abraxaslogs | [ open ] i just want a good night

[ For nearly three years, one corner of the Horizon has had a constant neon glow, a hot pink that illuminates the ground and air. The pulsing beat of dance music sends a thrum through the body when close to the space — steady and regular enough to use as a directional. The building that emits both light and sound has been largely unchanging throughout its existence, always a sleek concrete box with huge wooden doors, their handles shaped like rising clouds of butterflies.

The swooping cursive sign on the front, still the same bright neon but smaller than might be expected, simply says Julie's.

And then, about a month and a half ago, it all abruptly went dark.

It didn't disappear, didn't crumble the way that the domains of the vanished Summoned so often do. The building next door, a wobbly-looking white tower, remained open and lit. But the club that has always been Julie's appears as if it just closed one day, sealed itself up like a vault. The doors locked, the music disappeared. Those who've visited before know that there are dozens of partiers who seemingly live inside, but no noise leaks under the door. The silence was eerie, almost haunting, for a place that had been so lively only weeks ago.

And one day, just as suddenly as it had gone quiet, the entire place roars back to life.

But not exactly the same.

Where the two buildings were once sitting on the same concrete paved lot before, now they appear to have been dropped directly into a field of wildflowers. They rise from the meadow in a cacophonous dichotomy between unrestrained nature and cold modern architecture. Neon lights flowers and butterflies instead of a sidewalk; the path of pink velvet ropes is barely visible above the grass. The library building's entrance, an open replica of the Singularity's shape, is lit in its own halo of golden luminescence.

Anyone who fights through the greenery to enter the club might notice some changes there too, provided they've visited in the past. The music, while still loud and bass-heavy, danceable, has taken a distinctly softer turn. The lights are less reliant on warm tones, instead veering toward blues and purples — the neon refracts off the chandeliers and the gold finishes of the furniture. Julie's resident partiers are present and beautiful as ever, but many of them seem to have painted-on tears of glitter and crystals under their eyes. The cooler lights flash around them in the dark of the dancefloor.

The welcome remains relatively unchanged. Steven the bartender, his smile bright in comparison to the darkness, greets everyone by name, regardless of whether he or Julie has ever met them. The drinks he presents are beautiful and delicious, and always the favorite of whoever he's presenting them to, even when that favorite doesn't necessarily make sense in the environment. Any of the tiny fantastical animals that Julie owns are liable to be running around underfoot; the black unicorn is particularly feisty and prone to charging at people's ankles and shins.

Julie herself is usually on the upper floor, alone on a white leather couch. Often, she's simply laid out on it, her stiletto heels digging into the cushions as she looks blankly over the rest of the club, lost in thought. In the Horizon, it isn't so obvious that she has been suffering, at least not physically. Her face and body haven't slimmed, her eyes haven't grown dull with melancholia. There's no flour or butter caked under her nails, no sweat on her hairline or tear tracks on her cheeks. Her voice isn't hoarse from disuse and sobs stifled into a duvet.

She can pass for normal.

As always, she seems to share a preternatural connection with her bartender, often appearing as soon as he says he'll fetch her — before he's even moved. Their motions are in sync with each other, in a way that feels natural to Julie, but doesn't necessarily come off that way to others.

But on occasion, she can be found in the back of the club, in the spine-chilling empty warehouse corner, where the music dies and the lights become sterile. She lies on the ground, one cheek on the cool concrete, motionless and quiet. There is a familiarity in the uneasy aura, the gut-churning staleness of the still air. Flecks of dust float in the air, catching the fluorescent lights above; the small windows near the ceiling are dark on the other side of the glass. A place no one else can truly understand.

Here, she is unaware of the rest of her domain. She can feel people come and go, can hear them in her head somewhere, but she won't come out on her own. It's a separate world, somewhere she's been trying to escape from for years but can't, and now it has turned into its own twisted form of comfort.

In the library building next door, a new floor appears, a new door. This one labelled MINE. ]

[ Nanaue has visited Julie's special place repeatedly during this time that it was closed. Every so often he would leave behind something that happened to be on his mind: sandcastles, snowmen, four tiered cakes, drawings of himself and butterflies.

Today is the first time he's been able to get inside though. He wanders through the doors, distracted as usual by all the lights and music, hardly noticing the change in color temperature. He greets the partygoers like old friends and yells in greeting at Steven, accepting a rancid smelling cocktail that he swallows - glass included. ]

JU-LIE ...

[ Finally he approaches the back of the club. If she notices him, she will see that he hasn't come to visit alone - he has a white, bipedal baby seal at his side, its large, black eyes like saucers. ]

[ Julie actually has yet to go outside of her club since she's been back. There was no one she felt an immediate need to visit, and certainly no one she wanted to explain herself to. She's neglected the Horizon and her connection long enough that she is still trying to readjust. So she hasn't had an opportunity to find his gifts, engulfed in wildflowers as they now surely are.

In her concrete mental prison, there is something that forever chases Julie now. A sense of blankness, of pure detachment, of derealization. And most people would probably call those things horrible, but those people don't have to remind themselves each day that their lives are real. That they always have been, even if she's the only one who can remember. This place, this empty feeling, they prove it was real, because she has felt this way before. Back then.

But she's not as completely disconnected as she has been at other moments. This is to calm the buzz in her head, which has yet to abate. She really hopes it abates. ]

Nanaue? [ Julie has known since he walked in, somewhere in the back of her brain, that he's here. She was still working herself into getting up, but she is nothing if not a consummate entertainer. The mask slips on as she rolls over, sits up propped on one arm; her makeup and hair remain pristine. ] Hey —

[ She stops, eyes clearly fixing on the... is it a seal? Why is it walking upright? Not that she's ever seen a real seal, but she's almost positive they are not capable of walking upright. ]

Uhh, you got a friend there?

[ Nanaue has been sad about Julie's absence, and had she continued to appear sad on the plain floor, he might've even had the awareness to ask about it. Instead, he falls for her mask easily, sitting himself cross-legged on the ground, watching as her gaze fixes on the seal.

Julie calls the seal a friend, and that makes him give a big belly laugh. When he stops, he points at the seal - ]

THIS BABY.

[ As though this is a helpful correction.

Baby the seal, for its part, stares at Nanaue's hand, then at Julie - and toddles forward to stop in front of her. In what is the international hand signal for either hugs or 'uppies', he holds both flippers out in her direction while Nanaue watches. ]

BABY GIVE HUG.

[ This is what Baby do. ]

[ Julie would not want to weigh Nanaue down with her own problems; it would feel too much like heaping them on a child. And even more than that, she doesn't like to expose her weaknesses to others, even those she loves. It's far too dangerous, to give people the keys to your pain.

She accepts "BABY" at face value as the creature's name, though she is still unclear why he would choose a seal as his pet(?), specifically. It is extremely cute, but it is not until it raises its flippers toward her that she fully melts — she suddenly so overwhelmed by how adorable it is that, for a fleeting instant, she can't decide whether to hold it or smash it against the floor.

Of course she goes with the former, lifting the thing and cradling it to her chest like a baby. Nanaue will have to excuse her for a moment, because she is stunned into silence by how adorable it is. She presses her nose into the plush, soft fur of its head, her eyes closed because she worries she might shed a tear. ]

[ Nanaue doesn't seem to mind at all when Julie goes silent while snuggling Baby. In fact, he might expect this sort of reaction, though he does ask to confirm: ]

NICE FEEL?

[ Baby, for its part, does not resist the hug. It emits some kind of soothing effect to everyone who partakes in its cuteness, aggressively or otherwise - although maybe in Horizon the effect itself is only because Nanaue imagines it to happen. ]

[ Julie doesn't know if this is what baby seals actually feel like, but if the real ones aren't this soft and plush, then reality is fucking wrong. For the first time in weeks, her muscles start to unwind a bit. The invisible vise around her ribs, always squeezing her lungs and heart, loosens slightly. The dull roar in her head softens.

It's the best she's felt since last year.

She doesn't peg it specifically to Baby, or at least not in a magical way. Honestly, she has no doubt that simply hugging something this incredibly precious would have the effects she's experiencing. Cuteness is a powerful thing on its own. ]

Yeah. [ Her voice is muffled into the seal's fur, and she sniffles just a tiny bit before she looks back up with a sneaky swipe at one side of her face. She keeps her hold on the creature, however, clutching Baby tightly in a way that's somehow reminiscent of both a pet and a stuffed toy.

Her legs fold in front of herself, and she looks back up at Nanaue. ] I didn't know you wanted a pet like this.

[ She didn't know he could be trusted with a pet like this, if she's frank. ]

[ Horizon!Baby seems very tolerant of and very used to this sort of handling (almost as though he was made to be squeezed). Nanaue nods enthusiastically when she gives an affirmative, and doesn't seem in any hurry to take his odd little creature back just yet. ]

EHHH... [ Did he want a pet? He shakes his head. ]

BABY NO PET. ZEEEEMER GIVE BABY!

[ And, just in case Julie doesn't know who ZEEMER is, he produces an ugly little statuette out of nowhere, placing it between them. It vaguely resembles the seal god. She can even keep it! ]

Zeemer?

[ Julie is unfamiliar with most gods. The ones she knows off the top of her head are primarily the ones who have had direct impact on the entire Summoned population (plus one that Jaskier maybe had sex with). Even after supposedly living centuries amongst them, she can't identify most of them.

The statue rises in the air, held aloft by her phantom hand, and she brings it closer to squint at it. There's no recognition that crosses her face, but she accepts this without question. Asking Nanaue for further details is a crapshoot anyway. ]

So it's Zeemer's baby? Wait, Nanaue... is there a Baby in the outside world too?

[ Nanaue offers no more explanation for Xeimar, under the assumption that his little totem did all the explaining for him. He chortles a little at the way it floats in the air, despite having seen magic so often in this year that he's been in Abraxas, it never seems to fail to amuse him. ]

BABY LIVE OUTSIDE! [ He nods, then corrects himself, just in case she thinks he is some monster that would make Baby sleep outside: ] LIVE IN HOUSE. ME, BABY, DUMB DOG.

[ Dog is soooo dumb. Nanaue had been surprised Dog was still there after they came up out of the underground!

Nanaue looks around for Julie's usual pets, then asks: ]

YOU LIVE FRIENDS OUTSIDE?

[ This is also the first time she is ever hearing of Nanaue owning a dog. Again, she is surprised that he would keep a pet rather than eat it — she can see why he would not eat a gift directly from a blobby god. Even Nanaue, bless his soul, has more sense than that. But a dog, just a regular dog?

Well, she's proud of him.

Her pets are around somewhere, but even they rarely venture with her into this part of her domain. This place triggers something in most people and creatures, a sense of uneasiness and danger carried in the stale air and the gut-clenching feeling of being alone. Julie alone had been the one to tolerate it until now, out of toxic familiarity and brokenness; Nanaue sitting here with her, now, is the longest anyone else has ever stayed. ]

No. [ She shakes her head slightly, gently petting Baby's soft back. ] They were all made here. Duke was a Christmas present to me. Rex and Villentrentenmerth came to life from statues when I touched 'em. I'd bring 'em out if I could.

[ Unfortunately, that simply does not seem to be in the cards. She's been trying to take things back into the outside world for three years now, and gotten nowhere.

But she does turn her eyes back to Nanaue with a small smile, visibly brightening just a little bit. ] But outside, I have other pets. Kajal is a moth kit, a little bunny with wings. My friend Nadine has one too, Pianko, they live in the same cage. And I have a horse, a real big one, his name is Baron. I took him from Thorne a long, long time ago.

( wanda, not someone for parties, makes her way through all the shifts and changes in julie's domain to go past steven the bartender and towards the upper floor. she has always felt welcome here, but there is a certain coldness to the place now, albeit not directed towards her. wanda thinks it's not directed at anyone, really; it seems that the domain is reflecting something more telling about the pink-haired woman that created it.

wanda sits down on the end of the white leather couch, by julie's feet. )

It's good to see that the place didn't go dark indefinitely.

( the comment is a quiet observation to note that julie's 'absence' hasn't gone unnoticed, but with so much going on—

she turns to glance down at the other woman, wondering where her thoughts are at. clearly, there's a sense of despondency that one can just see, and julie's connection with the singularity makes her more prone to wanting to be within the horizon than anywhere else.

a hand reaches out, to be placed atop julie's own, a gentle physical tug. )

Hey.

[ Julie actually mostly came back because the withdrawal was becoming unbearable, both physically and emotionally. The Horizon doesn't feel safe anymore — it feels like just another thing she loves that will be stolen away from her, yanked from under her feet the second she is comfortable enough to let her guard down. Kansas, Vegas, whatever that future was. When is she allowed to have a life that she doesn't have to keep at arm's length?

As always, there is the creeping sensation of intrusion when Wanda enters, then the slow sense of familiarity. And maybe before, Julie might have leapt to run and greet her, to play hostess. She still has the instinct to do so, somewhere deep inside herself.

But the despair has gone too deep, sunk into her bones and her blood. She's tired. Everything hurts. The buzz has returned, released from whatever cage Wanda put it in last year. Perhaps by her own pain, perhaps by repeated physical contact with the real Singularity in a short time. Julie can't really say. But it is just as loud and miserable as it was before, on top of the general malaise from pulling away from the Singularity and Horizon almost entirely.

So, instead, she stays where she is until Wanda is upstairs, until the sofa cushion sinks under her weight. With a sigh, Julie shifts to put her feet on the ground as Wanda makes contact, slowly pushing up to sit straight. A drink manifests on the small table in front of them, and Julie grabs the glass for a sip before she responds. ]

Hey.

( something ought to be said about the fact that despite julie struggling with the upkeep of her space—perhaps even herself—that she manages to have the energy within the horizon to still manifest something as simple yet complex as a drink. that much takes focus, and though wanda's worries are not yet placated, it offers a balm.

she watches as julie drinks, then sits back against the couch now that space on the couch has opened up. )

How are you doing?

( —it feels like a weak question to open with, but it's difficult to really tell, with how people portray themselves in the horizon versus what they're really like in the real world. )

I've been more tired than usual after those eight-hundred years of a shared dream. How's that been for you?

[ It's probably also worth noting — or would be, if Julie ever thought twice about these things — that even though her subconscious emotions are manifesting without her say-so, her control over the details has not waned, despite her prolonged refusal to visit the Horizon. Everything still looks and operates perfectly, down to the labels on liquor bottles and the glitter on the floor, die-cut into stars and hearts and butterflies. She has never really known how to turn that part of her off, short of intentionally forcing a closure; it's like some kind of muscle memory that she can barely remember a time before.

There's a lot she can't remember anymore.

Julie takes another drink, mostly just to have a full mouth. Her eyes flick away from Wanda, back over the club, her face cast in icy blue light as horns play over the pulsing bass beat of the music. She swallows the alcohol in her mouth. She can barely taste it over the toxically sweet venom that seeps from the fangs she hasn't learned to control yet. At least the stupid things aren't really visible unless she smiles widely. ]

I'm okay. [ The words are flat, rote. Even somewhere in her own mind, Julie knows it's useless to lie to Wanda, that the only thing standing between Wanda and the truth, the noise, the pain, is nothing more than her own restraint at meddling in the minds of others.

But the lie isn't really for Wanda, is it? The lie is for Julie, to keep her afloat in the river of her own helplessness. The lie can carry her to the next time she has her world stolen from under her very feet. The lie protects her from having to feel her own sense of insignificance. ]

Tired is a good word for it.

[ open ] i just want a good night

ii. horizon

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