never been to Canada but I've always heard great things about it. I wouldn't mind seeing Toronto some day.”

Mephit perked up as she realised the stranger was coming down towards her, and the Kelpie stood and sniffed at the boys hand as he moved it towards her, tail wagging merrily. “I never planned to get a dog, she just kind of... happened.” That was partly true but no where near the whole story, and Cecil had no want to share that with the boy. Or anyone, really. “Wouldn't swap her for anything now, though.” Cecil gave a shrug of his shoulders. “Lizards can be really cool. Have you ever seen a savannah monitor? Those things get fair big and they look like tanks on legs.”