abraxaslogs | [ open ] HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA (not you abraxas)

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[ open ] HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA (not you abraxas)

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. ]

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[ Geralt seems to take her explanation as it is without bothering with more questions. It answers enough. Not as if he'll ever encounter this supposed culture in the Horizon. Only one person other than Nadine has approached him on a motorbike and, well. Mm.

Dante is Dante. ]

I'll make do without the social frills.

[ Mostly, this gives him something to do that isn't training or hunting or solving yet another fucking problem on his hands. Perhaps that's the real reason he's taken such an interest.

He flips the reformed glasses idly in his hands before putting it aside. He may care little about clothes for himself so long as he doesn't look downright absurd, but on Julie? He knows what he likes to see, and that's apparent when he cocks his head at her. ] And if I invite you on a ride, will you be in similar gear?

[ No, Julie doesn't expect many bikers to show up here either, but some things just have to be done in the proper way. This is one of them.

She actually thinks Geralt would quite like most (most being a very important keyword) bikers, given their penchant for hovering at the fringes of society and dogged individualism, but she doesn't believe anyone is aiming to summon a group of Hells Angels, so she only snorts a little, rolling her eyes.

With a slight wave of her hand, the clothes disappear -- he'll find them waiting for him at Kaer Morhen -- and she laughs at his question as she comes closer to him. ]

Well, I do like my skin where it is. [ Reaching up, she wraps her arms around his neck. ] You lookin' for a fashion show?

[ Julie steps closer, arms around him, and he rests his hands on her hips. There's a moment where he just studies her, eyes lingering on her lips before he answers. ]

Are you offering?

[ Perhaps he is. And perhaps he's looking for something to do with her where they can leave behind some of the horrors they've seen. Even he can't always resist the temptation of using the Horizon as an escape. Though deep down, if he truly thinks about it, it isn't much different than the way he used to abandon the towns and villages for the solitude of the woods—whether he needed to or not.

Maybe he's always preferred to be in places that are a little apart from the world itself. ]

[ The corners of her mouth curve up under his gaze, and she tilts her head playfully to one side, feigning thoughtfulness. ] Mm, I might could be convinced. I have that whole big closet and practically no one to see any of it, seems like a waste.

[ She's joking, but it is a Problem, in her mind. She used to go through several outfits a day when she was in Vegas. What is the point of having such a magnificent wardrobe when no one is looking at it? Other than using all of her fashion-challenged friends as dress-up dolls. Which she does, frequently.

Her fingertips dip under his collar, behind his neck, her nails dragging lightly over his skin. ] You never brought back your present, neither.

I'm convincing. [ Deadpan, and deliberately not convincing at all.

He's only one person, but he's willing to be a someone to see her extensive wardrobe. Both for when she puts the clothes on and when she takes them off. Her hand slides under his shirt, against his skin, and he steps closer to her. He makes a soft noise, a little rueful. ]

Couldn't find the right time. [ Shit kept happening afterwards, one thing after another: memories, losses, more memories. More fucking losses. Nightmares. And he tends to find her in the world outside ever since she joined him in Cadens. But he's not forgotten.

He hooks his finger gently around the wyvern tooth necklace she wears. ] I will. [ Soon. It's a promise. ] Be sure you have an outfit for it.

Oh, the most convincing. Definitely. [ She smiles even through her facetiously serious agreement. Debate team champ, Geralt of Rivia.

Her stomach flutters when he touches her necklace. It's the one thing she never changes in the Horizon -- it was never really a conscious choice. She just put it on and then never took it back off. If she can ever figure out how to take things back to the real world with her, it would be the first.

Craning her neck up, she leans into him, her eyes dark and half-closed. ] And what should I be wearin' now?

[ He likes seeing it on her every time. It's a quiet, unspoken thing—the way it tends to be between them. Like how he shows up to her parties despite him typically not being one for large, loud gatherings. He doesn't mind when it's her.

A good question. His answer is not near imaginative, but he gives it anyway—a quirk to his lips that says he knows he's predictable. ] A little less.

[ He closes the distance; tilts her chin up to kiss her. The green and blue sky still shines above them, casting a gentle glow. ]

[ Her hand tangles in the hair at the nape of his neck when he kisses her, her eyelids falling closed. She has to rise onto the balls of her feet to fully reach him; it isn’t exactly unique, given their height disparity, but she likes it.

The whole thing, the lights in the sky, would be almost tritely romantic if it had been planned. But Julie really had not expected this exact path of events, so it doesn’t feel like a scene. She likes that, too —- she’s spent so much of her life setting up perfectly manipulated scenarios to get what she wants. It’s a welcome change.

Breaking away just enough to catch a breath, she looks at him through her eyelashes, reaches for his hand. ] Come inside and we’ll figure out how much less.

[ The lights make him miss home—how could he not?—and for all that he knows it isn't welcoming, that it's broken and torn, there are pieces of it he thinks she might like to see. Or at least find amusing. Perhaps another time, he might be reminded of something else to show her.

For the moment, he's no longer thinking about a continent from another sphere. She takes his hand; he lets her, following her through the doors. The space inside is pink and full of florals as it always is. He sets the bottle he's been drinking from on the nearest surface—

And then his hands are on her hips again, his back pressed against the wall. ]

[ Julie has found that she doesn't much miss her world. There are things about it that she misses -- people, foods, technology -- but that all belongs to a world that no longer exists anyway. Even the fireworks, the classically American party, it doesn't make her long to go back. None of it ever does.

She doesn't feel at home in Abraxas, but nor does she feel like she belongs back on Earth. Not her Earth, at any rate. It's a bit of an aimless, lost feeling, constantly simmering under the rest of her thoughts. Here, in the Horizon, is the only time she doesn't feel it pricking at the corners of her mind.

When he leans against the wall, she stops and laughs, lets him keep hold of her. She puts her hands on his shoulders, tilting her head to one side with a smirk. ] Thought you wanted to play dress-up.

[ It's easy to lose track of what he wants when mostly he just wants her. She's infinitely distracting.

There's a sharp exhale, something like a quiet laugh in return. He slides his hand up her bare arm. Studies her for a moment with his hand on her cheek, thumb on her jawline.

He fingers the thin strap on her shoulder. The top she wears shimmers in the dim light. ]

Shouldn't I help you take it off first? [ His expression turns teasing. Whatever she has in mind, he's interested. ] Or would you like me to close my eyes and surprise me?

[ She turns her head, presses her lips to his thumb. The idea of surprising him is too appealing to pass up, frankly, and she does still find herself drawn to the act of actually picking things out, dressing up. It's not something she had really thought much about before she came to Abraxas, where clothes suddenly became a) much less accessible, and b) much more about function than looks. Even now, with a larger wardrobe and money to afford clothing to her tastes, it still lacks the satisfaction of the ritual she's used to. Pretty underwear had turned out to be substantially more important to her than she thought it was.

Playfully, she writhes out of his grasp. ] Gimme a color and... eight minutes.

[ He lets his thumb slip between her lips, watching with lowered eyes until she slides out of his grasp. She seems taken with the notion—and he's more than willing to indulge.

He releases her, fingers lingering. Colour, hm? He gives it some thought, though not too long. There's one colour that often makes him think of her, for reasons he does not dwell deeply on. It just suits. ] Red.

[ When she's out of sight, he settles on her bed to wait—sinking into a mattress so soft it surprises him even now, plush pillows all around. He kicks off his boots in the meantime, undoes most of the buttons on his shirt. ]

[ With a soft chuckle, she disappears into her massive closet. It's really more like a room unto itself, given the size and the fact that it's split up into smaller, organized sections -- she has a whole alcove that's nothing but color-sorted sets of lingerie. Red is easily one of the largest sections, and most of the time she's given herself is spent pawing through it before she makes a choice. When she looks at herself in one of the many full-length mirrors that dot this room, she's satisfied, and that was mostly what she wanted out of all this.

She comes back out in no particular rush, though possibly with slightly more sway to her hips. Her knees press into the bed when she reaches it. ]

Hi.

[ It feels longer than a handful of minutes—impatience talking, probably. He can hear her, the shuffle of fabric and hangers, but as promised he doesn't peek. She'll find him propped up against the pillows when she emerges.

His eyes snap to her immediately. They roam over her, head to toe, taking her in as she moves closer. As her knees brush the mattress, he sits up. His hand runs along the length of her thigh, up and up and around. There's plenty of bare flesh in between the lace and ribbons—blood-red against her pale skin and hugging the curve of her hips in a way that he does not hesitate to explore.

He leans forward just enough to press his lips to her stomach. The sound he makes is soft, pleased. ] You should surprise me more often.

[ She climbs up to kneel on the bed over him, hands sliding up his chest and shoulders until they're at the sides of his neck. His skin is warm under her palms, and she leans into him. ] Mm, I usually make men take me out for the real fancy stuff. I'm already treatin' you special.

[ Which is not to say that she minds -- if anything, she just usually doesn't consider it, given that half the time, he nearly tears her clothes off anyway. And, unfortunately, Abraxas is still at least half a century from from what she would consider worthy lingerie, so her real collection is currently fairly minimal.

She dips her head to kiss him, fingers running through his hair. ]

When's your birthday?

[ His lips curl a hint. He leans back as she straddles him, fingers idly playing up and down her side.

Fair enough.

He leans up into the kiss, one hand moving to slip a thin silk strap off her shoulder. A thoughtful hum comes from his chest. It's apparent he's been asked before, that he has an answer he tends to give, if not a precise one. ] Spring. Or so.

[ He can't recall. He wants to say he remembers peonies in his younger years during his name day, but those days have faded a while ago. How much of his childhood memories from before Kaer Morhen are tumbled together with dreams that never were?

Easier not to dig too deep. Spring is suitable. ]

[ It wasn't that long ago that people in Julie's world often didn't know their own birthdate, so she doesn't find it particularly noteworthy that Geralt doesn't know. She just happens to be from a point in time where everything is relentlessly recorded -- dates and times and locations. But even within her own family, there were members old enough that such data was either never recorded or was long, long lost. Just "spring" works for her.

She makes a thoughtful noise as she frees her arm from the strap. Honestly, she associates him so closely with cold and snow that something about spring is almost surprising. Instead, she flips through her mental repository of Cosmopolitan-based zodiac knowledge. Taurus. Has to be a Taurus. There's no way in hell he's an Aries or (God forbid) a Gemini. ]

Well, now I owe you twice next year. 'Cause I wouldn't've skipped you after the others when I was doin' birthdays.

[ His eyes roam over her face, studying the wheels he thinks he can nearly see turning in her head. ] Trying to find my birth flower?

[ Which he knows nothing about, but he does know it's a thing. Flowers and gemstones.

He kisses her shoulder, up along her throat towards her jaw. Mm. Right. Celebrations. He can't recall the last time he ever had anything of the sort. Jaskier tried to convince him once, then gave up. A year ago, he'd have dismissed the notion. These days, the idea of people finding something of him to...gather for is less absurd. Somewhat. If he doesn't think about it too hard. ]

Don't bother asking Jaskier. [ Geralt made the mistake once. ] Says he's told every day he's alive is a gift. [ Little shit. ] What about yours?

Flower? [ She is, vaguely, aware that birth flowers are a thing, but like most Americans, she knows almost nothing about them. Signs and stones, she knows. Flowers and trees and such feel more like the kind of thing that would be part of a Buzzfeed listicle. Yes, she would have clicked that listicle in a heartbeat, but it's not necessarily information she would have retained. ] Nah, my people didn't use the flowers much. I don't think I even know my own. We used star signs, mostly. And stones, for jewelry.

[ With a contented sigh, she tilts her head, neck stretched out for him, and closes her eyes. ] You're a Taurus, for sure. That's our name for the bull constellation. No way you fit either of the other spring signs. So, end of April or beginnin' of May, since signs always cover two months. April is diamonds, and May is emeralds.

[ She's almost positive that the magazines she's made still have their horoscope sections; she did used to read them with every issue, even if she was obviously more focused on her own sign. She makes a mental note to show him later. ]

My birthday is April 12th. [ She says it with another sigh, combing her fingers through his hair. ] Aries, the ram.

Edited 2022-08-28 16:23 (UTC)

[ The quietest laugh is startled out of him. She sounds so certain for one; for another, he needn't ask what it is about a bull that does, in fact, remind her of him. ]

And here I thought you'd label me a butterfly. [ He tucks her hair behind her air, fingers wandering over where a curling ram's horns might be. Costume for her next party, perhaps? The horns would suit. Like the antlers.

He hitches her higher on his lap, a little encouragement for her to grind down on him. He doesn't ask why it is she let her day pass without a word. She must have her reasons. He'd assumed, until this moment, that it was later in the year. Knowing that she simply didn't tell anyone doesn't surprise him as much as it should, now that he realizes. Despite the shine and shimmer, he's never found her demanding of attention. Not like that. At least not around him. ]

That means I owe you twice, as well.

Only 'cause there ain't a butterfly in the zodiac. Sorry your sign ain't as delicate and colorful as you are, sugar.

[ She smirks as she kisses him, hands at the sides of his face. Really, she'd never thought much about his sign before, despite being exactly the kind of person who enjoys articles about compatibility and how to interact with others based on what random constellation they were born under. It just didn't occur to her, possibly because he's so far removed from that culture. But now, she questions how she didn't peg him as a Taurus earlier -- it simply makes perfect sense. Her ignoring her own birthday boiled down to feeling like it would make her look foolish to care about her own day. Planning your own birthday party is a hallmark of loneliness, as far as she's concerned, because shouldn't that be the responsibility of others? It's just admitting no one cares enough to do it for you.

He moves her and she readjusts her weight, hips rocking against him. She bites at his lip with a chuckle and a hum. ] Can't wait. Maybe we can go to Aquila. I know where to get a good cake there, now.

As glass. [ It's all superstitious horseshit, of course, but he enjoys hearing about it, anyway. Maybe because it's harmless enough. There are darker edges to what some people believe about births under the stars and sun.

He slides his arm around her, hips rising. It isn't long before his other hand slips between their bodies, inside the thin lace fabric that isn't meant to cover much of anything. As much as he likes seeing it on her, he's equally keen to take it off.

He hums. His fingers crook, gently. The coast? That's an idea. ]

Just cake in the plans? [ He's teasing. He's only been to Aquila in rare occasions—contracts far out in the desert pay more than escorts between cities—but he likes it. The sea is a nice change from all the dusty arid land. ]

The most fragile man I ever met.

[ She releases him to reach behind herself, back arched, and unhooks her bra before tossing it off to the side. Draping her arms over his shoulders, there's a beat where her breath audibly catches, her eyelids flutter a little, and she inhales sharply as she leans forward, mouth open when she presses it to his neck. Slowly, she grinds back into his hand. ]

Cake's the one we'd have to buy, 'less you've been hidin' a bakin' hobby from me. [ Her voice is thick, muffled against his skin. Her head is already clouding. ] Rest of it's just findin' someplace away from everyone else.

[ His fingers tangle in her hair as she leans over him. He can feel the heat of her lips against his skin, and it sends a shiver up his spine. The celebration outside fades away. ]

I could surprise you.

[ He's never made a cake in his life. He can make a loaf of bread hard enough to crack a man's head open. But. Hm. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants a little time the hell away from Cadens. With her, specifically. Something to consider later. They don't need to wait for name days or birthdays.

For the moment, he pushes it aside, letting her grind against his hand, hot and slick, until impatience gets the better of him. He pushes the silk down past her hips, frees the rest of the buttons on his trousers. ]

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nsfw.

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