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
[ Repeated in agreement. Nanaue isn't used to so much kindness - and patience, though the nuance of that one is a bit lost on him. There's so much less yelling and screaming than in his old life. Sometimes he misses a little bit of the screaming but... it's okay. He likes this. ]
Visit?
[ He understands that there are places he's not supposed to go. But maybe she can come visit him sometime? ]
no subject
[ Not that she doesn't think Nanaue could handle his own against people who weren't being kind to him. That alone doesn't make it right anyone to be unkind however.
Nanaue's question is a simple one but one that melts her heart all the same. ]
You'd really want me to come and visit? I'd love to! I mean, I visited once, but that was before you arrived here and that was only because Solvunn really needed help. I'm not sure if there'll be another opportunity to soon but I'd love to see your new home. Oh! [ She perks up. ] Maybe you could draw it for me to show me while we're here?
no subject
Closing both eyes and concentrating hard, a large canvas and paint pop! into existence in front of them. They stop, and he lets go of Hilda's hand to grab the paint brush.
This actually takes a good fifteen minutes for him to finish - so he won't notice if she wanders off and comes back. But he'll turn to look for her when he's done, with a wide toothy smile. ]
[ Perspective is not his strong suit. ]
no subject
By the time she returns, he's still hard at work but she pulls up a chair at the nearby table. In a flash she's by his side to examine the painting. It's certainly nothing in the realm of what someone like Ignatz could paint, but that's hardly the point. It's clear that Nanaue loves drawing and he's proud of what he's accomplished; the little pink person makes her grin in delight. ]
This is so good, Nanaue! Look at that house and - is that me and you?