Beach: Felicity and Van
"Do I know how to blow air into a straw?" Van drawled, reaching for the whistle. "SO hard." He was stretched out on a towel, his skin already having that bronzed quality that made him look more South American and not Scottish. The black hair and blacker eyes didn't help.
He sat up and watched the weres in the water, playing with the whistle in his hand a moment before putting it to his lips. The whistle that released from it was sharp and outside the range of human ears. Van didn't hear it, but he knew he wasn't supposed to. It was working, judging by the way the weres, as one, stopped their playing and straightened up, looking around at attention. Van laughed. If they had been in their wolf forms, he thought they'd look even more comical.