[ open ] i just want a good night

[princessvegas]

Who: Julie Lawry
When: early July-ish
Where: Horizon, Cadens
What: resurrection. and also croissants.
Warnings: language, others marked

Comments

[carmesi]

( 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.

[princessvegas]

[ 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.

[carmesi]

( 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?

[princessvegas]

[ 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.