Julie can barely even feel the magic streaming freely off her, but she can say that she doesn't think there's anything working through her. It feels more like a leak in a dam or perhaps a broken tap than it does anything else, and it feels far away from her. Even if she were inclined to worry about it (she's not, really), she doesn't have the energy left to fret about the potential consequences of what she's done to herself.
The tent is... certainly not discreet. Honestly, it's even less discreet than what Julie would conjure left to her own full faculties -- she isn't stupid. But all of this seems to be coming from somewhere deeper than her ordinary consciousness, so she can only hope it will end when she passes out and that will be the end of it. As he walks her through the tent, small embellishments keep appearing. A lantern, a vase, a small dish with a cone of incense gently smoking. It's all reminiscent of the way she collects trinkets, magpie-style, in her Horizon loft as well as her real home.
She sinks into the bed she's accidentally made and is asleep almost instantly. Maybe it's strange, to be essentially unconscious for so long, only to immediately fall asleep again. It isn't really the same, is her instinct, but she also isn't really accounting for what she did to herself. Concerning or not, he has ample time to take stock of the situation and hunt down a rabbit, because she sleeps like the dead for several hours straight.
When she does wake, it's with a quiet groan. The ache has had its time to set in, and now her whole body protests her effort to shift and to sit up. She rubs blearily at the side of her head, where there is dried blood and sand still caked in her hairline, under her earlobe. Her response is a tired, scratchy grunt. It doesn't sound entirely intentional on her part. Squinting at him, she croaks out, "No."
But she doesn't feel worse, exactly, so that's probably the best she can hope for.
please know i am deeply ashamed at how many typos are in that last tag
The tent is... certainly not discreet. Honestly, it's even less discreet than what Julie would conjure left to her own full faculties -- she isn't stupid. But all of this seems to be coming from somewhere deeper than her ordinary consciousness, so she can only hope it will end when she passes out and that will be the end of it. As he walks her through the tent, small embellishments keep appearing. A lantern, a vase, a small dish with a cone of incense gently smoking. It's all reminiscent of the way she collects trinkets, magpie-style, in her Horizon loft as well as her real home.
She sinks into the bed she's accidentally made and is asleep almost instantly. Maybe it's strange, to be essentially unconscious for so long, only to immediately fall asleep again. It isn't really the same, is her instinct, but she also isn't really accounting for what she did to herself. Concerning or not, he has ample time to take stock of the situation and hunt down a rabbit, because she sleeps like the dead for several hours straight.
When she does wake, it's with a quiet groan. The ache has had its time to set in, and now her whole body protests her effort to shift and to sit up. She rubs blearily at the side of her head, where there is dried blood and sand still caked in her hairline, under her earlobe. Her response is a tired, scratchy grunt. It doesn't sound entirely intentional on her part. Squinting at him, she croaks out, "No."
But she doesn't feel worse, exactly, so that's probably the best she can hope for.