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The beach is still a novelty. Even if Greendale hadn't been landlocked, it's pocket climate wouldn't necessarily have loaned itself to lying out on sandy beaches. Not that Nick would have had time; recently, at least, his life at the Academy had exploded and he had barely had time to stop and think, let alone enjoy himself.
The less said about what came after the academy, the better.
Nick lives on a blanket on the sand, one arm pillowed under his head, shades on, and a book propped up on his chest. He's reading some mortal's idea of magic, and, honestly, it's laughable, but at least it's entertaining. On his ribs there's an angry red scar, that no amount of magic seems to be able to get to fade. Not yet, anyway. They'll keep trying.
For now, though, there's sun, and the sound of the sea.
Nick Scratch finds himself more or less content.
The less said about what came after the academy, the better.
Nick lives on a blanket on the sand, one arm pillowed under his head, shades on, and a book propped up on his chest. He's reading some mortal's idea of magic, and, honestly, it's laughable, but at least it's entertaining. On his ribs there's an angry red scar, that no amount of magic seems to be able to get to fade. Not yet, anyway. They'll keep trying.
For now, though, there's sun, and the sound of the sea.
Nick Scratch finds himself more or less content.
