[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.]
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
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.