[ It is a known fact that peanut paste is used to cure malnutrition and starvation in the global south. Julie can save every single elf with peanut butter and crackers, thank you.
She can't help but to laugh a little, shifting to lean over the arm of her chair, knees in the seat. ] Yeah, nuts do. But peanuts ain't real nuts, that's just the name. They grow underground. And no one eats 'em raw, you gotta roast 'em and salt 'em before you do anythin' with 'em. Here, lemme... [ She holds one hand out to him, palm open, and there are now a few peanuts in her hand, still in their (roasted, salted) shells. Again, not exactly something to go with wine, but she's never let that stop her before. ] Just crack it open and eat what's inside. I mean, you can eat the shell too, some people do, but I wouldn't start with it.
[ She quickly demonstrates as she considers what food options she has available. ]
There's a lot of potatoes. But like, not even good potatoes. And like, cabbage and radishes and stuff? There's a lot of seafood in Nott, which is fine, except they don't have the right seasonings for any of it. Maybe it's different out in Cadens, but they don't never seem to have any good spices or blends. Cayenne, paprika, basically kinda chili powder, cajun, Old Bay. Good stuff. It's mostly like, salt and black pepper and dill.
[ The honest truth is just that Julie finds the pre-television, pre-internet world to be dreadfully boring. She is used to a constant stream of entertainment available to occupy herself with, and re-reading the books she could remember enough to manifest got very old, very quickly. Her distaste for the Singularity makes reading Abraxan books difficult, as they talk about it a lot. And she would much rather read about his world anyway.
Her hands are delicate when she takes the notebooks, opens one to quickly scan over the writing. Yes, these will do. And maybe Ciri will stop mocking her about the difference between dragons and wyverns (Julie still does not get it). ] Thank you, sugar. My daddy used to say I couldn't read anythin' that wasn't made up of emojis, but look at me now.
[He stares at her.] Why the fuck is it called a peanut, then? [There's no heat in the question, only mild confusion. Ah, well. He isn't looking a gift horse -- or woman -- in the mouth, so he takes the shelled things and lays them in his (still somewhat sticky) lap. The more food he tries, the greater his palate, and perhaps the less likely she'll remember the whole explosion thing.
As instructed, he cracks it open. The noise is rather satisfying, and inside? Salty, again, but less overwhelming. It's almost... refreshing. Interesting.]
They're a lakeside city, aren't they? I suppose it's not surprising. Not much land to grow such frivolous things. [He doesn't say it, but he can't help worrying about those still so close to Thorne. Technically still fallen under the kingdom's lands.
Yet... a few complains about a lack of flavors is hardly a real problem to him. At least they can eat and work. It's been a long time since then, but Jaskier still recalls a time where he would go days, if his performances went badly, without eating.
Jaskier gives her a tip of his head. It's a strange sort of feeling, seeing those notebooks in someone else's hands. Only one part of the culmination of his life, and she's to read them to chase away boredom. Well. That's the point of entertainment, isn't it?] I... don't know what that means, but I think he should have set his expectations for you a bit higher. Besides, you can let me know if it gets too dry. I couldn't help but add a bit of my own spark to it.
[It's definitely informative, and what he's written is true to the best of his knowledge, but occasionally there's, like, a dirty joke, or a picture of a slightly familiar, scowling man on the back of a page.]
[ She laughs. His confusion is obviously extremely entertaining to her, if only because the people who actually named and grow the damn things have been asking the same question for two centuries. ] Honey, I didn't name it. Folks've been arguing about the name of peanuts since long before I was born. It's a legume, by the way. So not a pea, not a nut. It's a bean, basically. [ Agricultural factoids with someone who grew up in America's Breadbasket.
She grimaces just a little at the mention of the lake. It's not the fault of anyone from Nott, but she is not a fan of fish. ] Yeah, they pull in most everythin' from the lake. I almost never ate seafood before I got to Nott. Where I was from, it was thousands of miles from any coast. We had all the beef, pork, chicken in the world, but not fish. Least not that I would trust.
[ She doesn't fear Thorne, not really. It is, of course, not ideal to be within their purview, but Nott had been quietly simmering and pushing back against the capital long before she got there. If there was to be a fight between them, it wouldn't start with a search for her group, and there would, presumably, be time to get out. Frankly, she's not sure any of the other options are all that much better. Nott, at least, is significantly more ambivalent about the Singularity than anywhere else, and being there gives her access to a kind of magic that would be extremely difficult to find instruction for elsewhere. Everything has to have a trade-off.
With a snort, she turns a page, skims the first paragraph, but then closes the book again. She doesn't mean to be rude. ] Oh, emoji? They're these lil' pictures that we use as kind of their own language, because we mostly talk to other people in texts now. So imagine if I sent you a message on the mind... network thing we have, but you couldn't tell if I was bein' sarcastic. With emoji, I can add a little face that's laughing so you would know I was jokin'. We can't do it, though. I tried. But you can write a whole story in emojis, if you try. A bunch of 'em have double meanings, or unofficial ones, so you kind of hafta learn to read 'em before you can use 'em.
[ It's yet another thing that she's realizing is too complicated to explain to someone with absolutely no context. It's easier to show, so instead she just manifests what appears to be a late-model iPhone. She doesn't know enough about phones for it to be in any way functional as a phone, but it turns on, and she can make it show various apps. She opens the text app and quickly hammers out a series of emojis, then hands the phone to him. It reads
[He laughs to himself, popping another nut into his mouth. A bean. Of course. He's well aware man loves naming things contrary to their true nature, as if the confusion itself is the point.
Considering he has now seen the place she lived in once, he's far less surprised to hear that she had all the meat in the world. No roadside camps where her companion would hunt a rabbit or a squirrel, if he could find one. Mostly rabbit. Birds, sometimes; wild chickens, or ones purchased from market. Not the sort of woman, he suspects, who has ever eaten half-chewed bread from the floor.
At least a lack of food isn't the only problem most people have. Only a large one.
It's a topic he doesn't really want to bring up, so he doesn't. He only listens, leaning over to her when she holds out a, ah. A square. Rectangle, to be exact. He's not sure what he's looking at, but there are things on it.]
Ah! Some sort of symbol-based language to emphasize tone when words cannot suffice. That's fascinating, actually. [He's going to simply accept this, because a glowing rectangle that displays words versus, you know, a hand-written book, is a lot to take in. It's magic. No less than the picture of her city full of lights and the tallest structures he's ever seen.
He frowns, looking over them. Rubbing his chin and the shadow of stubble there.
Attempting to read it.
It's... going...]
I have no fucking idea what this says. Oh, wait, this one, that's a cocktail glass, isn't it? "Maybe cocktails, then...?" Is this some sort of code?
[ Vegas had been one of the last places in the country with a surplus of food, it's true; that many buffets require huge stockpiles, and a city run on hydroelectricity meant that the freezers were able to maintain it while the rest of the country crumbled. But sooner or later, she knew it was going to get bad, really bad. The livestock was all dead, the crops had all fallen by the wayside, and the existing reserves were going to run out. She'd never gotten to hear the plan for that day; she finds herself wondering now if there even was one. But the bounty she'd really been speaking of had been at home home, in Kansas, where well over ninety percent of the state was devoted solely to growing food and raising livestock.
Her family had been deeply impoverished, never had a spare dime for much past necessities, but there was always food available, simply from the sheer volume of farming around them. It didn't mean she wasn't shamed for not cleaning her plate, it didn't mean that her family wasn't reliant on government programs and charity, but it meant that there was food there, food that she knew she could get her hands on if she needed to. Hell, if she were willing to eat nothing but corn, she really only had to drive a few miles to the nearest mega farm and slip into the field. She'd be malnourished, sure, but not hungry.
She's never eaten floor bread (well, in a way that's not 5-second-rule-ish), but it's more due to coincidence of circumstances than class or true wealth. That luck is not lost on her -- she knows that plenty of people in her world, in her time, were starving to death. But is it any different from being born into nobility? Her access to food, to the wealth inherent in being American, was not something she could change or singlehandedly distribute to the needy. She trick-or-treated for UNICEF every year as a child, surely that offsets some of the unfairness in the world.
Though she does giggle, she claps when he deciphers even one of the symbols. Honestly, it's more than she was expecting, so it deserves praise. Leaning over, she translates character-by-character. ]
Okay, so the first face kinda sets the tone. Like, this guy is all smirky, so it's gonna imply that you're up to somethin'. You up or asleep, is the next set. "You up?" is kind of like... it's not just askin' if the person is still awake. It's usually for either goin' back out to party, or else the person sendin' it is hopin' that it'll lead to sex. Who sends it is how you know which way it goes. Then the thought bubbles for "I was thinkin'", and here it's "maybe drinks and smokin' weed", that's the wind gust. The shrug for "I don't know". Then you're askin' if the other person is in it with you. Like I said, a lot of emojis is about the specific person you're talkin' to.
[ She taps the keyboard at the bottom and it shifts to nothing but emojis, hundreds of them, and she swipes through a few pages. ] So you can add any of these to any message you send to anyone you know. Some of 'em are exactly what they look like, the flags and stuff, but most have other meanings that just sort of... happened. A lot of the foods double as sex stuff.
[It would be quite easy to find Julie's clapping condescending, but he's long learned already she has no problem speaking her mind if that's what she wishes to imply. Instead he smiles back at her, scooting closer as she deciphers the symbology of it all.
He's not sure how well he buys into this face implies sneakiness, but. You know, what does it matter? It's fun. He loves the idea of it. Of course he has his preference for words, but words cannot always say everything.
As much as he'd like.]
This is much more complex than I was thinking. And would it not depend on the receiver interpreting it the same way? I suppose you'd know, sending it to a specific person.
[What would Geralt think if he send him some cocktail glasses and a gust of wind? He'd, perhaps, not speak to him again.]
Oh. Fuck me. [He looks through them, imitating the swipe of her finger.] This is exceedingly complex. Wait, wait. [He moves over to a peach, touching it.] I know this one well. My lady, how I pine to see you leave / But is it from a glut of you / or a wish for the sight of your rump / Round as a peach?
[ Words are great, but he also has no frame of reference for how quickly a text conversation can go. Modern people are incredibly busy, you know, they don't have time to think about flowery turn-of-phrase when they can just slap down a devil face and go. Also, Julie has a fairly decent attention span for her age, so take that as you will, Jaskier. Appealing to the young folk requires brevity now!
And that face totally implies sneakiness. ]
Exactly! It's like talkin' in real life, you have to know the person to know what you can say to 'em without gettin' weird or punched.
[ Her claps are very genuine, and quickly become quite enthusiastic even as she laughs at the incredibly lovely ode to a juicy ass. She cannot fathom what she would ever reply to that in the real world. It would almost be better to get an unsolicited dick pic, because at least she'd know what to say in the latter case. But if she were going to receive a Shakespearean couplet about her ass, that's a good one.
She adds a few more emojis, 🍆🥠🎆🤯😍💍, lets him try to work that one out as she polishes off what remains of the wine. She is well aware that he will have no idea what a fortune cookie is (she is prepared to give him one if asked), but assumes that the visual will make enough of an impression. ] That one's for a real good night.
[He laughs.] Sometimes you know and you still get punched, anyway.
[Though to Geralt's credit, it was only the one time. Almost loving, that punch. Appreciative of his offering of his art.
He drinks more wine and leans in against her to see the screen. Now that it's quite clearly a challenge, and he has nowhere else he'd rather be, he's going to figure this out.] All right. A good night, you say. A fun one, I imagine.
[They both know. He hmms.] Aubergine is simple. It's definitely a cock. [Look, she's the one who said the were sex stuff.] Some sort of... croissant? A volcano? [The one in the middle looks like a star, but he can't imagine that's meant to be it.] I am going to assume this is some sort of expression, with the hearts. A positive one. And a ring? A wedding? A good cock leads to marriage? I mean, not in my experience. You're lucky if it's good despite the marriage.
[Surely a quote from Jaskier's biography, Confessions of a Professional Cucker.]
Knowin' what tone to use and knowin' when to shut up are two different pages in the same book. [ It does not surprise her in the least that Jaskier has gotten himself punched. More than once, she assumes. She has not gotten the impression that people in his world are particularly tolerant, nor that there are any severe consequences to punching people who annoy you.
She nods approvingly, because he really did nail the general gist, even if it's twisted a little. She points at the unknown emoji, to explain. ] That's called a fortune cookie. It's this thin cookie that's folded up in this shape, and there's a little piece of paper with a fortune inside it. You break it in half, read your fortune and then eat the cookie. [ She holds out her hand to him, where now she has a single fortune cookie in her palm for him. ] You only get 'em when you eat one kind of food, Chinese food. Anyway, for the emoji, it's more about the shape.
[ Which should be obvious, given the context. She thought he'd have a harder time with the taco than the fortune cookie. ] But you almost got it perfect, just a lil' backward. So yeah, the first two for sex. The third is a firework, do y'all have fireworks? Anyway, it means it was great. The next one is having your mind blown because of it. Then love, and marriage. So you read it as "I had sex so good that I think I met my future husband". Or wife, whatever. You can also do it like [ 🍆😵 ].
[ She holds up a finger, as if she has made a brilliant point. ] Dickmatized.
[She is definitely not wrong. However, he has gotten craftier (and faster) in his old age, and the probability of being punched is significantly lower than it once was.
He plucks the cookie off of her palm after handing the rectangle back. This is meant to be a cookie? (Bar the fact he has no idea what "Chinese food" is.) He's not sure what the point is in giving it all these angles, but it is not hard to imagine, now that he has a frame of reference, what it is meant to be.
He breaks it in half. Oh! She was right. He pops a piece in his mouth, reading the little paper inside.
Be at peace with yourself.
Ah. All right. He balls that up and tosses it away, masking the motion by leaning in to watch her explanation. He nods, the same focus on her lesson as he would have back in Oxenfurt. He is, after all, rather fascinated by an entire symbolic language... that is used to get one a bed partner for the night.
Humans always have their priorities straight, if you ask him.] Er, no. But I imagine it's some sort of explosion?
[He sits back up to look at her. And laugh.]
Dickmatized. [There's a nod of deep understanding. Oh, he understands the phrase quite well.] And I assume you're speaking from experience? Only curious, of course. A lady may never tell, but I absolutely will.
[ Don't take the fortune too seriously, Jaskier. There are lotto numbers on the back, it's not a big deal. She honestly doesn't care if he throws it away or frames it, but she notes it all the same, with a smirk.
She wiggles a hand, gesturing "sort of". ] I can show you fireworks if you want, but I don't wanna scare you. I mean, they're way up in the sky, big bursts of color. We use 'em for celebrations, mostly. Certain holidays, important victories. Oh, Disney World does 'em all the time. They're loud, but the only reason for 'em is to be pretty and entertainin'. They do whole shows, set to music and stuff. But like I said, I don't want you to freak out.
[ There's no negativity or criticism in her voice, only genuine concern. She knows that some people can't handle loud noises or explosions, and now she knows that Jaskier is one of them.
The fact that she has had to define fireworks and not the concept of being dickmatized is incredibly funny to her, and her nose scrunches as she giggles over it. ] Every girl's been through the wringer with one of those guys, and the ones that don't are either liars or virgins. That shit'll put you in the loony bin. That's why I made up my mind years ago, never be the one who falls.
[The longer he spends with her, the more he finds that Julie is wonderfully a force of nature. A whirlwind. He knows these must all be simple things to her, every day things, but he must really pay attention to keep up with her.
Hm. He may be understanding why Geralt only sometimes responds to the words upon words he says.
Does he think he deserves more than a few grunts or a "yes"? Absolutely.]
Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no? [The sarcasm drips. He isn't sure what it means, that it might scare him. That she should warn him twice it may do so. Because he was startled by a little, er, drink? To be fair, she hadn't properly prepared him for that.
Jaskier pauses before he can really ask her to show him. For now. He definitely must see what these things are.]
"Never the one who falls?" You mean fall in love? For someone so young, that seems awfully jaded.
[And coming from someone who has had their heart broken many a time, he... can't say it's wrong, possibly.]
[ They're simple things to her, but something that she has learned in the past few months is what seems basic to her is a mystery to others. She had never thought, before Abraxas, that she knew very much. She's from a poor public school in the Midwest, from a place so sparsely inhabited and blasé about education that her high school 4-H club had more funding than the entire AP program. She's used to being the one who needs things explained, who's treated like an ignorant child, surrounded by people with better educations and deeper understandings of the world. Now she's pulling random science facts and tidbits about prehistory from her memory, and just those small actions have built confidence in her knowledge that she never thought she'd have. She doesn't know if she would have been able to push ahead learning magic if she didn't feel boosted by the simple act of actually knowing stuff. Stuff that she didn't even knew she knew.
And there is something extremely gratifying about showing someone a thing that they've never conceived of before, of seeing their reaction and watching their eyes change with comprehension.
Her warning is actually based on the fact that she accidentally gave him a panic attack within a few minutes of meeting for the first time (if confetti cannons warranted Xanax and weed, he would need heroin to cope with unexpected fireworks), but it's fine. She actually expects that he'll be exposed to fireworks either way -- there's no way in hell that Sam doesn't throw a Fourth of July cook-out with a bunch of Roman Candles -- so she just laughs. ] Look, I ain't think to say anythin' at Halloween, I'm not gonna spring somethin' even bigger on you without a warning.
[ There's a snort, somewhat bitter, and she refills her glass with a thought, as the bottle has long been emptied. She takes a knowing sip, looking over the rows of grapevines. ] You've never been a woman. When you're a girl, you get jaded early. Men hurt us, startin' early. Half the time, it's your own daddy does it first, if he even stuck around. [ She fishes a joint out of her cleavage, because of course that's where she keeps such things, then lights it with a wave of her hand. Taking a drag, she offers it to Jaskier, blows the smoke out in a cloud. ] There's this famous saying in my world. 'Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.' You wanna survive, you better learn that fallin' in love is just breakin' all your defenses down for 'em.
[ When she looks back at him, it's with an expression of resignation, acceptance. An eyebrow lift that says, That's just how it is. ] Every woman you've ever known has a story about when she loved a man and he used it to ruin her. They just never told you.
[Set aside the fireworks thing for the moment -- he's seen far worse things than loud noises, but he hadn't expected the cannon, thank you -- he's far more interested in what she has to say about love.
She may be young, but in their sphere, she's well beyond the years of real youth.
He listens without interrupting, only raising his brows as she goes on. Of course Julie has always come off as someone with edges, and yet with a bit of too much heart on her sleeve, but here it becomes all the more blatant.]
You're right. I have never, in fact, been a woman. [There is only so much artistic empathy can give him. He has written from the viewpoint of women, has known many women who he loved and hated, and writes of them. But he is not one.
That's just how it is.]
You'd be surprised. [He means it mildly, going back to his wine because he feels this conversation needs it.] When I was younger, I had a certain reputation. A rake, in some circles. All right, in all circles. During my rounds around the Continent, I met many discontented women. Married ones, especially. Ones who had many reasons to want a young bard in their beds when their husbands were away.
[He shrugs, taking the offering -- he can recognize the thing she'd smoked at the party, and Jaskier has experience with pipes, at least. It's an amusing anecdote now, and he doesn't mean it as a brag. But courtiers and baker's wives alike loved having a young man who wanted to hear their stories, their complaints. As well as a roll in the hay.] But you're right. There are so many who told me nothing, and I never thought to ask.
[He coughs. Oh. Fuck. Well.] So, how does your story end? Have you renounced love entirely now?
[ He "admits" to have never been a woman, and she chuckles with a wry smile. It's not that she thinks less of him for not understanding -- she doesn't think he's capable of understanding. She doesn't think any man is, because they live in a world that teaches them that the things they do to women are fine, just, logical. That women are the fools, are helpless, deserve it.
She does not appear surprised to hear his sordid history (look, when she decided to make a cuck out of her god-king, she knew exactly what she was doing), and in fact, she mostly just looks entertained by it. She's not someone who cares all that much about respecting the institution of marriage, nor does she think it's Jaskier's responsibility to stay away from married women. Their fidelity has nothing to do with him, unless he is a very different man than Julie believes him to be. ] Yeah, and those were the ones who weren't in love. Those were the ones miserable enough with what they had to be lookin' for somethin' else. It's when you don't want anyone else that makes you weak. Gives 'em the upper hand.
It's like bein' on a tightrope all the time, with no net to catch you, and you know you're gonna hit the ground eventually. You can give a man your whole world, and he'll throw it back in your face without a thought, 'cause it was never gonna be good enough for him. Men, most men, don't want a woman to be a person. They just want mommies and maids they're allowed to fuck, too. So you cook and clean up after him, you listen to his problems, you raise his brats, you lay there long enough for him to get off and fall asleep, all 'cause you love him, right? You love him, so you don't ask for any of that for yourself. Because the second you ask for anythin' more from him, need more, he'll disappear. I remember readin' this statistic once, that if a woman gets cancer, there's a seventy-five percent chance her husband leaves her while she's sick. Doesn't matter how old they are, how long they've been married, nothin'. Seventy-five percent. When the man gets cancer, the woman stays more than eighty percent of the time.
Inhale right after the hit, don't let it sit in your throat. That'll irritate you, make you cough. [ He coughs and she takes the joint back, takes another long pull. She has to think about her answer, eyes cast over the vineyard, the sun beginning to lower in the sky. ] My story... my story ends with lightnin'. Love's not anythin' I'll ever need to worry about.
[There is so much to look into with Julie's pragmatism combined with the ice-cold reality that she washes them both in. He listens, without interruption, looking out into the vineyard with its simple, coiling vines, the sun hanging lower in the sky. The breeze, the cooled air with the warm sunlight.
Statistics and cancer are beyond his ken, but he gets what she's coming around to. Men will abandon women who get in the way. It happens on her sphere, it happens on his. They suffer in the wars, the plagues. The aftereffects of both. Working on farms, raising children. Using sex for power, to get what they want, because it's what they have.
Trading their womanly faculties for it. For power.
He sighs, drinking a heavy swallow this time. He almost wishes to go back to the exploding drink bottle.]
You know, if that ever happens, I highly suggest throwing some coin at the closest person with a sword and making sure he dies with you. S'what I would do. [He fills up her glass in case she needs it. Funny that spheres can be infinitely separate, but some things are universal.] Wait, lightning? Did he get struck by it?
[Sorry, he's a little drunk now.] Serves him right if he broke your heart. You know, after several heartbreaks of my own, I sometimes wonder if it truly is just easier to fuck and then get out of there. Take the fun before there's nothing less to take.
[And yet. And yet, he still has that fear, even after all of these years. Dying a brokenhearted man.]
[ Well, she did come from Tinder culture and then die, so it's enough to jade even the dreamiest of romantics. And she recognizes that she's lucky, that she didn't come from a world where a woman needed a man to survive. It's new even for them. But it doesn't mean that she hasn't seen, lived through the aftermath of men's selfishness, their failures. She grew up learning that the worst thing she could make a man feel is anger, because he might beat her or else find another woman. That the price of love was turning a blind eye to betrayal, to abuse. She watched her female relatives and friends endlessly pick up the shattered pieces of themselves while the men who broke them pretended they couldn't hear the pained cries.
Julie doesn't care for most people, as a general rule. Views others first and foremost as tools to provide her with what she wants. That goes double for men. The walls that surround her heart tower twice as tall for anyone with a Y-chromosome. The risk they bring is so much greater than any woman.
She laughs a little, takes a sip and another hit before she passes the joint back. ] If I want a man dead, I'll do it myself. Hell hath no fury and all that. [ There's a pause where she looks at Jaskier from the corner of her eye. ] No, he wasn't struck by lightnin'. There's no one "him". It's all "him"s.
[ The sky takes on a purple cast, and she stands, offers him her hand. ] C'mon, I'll show you fireworks.
[He laughs. You know what? He believes her. He has no reason not to.] Very sexy of you. No fury like it indeed.
[Look, they might not have hell as a concept, but women and scorn and their revenge are all very well-known themes. And ones that are always quite enjoyable to write of... when they are far from affecting real lives, of course.
He waves the joint off.] I'll stick to the edible ones.
[Jaskier, after all, can't afford to fuck up his throat. Even in the Horizon, thank you.
He doesn't mention he's thankful she's found his company worthy, then. It's clear enough because she's here, not telling him to fuck off (to be fair, it is his domain). He takes her hand, lifting from their stump chairs, leaving the wine behind.] Are you sure they're not so frightening I'll shit myself? I'd hate to lower your clearly high opinion of me.
[It's a tease, accompanied with a gentle bump of her shoulder.] Show me.
[ "Songs about women killing men" is basically a valid musical genre unto itself, as far as Julie's concerned. She can build him a whole playlist to listen to on repeat while he practices emojis.
She snickers and barely restrains from calling him a baby, because she is a child in an adult's body, but the joint disappears after she breathes out a final cloud of smoke. With a wave of her arm, the sky goes from dusk to midnight, stars twinkling against the indigo field that ends at the limits of the vineyard. A second thought turns their seats instead to a large blanket spread over the grass. It's blue gingham and quite worn, because that's the blanket that Julie remembers best, from Independence Day and Memorial Day celebrations, the blanket that she would fall asleep under in the back of her father's truck after the show was over. The wine sits in a corner, a fresh bottle, and she feels a pang in her heart looking over the scene. This exact setup, it's not something she ever gets again, not for real, and it had once seemed so reliable. Something that would be there for her every summer.
She slips her shoes off at the edge of the blanket, then lies down to look up at the sky, a halo of pink spread around her head. ] Get comfortable. It's the only real way to watch.
[Oh, she has to share. He's about to need a few songs about killing and revenge soon enough.
Jaskier watches the sky as it quickly darkens, as if a quilt's been thrown over them all at once. He doesn't mind her shifting or changing his domain to suit their needs, only settling down on the ground once the trunks have disappeared. In the distance, his horses neigh, unbothered by night falling all at once.
The bard is not unfamiliar to laying out on blankets in the grass, the dirt. He settles down with his legs crossed underneath him, toeing his boots off to set aside alongside hers.
Oh. Right above them? He lays down as well, hands laying on his chest. Their hair brushes together, a mixture of bright pink and dark brown.]
I'm more than comfortable down here. It's much nicer than the horse blankets Geralt and I used to sleep on. [He chuckles, stretching his toes out.] Besides. I can keep the ants away this time.
[He readies himself. If it's anything she was worried would scare him, he imagines whatever is about to happen is extremely loud.]
Remind me to teach y'all about tents. [ Honestly, everything she hears about traveling a lot before the advent of the automobile sounds truly awful. At least being stuck in a shitty medieval town comes with a bed.
There's a bang and several whistling noises as the first fireworks launch from somewhere near the edge of the domain. They sail into the sky, disappear for just a second, then begin to explode into glittering dandelion displays of every color. Thunderous noise becomes a constant drone as more and more fireworks take up the sky, some spreading wide like flowers, some remaining in tightly clustered balls, some shooting further up like streamers. Music plays around them as if on speakers, mostly because that's how Julie's recollection of it works, timed to vaguely patriotic country songs. The fireworks drown most of it out anyway, though they remain coordinated with the rhythm.
Her face begins to hurt from beaming so much. She really thought she'd never see fireworks again, not after the superflu. Maybe it's the American in her, maybe it's just the girl who's spent the past year and half almost completely devoid of simple joy. She turns her head to watch Jaskier's reaction. ]
[He snorts. Yes, he'll remind her later. But as she feels nostalgic for blankets and nights of these firework things, he feels it the same for long nights on the Path, he and the Witcher alone, gazing up at the stars with a rabbit roasting on the fire. The howls of wolves far in the distance.
It's not quite the same now. It had been so quiet then, outside of insects and wildlife, the fire popping. Here he prepares himself, steadying for whatever it is that's meant to scare him. A whistle sounds through the air, making the horses lift their heads upwards.
Then it explodes.
A burst of color soars across the night sky in an explosion almost reminiscent of the one that gave him the scar on his arm. And though the first one makes him jump, startling him, he rises up on his hands to stare. More incomprehensible pops of color -- and these, he recognizes, shaped and colored like flowers. The music floods in and, honestly, the combination of both is almost too much. Though he cups his hands over his ears, he never takes his eyes from the sky. Waiting for the next one to go off.
It's beautiful. Like an explosion of stars, of twinkling candle lights, falling through the air. Colors he's rarely ever seen on anything in his life, brighter than the moon.
He's beaming, too, his mouth hanging open. There's no words to describe it, really, when it comes down to it. They're simply... breathtaking.]
[ He does know he's allowed to cuddle Geralt without sleeping on the ground, right? Or like, in some form of shelter. A lean-to, even. She's going to get them a tent. They can spoon in their horse blankets without bugs landing on their faces all night, at least.
She touches his shoulder gently when he jumps, because this is what she was warning him of, but he so quickly falls into the same enchantment as children seeing fireworks for the first time. The bursts keep coming, overlapping each other in rainbow-colored balls, then they switch to hearts and stars. Julie's pretty sure that, if she concentrates hard enough --
A series of music notes bloom across the sky. They don't actually mean anything (Julie can't read music), but the symbols are there. ]
[Look, there's been a few lean-tos. They're simply not necessary.
It blocks the view of the stars. For when it's not raining, of course. Or the moon's too bloody big and bright to see them properly. He enjoyed staring at it, too. Even on the rare nights it would grow bloated and red. Perhaps those nights it was the most beautiful.
It really doesn't hold a candle to this.
Especially once the notes appear! He quickly catches on that they don't mean anything -- or, at least, they're of no song he knows of, and don't have much flow to them -- but they're beautiful nonetheless. Because she's making them for him. Of course the bloody bard wants to see music lit up in glowing sparks. It's never been so beautiful.]
If only we had these in Cadens. I'd be throwing my music into the air just like this. And not a soul would be able to ignore it.
[Certainly he'd be the first bard to do so. Take that, Valdo Marx.]
[ There's a finale of sorts, a sequence of flares and showers, then she lets it end, leaving just the dark sky above them. The sudden quiet is almost piercing, but soon enough, the sounds of the vineyard -- crickets, wind, the horses -- return.
Fireworks are so ancient in Julie's world that she can barely conceive of one where they're not present. She knows that there are guns in the Free Cities, albeit rare, but does that mean that they don't function on gunpowder? If there's one thing she's pretty sure of, it's that humans will find a way to make entertainment out explosions far faster than they'll find a way to responsibly use such power.
She rolls onto her side, props her head on her hand as she considers the idea. ] I mean, I don't think fireworks would be very hard with magic, probably easier than regular fire. But with the way they feel about magic out there... [ She shakes her head a little. ] I can't wrap my head around havin' magic and then hatin' it like that.
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
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She can't help but to laugh a little, shifting to lean over the arm of her chair, knees in the seat. ] Yeah, nuts do. But peanuts ain't real nuts, that's just the name. They grow underground. And no one eats 'em raw, you gotta roast 'em and salt 'em before you do anythin' with 'em. Here, lemme... [ She holds one hand out to him, palm open, and there are now a few peanuts in her hand, still in their (roasted, salted) shells. Again, not exactly something to go with wine, but she's never let that stop her before. ] Just crack it open and eat what's inside. I mean, you can eat the shell too, some people do, but I wouldn't start with it.
[ She quickly demonstrates as she considers what food options she has available. ]
There's a lot of potatoes. But like, not even good potatoes. And like, cabbage and radishes and stuff? There's a lot of seafood in Nott, which is fine, except they don't have the right seasonings for any of it. Maybe it's different out in Cadens, but they don't never seem to have any good spices or blends. Cayenne, paprika, basically kinda chili powder, cajun, Old Bay. Good stuff. It's mostly like, salt and black pepper and dill.
[ The honest truth is just that Julie finds the pre-television, pre-internet world to be dreadfully boring. She is used to a constant stream of entertainment available to occupy herself with, and re-reading the books she could remember enough to manifest got very old, very quickly. Her distaste for the Singularity makes reading Abraxan books difficult, as they talk about it a lot. And she would much rather read about his world anyway.
Her hands are delicate when she takes the notebooks, opens one to quickly scan over the writing. Yes, these will do. And maybe Ciri will stop mocking her about the difference between dragons and wyverns (Julie still does not get it). ] Thank you, sugar. My daddy used to say I couldn't read anythin' that wasn't made up of emojis, but look at me now.
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As instructed, he cracks it open. The noise is rather satisfying, and inside? Salty, again, but less overwhelming. It's almost... refreshing. Interesting.]
They're a lakeside city, aren't they? I suppose it's not surprising. Not much land to grow such frivolous things. [He doesn't say it, but he can't help worrying about those still so close to Thorne. Technically still fallen under the kingdom's lands.
Yet... a few complains about a lack of flavors is hardly a real problem to him. At least they can eat and work. It's been a long time since then, but Jaskier still recalls a time where he would go days, if his performances went badly, without eating.
Jaskier gives her a tip of his head. It's a strange sort of feeling, seeing those notebooks in someone else's hands. Only one part of the culmination of his life, and she's to read them to chase away boredom. Well. That's the point of entertainment, isn't it?] I... don't know what that means, but I think he should have set his expectations for you a bit higher. Besides, you can let me know if it gets too dry. I couldn't help but add a bit of my own spark to it.
[It's definitely informative, and what he's written is true to the best of his knowledge, but occasionally there's, like, a dirty joke, or a picture of a slightly familiar, scowling man on the back of a page.]
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She grimaces just a little at the mention of the lake. It's not the fault of anyone from Nott, but she is not a fan of fish. ] Yeah, they pull in most everythin' from the lake. I almost never ate seafood before I got to Nott. Where I was from, it was thousands of miles from any coast. We had all the beef, pork, chicken in the world, but not fish. Least not that I would trust.
[ She doesn't fear Thorne, not really. It is, of course, not ideal to be within their purview, but Nott had been quietly simmering and pushing back against the capital long before she got there. If there was to be a fight between them, it wouldn't start with a search for her group, and there would, presumably, be time to get out. Frankly, she's not sure any of the other options are all that much better. Nott, at least, is significantly more ambivalent about the Singularity than anywhere else, and being there gives her access to a kind of magic that would be extremely difficult to find instruction for elsewhere. Everything has to have a trade-off.
With a snort, she turns a page, skims the first paragraph, but then closes the book again. She doesn't mean to be rude. ] Oh, emoji? They're these lil' pictures that we use as kind of their own language, because we mostly talk to other people in texts now. So imagine if I sent you a message on the mind... network thing we have, but you couldn't tell if I was bein' sarcastic. With emoji, I can add a little face that's laughing so you would know I was jokin'. We can't do it, though. I tried. But you can write a whole story in emojis, if you try. A bunch of 'em have double meanings, or unofficial ones, so you kind of hafta learn to read 'em before you can use 'em.
[ It's yet another thing that she's realizing is too complicated to explain to someone with absolutely no context. It's easier to show, so instead she just manifests what appears to be a late-model iPhone. She doesn't know enough about phones for it to be in any way functional as a phone, but it turns on, and she can make it show various apps. She opens the text app and quickly hammers out a series of emojis, then hands the phone to him. It reads
😏 u 🆙 or 😴❓ 💭 maybe 🍸🍸💨 then 🤷♀️? u in?
She does not translate yet. ]
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Considering he has now seen the place she lived in once, he's far less surprised to hear that she had all the meat in the world. No roadside camps where her companion would hunt a rabbit or a squirrel, if he could find one. Mostly rabbit. Birds, sometimes; wild chickens, or ones purchased from market. Not the sort of woman, he suspects, who has ever eaten half-chewed bread from the floor.
At least a lack of food isn't the only problem most people have. Only a large one.
It's a topic he doesn't really want to bring up, so he doesn't. He only listens, leaning over to her when she holds out a, ah. A square. Rectangle, to be exact. He's not sure what he's looking at, but there are things on it.]
Ah! Some sort of symbol-based language to emphasize tone when words cannot suffice. That's fascinating, actually. [He's going to simply accept this, because a glowing rectangle that displays words versus, you know, a hand-written book, is a lot to take in. It's magic. No less than the picture of her city full of lights and the tallest structures he's ever seen.
He frowns, looking over them. Rubbing his chin and the shadow of stubble there.
Attempting to read it.
It's... going...]
I have no fucking idea what this says. Oh, wait, this one, that's a cocktail glass, isn't it? "Maybe cocktails, then...?" Is this some sort of code?
[Look, he's trying. He's beyond boomer.]
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Her family had been deeply impoverished, never had a spare dime for much past necessities, but there was always food available, simply from the sheer volume of farming around them. It didn't mean she wasn't shamed for not cleaning her plate, it didn't mean that her family wasn't reliant on government programs and charity, but it meant that there was food there, food that she knew she could get her hands on if she needed to. Hell, if she were willing to eat nothing but corn, she really only had to drive a few miles to the nearest mega farm and slip into the field. She'd be malnourished, sure, but not hungry.
She's never eaten floor bread (well, in a way that's not 5-second-rule-ish), but it's more due to coincidence of circumstances than class or true wealth. That luck is not lost on her -- she knows that plenty of people in her world, in her time, were starving to death. But is it any different from being born into nobility? Her access to food, to the wealth inherent in being American, was not something she could change or singlehandedly distribute to the needy. She trick-or-treated for UNICEF every year as a child, surely that offsets some of the unfairness in the world.
Though she does giggle, she claps when he deciphers even one of the symbols. Honestly, it's more than she was expecting, so it deserves praise. Leaning over, she translates character-by-character. ]
Okay, so the first face kinda sets the tone. Like, this guy is all smirky, so it's gonna imply that you're up to somethin'. You up or asleep, is the next set. "You up?" is kind of like... it's not just askin' if the person is still awake. It's usually for either goin' back out to party, or else the person sendin' it is hopin' that it'll lead to sex. Who sends it is how you know which way it goes. Then the thought bubbles for "I was thinkin'", and here it's "maybe drinks and smokin' weed", that's the wind gust. The shrug for "I don't know". Then you're askin' if the other person is in it with you. Like I said, a lot of emojis is about the specific person you're talkin' to.
[ She taps the keyboard at the bottom and it shifts to nothing but emojis, hundreds of them, and she swipes through a few pages. ] So you can add any of these to any message you send to anyone you know. Some of 'em are exactly what they look like, the flags and stuff, but most have other meanings that just sort of... happened. A lot of the foods double as sex stuff.
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He's not sure how well he buys into this face implies sneakiness, but. You know, what does it matter? It's fun. He loves the idea of it. Of course he has his preference for words, but words cannot always say everything.
As much as he'd like.]
This is much more complex than I was thinking. And would it not depend on the receiver interpreting it the same way? I suppose you'd know, sending it to a specific person.
[What would Geralt think if he send him some cocktail glasses and a gust of wind? He'd, perhaps, not speak to him again.]
Oh. Fuck me. [He looks through them, imitating the swipe of her finger.] This is exceedingly complex. Wait, wait. [He moves over to a peach, touching it.] I know this one well. My lady, how I pine to see you leave / But is it from a glut of you / or a wish for the sight of your rump / Round as a peach?
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And that face totally implies sneakiness. ]
Exactly! It's like talkin' in real life, you have to know the person to know what you can say to 'em without gettin' weird or punched.
[ Her claps are very genuine, and quickly become quite enthusiastic even as she laughs at the incredibly lovely ode to a juicy ass. She cannot fathom what she would ever reply to that in the real world. It would almost be better to get an unsolicited dick pic, because at least she'd know what to say in the latter case. But if she were going to receive a Shakespearean couplet about her ass, that's a good one.
She adds a few more emojis, 🍆🥠🎆🤯😍💍, lets him try to work that one out as she polishes off what remains of the wine. She is well aware that he will have no idea what a fortune cookie is (she is prepared to give him one if asked), but assumes that the visual will make enough of an impression. ] That one's for a real good night.
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[Though to Geralt's credit, it was only the one time. Almost loving, that punch. Appreciative of his offering of his art.
He drinks more wine and leans in against her to see the screen. Now that it's quite clearly a challenge, and he has nowhere else he'd rather be, he's going to figure this out.] All right. A good night, you say. A fun one, I imagine.
[They both know. He hmms.] Aubergine is simple. It's definitely a cock. [Look, she's the one who said the were sex stuff.] Some sort of... croissant? A volcano? [The one in the middle looks like a star, but he can't imagine that's meant to be it.] I am going to assume this is some sort of expression, with the hearts. A positive one. And a ring? A wedding? A good cock leads to marriage? I mean, not in my experience. You're lucky if it's good despite the marriage.
[Surely a quote from Jaskier's biography, Confessions of a Professional Cucker.]
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She nods approvingly, because he really did nail the general gist, even if it's twisted a little. She points at the unknown emoji, to explain. ] That's called a fortune cookie. It's this thin cookie that's folded up in this shape, and there's a little piece of paper with a fortune inside it. You break it in half, read your fortune and then eat the cookie. [ She holds out her hand to him, where now she has a single fortune cookie in her palm for him. ] You only get 'em when you eat one kind of food, Chinese food. Anyway, for the emoji, it's more about the shape.
[ Which should be obvious, given the context. She thought he'd have a harder time with the taco than the fortune cookie. ] But you almost got it perfect, just a lil' backward. So yeah, the first two for sex. The third is a firework, do y'all have fireworks? Anyway, it means it was great. The next one is having your mind blown because of it. Then love, and marriage. So you read it as "I had sex so good that I think I met my future husband". Or wife, whatever. You can also do it like [ 🍆😵 ].
[ She holds up a finger, as if she has made a brilliant point. ] Dickmatized.
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He plucks the cookie off of her palm after handing the rectangle back. This is meant to be a cookie? (Bar the fact he has no idea what "Chinese food" is.) He's not sure what the point is in giving it all these angles, but it is not hard to imagine, now that he has a frame of reference, what it is meant to be.
He breaks it in half. Oh! She was right. He pops a piece in his mouth, reading the little paper inside.
Be at peace with yourself.
Ah. All right. He balls that up and tosses it away, masking the motion by leaning in to watch her explanation. He nods, the same focus on her lesson as he would have back in Oxenfurt. He is, after all, rather fascinated by an entire symbolic language... that is used to get one a bed partner for the night.
Humans always have their priorities straight, if you ask him.] Er, no. But I imagine it's some sort of explosion?
[He sits back up to look at her. And laugh.]
Dickmatized. [There's a nod of deep understanding. Oh, he understands the phrase quite well.] And I assume you're speaking from experience? Only curious, of course. A lady may never tell, but I absolutely will.
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She wiggles a hand, gesturing "sort of". ] I can show you fireworks if you want, but I don't wanna scare you. I mean, they're way up in the sky, big bursts of color. We use 'em for celebrations, mostly. Certain holidays, important victories. Oh, Disney World does 'em all the time. They're loud, but the only reason for 'em is to be pretty and entertainin'. They do whole shows, set to music and stuff. But like I said, I don't want you to freak out.
[ There's no negativity or criticism in her voice, only genuine concern. She knows that some people can't handle loud noises or explosions, and now she knows that Jaskier is one of them.
The fact that she has had to define fireworks and not the concept of being dickmatized is incredibly funny to her, and her nose scrunches as she giggles over it. ] Every girl's been through the wringer with one of those guys, and the ones that don't are either liars or virgins. That shit'll put you in the loony bin. That's why I made up my mind years ago, never be the one who falls.
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Hm. He may be understanding why Geralt only sometimes responds to the words upon words he says.
Does he think he deserves more than a few grunts or a "yes"? Absolutely.]
Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no? [The sarcasm drips. He isn't sure what it means, that it might scare him. That she should warn him twice it may do so. Because he was startled by a little, er, drink? To be fair, she hadn't properly prepared him for that.
Jaskier pauses before he can really ask her to show him. For now. He definitely must see what these things are.]
"Never the one who falls?" You mean fall in love? For someone so young, that seems awfully jaded.
[And coming from someone who has had their heart broken many a time, he... can't say it's wrong, possibly.]
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And there is something extremely gratifying about showing someone a thing that they've never conceived of before, of seeing their reaction and watching their eyes change with comprehension.
Her warning is actually based on the fact that she accidentally gave him a panic attack within a few minutes of meeting for the first time (if confetti cannons warranted Xanax and weed, he would need heroin to cope with unexpected fireworks), but it's fine. She actually expects that he'll be exposed to fireworks either way -- there's no way in hell that Sam doesn't throw a Fourth of July cook-out with a bunch of Roman Candles -- so she just laughs. ] Look, I ain't think to say anythin' at Halloween, I'm not gonna spring somethin' even bigger on you without a warning.
[ There's a snort, somewhat bitter, and she refills her glass with a thought, as the bottle has long been emptied. She takes a knowing sip, looking over the rows of grapevines. ] You've never been a woman. When you're a girl, you get jaded early. Men hurt us, startin' early. Half the time, it's your own daddy does it first, if he even stuck around. [ She fishes a joint out of her cleavage, because of course that's where she keeps such things, then lights it with a wave of her hand. Taking a drag, she offers it to Jaskier, blows the smoke out in a cloud. ] There's this famous saying in my world. 'Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.' You wanna survive, you better learn that fallin' in love is just breakin' all your defenses down for 'em.
[ When she looks back at him, it's with an expression of resignation, acceptance. An eyebrow lift that says, That's just how it is. ] Every woman you've ever known has a story about when she loved a man and he used it to ruin her. They just never told you.
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She may be young, but in their sphere, she's well beyond the years of real youth.
He listens without interrupting, only raising his brows as she goes on. Of course Julie has always come off as someone with edges, and yet with a bit of too much heart on her sleeve, but here it becomes all the more blatant.]
You're right. I have never, in fact, been a woman. [There is only so much artistic empathy can give him. He has written from the viewpoint of women, has known many women who he loved and hated, and writes of them. But he is not one.
That's just how it is.]
You'd be surprised. [He means it mildly, going back to his wine because he feels this conversation needs it.] When I was younger, I had a certain reputation. A rake, in some circles. All right, in all circles. During my rounds around the Continent, I met many discontented women. Married ones, especially. Ones who had many reasons to want a young bard in their beds when their husbands were away.
[He shrugs, taking the offering -- he can recognize the thing she'd smoked at the party, and Jaskier has experience with pipes, at least. It's an amusing anecdote now, and he doesn't mean it as a brag. But courtiers and baker's wives alike loved having a young man who wanted to hear their stories, their complaints. As well as a roll in the hay.] But you're right. There are so many who told me nothing, and I never thought to ask.
[He coughs. Oh. Fuck. Well.] So, how does your story end? Have you renounced love entirely now?
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She does not appear surprised to hear his sordid history (look, when she decided to make a cuck out of her god-king, she knew exactly what she was doing), and in fact, she mostly just looks entertained by it. She's not someone who cares all that much about respecting the institution of marriage, nor does she think it's Jaskier's responsibility to stay away from married women. Their fidelity has nothing to do with him, unless he is a very different man than Julie believes him to be. ] Yeah, and those were the ones who weren't in love. Those were the ones miserable enough with what they had to be lookin' for somethin' else. It's when you don't want anyone else that makes you weak. Gives 'em the upper hand.
It's like bein' on a tightrope all the time, with no net to catch you, and you know you're gonna hit the ground eventually. You can give a man your whole world, and he'll throw it back in your face without a thought, 'cause it was never gonna be good enough for him. Men, most men, don't want a woman to be a person. They just want mommies and maids they're allowed to fuck, too. So you cook and clean up after him, you listen to his problems, you raise his brats, you lay there long enough for him to get off and fall asleep, all 'cause you love him, right? You love him, so you don't ask for any of that for yourself. Because the second you ask for anythin' more from him, need more, he'll disappear. I remember readin' this statistic once, that if a woman gets cancer, there's a seventy-five percent chance her husband leaves her while she's sick. Doesn't matter how old they are, how long they've been married, nothin'. Seventy-five percent. When the man gets cancer, the woman stays more than eighty percent of the time.
Inhale right after the hit, don't let it sit in your throat. That'll irritate you, make you cough. [ He coughs and she takes the joint back, takes another long pull. She has to think about her answer, eyes cast over the vineyard, the sun beginning to lower in the sky. ] My story... my story ends with lightnin'. Love's not anythin' I'll ever need to worry about.
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Statistics and cancer are beyond his ken, but he gets what she's coming around to. Men will abandon women who get in the way. It happens on her sphere, it happens on his. They suffer in the wars, the plagues. The aftereffects of both. Working on farms, raising children. Using sex for power, to get what they want, because it's what they have.
Trading their womanly faculties for it. For power.
He sighs, drinking a heavy swallow this time. He almost wishes to go back to the exploding drink bottle.]
You know, if that ever happens, I highly suggest throwing some coin at the closest person with a sword and making sure he dies with you. S'what I would do. [He fills up her glass in case she needs it. Funny that spheres can be infinitely separate, but some things are universal.] Wait, lightning? Did he get struck by it?
[Sorry, he's a little drunk now.] Serves him right if he broke your heart. You know, after several heartbreaks of my own, I sometimes wonder if it truly is just easier to fuck and then get out of there. Take the fun before there's nothing less to take.
[And yet. And yet, he still has that fear, even after all of these years. Dying a brokenhearted man.]
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Julie doesn't care for most people, as a general rule. Views others first and foremost as tools to provide her with what she wants. That goes double for men. The walls that surround her heart tower twice as tall for anyone with a Y-chromosome. The risk they bring is so much greater than any woman.
She laughs a little, takes a sip and another hit before she passes the joint back. ] If I want a man dead, I'll do it myself. Hell hath no fury and all that. [ There's a pause where she looks at Jaskier from the corner of her eye. ] No, he wasn't struck by lightnin'. There's no one "him". It's all "him"s.
[ The sky takes on a purple cast, and she stands, offers him her hand. ] C'mon, I'll show you fireworks.
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[Look, they might not have hell as a concept, but women and scorn and their revenge are all very well-known themes. And ones that are always quite enjoyable to write of... when they are far from affecting real lives, of course.
He waves the joint off.] I'll stick to the edible ones.
[Jaskier, after all, can't afford to fuck up his throat. Even in the Horizon, thank you.
He doesn't mention he's thankful she's found his company worthy, then. It's clear enough because she's here, not telling him to fuck off (to be fair, it is his domain). He takes her hand, lifting from their stump chairs, leaving the wine behind.] Are you sure they're not so frightening I'll shit myself? I'd hate to lower your clearly high opinion of me.
[It's a tease, accompanied with a gentle bump of her shoulder.] Show me.
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She snickers and barely restrains from calling him a baby, because she is a child in an adult's body, but the joint disappears after she breathes out a final cloud of smoke. With a wave of her arm, the sky goes from dusk to midnight, stars twinkling against the indigo field that ends at the limits of the vineyard. A second thought turns their seats instead to a large blanket spread over the grass. It's blue gingham and quite worn, because that's the blanket that Julie remembers best, from Independence Day and Memorial Day celebrations, the blanket that she would fall asleep under in the back of her father's truck after the show was over. The wine sits in a corner, a fresh bottle, and she feels a pang in her heart looking over the scene. This exact setup, it's not something she ever gets again, not for real, and it had once seemed so reliable. Something that would be there for her every summer.
She slips her shoes off at the edge of the blanket, then lies down to look up at the sky, a halo of pink spread around her head. ] Get comfortable. It's the only real way to watch.
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Jaskier watches the sky as it quickly darkens, as if a quilt's been thrown over them all at once. He doesn't mind her shifting or changing his domain to suit their needs, only settling down on the ground once the trunks have disappeared. In the distance, his horses neigh, unbothered by night falling all at once.
The bard is not unfamiliar to laying out on blankets in the grass, the dirt. He settles down with his legs crossed underneath him, toeing his boots off to set aside alongside hers.
Oh. Right above them? He lays down as well, hands laying on his chest. Their hair brushes together, a mixture of bright pink and dark brown.]
I'm more than comfortable down here. It's much nicer than the horse blankets Geralt and I used to sleep on. [He chuckles, stretching his toes out.] Besides. I can keep the ants away this time.
[He readies himself. If it's anything she was worried would scare him, he imagines whatever is about to happen is extremely loud.]
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There's a bang and several whistling noises as the first fireworks launch from somewhere near the edge of the domain. They sail into the sky, disappear for just a second, then begin to explode into glittering dandelion displays of every color. Thunderous noise becomes a constant drone as more and more fireworks take up the sky, some spreading wide like flowers, some remaining in tightly clustered balls, some shooting further up like streamers. Music plays around them as if on speakers, mostly because that's how Julie's recollection of it works, timed to vaguely patriotic country songs. The fireworks drown most of it out anyway, though they remain coordinated with the rhythm.
Her face begins to hurt from beaming so much. She really thought she'd never see fireworks again, not after the superflu. Maybe it's the American in her, maybe it's just the girl who's spent the past year and half almost completely devoid of simple joy. She turns her head to watch Jaskier's reaction. ]
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It's not quite the same now. It had been so quiet then, outside of insects and wildlife, the fire popping. Here he prepares himself, steadying for whatever it is that's meant to scare him. A whistle sounds through the air, making the horses lift their heads upwards.
Then it explodes.
A burst of color soars across the night sky in an explosion almost reminiscent of the one that gave him the scar on his arm. And though the first one makes him jump, startling him, he rises up on his hands to stare. More incomprehensible pops of color -- and these, he recognizes, shaped and colored like flowers. The music floods in and, honestly, the combination of both is almost too much. Though he cups his hands over his ears, he never takes his eyes from the sky. Waiting for the next one to go off.
It's beautiful. Like an explosion of stars, of twinkling candle lights, falling through the air. Colors he's rarely ever seen on anything in his life, brighter than the moon.
He's beaming, too, his mouth hanging open. There's no words to describe it, really, when it comes down to it. They're simply... breathtaking.]
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She touches his shoulder gently when he jumps, because this is what she was warning him of, but he so quickly falls into the same enchantment as children seeing fireworks for the first time. The bursts keep coming, overlapping each other in rainbow-colored balls, then they switch to hearts and stars. Julie's pretty sure that, if she concentrates hard enough --
A series of music notes bloom across the sky. They don't actually mean anything (Julie can't read music), but the symbols are there. ]
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It blocks the view of the stars. For when it's not raining, of course. Or the moon's too bloody big and bright to see them properly. He enjoyed staring at it, too. Even on the rare nights it would grow bloated and red. Perhaps those nights it was the most beautiful.
It really doesn't hold a candle to this.
Especially once the notes appear! He quickly catches on that they don't mean anything -- or, at least, they're of no song he knows of, and don't have much flow to them -- but they're beautiful nonetheless. Because she's making them for him. Of course the bloody bard wants to see music lit up in glowing sparks. It's never been so beautiful.]
If only we had these in Cadens. I'd be throwing my music into the air just like this. And not a soul would be able to ignore it.
[Certainly he'd be the first bard to do so. Take that, Valdo Marx.]
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Fireworks are so ancient in Julie's world that she can barely conceive of one where they're not present. She knows that there are guns in the Free Cities, albeit rare, but does that mean that they don't function on gunpowder? If there's one thing she's pretty sure of, it's that humans will find a way to make entertainment out explosions far faster than they'll find a way to responsibly use such power.
She rolls onto her side, props her head on her hand as she considers the idea. ] I mean, I don't think fireworks would be very hard with magic, probably easier than regular fire. But with the way they feel about magic out there... [ She shakes her head a little. ] I can't wrap my head around havin' magic and then hatin' it like that.