Michael breathed in deeply, the smoke from the campfires tickling his nose even though he was nowhere near them. This wasn't his first event- he knew that campfire smell would be something that followed him for weeks when he got home- but he thought some fresh air might do him some good. With only one other person in camp at this hour, when the parties would be at full swing, he figured he wouldn't get a better time to get away from the camp and relax a little. Perhaps the hornfuls of mead he'd swallowed really didn't help- they flushed his skin, and while he wasn't feeling particularly loose or hindered, he did feel good, as well as warm.
He grabbed his towel and told Baern he was heading to the river. Baern wouldn't mind- he was stuck at camp anyway with an old ankle injury that had been bothering him since a rush they'd made that morning- so Michael didn't have to feel guilty as he left the colorful, homey ring of tents that represented the safety of his friends and made for the river they were lucky enough to be camped just beside.
The grass was longish and slippery with dew as he crossed in his sandals, whipping at his legs just enough to stick here and there. He heard the distant sound of drums in a familiar opening run as he gently stepped into the river shallows. He'd personally mapped this river himself by hand and foot for quite some distance up and downstream when he'd started coming there years ago when his family was still young, overprotective to the point of paranoia. Luckily, he had the excuse that he wanted to make sure no one could sneak into the camp at night- which he proved quite impossible after a few mere minutes of swimming.
Even where the cool, refreshing water was deep enough for his long legs not to drag along the bottom, the only exception to sides too steep to allow for climbing lay at the wallow where the river gently lapped the back of the camp. Trees on either side of the banks made this particular location feel almost isolated- not enough to kill the sound of the ever-present nighttime drums or the cannon-fire during the day, but enough that their campsite had quickly become the envy of the grounds. Not that Michael would ever let anyone else have it. Over his dead body, he'd said many times, and would say to anyone willing to listen.
His hands gently beat the rhythm of the drums out against his thighs as he walked to a shelf they'd placed along the river to hold their towels while they swam, up off the grass and out of the way of the water. The light of the camp did not reach far past the circle of tents, themselves quick a few feet away, but it was to this end that they'd placed a stretch of tiki torches along this part of the river. The light was just enough to guide someone to the water, even to illuminate the shoreline and keep tender toes from injury, but they hadn't been able to find recesses strong or trustworthy enough along the steep banks to place other lights, so once in the water a swimmer was on their own.
He knew he shouldn't swim alone, but he didn't particularly care. He knew this water like the back of his hand. With this in mind, he placed the towel across the top of the table, leaving his sandals under it. His hands occupied, he was forced to hum along with the drums as he took off his loose-fitting shirt and carefully stripped his kilt, winding the cloth around his arm and folding as he went, as much to keep it from the water as off the ground. He knew it would be some time before his campmates returned, and his daughter was at party at a camp he knew quite well to be safe, and he didn't expect anyone to return for quite a few hours. Dark had only come a short time- half an hour?- before and that meant all the time in the world to worry about indecency.
With that, he strode into the water, cold against his skin after the alcohol. What flavor had it been? Blackberry? He mentally shrugged it off as he began to swim.
He was floating on his back in a lazy circle when he heard a familiar voice. It seemed a bit distant and he didn't concern himself with it- it could be any number of the group returning to camp for any number of reasons, and nothing ever seemed pressing in this place. He dove under the water for a moment, into the dark, always keeping a careful eye on the orientation of the lights as he felt his way around the rocky wall to the left of the entrance to the little lagoon. He breached the water near the place where the river slipped over it's little bounds to continue it's flow away from it's pond and realized he'd gone too far from the shore, and turned to go back just in time to see a blur enter the water in a streak- whoever had come back to the camp had decided to go for a swim.
He thought for a brief moment about his nudity, but it wasn't unusual at an event for people to go streaking for one reason or another, and he considered the campmates like family. He'd been in hot tubs with many of them before- even the women. It just wasn't something to be concerned about. The only person he might have to worry about-
A glimpse of wine red hair breaching the surface told him he was in trouble. His daughter had come back from Hedgewood early?
"What are you doing back from the party so early?" He asked as his daughter laughed, having spotted him. She tread water like a pro, her grin wide. She wiped strands of hair from her eyes and bobbed a little in the water, the light of the tiki torches not quite enough to illuminate her at this distance, her pale skin almost glowing with its own light in the dark.
"It was getting kind of rowdy and I wasn't feeling it," she said, briefly casting her eyes to the side. She brushed a hand against her pale pink lips- no doubt the cool getting to her, she never did like it- and bobbed in the water with a kick that somehow gave the impression of a shrug. "Morgaine was getting a little too drunk for me and you know Bella was right there with her." She sneered a little, a cute little wrinkle of the nose.
"Didn't feel like drinking tonight," Michael asked in a voice with no question in it. His daughter may have been a month from nineteen, but he knew as well as any parent how easy it was for the underage to gain alcohol at an event like this, and had discussed with her where and when she was safe to imbibe. With her friends, at their parent's campfire, regardless of the rowdiness of the party he knew she'd be safe. Especially since Morgaine's father was built like a bull with the temperament to match.
"Well I tried the cordials, you know, the one's Rave's Mom made," she said with a teasing grin, expecting Michael to be jealous. He growled slightly, pretending to be, and she laughed, pleased. "She has strawberry-lemon and blackberry-raspberry this year." The growl changed to a mock glare and she showed her teeth, then gave him a sympathetic look. "She'll be bringing them by tomorrow for you, Daddy."
"Thanks," he said grudgingly. She bobbed again, her collarbones briefly breaching the water to scatter the blue light around her further before she sank into the water again.
"But yeah, after that I just wanted to come home. It just seemed to loud and you know I love the drums but I couldn't hear anything so I figured I'd just come home. It's not like we can't hear the drums from here." As if on cue, a louder, heavier dancing rhythm began.
"Who brought you home?" Michael asked with a warning tone and Jenny rolled her eyes dramatically.
