[ While Julie has tried to encourage people to return to the Horizon -- via party, via conversation, via invitation -- many people seem fairly scarred by the past few months. There's been less in-and-out than normal, and even those who do visit tend to remain in their own domains. Occasionally someone goes on a walkabout, but it's not the norm, especially outside of daylight hours.
It suits her all right, though. It means she can mostly do as she pleases without much worry that she'll be spotted. As far as she can tell, she's the only one who sleeps in the Horizon with any regularity anyway, and always has been. She slept here long before she ever started communicating with the Singularity; it's basically the same as sleeping in the real world, and she finds it comforting. Like the universe's best weighted blanket, cocooning her without ever being too warm or oppressive. Of course, sleeping outside of her domain is pretty new, but she doesn't see the harm.
A few weeks ago, she'd have been sitting on the ground, but Julie is nothing if not resourceful; now there is practically a little tableau at the base of the Singularity, with her sitting right in the center. On a plush, backless bench, she is cross-legged in the center, her back pressed to the cool stone of the Singularity. The bench, ostensibly, is just seating, but it is certainly long enough for someone on the short side, like her, to sleep on. The fact that there is no barrier between her and the Singularity is most crucial -- Julie finds that physical contact absolutely makes a difference, makes it easier to hear. On the ground is a tray with a bottle of wine, a glass and a small plate of Milano cookies. Next to the tray is a pair of kitten-heeled mules, left when she drew her legs up. Though she is, in fact, wearing pajamas, they aren't obviously sleepwear -- she could just be wearing a matching set. It's a strange sight, for sure, but it's not immediately apparent that she's sleeping here.
Her hands are raised at chest-level. In front of her, in the air, is a soft rose-pink cloud, the center of which holds a large white dahlia. One at a time, each petal is gently tugged free from the others, as if by the hand of a ghost, then morphs from a single petal into another dahlia, which begins its own series of the same. Like a perpetual motion machine of flowers. Small blue butterflies flutter between the blooms. For those who aren't particularly attuned to the Horizon's magic, it can be difficult to tell, but this is not the same manifestation normally used in this plane. This is Julie's actual doing.
The look in her eyes is somewhat distant, like she's not focused on what she's doing. She isn't -- internally, she is trying to cajole the Singularity for direction, and all she ever receives in response is the feeling of want. Boundless, ravenous want.
She did not expect anyone to call her name. Her expression shows it, clearly.
The flowers all vanish as she sits up much straighter, breaking contact. Looking over at Rhy. ]
no subject
It suits her all right, though. It means she can mostly do as she pleases without much worry that she'll be spotted. As far as she can tell, she's the only one who sleeps in the Horizon with any regularity anyway, and always has been. She slept here long before she ever started communicating with the Singularity; it's basically the same as sleeping in the real world, and she finds it comforting. Like the universe's best weighted blanket, cocooning her without ever being too warm or oppressive. Of course, sleeping outside of her domain is pretty new, but she doesn't see the harm.
A few weeks ago, she'd have been sitting on the ground, but Julie is nothing if not resourceful; now there is practically a little tableau at the base of the Singularity, with her sitting right in the center. On a plush, backless bench, she is cross-legged in the center, her back pressed to the cool stone of the Singularity. The bench, ostensibly, is just seating, but it is certainly long enough for someone on the short side, like her, to sleep on. The fact that there is no barrier between her and the Singularity is most crucial -- Julie finds that physical contact absolutely makes a difference, makes it easier to hear. On the ground is a tray with a bottle of wine, a glass and a small plate of Milano cookies. Next to the tray is a pair of kitten-heeled mules, left when she drew her legs up. Though she is, in fact, wearing pajamas, they aren't obviously sleepwear -- she could just be wearing a matching set. It's a strange sight, for sure, but it's not immediately apparent that she's sleeping here.
Her hands are raised at chest-level. In front of her, in the air, is a soft rose-pink cloud, the center of which holds a large white dahlia. One at a time, each petal is gently tugged free from the others, as if by the hand of a ghost, then morphs from a single petal into another dahlia, which begins its own series of the same. Like a perpetual motion machine of flowers. Small blue butterflies flutter between the blooms. For those who aren't particularly attuned to the Horizon's magic, it can be difficult to tell, but this is not the same manifestation normally used in this plane. This is Julie's actual doing.
The look in her eyes is somewhat distant, like she's not focused on what she's doing. She isn't -- internally, she is trying to cajole the Singularity for direction, and all she ever receives in response is the feeling of want. Boundless, ravenous want.
She did not expect anyone to call her name. Her expression shows it, clearly.
The flowers all vanish as she sits up much straighter, breaking contact. Looking over at Rhy. ]
Uh, hey.