The chilly condensation which enveloped the can offered moisture to his sweaty palm. It'd been plucked from the icebox a mere five or so minutes ago, so, in theory, the drink should still be at least a little bit cold. Yet that was not the case. The summer sun's sizzling rays beamed down onto the aluminum container, and the amber liquid that sloshed within gradually increased in temperature as a result of the outside warmth. Since there was nothing in the world worse than warm beer, the man was regrettably faced with a burdensome task; chug his drink before it reached an undesirable condition. Shame, too - lately, he'd been trying to slow down whilst drinking, for an aptitude to hastily chug his booze had formed inside his system, and it was something he wished to alter as soon as he could.

Perspiration affixed his blank tank top to his torso, creating an outline of his muscular muscular frame through the fabric. The top's dark colour made for a low albedo, and the extra absorbed sunlight caused Leroy to sweat profusely (despite him already doing so). The sweat ran down his neck and onto his back, seeping through the cotton of his top, and continued cascading to his waist, which was obscured by an curiously-designed pair of swim trunks. Fashioned after 80's synthwave, Leroy picked them up fifty-percent off at the store just a few weeks before. The bright pink pattern contrasting against the dark background had piqued his interest, though he now recognizes the mistake of not trying them on before purchasing them, because the tags really fucking bothered him; but no matter how much he struggled with his teeth or some scissors, they absolutely would not come off. They existed as the only swimwear to his name, however, so until he acquired another pair, making do with them was the only way to go.

Through orange-toned aviators does he see a faint figure out on the water. It's physical description couldn't be described, on account of the fact of it being so far away, yet he knows in his heart that the faint speck was Aurum rocking that surfboard of his. Barely any time at all had passed since the death of Winter, and the gloriously-haired bastard was already out there taming the waves. That's Aurum for you. Always likes to be ahead of the curve. The speck returns to the shoreline, an action that comes off as odd - typically, surfers liked to, you know, surf, for a bit longer than that. Perhaps he was going back to meet someone?

Intrigued by the possibility of more people being on the beach, the 36 year-old hoists himself up from his foldable beach chair, though he immediately recoils upon his feet meeting the sweltering sand. It wasn't that fucking hot when he had first gone out here. Fuck, not bringing sandals was one hell of a mistake, huh. Carefully, he lowers his feet until they submerge themselves into the burning particles. It hurt like hell, but they'd have to get used to the heat.

It took a lot of sheer will and inclination, but he powered across the beach in pursuit of the surfer, who had met up with a group of three other acquaintances, all of which he knew. There was Feza, who still traveled via trike in spite of her age. She was rather odd, but that didn't bother him that much. There was Alfred, Aurum's brother, who seemed as though he'd prefer to be anywhere else. And then there stood Sam. Despite their age differences, Leroy'd grown considerably fond of the young adult. She and him shared interests, similar personalities, and seemed to have good chemistry with one another.

"How's it goin', fuckers?" he salutes amicably, one hand removing his shades while the other sweeps back his jet-black hair. His bright brown eyes fall upon the male carrying the board, who he assumes to have gathered everyone here today. "Gotta love how it goes right to warm temperature from Winter," he muses, before asking, "how's the water?"