Date: 2009-06-19 03:54 am (UTC)
Blue. White. Slushy. In perfect swirling patterns. One of these days, he's going to figure out how they make them do that without the colors bleeding into one another. If it wasn't his day off, he'd also make sure they suffered for the disgraceful lack of tequila. Instead, he settles for pulling out the little pink umbrella and flicking his tongue across the base, purring. Lacking in tequila, true, but the blueberry taste really is delightful.

He's been getting a good many odd looks. He suppose that has to do with the fact that it's nearly 100 degrees and he's stretched out in a beach chair in a suit. Armani, he doesn't steal cheap suits. It's a beautiful day. A lovely breeze, waves lapping at the sand, and screams whenever yet another seagull mysteriously attacks and leaves another of God's favorite creature with pockmarked wounds across their body.

Don't look at him like that. He couldn't ENTIRELY abandon his duties, now could he?
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