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

[ Julie's domain is always easy to find and enter. It is, after all, a nightclub -- designed to be seen and to lure, with the promise of music and alcohol and fun, all lurid pink neon and glittering crystal features. The doors, open whenever Julie is in the building, usually let faint bass throb over the entirety of the Horizon, and the ambient noise of roughly a hundred manifested partiers occasionally floats out from within.

Today, however, it seems to be replaced mostly by... bells. Jingle bells. Those of equivalent Earths might recognize some of the more classic songs, "White Christmas" and "Santa Baby", but there's plenty of other interesting Christmas songs in the playlist too. Just in case you can't possibly take another round of "Last Christmas".

Inside, while the ordinary trappings of the club (crystal chandeliers, lush booths, a truly fascinating amount of neon lighting) are still there, things have begun to take a distinctly more festive direction. Enormous wreaths hang on the doors, and it only gets more intense from there; holly garlands drape along nearly every horizontal surface, wrap around decorative statues of reindeer and snowmen that never melt. Twinkling lights, in both white and color, wind all along the ceiling, strategically hung from the rafters and down the walls. Sparkling snowflakes hang down as well, alongside weighty paper decorations, fanciful flowers and fans, in every hue.

And there are trees everywhere.

Trees, towering twenty-footers, not just evergreen but in pink and white and gold too, stand proud throughout the room, in corners and in the center of open spaces. They're all covered in ornaments, jewel-hued baubles and cleverly blown objects, tinsel and ever more lights. Despite the unnatural shade of some of the trees, they all smell strongly of fresh balsam and... is that a hint of peppermint? Many of the trees have a plethora of gifts underneath them, wrapped in coordinating wrapping paper

This has not, however, been done without a lot of effort. Throughout the room, there are little piles, empty boxes and tangled cords, ripped up pieces of paper stuck to discarded glue guns. Nails and tiny spare lightbulbs dot the floor where they haven't been picked up. Empty boxes lie in nests of wrapping paper, waiting to be properly decorated and set under the trees that still have bare floor below them.

Continuing to the back half of the club, things get a little more construction site -- there are stacks of wood, even more electrical cords, hammers and power drills. A half-built manger next to a single sleeping lamb and a plastic baby. And, at the loft, a twenty-foot ladder at the balcony railing, which appears to have its own star at the top.

Julie, barefoot and still in her default gold dress, glinting and certainly not winter-appropriate, is at the highest rung of the ladder, affixing more garland to the railing. The greenery and lights are draped around her like a stole, and she has nails and hooks held between her lips. And she does not appear at all to be concerned about being two stories in the air. While she has not yet dressed to match all this sudden holiday cheer, she does have on a headband made of jinglebells and holly, which rings out every time the ladder shakes unsteadily underneath her.

She never reacts to the wobbling. ]

[ When Julie heads over to Kaer Morhen, it is genuinely not in the hopes of finding anyone home. The only person she intends to visit is always there, sitting at the gates, and he knows exactly what it means when the sparkly collar appears around his neck, correlated to her very presence.

Julie is in the process of turning that wolf into a domesticated lapdog.

In truth, she knows this is a very stupid thing that she absolutely should not be doing, but between the fact that she has definitely known multiple people with wolf-dogs and the fact that this the Horizon, she figures the worst that will actually happen to her is Geralt gets pissy. Which, whatever, he can just make a new wolf if it's such a problem.

As she approaches, the wolf stands at attention, clearly happy to see her, and with good reason: she's holding an absolutely enormous tomahawk steak, the kind of thing that would cost a hundred bucks easy back home, and it's even cooked (just barely rare). Does a wolf care if a steak is cooked? Of course not. But does this wolf get cooked steak? Yes, because he is loved.

Reaching the wolf, she plunks right down on the ground and opens her arms for it, cooing as she feeds it, still holding the bone in one hand while she scratches behind his ears with the other. ]

Ohh yes, hello baby, good boy, yes. Look at that, you hungry today? You want a baked potato too?

[ She might be trying to butter the wolf up. ]

[After work, and after scrubbing off the pungent scent of herbs and oils from her skin, Nadine seeks out Julie. She's promised the younger woman some instruction in the foundations of magic use, and she's not going to forget about that. She's still certain that Julie would excel at the sort of magic most commonly practiced in Nott, and that she can teach her.

Despite her first impressions - which were, admittedly, poor - Nadine has come to know Julie in the last few months. She recognizes now that the young woman is not too far removed from herself and those she finds kinship with. Rough youth, difficult life, hurt enough times that walls have been built. Only where Nadine's walls are smooth and placid, Julie's are spiked and armed. Just a different sort of defense, built for the same purpose. But under those defenses is a fierce, clever, caring woman that Nadine is pretty sure could take on the world if she wanted.

There is so much potential in Julie and all she wants to do is help her realize it. It isn't fair that no one has, in all the other woman's life. Julie deserves better. So she knocks on the door to the room Julie and Lloyd share, dressed in her usual white chemise and pale blue kirtle, and calls through it.]

Julie? Do you have some free time?

[ 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)

[ open in the Horizon ]

Ciri