The launch light — "Es Ponent" means "the west"; the terrace faces the sunset, so golden hour is a fact of the room, not a filter laid over it.

One illustration, used perfectly — a single blood-orange study, hatched by hand and inked in terracotta: the club's own signature (Vermut de la Casa, the Terracotta pour) carried by one mark instead of six — the Le Sirenuse discipline of restraint.

The one terracotta — the warm ink is rationed to the emblem and the card's edges; everything around it stays calm cotton, so the label reads as found, not shouted.

The quieter truth — Marina ran a members' programme for eight years; this world is the discretion of a room that does not advertise, the terrace at the hour it empties of everyone but its own.

Struck, not drawn — the PSC crest is blind-debossed with no ink at all, meant to be felt under the thumb before it is read; the beaded rim is what keeps it legible all the way down to a wax stamp.

Blue, rationed — the brief warns against pastel-blue washes, so the deep Mediterranean blue appears once, as a single structural rule — never a ground, never a wash.