[ open ] HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA (not you abraxas)

[princessvegas]

Who: Julie + Dean + open
When: July 4
Where: Julie's club in the Horizon
What: June sucked, it's time to party patriotically 🇺🇸 Dean's invite here 🇺🇸 no, the Americans don't care that it's not America, they're doing it anyway (just like real life)



[ Approaching Julie's club on this particular day, you can tell from the outside that something is going on. The pink neon has been swapped for red, white and blue, the pink carpet and velvet ropes changed to the good ol' stars and stripes. The front doors are wreathed in an enormous and very patriotic balloon arch, and they're wide open. American flags hang across the walls of the entranceway, and the music is what most Americans would recognize as July 4th standards.

Inside, Julie has obviously been incredibly hard at work, and the club has undergone its most massive changes to date. The entire first floor has been modified -- where there was once a dance floor and seating, there is now an Olympic-sized in-ground pool, dotted with a variety of American themed floats and balls. The glittering quartz flooring is all gone, now replaced with lush lawn grass, and sensible concrete wrapped around the pool itself. At one end, a truly enormous inflatable water slide can send you flying down from fifty feet in the air, just to land with a splash in the water.

How has she managed that height? Well, where there's ordinarily a roof, there is now only open sky, blue and picturesque with puffy white clouds lazily floating by. The sun is bright but never too hot, and incapable of burning anyone's skin. The only thing between the sky and the building are dozens of red, white and blue decorations, strung from the balconies to overhang the pool.

Don't worry if you weren't exactly prepared for a pool party! Julie, queen of not only parties but also wardrobes, has helpfully converted the warehouse part of the building for this very problem. Racks and racks of bathing suits and beach towels are available for use, with every conceivable style up for grabs. Trunks, one-pieces, string bikinis, banana hammocks, she's got it all! While many match the red, white and blue theme, all types of colors and patterns are present. Grab a towel from a stack, hop in one of the striped changing cabanas, then get to swimming. Don't forget your red, white or blue flip-flops and sunglasses!

Hungry? Well, Dean has you covered. On the lawn, Julie has provided him with a wet dream-inducing grill and every imaginable kind of meat to cook on it. Also in this section are tables and tables full of snacks, desserts and drinks, along with the full bar that is always present. The bartender, Steven, is always ready to make anything you could want. (He is dressed in what is best described as "Sexy Uncle Sam" -- in that it's a star-spangled wrestling singlet, a glittery red white and blue bow tie, an Uncle Sam hat and a small, fake white beard.) Plenty of picnic tables are present to eat at.

As the afternoon passes, the sky will gradually darken until it's black and clear, with a wide expanse of stars, the way Julie remembers seeing night from the empty prairies of Kansas. Between Dean and Julie, there is no shortage of fireworks; as proud Americans raised in places where there's little else to do, they are experts at blowing shit up in creative ways. The tables disappear and are replaced with blankets on the grass, meant to be laid on and shared. An incredible fireworks show rounds the night out, and only once the sky is calm again are people expected to leave.

Or pass out. Getting completely wasted is also an Independence Day tradition. ]

Comments

ᴡɪɴᴄʜᴇsᴛᴇʀ → ᴏᴘᴇɴ

[righteously]

( Parked at the edge of Julie's lawn is a shiny, black muscle car. A couple dozen yards away, its owner stands at the grill sporting a novelty apron, beer in one hand and a set of tongs in the other. He's got a small speaker set up nearby so that the Official Fourth of July Playlist sounds nice and clear even outside.

Dean Winchester is a barbeque dad. We're talking sunglasses, Bermuda shorts, an unnecessarily rapt dedication to cooking meat over fire, the whole nine.

For what it's worth to anybody who grabs a burger, a hot dog, a steak, or anything from him really: they're freakin' fantastic. Dean's a hell of a cook.

Later on, he can be found down where Julie's set up her badass fireworks to be launched. Lighter in hand, he sets them off one after another with way too much dedication to technique. Once in a while, during the finale, or after, he can be spotted with his hands in his pockets and a bittersweet smile on his face. )

[frontlinetitties]

[Turns out Gideon's idea of festive attire is pretty much the same as any other kind, but glad rags aside, she's here and she's ready to party. And hey, she knows what she's about. First stop is the barbecue, and she's quick to greet Dean with a crooked smile.]

Yo, grill daddy. Lay it on me.

[She holds out her plate with sparking eagerness-- a girl needs her protein if she wants to stay swole, and it takes a lot to maintain six feet of solid muscle. Magical Horizon protein totally counts.]

[righteously]

( And along comes GI Jane, who looks like she could snap his neck with her thighs and make him say thank you ma'am. None of which he says, but a shadow of a ghost of it is written in the way his eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch for a split second.

Respect.

But anyway, onto more important things: m e a t. )

What's your poison?

( He asks, gesturing absently around his array of Burning Meat Product with the tongs in his hands. )

I got steaks, dogs, burgers, wings, brats. Just about every part of the buffalo over here.

[frontlinetitties]

[She thinks she sees something there, the fleeting shadow of it visible in the angles of his face, but whether she correctly identifies his feelings is anyone's guess. She cocks him a crooked smile that suggests she might have the gist of it though, stands a little taller. But then she's glancing around at the charred delights arrayed before her eyes. Seriously, her mouth is watering just looking at it.]

Fuuuuck, this is quite the spread. Would it be too presumptuous of me if I were to say one of everything?

[She doesn't know what half this stuff is, but it smells good and it looks good, and she's willing to bet she'll like it.]

[righteously]

( That question earns her the most serious look he's capable of giving. He points at her sternly with his Meat Tongs, and gravely informs her: )

That's the only right answer, and don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

( Congratulations, Gideon wins at Cookout.

Behold: meat. He starts piling it on her plate — a perfectly well-done steak, one gorgeously grill-lined hot dog and burger patty, and a chicken wing for garnish.

Temporary new favorite person at the party, good job. )

[frontlinetitties]

[There's just a fraction of a moment where the hard expression he wears throws her for a loop. Has her blinking her lambent eyes at him, wondering whether she said something wrong or stupid (a common enough occurrence, she knows). But then he answers, and she flashes him a big, crooked, half-relieved grin.]

Fuck, yeah.

[She says, as he piles the delicious-looking feast onto her plate. All the crazy shit that has happened in her life is almost worth it to have brought her to this one moment.]

Man, this smells so fucking good. It really makes me wanna go back in time and tell Past Gideon that shit will get better, you know?

[ordinar]

[The weird thing about the Horizon is that it can look closer to real life than the world outside this pocket of magic. The neon sign buzzing outside the club, the swimming pool boasting a water slide, the drinks served in red (and white and blue) plastic cups, the music floating from the speaker — all of it rings more familiar to Wilhelm than the archaic trappings of Castle Thorne.

The car draws his attention right away. He circles around it with an admiring eye before approaching the man standing guard at the grill.]

Cool car. Is it yours?

[A quick portrait of Wilhelm: he's dressed in a polo, shorts, and fresh white sneakers, all of the kind that could make one reasonably suspect that he's set foot on a yacht before. His hand is wrapped around a drink that he definitely doesn't look old enough for, if American law had jurisdiction here.]

[righteously]

( Oho, see now that's one thing Dean misses — it's been a damn minute since anybody's had a chance to see his car, actually recognize it as a car, and appreciate it for being one of the finest specimen of its species. Dean seems immediately pleased and a little approving. )

She sure is.

( Congratulations, Billy. You just earned yourself two wieners.

Or other meat equivalent. To that end, he points at the grill with his Meat Fork. )

What'll it be, young man?

[ordinar]

Wilhelm.

[That first, so he doesn't have to be young man-ed. No, he absolutely will not respond to Billy — nothing against nicknames, it's just that it wouldn't even register that you were referring to him.]

Hot dog is fine. Thanks.

[While grill master Dean plates that up, he returns his attention to the car. The man seemed plenty pleased by his interest. Wilhelm similarly finds a degree of comfort in discussing the pleasures of modern life with someone who actually knows what the hell he's talking about.]

So did you have a car like that back home? Or is it, like, a dream car?

[righteously]

( Well would you look at that. Billy really is getting two hot dogs. They're placed on a paper plate that he offers out like a gold star sticker. )

She's all mine back home.

( Said with the pride of a father announcing his daughter just got into Yale or something. )

Miss her every damn day. Makes me weep every time I have to jump on a stupid friggin' horse, I'm not even kidding.

( Yes he is, but only a little. God, he's so tired of freaking horses. )

[ordinar]

[It's his lucky day. Wilhelm accepts the questionable-meat-product laden plate and, as he lends a sympathetic ear to Dean's wistful sighing, ferries it to the nearest table, where a small mountain of buns and a row of condiments await. Setting his drink down — but not before tipping back a quick gulp — he goes about completing each hot dog with a generous squirt of ketchup and mustard. A sigh, a shake of his head.]

Yeah, I bet a horse is a major downgrade.

[A beat, then as if answering a question that wasn't asked:]

My brother drove a Ferrari.

[Weirdly, his tone isn't boastful. This is just a fact, shared with the earnestness of someone hoping to connect over common ground — hoping to say the right thing to unlock approval.]

[righteously]

( Alright, he was already picking up on some Prep School vibes from this kid based on the polo and the crisp white kicks, but that last little factoid pretty much cements it. He visibly pauses, taken aback and ever so faintly incredulous, before he plows himself back on track. )

A Ferrari?

( He echoes, a split mix of impressed and ever so faintly disturbed, the way only people from deep poverty are when confronted with signs of abundant wealth. )

What, are you guys like the Vanderbilts or something?

[ordinar]

[He has the awareness to look somewhat self-conscious for this embarrassment of wealth, even if he's late to the realization that most people can only dream of owning such a car. (I mean, it's one banana, Dean, what could it cost? 200 kronor?) Involuntarily, his mind turns back to Simon's pointed comment on that first day of class: we all know who this country's biggest welfare recipients are.

He'd started on the first hot dog, and as he finishes chewing that bite he fusses with his hair.]

I...don't know who that is.

[—Is all he can think to say in response.]

But yeah. A Ferrari.

[righteously]

( What in the Monopoly Money hell is a kronor? Is that even a real currency? What's the exchange rate? In exact, real-people bananas, how much potassium is in a kronor?

You know what? Doesn't matter, he doesn't wanna know.

What's this kid, like, sixteen? As knee-jerk as it is to want to be a dick to the rich, he checks himself before that slips. Tucks it away, and opts instead to bob his head a little to telegraph the fact that he's impressed. )

That's pretty awesome.

( You go, Glen Coco. )

You want my advice? Whenever you get home and Christmas time rolls around, tell your folks you want something American. Can't go wrong with a Mustang or a 'Cuda. Way more badass, trust me.

[ordinar]

[He's over here still wondering who the hell the Vanderbilts are. The painfully Gen Z conclusion he draws is that they must be roughly equivalent to the Kardashians, but, like...for people born last century.

Anyway, sixteen is a fair guess, though his manner is pretty restrained for a teenage boy. For example, in the handful of minutes that they've been talking, he hasn't yet shoved the hot dog in its entirety down his gullet. Endless reminders of manners have left their mark.]

Yeah, sure. [He laughs and nods along with Dean's suggestion. He could be persuaded.] Except I'd have to wait to actually take it out for a drive. You have to be 18 in Sweden.

[At this very minute in some universe's version of America, a right wing pundit is complaining about freedom-hating, socialism-embracing Europe.]

[righteously]

( Please dear god ask Dean if the Vanderbilts are like the Kardashians. Watch as all of his hope for the Youths dies here and now, on the spot — and then immediately after, watch him realize they have more in common than he's comfortable and hate it. All of it. Everything.

In terms of shoving hot dogs down one's gullet... Dean, the internally still sixteen-year-old boy, does in fact do exactly that while Wilhelm talks. At least one person here has manners.

He pulls a disgusted face at the driving age. With one incredulous cheek still puffed up full of meat-bread: )

What the hell, are you serious?

[ordinar]

[Call him Vanderbilt again and just see what happens...

In answer to Dean's horrified expression, Wilhelm just shrugs as he washes down hot dog with whatever the hell concoction is in his cup. Speaking of things he's not old enough to do legally.]

It's not that bad. You can get around without a car no problem.

[Says someone who has mostly ever traveled via chauffeured car. Or via the passenger seat of the aforementioned Ferrari. This is the same kid who set foot on a public bus for the first time just this year and tried to pay his fare with a credit card. But technically, he's not wrong.]

Besides, the view's not bad from the passenger seat.

[righteously]

( He looks wholly, entirely unconvinced. )

You poor, brainwashed baby Beiber.

( He muses with the utmost gravity one man can muster in the face of such injustice. )

Screw universal healthcare. You guys almost had me fooled.

[ordinar]

[Judging by his expression, he's more aggrieved by the comparison to Justin Bieber than the higher legal driving age of his home country. But because this is absolutely not the hill he plans to die on, Wilhelm just cracks a grin.]

Then I guess it's a good thing that I'm an honorary American tonight.

[He raises up his next hot dog in a mock toast.]