[ "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
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.]
no subject
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.