Never one to miss a gathering, custom nonetheless dictates that Schön occasionally arrive to such things a little after they've properly begun. He has traded out his black fedora for a Panama hat, his suit for a loose, gauzy black shirt worn open over a white button-down shirt with the top button undone and the cuffs rolled up. In place of slacks, a pair of black Bermuda shorts with a subtle paisley pattern of black-on-black. He's even traded his crisp black shoes for sandals, which seem not to be sinking into the sand as he strides over it. His cane doesn't seem to sink in very far, either, and its head today is the silver image of a coiling ammonite shell.

"Verity!" he calls in greeting, flashing one of his smiles. "Such a lovely gathering you've brought together--again!"