[ A handful of small bonfires dot the beach; perhaps that is what draws Rufus' attention to the man sitting in the sand near one, legs stretched out in front of him and posture relaxed, face turned up toward the falsified sky. Mid-thirties, slim and lanky, bearded, with long red hair hanging loose past his shoulders cast a striking burnished copper by the flickering firelight. There's a half-finished cocktail held loosely in one hand, and though he seems content enough watching the fireworks alone, he also isn't perturbed by Rufus joining him. He'd be the last to judge an awkward opener. One side of his mouth quirks up, but his smile is mostly in his eyes, deepening the creases at the corners. ]

And topical, [ he agrees. Caleb's voice is low and gently accented--Zemnian to him, but quite a few people here have called it German. ] No one has ever accused this place of subtlety, but at least dick-shaped fireworks are entertaining.

[ Timely, the sky above them erupts with green light in a distinctly phallic outline. ]

You are welcome to have a seat. Especially if you wouldn't mind a conversation.