abraxaslogs | [ dec / open ] what even is the point of december without christmas presents?

[ This is a shitty, stupid holiday.

That is Julie's main takeaway from the whole thing -- that, for a week, this dumb world loses the only thing it has going for it (magic) and apparently everyone else loses all their common sense. But then again, what does she really expect from a world where the Halloween celebrations include raising murderous zombie ghosts for no apparent reason?

She's far more disappointed in her asshole, so-called "family". Once they'd heard about the travel, all of them insisted on taking a wagon back to the castle for the week. The castle. Where Julie and Flagg had been imprisoned, where they all fled from. Fuck, just last month, they were cleaning up the aftermath of torture committed at the castle! What has to be wrong in their heads to make them think that going back to that hellhole is such a great idea?

As retribution, Julie has taken every one of Lloyd's belongings and dumped it in a pile on Nadine's bed. Half of them are still wet from washing. Lacking similar leverage over Susan, she instead steals all of the pillows from Susan's room. This very mature woman is learning to do magic based on her emotions. It's fiiiiiiiine.

She curtly explains to the innkeeper that it's a religious holy holiday for her, and that she cannot be disturbed until December 26th, then she locks herself in her room, burrows under the duvet and goes to the Horizon.

In her domain, the partiers and music remain Christmas season festive, if perhaps slightly more aggressive, but Julie herself retreats into the loft at the back, where she puts on a ballgown and cowboy boots (which, believe it or not, she does have a history of doing in times of high stress), then goes outside on the balcony.

In the back of the empty warehouse, a wooden fence appears. Atop it is a series of empty cans. This is a scene that anyone from the boondocks of America should be familiar with.

Standing on the bottom two rungs of the railing, she raises her beloved shotgun (Winchester SXP, 12 gauge, pump action, walnut stock) and begins calmly shooting the cans down with a series of bangs and pings. They automatically replenish themselves once knocked to the ground, and she has an entire box of shells resting on the rail next to herself.

By the next day, she's calmed down quite a bit. She's still upset, but manageably so, and this is reflected in substantially less violent activities throughout the day. Though she's not ready to leave the confines of her jewel-toned imaginary home, she instead occupies herself with decorating several more Christmas trees throughout -- the ones from downstairs are long finished -- and carefully constructing a truly mediocre gingerbread house. The kind that implies that she's done this before, but only twice. It stands, but the decorating is not impressive.

Downstairs, the elaborate double doors to the loft stairs remain open to visitors. Unless you are Nadine, Lloyd or Susan, in which case they will lock and refuse to open. Because Julie is Big Time Angry.

On the actual 25th, Julie does the only thing she can think to do, which is create the kind of Christmas dinner that someone raised in a huge extended family from the middle of nowhere would have. It's downstairs in the club, on a series of tables pushed together. There's a honey ham, a deep-fried turkey (she can remember two different house fires caused by them in her childhood), several varieties of potatoes and casseroles. Baskets of rolls and biscuits dot the tables, as do smaller dishes of cranberry sauce -- both real and canned -- and dressing. A separate set of tables holds the desserts she remembers her mother and aunts spending weeks making: sugar cookies, gingerbread men, a Yule log cake complete with meringue mushrooms and bits of decorative holly. Cobbler, multiple varieties of pie. A bowl of individually wrapped chocolate liquor bottles. Winter punch and mulled wine. The only thing missing is eggnog, because Julie specifically hates eggnog and finds it disgusting.

It's all free for the taking. ]

Edited 2021-12-21 18:57 (UTC)

[ The reverberating bang noises, heard even through the drums of the music at the club, draw Ciri closer with some alarm. And then there are the tinny ping noises that only serve to confuse her further. What the fuck is Julie doing in there?

It's the Horizon, so she's probably okay. She can do or undo anything here, as they all can. Julie is most likely not exploding or anything. But--

Well. Best go check, right? ]

Julie?

[ Ciri calls, approaching through the warehouse. She spots the fence, of course, and the things on top of it, but is still startled enough to jump and reach for her sword when the next bang sounds much louder. ]

[ Ciri manages to call her name at precisely the moment Julie fires again, sending one of the cans far enough to hit the wall and bounce back. It automatically disappears and resets itself on the fence. The sound drowns Ciri out and Julie doesn't look back.

Up on the balcony, she pauses for a moment to reload and crack a new can of beer -- Bud Light, as it is only proper to drink cheap, shitty beer directly from the can whilst one engages in the time-honored tradition of using a firearm to work through one's anger. The image and activity is so engrained in her mind that the cans on the ground around her are the old red and silver ones from her childhood, instead of the blue ones that were sold by the time she could drink.

Tossing a spent shell over her shoulder, she raises her gun and fires again, nailing the next can in line. ]

[ Gods, it is loud. Ciri grimaces, speeding up her walk across the empty room that leads up to Julie's apartment. She can see Julie on the balcony now, holding some sort of-- weapon. It begins to make sense, the bang and the clang and the little metal targets flying off the fence. Projectiles. It doesn't take her long to piece together that what Julie is holding is similar to the pistols she's seen in passing in Cadens, around the outpost. Something like the thing Nadine had tried to describe to her, but bigger?

As she approaches, Ciri is also able to recognize the targets -- and what Julie is holding when she's not aiming. Alcohol, served in the funny metal containers like at Sam's party (what feels like half a lifetime ago).

The details might be unfamiliar to her, but Ciri can tell what's going on here. She's participated in the same activity many times, herself.

Drink and violence make a fine pair for a distraction when thinking is too much.

This time, Ciri waits for Julie to take another drink first. ]

Aim's good. Who're you imagining?

[ It's less that thinking is too much so much as thinking makes her even angrier, because she can't think about anything else, and she can't scream and shout at them any more, and she's left alone in Nott (they fucking know and they still left her alone), and all she knows for sure is that if she's not firing a fake gun, she's going to stab someone with a real knife.

She doesn't handle negative feelings well.

Looking back over her shoulder, Julie holds up a listless hand in greeting, shotgun tucked under her arm. She sets her beer down on the railing as she turns to face Ciri, popping the spent casing out and throwing it into the pile with the beer cans. It makes her face feel hot to even try and call out their names, so instead she simply calls down to Ciri. ]

C'mon up, you can hear the whole stupid fuckin' story.

[ Oof. Long story, apparently. Ciri solemnly nods, and goes around to the stairs leading up to Julie's loft, quickly running up them and around to the balcony. She knows where it is; it doesn't take long before they're both out there, Ciri staring at the lined up, empty cans with a faint crease in her brow. ]

You okay?

[ While Ciri comes upstairs, Julie takes down two more cans, then plops irritably down into a large, wicker egg chair a few steps away. Her skirt billows around her as she draws her legs up with her, shotgun cradled to her body like a security blanket. She picks at the toe of her boot with a scowl. ]

No. They fuckin' ran off to Thorne, to the castle, all of 'em. After everythin', they all fuckin' left me to go hang out at Torture Central, like they ain't seen what happened to someone a billion times stronger than they are.

[ There is another beer in her hand. She is aware that there are quite a few threads to unravel within what she just said, but her thoughts are so muddled and agitated that she just can't make herself clarify any of them. ]

[ Ciri only has moments to take in Julie's state from closer now that she's on the same level with her -- the exceedingly poofy dress paired with big boots, all the cans of ale strewn about, the way she grips her weapon and scowls. And then she's launching into an explanation, and Ciri has to keep up.

Her frown matches Julie's. ]

Who went to Thorne?

[ Immediately, she thinks of Alina. Running off in the middle of the fucking night without a word to anyone, trusting a complete stranger over people who cared about her. Ciri tamps down the anger before it can tear open that wound again. ]

...Nadine?

[ She's the only one Ciri actually knows who lives with Julie, though she's picked up the names of some others, vaguely. The thought seems so incongruous to the image she has of Nadine, though.

Ciri steps closer, reaching for one of the beers Julie grabbed. ]

Let's trace back a few paces. What happened?

[ Julie makes a irritated scoffing noise, takes an angry gulp from the can she's holding. Her voice is damn near venomous. ]

Yep, and she took Lloyd and Susan with her. [ She doesn't think Ciri knows either of them, but it doesn't matter. The point is that the four of them are supposed to be a unit and they ran off to get themselves killed.

Slumping further into the chair, she jams her arms crossed over her chest, barrel of the gun resting against her cheek. Every inch of her just looks stiff and furious. ]

All three of 'em got in a goddamn wagon and left for Thorne. Said they wanted to see people who stayed up there, that the stupid festival would be good cover. Some shit about spyin'. I told 'em that they're all idiots just askin' to get their skin torn open and I ain't here for that shit.

[ Ciri stares for a moment, processing everything Julie's saying. She thinks Geralt mentioned the name Lloyd in passing, someone who also lives with Nadine and Julie; she's not familiar with Susan, but it doesn't matter. It's not important who they are or that Ciri know their names or face. It's important who they are to Julie, that she'd trusted them. And they'd broken that trust.

On some misguided jaunt into Thorne. After what had happened to Geralt. Of course, Ciri knows that what had happened was more directly linked to the plays with immediate involvement, but the fact stands that the queen, at least, doesn't seem to care about breaching protocol or even foreign borders. There's less risk to Nadine, most likely, but is whatever risk that's present worth the potential outcome?

Ciri cracks open her own can of beer (she's learned what the can is, by now), and crouches by the chair that seems to be swallowing Julie up in her big fluffy skirts, like an angry feather duster. ]

You're right. They are all idiots. And they shouldn't have left you like that.

But if they're going to spy-- what are they even trying to find out?

[ Surely Nadine has a good reason. She seems reasonable. Right? ]

[ "Angry feather duster" is not a terrible description of what she looks like, particularly given the way the barrel of her shotgun sticks up above her head. Just a red and pink duster left to get drunk in an oversized chair.

Draining the rest of her beer, Julie huffs and tries to push through the haze of fury and alcohol surrounding her memory of her argument with them. Three separate arguments, really, each louder and more incensed than the last. Only Nadine had really given much actual reasoning -- Lloyd felt obligated to go protect her, and Susan mostly just seemed to be digging her heels in for the sake of it. Although it's possible that the latter two simply didn't get their logic across over Julie's increasingly panicked rage. ]

She [ there's a hiccup and Julie does not clarify that she means Nadine ] said that she wants to know if what happened to Geralt is a threat to us. And that she has friends still at the castle who don't use the Horizon, and she wants to see 'em. Oh, and she thinks she's gonna learn somethin' about the Singularity 'cause the Dimming's a big deal, but who fucking cares. I told her, I tried to tell her. I tried to tell her that Geralt's tripped up in some bullshit game those royal motherfuckers are playin', that they didn't want him for no reason, and I told her that she can't trust no one who stayed there anyway, so she shouldn't talk to anyone left back there, 'specially if they won't even meet her in the Horizon. And I don't fuckin' know what she thinks she's 'bout to learn about the Singularity. They're gonna be there for like, two days. Not long enough to spy, too long to risk it. They ain't fuckin' listen to me.

[ At a certain point, she has become more skirt than person as she curls in on herself, the layers of tulle and crinoline puffing up further around her. Her voice turns muffled, softer, more hurt than angry. ] They weren't never supposed to leave me. Flagg left me, and now they did, and that wasn't the deal.

[ Setting her drink aside on the ground, Ciri leans closer, letting Julie get everything off her chest. Her hand settles on Julie's knee (or an approximation of where her knee might be under all those layers of semi-sheer cloth), an attempt at reassurance.

This isn't just frustration at her friends being foolhardy. The pain and betrayal of being left behind, not listened to, by the people she is supposed to be able to rely on, feels raw and heavy in the air; it is a pain Ciri understands too well. Her fingers squeeze, gently. ]

Fuck them.

[ There's nothing else to say right now. She isn't going to tell Julie that they'll probably be back in no time, that they probably hadn't meant it that way; Ciri has no idea if any of those things are true, and she doesn't believe in lying to someone with platitudes. Julie is angry. She should be angry. She has every right.

Ciri will listen, instead. Sometimes, that is better than anything one could try to say. ]

[ There is a long moment of silence, and then from somewhere in the ball of skirt comes a small voice. There is a heavy note of bitter resignation now, as if she has decided something but is upset at the decision she had to make. ]

Back home, when Captain Trips hit, I was the only survivor in my whole county. It wasn't a big place, only a couple thousand people, but I was the only one. I went to every house. The hospital, hotels, the college, anywhere that people might've been. I went out to the farms outside of town. It took days. I got cuts from breakin' into people's windows and doors. I didn't care who I found, I just wanted to find someone. But all I found were bodies. Bloated, rotting bodies, some of 'em barely looked human anymore. Even the dogs and cats and horses were all dead. I know y'all see a lot of death in your world, but before that, I had never seen a dead person, and all of a sudden there were thousands of 'em. In the summer, in Kansas. The sun started bakin' 'em before they even died. In the beginnin', I tried to cover 'em up with sheets and towels, whatever I could find. But there were just so many, and it took so much time... When I realized there wasn't anyone else left, I wound up in this store, we call 'em big box stores. They're pretty much what they sound like, a whole big building that's just one room, a box, and they sell a little bit of everythin'. Food, clothes, books, furniture, whatever. All the stores had shut down when people started gettin' sick, so it was still clean. I didn't see another person for a whole month. I started seein' people that weren't there, in the corner of my eyes. I could hear 'em whisperin' all night. Other people finally got there, these two guys. One of 'em was deaf and the other was slow, like in the head. They wouldn't take me with them, left me all alone again.

[ There's another pause, and she takes an audible drink from the can she's still holding, having simply replenished the beer rather than reach for another one. Her words are just slightly slurred around the edges, the indication of someone who has drank a lot of alcohol in a short period of time, and really, she doesn't want to be sober. She rarely does, but she especially doesn't want it now. ] Then I started havin' these dreams. I mean, turns out we all did, everyone left alive. There were two dreams you could have -- either you dreamed of a beautiful king in the desert, surrounded by wolves, or else you dreamed of an old witch in a cornfield. I guess maybe some people had dreams of both, but I only ever met the king. He told me his name was Randall Flagg, and he wanted to save me. That if I would come with him to Vegas, he would make sure I was never alone again, not even for a minute. So I walked all the way to him, over the mountains and the desert. A thousand miles, give or take. Some others came from further. And when I got there, he was exactly like I'd dreamed him. Lloyd was his number two, runnin' the city, and his queen was on her way, he said, to help him rule. Nadine. And it was perfect, for those couple of months. Then it all fell apart, and we all wound up here.

[ Her voice wavers, just barely, almost not at all. She doesn't have tears to cry over it anymore, at least not in front of anyone else, and honestly, the last time she let herself cry, she wound up with a surrogate dad-slash-therapist. She doesn't want to make Ciri take on the same load that Sam picked up. ]

But Flagg was here too, and he told me See? I'm still with you, so it was okay. He disappeared before Halloween, but I told myself it was still fine, Nadine was here and she had sworn to fulfill his promises. To take care of us. Lloyd too, he's always promised to take care of me. And they both know, they know that I don't need that much from 'em. I was the one who got us on horses to Nott, I was the first one to get a job and make money, I was the one out makin' friends and learnin' about everyone else. I saved Susan's fuckin' life. All they had to do was stay with me. But when push come to shove, here I am, all alone again. At least everyone else had the decency to not abandon me at Christmas.

[ With a heavy sigh, she lets her head flop back into the back cushions of the chair, blinks up at the wicker curved over her. Downstairs, without her knowledge, several of the manifested people on the dance floor collapse and begin to wail, drowned out by the ever-present music. She will never know that it happened. ] It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Edited (i am so sorry for this wall of text) 2022-01-07 22:07 (UTC)

[ the week of the Dimming, Horizon / OPEN ]

shooting practice.

sorry to geralt for the migraine he definitely just started to feel

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fried turkey time.

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