Julie Lawry (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
princessvegas) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2023-05-08 02:12 pm
princessvegas) wrote in abraxaslogs2023-05-08 02:12 pm
[open] may flowers
Who: OTA
When: May
Where: Horizon
What: How about a party that doesn't involve being watched by Abraxan authorities?
As always, Julie sends invitations around the Horizon, delivered by a parade of very small fantastical creatures. She'd had the idea weeks ago, in Nocwich, after noticing how frustrated everyone seemed to be by being put under constant "observation". There was a hitch in the plan after the various factions decided on their own parties, but it was still not the same as actually feeling free to relax.
They all need space. From the natives, from the drama, from the constant and unending monitoring they all seem to be under just by virtue of being "a Summoned". They need to tune it out for a bit.
And luckily, tuning it out is Julie's raison d'etre.
The morning of, a rainbow of flowers seems to sprout from and climb the walls of the building that houses Julie's club. The pink carpet and velvet ropes, normally the same hot pink as her hair, fade to a muted rose. The big double doors, with their handles shaped like clouds of butterflies, are propped open; the music that escapes from them isn't the thumping bass-heavy dance music that usually surrounds the place. Instead, it's gentle, quiet, but still upbeat. Music she pulled from somewhere deep in her memories, music that gave her a specific feeling. That's what she aims to recreate for others.
Through the doors, the lobby has been turned into a tunnel of wisteria, hanging down like curtains of white and pink and lilac and blue overhead. The floor is soft grass, the walkway lined in tall blooms of every imaginable shade. Between the vines above, spring sunshine peeks through, letting sunbeams naturally fall on old marble statues hidden in the flowers along the walls.
When the path opens into the main space, the first thing that greets guests is an enormous peacock sculpture, made of white flowers. It slowly turns its head to and fro, blinking and making soft cooing noises. Beside it, the bar has been made over, and is now anchored by a large cherry blossom tree in full bloom, the branches hanging over the seating. Steven, as always, is posted behind the bar, dressed in white as he passes out drinks from a gold tray. The rest of the club has been swapped into an open pavilion for tables (x, x), seating areas (x, x) and dancing. Where there is normally an empty, foreboding warehouse, now there is lush grass and a small pond.
The pavilion ceiling overhead is glass, showing a clear, picturesque blue sky. Wooden beams are wrapped in ivy and more wisteria; mismatched chandeliers hang down from the rafters. The floor is cobblestone, arranged with mosaics of butterflies flitting through it as if it were the sky. The smooth section, meant for dancing, is floral parquet, in a large bush shape to attract the butterflies. Over the dance floor is a replica of an art piece she once saw in Las Vegas. The light shining through the glass casts colorful circles on the ground, shifting and moving as the clouds pass by the sun.
Long antique tables bear a wide array of finger foods and little pastries and tea sandwiches on fine china and sterling silver platters, all of them seemingly from different tea sets. Between dishes are intricate floral arrangements, many with living butterflies in jewel tones resting on them. The butterflies seem to be encased within invisible globes atop the flowers; while they do occasionally take flight, they always seem to hover within a few inches of the petals before settling back down and slowly fluttering their wings open and closed. Scattered amongst the various dishes are random bowls of fancy pre-rolled joints (Vegas Botanicals blends, of course), cannabis hard candies (also Vegas Botanicals)... and a sugar bowl or two filled with cocaine.
Past the covered area, enormous, creative topiary pieces seem to rise from the ground, including two at the edges of the pond. One is a huge woman, water flowing from her hand like a waterfall. The other is giant cat lapping at the surface of the water. A path has been provided for lazy strolls around the pond. There are more places to sit here, out in the sun, some more formal than others. Some chairs appear to have been crafted from the earth itself. Big bushes dot the lawn, all surrounded by butterflies and gentle bumblebees and hummingbirds. Blankets are laid out in the shade of a few of the bushes, practically begging to laid out upon.
A grove of extremely tall flowers near the end of the pavilion is somewhat conspicuously placed; it hides the legs of Julie's lofted apartment. Still, the boxy little structure is nowhere near as obvious as it ordinarily might be, thanks to a liberally applied rainbow of more blooms all over it. Even the enclosed staircase, hidden behind a wooden door with ironwork, is decked out for the occasion.
Some of the Horizon creation people who live in Julie's domain have been turned into servers; they're all in pastel tuxedos, circulating through the space, never too obtrusively. The remaining several dozen partiers are seated at tables and in the grass, all in their tea party finest. They provide a soothing background of chatter and laughter. And everyone should watch their feet -- there are several very small beasts running around, each the size of a teacup chihuahua. Each one is wearing a pastel bowtie, and the T-Rex wears a tiny pink tuxedo vest. All of them have the comically sassy attitude of pampered lap dogs, running around (well, flying, in the dragon's case) as if they own the place.
Gentle breezes blow through the entire space, carrying an indeterminate array of floral scents with them. The music is constantly at the perfect volume to keep conversations private, but still easy. The resident partiers are cheerful and happy to interact when approached, but they don't ever bother the Summoned on their own. All them are startlingly realistic, for Horizon creations, with distinct features and quirks. None of them, however, can offer much more than basic small talk, and if pushed to act outside of their "enthusiastic partygoer" mold, they will simply begin to revert to the same things they've already said. Julie generally thinks of them as Sims with free will, though she is capable of controlling them as she pleases. The servers stick to a more prescribed set of actions, circling with trays of crudités and refreshing drinks. For anything more complicated, Steven will swoop in to intervene. He is the sole one of them who seems to be able to actively think. He knows your name and your favorite drink, by the way. Even if you've never met.
Don't think about it too hard -- it will start to feel incredibly upsetting if unraveled. And don't ask Julie about him, either. She has no real answers as to what, exactly, Steven is, or why he's part of her domain. He's always been here. All of the people have, all connected to her. Everything in the entire place, every blade of grass and fluttering insect wing, actively being controlled by some part of her brain that she never knew existed before the Horizon. (But it's not without drain; she will probably sleep for two days after this.)
Doors open at 11AM.
When: May
Where: Horizon
What: How about a party that doesn't involve being watched by Abraxan authorities?
As always, Julie sends invitations around the Horizon, delivered by a parade of very small fantastical creatures. She'd had the idea weeks ago, in Nocwich, after noticing how frustrated everyone seemed to be by being put under constant "observation". There was a hitch in the plan after the various factions decided on their own parties, but it was still not the same as actually feeling free to relax.
They all need space. From the natives, from the drama, from the constant and unending monitoring they all seem to be under just by virtue of being "a Summoned". They need to tune it out for a bit.
And luckily, tuning it out is Julie's raison d'etre.
The morning of, a rainbow of flowers seems to sprout from and climb the walls of the building that houses Julie's club. The pink carpet and velvet ropes, normally the same hot pink as her hair, fade to a muted rose. The big double doors, with their handles shaped like clouds of butterflies, are propped open; the music that escapes from them isn't the thumping bass-heavy dance music that usually surrounds the place. Instead, it's gentle, quiet, but still upbeat. Music she pulled from somewhere deep in her memories, music that gave her a specific feeling. That's what she aims to recreate for others.
Through the doors, the lobby has been turned into a tunnel of wisteria, hanging down like curtains of white and pink and lilac and blue overhead. The floor is soft grass, the walkway lined in tall blooms of every imaginable shade. Between the vines above, spring sunshine peeks through, letting sunbeams naturally fall on old marble statues hidden in the flowers along the walls.
When the path opens into the main space, the first thing that greets guests is an enormous peacock sculpture, made of white flowers. It slowly turns its head to and fro, blinking and making soft cooing noises. Beside it, the bar has been made over, and is now anchored by a large cherry blossom tree in full bloom, the branches hanging over the seating. Steven, as always, is posted behind the bar, dressed in white as he passes out drinks from a gold tray. The rest of the club has been swapped into an open pavilion for tables (x, x), seating areas (x, x) and dancing. Where there is normally an empty, foreboding warehouse, now there is lush grass and a small pond.
The pavilion ceiling overhead is glass, showing a clear, picturesque blue sky. Wooden beams are wrapped in ivy and more wisteria; mismatched chandeliers hang down from the rafters. The floor is cobblestone, arranged with mosaics of butterflies flitting through it as if it were the sky. The smooth section, meant for dancing, is floral parquet, in a large bush shape to attract the butterflies. Over the dance floor is a replica of an art piece she once saw in Las Vegas. The light shining through the glass casts colorful circles on the ground, shifting and moving as the clouds pass by the sun.
Long antique tables bear a wide array of finger foods and little pastries and tea sandwiches on fine china and sterling silver platters, all of them seemingly from different tea sets. Between dishes are intricate floral arrangements, many with living butterflies in jewel tones resting on them. The butterflies seem to be encased within invisible globes atop the flowers; while they do occasionally take flight, they always seem to hover within a few inches of the petals before settling back down and slowly fluttering their wings open and closed. Scattered amongst the various dishes are random bowls of fancy pre-rolled joints (Vegas Botanicals blends, of course), cannabis hard candies (also Vegas Botanicals)... and a sugar bowl or two filled with cocaine.
Past the covered area, enormous, creative topiary pieces seem to rise from the ground, including two at the edges of the pond. One is a huge woman, water flowing from her hand like a waterfall. The other is giant cat lapping at the surface of the water. A path has been provided for lazy strolls around the pond. There are more places to sit here, out in the sun, some more formal than others. Some chairs appear to have been crafted from the earth itself. Big bushes dot the lawn, all surrounded by butterflies and gentle bumblebees and hummingbirds. Blankets are laid out in the shade of a few of the bushes, practically begging to laid out upon.
A grove of extremely tall flowers near the end of the pavilion is somewhat conspicuously placed; it hides the legs of Julie's lofted apartment. Still, the boxy little structure is nowhere near as obvious as it ordinarily might be, thanks to a liberally applied rainbow of more blooms all over it. Even the enclosed staircase, hidden behind a wooden door with ironwork, is decked out for the occasion.
Some of the Horizon creation people who live in Julie's domain have been turned into servers; they're all in pastel tuxedos, circulating through the space, never too obtrusively. The remaining several dozen partiers are seated at tables and in the grass, all in their tea party finest. They provide a soothing background of chatter and laughter. And everyone should watch their feet -- there are several very small beasts running around, each the size of a teacup chihuahua. Each one is wearing a pastel bowtie, and the T-Rex wears a tiny pink tuxedo vest. All of them have the comically sassy attitude of pampered lap dogs, running around (well, flying, in the dragon's case) as if they own the place.
Gentle breezes blow through the entire space, carrying an indeterminate array of floral scents with them. The music is constantly at the perfect volume to keep conversations private, but still easy. The resident partiers are cheerful and happy to interact when approached, but they don't ever bother the Summoned on their own. All them are startlingly realistic, for Horizon creations, with distinct features and quirks. None of them, however, can offer much more than basic small talk, and if pushed to act outside of their "enthusiastic partygoer" mold, they will simply begin to revert to the same things they've already said. Julie generally thinks of them as Sims with free will, though she is capable of controlling them as she pleases. The servers stick to a more prescribed set of actions, circling with trays of crudités and refreshing drinks. For anything more complicated, Steven will swoop in to intervene. He is the sole one of them who seems to be able to actively think. He knows your name and your favorite drink, by the way. Even if you've never met.
Don't think about it too hard -- it will start to feel incredibly upsetting if unraveled. And don't ask Julie about him, either. She has no real answers as to what, exactly, Steven is, or why he's part of her domain. He's always been here. All of the people have, all connected to her. Everything in the entire place, every blade of grass and fluttering insect wing, actively being controlled by some part of her brain that she never knew existed before the Horizon. (But it's not without drain; she will probably sleep for two days after this.)
Doors open at 11AM.
no subject
[ He chuckles to himself as she gives the half twirl, then waggles his eyebrows teasingly. ]
Where's your loverboy? Shouldn't you catch him before the clock strikes midnight and he turns into a ... tomato? Melon?
[ Eh, close enough. ]
no subject
Pretty much.
Ever. ]
Pumpkin. [ Sabine supplies helpfully, easily, like it's nothing at all, to pick up and drop in. (And it isn't. She's held that place in so many conversations since she was a child for Jack. forgotten words, and skipped sentences, and whole paragraphs. She does it without judgment or even thought of it as it happens, snd once it passed.) As she lifts her hands—careful of the champagne flute and flower—palms up in an exaggeration like she doesn't know. ]
What if I'm trying to prove I can survive ten minutes without being absolutely sure where he is?
[ This is patently a lie, too, even as she pops it back smiling.
She knows exactly where he is. That's even easier in the Horizon. ]
no subject
Pumpkin! Like Halloween. ]
Oh?
[ He raises an eyebrow. ]
So it's you who turns into the pumpkin. [ He smiles, not meaning any harm in his teasing, but not really considering the possibility either way. ]
How's it going so far?
no subject
[ She says the second part while dropping onto the couch next to his chair, for emphasis. ] —which would end terribly as we'd go falling helter-skelter into the flowers this time, and I'd have to remember to keep the glasses from falling and breaking, like some marginally responsible adult.
Not to mention the disastrous embarrassment. [ She does not look to be at all currently; kind of like refusing to pretend for Jack they didn't fall over because he just went 500% into too enthusiastic for their next-first kiss and sent them careening into the ground.
They are a complete desperate mess, making up for half a decade,
but at least they are that complete desperate mess together. ]
I swear I used to be an adult with self-control, Kyle. [ This fond lament is sighed out as she positions her self, face, and body toward him, tucking her pale bare feet under her and hooking her free arm at an angle along the top of the couch. ] No one tells you the side effects of a coma before they're vital to you.
no subject
Kahlil feels a sudden and not unfamiliar want for something similar. For someone. But he knows it only leads down a path of memories he's decided he wants nothing to do with, and so he banishes the familiar ache along with them before they can surface.
It kills his buzz a little.
A pause, then, with furrowed brows: ]
What was it like?
[ Being unconscious for so long. Was it like a dreamless sleep? Or more? ]
no subject
[ Sabine says the word without hesitation, consideration, a tone that requires pity, or a glance away from his face.
There might even be the barest hint of weariness at the furthest breath of the edge. The note of a word turned over too many times over six years (over seventy-two months, over three-hundred weeks, over...) so that it might have lost its meaning, gained others. Sabine might feel drawn to a type of compassion for those things and people she Keeps, or for the one she does, and then those she is connected to around Jack from there. But she's never had someone else in that position that wasn't Jack. And there's far more time before it, without anything like Jack even, to count in there as well.
Her hand swirls her glass lazily, the flower rippling around in the liquid. ]
There are very few people I would wish that on.
[ Not none at all, but none that she likes.
But few would survive half that long awake, aware the whole time.
That she wasn't made like them didn't mean it hadn't still affected her. ]
no subject
He's only known loneliness since coming here. Or he's only recognized it for what it is while here.
Either way, he doesn't think she needs or wants him feeling sorry for her, and he's spent the past month feeling sorry enough for himself.
His gaze follows her hand, the swirling liquid. ]
Give me their names, I'll do it for you. [ He says, half-teasing. Torture isn't something he relishes. Killing he's good at, though. And if there was someone who could be a danger to her or Jack, he'd like to know. There is already her, Jack, and Jerry - for a time. The Singularity favors their world. ]
no subject
She reaches up, brushing back some of her curls behind her ear. ]
Don't tempt me. I've never had an on-call teleporting ninja before.
It could be a truly devastating power that might go to my head.