metaverses | {Everything I was told my whole life was a lie

There is something utterly disorienting in all of this. Between blinks, somehow, impossibly, Ciri finds herself in an unknown place. The streets of the city are... more or less calm, which is the direct opposite of the teeming paic Ciri feels herself in the moment.

She's on edge. Cautious and careful, doing her damndest to stay unnoticed. Perhaps... not the easiest thing, given the very, very strange look of the place, and decidedly out-of-place look of her within it. An effort that seems almost pointless as she moves away from the crowded streets and slides into back alleys and hardly anyone bats an eye at her presence at all.

She keeps away from strangers and weaves through crowds to find someplace that might give her the space to breathe, to think, to regroup and figure out what the hell is going on. She finds that solace in what seems by all rights, near as she can tell, an abandoned house. Not unsafe or rundown, just old, creaky, and in need of some work, and unlived in for an untold length of time. It's not like any house she's seen before, but she is certain that's what it is, and when she finds the door helpfully unlocked, she slips inside. She doesn't call out because she doesn't think she needs to, it's pretty clearly empty.

Ciri takes a moment just to breathe and calm down so she can clear her head. That's the first step in this whole process. The rest will come after.

Edited 2022-08-17 17:43 (UTC)

There is chaos (ha) everywhere, and while Jaskier helps wherever he can, he still wants to keep up with his own life. Not only wants, but needs, too, because the end of the month is coming and he'll be kicked out of the hotel soon.

He isn't surprised that Yennefer has turned down his offer, really, it's more surprising that he could ask at all. Their relationship definitely has become... something. Back in the Continent, but even more here, and that's why her refusal stings a little.

It has nothing to do with him dreading to be alone in a house or apartment, thank you very much.

That moment they had the other day had been special, but Jaskier can't deny he had been worried things would become awkward between them. Thankfully he had been wrong, and now the witch is here willing to check house options with him in case they're cursed. Or something. Who can even tell when it comes to Sunset Falls.

Old and creaky matches many places he's visited with Geralt trying to find creepy things to kill, and just like it used to happen back in the Continent, Jaskier stands out like a sore thumb because of his choice of colorful clothing.

"Now this-" he exclaims as he enters the house with Yennefer by his side. "-is what I call a ghost trap. Are you sure you can't do your sparkly thing out--"

He barely takes a few steps inside before he's bumping against someone and falling to the floor with a heartful fuck. Brushing off his clothes, he looks up to give this person a piece of mind, but he freezes when he sees who it is.

No fucking way.

"...princess?"

Finding a place to live that suits has hardly been on Yennefer's list of priorities — or at the very least, not assuming a high place on it. From what she's been told, she won't be forced out of the hotel room any time soon, and determining the type of home she can establish for herself is a consideration she'll get to whenever it becomes more of a necessity, and no sooner.

She had been slightly taken aback by Jaskier's offer for them to share the same home, surprised enough to more instinctively decline instead of taking more time to consider it — but she's relented enough to accompany him in the process of deciding on his own, getting a better sense of the lands that might be available when the time comes for her to procure her own space.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's just an old house." If she'd noted any strong energies coming off of it, she would've kept him from walking in blindly, on the off-chance that there was some presence lurking within waiting for the first unsuspecting person to strike at.

As it happens, there is a presence, just one that neither of them is expecting, and Yennefer's head whips up to find that shock of light hair, those wide eyes, stepping forward past Jaskier's crumpled form and stooping down slightly to peer into the familiar face of a girl she'd only barely left.

"Ciri? Are you alright?" The unspoken question of whether or not she's alone dangles on Yen's tongue, unwilling to drop.

She gasps when the door opens, but the movement of the people into the house is too quick, the man runs into her before she can even get her wits about herself to flee. Stupid girl, she chides herself, but all the irritation washes away when she spins to find—

“Jaskier?” Her eyes dart from one to the other, “Yennefer, I—” but she doesn’t know what to say, a little dumbfounded at being stumbled upon by people at all, and doubly so that it happened to be ones she knew.

But then, in the space of a heartbeat, she snaps to a realization. “Geralt. Is he here?” There’s a tinny sound hope in her voice, only heightened by the way it shines twice as bright in her eyes.

It seems they're all thinking the same thing, and Jaskier's heart flutters with the same hope that covers Cirilla's voice - the same voice that instantly shatters that hope. Destiny, you ruthless bitch.

Still, seeing her in such a confused state makes Jaskier keep his face neutral, not wanting the poor girl to feel is her fault that the fucking rules of this place are playing with them.

"I'm afraid it's only been Yennefer and I from our realm so far," he explains as he finally stands up and finishes fixing his clothes before coming closer. "And now you, my little lady. I must second Yennefer's question - did you just get here? Are you well?"

Yennefer stiffens, distinctly, at the mention of a certain name, her fingers tightening an imperceptible amount on Ciri before she wills herself to relax her touch and straighten from trying to examine the girl up close. She doesn’t look any worse for the wear, and there’s no telling how long she’s been here — but Ciri has always been capable, having survived on her own long before she found Geralt and the rest of them in turn. The power she carries inside her would be more than sufficient enough to handle anyone who even thought twice about bringing her harm.

Still, she can’t entirely resist the instinct to gently smooth fingertips over the side of Ciri’s face, tucking a strand of light hair back behind her ear and then glancing over to Jaskier as he gets himself up off the ground.

“I’ve only just arrived weeks ago, but Jaskier came nearly a month before — though apparently none of us realized it. It was as if he’d never left from Kaer Morhen.” Speaking of… “What do you last remember?”

"I...I'm- fine." The word tastes sour on her tongue, a lie she wants herself to be fooled by, if just for a moment. Physically, she supposes, she is, fine. Unharmed from ending up here so dramatically.

Suspicion confirmed, they were in a new realm. Her words drop down to a whisper and when she speaks, her voice shakes slightly. "Did I do this...?" Everything is her fault these days, why not this, too?

"We- we were...regrouping. After Voleth Meir..." Her eyes stay on Yennefer, leaning a little into the touch against her cheek. Her voice is still on a waver. "You saved me..."

Her words are hesitant, and Jaskier isn't sure if believing her - perhaps Geralt has already passed on her his annoying I'm fine habit, he wouldn't be surprised. But then she makes that question, and his heart clenches.

"...fuck. Nononononono!" He shakes his hands over and over, and once he's close enough, he rests one on Cirilla's shoulder to give it a squeeze. "You did not do this, I promise. This realm is going through its own Conjunction of the Spheres, dragging people without giving much respect to banal concepts such as bloody time."

His huff is more playing up the dramatics than any real frustration - as crazy this whole deal is, he's glad that they aren't being missed at home. Now if the last member of their little adventure party was here too, then Jaskier could stop caring about silly things such as the possibility of returning and enjoy making a new life here with less of the terrors of the Continent and more of the comforts of the modern era.

"We should take her back to the hotel," he tells Yennefer before turning to Cirilla again. "How does a bath and meal sound, princess?"

"This wasn't your doing," Yennefer agrees, a quiet echo of Jaskier's louder and more insistent response. If it were, she has a strong suspicion that they would have all been drawn here, the three of them and everyone back in that chamber in Kaer Morhen, even perhaps some of Geralt's witcher brethren. She would have felt the same power that brought them to a place to witness the Wild Hunt, and there's no mistaking a power like Ciri's, one that could eclipse any other's on the Continent with little difficulty.

Something in her chest clenches, though, at Ciri's words, and she offers the girl a reassuring glance, hand shifting to smooth back over the crown of her head and over the length of her braid, a trailing touch that reasserts more than anything the proof of her presence, the reality of her being here and not just a desired vision.

"That might be for the best. Contrary to what you might think," she adds, mostly to Ciri, "neither of us actually lives here." Never mind that the very reason they'd even been here in the first place was in order to peruse the available houses for Jaskier's purposes, but that can be a conversation held at a later time when their latest arrival is less overwhelmed by the situation.

Jaskier is animated as ever in his insistence she had no part in any of this, a hand squeezing her shoulder which gives her more comfort than she can explain.

Yennefer is the calmer of the two, only backing the bard's earlier statement, a hand smoothed gently over her hair.

What would she have done if they were not here? The thought is uncomfortable, and she tamps it down, and tries to ignore it for its irrelevance. Instead, she nods at the idea of going somewhere for a bath and some food. "I think that would be good," she says, mainly to Jaskier's question, though she's looking at Yennefer. "Well, you must be staying somewhere."

i. look at this stuff, isn't it neat?

OTA

Once she's had an explanation of what's going on from Yennefer and Jaskier, Ciri has time to get as settled as she can. And next? Well, it's adventure time! A new world! A new city! There are hundreds of things to explore and she wants to see and hear and touch and experience them all.

There's a good chance you could find her just about anywhere in town. Seriously. That ice cream shop with the weird flavors? She wants to try them all. The mall? Absolutely. She needs new clothes! The library, it's huge and she definitely got lost inside it once or twice- she's almost certain that staircase went somewhere else moments ago! The musem with weird and maybe-mystical, maybe-fake relics has her wearing a look of awe the entire time she wanders through it. And any shop that looks like it has something to do with magic is definitely catching her eye.

ii. wildcard

OTA

Hit me with anything that feels right in your heart! Ciri is literally going to try to check out anything remotely interesting in Sunset Falls.

Between one coughing, drowning breath and the next, Pavetta finds herself somewhere else, falling bonelessly and uncoordinatedly down on streets she most assuredly doesn’t know. The last thing she remembers is… a ship. Duny. Their argument. Falling overboard. Drowning. Dying. She’s dead. She’s supposed to be dead. But she very plainly isn’t. No, she’s coughing and breathless but breathing, her dress sodden and clinging to her skin. Breathing,, her heart pounding in her chest. Two things that would be quite absent if she were dead.

Cirilla. At least Cirilla is safe from Duny and his machinations. Safe with Calanthe. No one will keep her daughter safer than her mother will. The Lioness of Cintra will see that no harm comes to her granddaughter. That makes her breathe a little bit easier. Just a bit.

Drawing herself to her feet, she gathers herself. Pavetta isn’t her mother. She’s quiet where Calanthe is forceful, preferring books and music to swords and battle. But she can be every inch as commanding when circumstances call for it. And they do, now. She needs information, to discover where it is she’s found herself. How they’d brought her here.

It takes her no time at all to realise that she does not belong, standing out painfully in her sodden gown in a style that doesn’t resemble any clothes she’s seen here in this place. And she would like to be dry.

Her attention is drawn instead by the library. Clothing can wait. Books have always a love of hers, and what better way to learn of this world? She doesn’t know what it is that she’s looking for, her fingertips trailing along the spines as she peruses the book shelves, but perhaps she’ll know it when she sees it.

She takes her time. So much so that her gown is well on the way to drying before she’s chosen a single book.

The library. That’s the best place for information, no matter where she’s ended up. And at least she’s gotten a decent enough explanation of what’s happening from Yennefer and Jaskier. Not that it makes sense, but she’s stopped trying to make sense of her life by now. Every time she thinks she knows what’s going on, a new curve is thrown into the road and she’s lucky to not go careening off a mountain’s ledge for it.

She browses idly through the aisles of books, row after row, not seeking anything in particular just yet, just browsing. Seeing what’s on offer. There are so many different sections, and she isn’t entirely certain what some of it means but surely at least some of it is genuine history and not simply an oral tale put to parchment.

She turns down another aisle, but she isn’t prepared for what she sees when she does. A gasp escapes her and she stands there, feet rooted to the spot, mouth slightly agape as she stares at what appears to be her mother at the other end of the row.

Pavetta hears the gasp and turns, a book of fairy tales in her hand. She is about to ask what's wrong when she sees her, really truly sees the girl, and goes still in shock. She knows those eyes. Those are her eyes. And she knows that face. She's seen her, before.

She had looked up, from her young daughter lying in her bed... to see this girl. As surely as she had been standing in the room with them. And she knows. Had known then, deep in her heart, who she was. And her heart aches.

Her hand covers her mouth. "Cirilla?"

She sees her, but Ciri isn't sure she can believe her. Is she real? Another vision of some kind? It wouldn't be the first time, after all. And how would her mother know it was her?

Despite her caution, Ciri finds herself slowly walking down the aisle. "Mother...?" she whispers, her voice shaky, her features soft, wary, scared, and hopeful all at once.

Pavetta chokes back a sob at that softly whispered 'mother...?' and then she is rushing down the aisle, the book of fairy tales falling from her hand forgotten as she rushes to embrace her daughter. "Oh my darling Cirilla," she murmurs, tears trickling down her cheeks.

"How...?" she breathes out, still staring at her as though she's seen a ghost. And. Well- she has, hasn't she? And it wouldn't be the first time.

She halts the woman before she snatches her up in a hug, hands on her shoulders to keep her at just that tiny bit of distance. "How do I know you're real?" she asks, her eyes swimming with unspilled tears as she tries to take in every inch of her.

Between the natural history exhibits of an ancient rhinoceros with two heads and freakishly realistic wax sculptures of heavy-browed men in furs hunting on a life-sized diorama of the Pleistocene grasslands, smoke-like wisps of green light flashed. All in the span of a blink, the light flickered in the shadows, and from nothing, a young woman came stumbling out onto the main floor.

Disoriented, the girl stumbled forward with boots making heavy footfalls on the marble tiles before she found her balance. Lurching forward, she caught herself with her hands on her knees before her face introduced itself to the ground.

"Shit," She shook her silvery-blond head, shaking loose more flyaway hair from her already mussed queue.

A snarling wolf's head dangled from around her neck to match the roaring cat emblazoned on the sword's pommel strapped to her back. Bright green eyes darted around the room as she straightened up and took in her current location. Not even noticing her doppelganger in miniature at first as she huffed in annoyance.

"Dammit, am I still in the city?"

Ciri is enamored by the displays in the museum. History in live form. Well. Almost.

She’s lingering at one of the informational plaques when a light flashes from the edge of her periphery. She lets out a soft gasp and spins to face the intruder. A portal? Maybe, she didn’t quite catch her tumble out of wherever she’d come from.

“Are you—” the rest of her words are gone like smoke on the wind when she takes the older woman in. “That… medallion. Where did you get it?” She can’t quite take her eyes off of it.

Ciri looks up and freezes at what she sees standing between the exhibits of dead men and forgotten creatures. Green catches green in a locked stare where too many questions were as good as giving ground.

"I..." Ciri was at a loss, she didn't know what to do — only she did. Lie, lie and run. Any world where something might seem familiar or safe could be a trap.

"My name is Falka," She said as she unconsciously reached her medallion, "It was a gift."

Her eyes.

Now that Ciri has taken a second to look anywhere but at the medallion the other woman is clutching close, she can’t ignore it. We have the same eyes…

Does it mean anything?
What doesn’t these days?
How many pieces of her past, her heritage, has she already proven blind to, how much more might she discover as time draws ever-forward?

“Is that… Redanian?” She’s certain she recalls the name for legends long past from before she was born. But if she was right… if Redania registered as familiar to her, perhaps it means at least she’s from the same world.

"No," Ciri says too sharply and too quickly to invite an argument as she takes too long a stride between where she landed and deeper into the forest of ancient bones. After taking hurried steps into the shadow of a complete Anglosaurus exhibit, she turned and asked as she fiddled with the sigil around her neck.

"What is your mother's name?"

Don't let it be Cirilla, don't let Eredin be right that she had a child with the elder blood and doomed another innocent life to weigh the world's fate on such small hands.

The reaction is sharp, enough to startle her, but it doesn’t deter her from following her movements with her eyes. Determined not to let her roam too far away.

“My… my mother? Do you have cause to think you would know her?” She frowns slightly, but it’s pure curiosity driving her at the moment. What if she did? Maybe this… Falka has some answers no one else seems to have.

"Your mother's name, girl"

Ciri pushed off from the plinth that carried the weight of a two-headed tyrannosaurus rex and rounded on her possible doppelganger — her daughter? Oh, gods, please don't let Eredin's campaign be true. The worlds don't need another silver-haired herald.

"Tell me now and tell me true."

Her chin lifts, a clear defiance at the demands being made of her as much as a statement of not being afraid of her. Ciri would rather not… scream and collapse an entire building but she knows she could, at least, defend herself if she has to.

“My mother’s name was Pavetta Fiona Elen. Daughter of The Lioness of Cintra. House of Raven.”

Ciri froze when she wanted to run, as her sword lowered and the muggy thoughts of Eredin's blank promises and threats clouded her mind. She'll not abandon you.

— You always were an unruly child. I adored that about you

"My mother is-" Ciri's sword lowers as she shakes, "My mother is—"

"Yennefer, Vesemir, I—

My name is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon"

Ciri ducked her head and screamed.

“That. Isn’t. Possi—” her words are cut short as that scream rings through the room, and it feels like it’s ringing inside of her head. Everything around them shakes violently, falls to the floor, shatters to pieces, and all Ciri knows is she has to stop her.

“STOP!” She screams, and it echoes against the matching one reverberating around them, but she doesn’t want to meet destruction with more of the same. Instead she tries to reach into the few sparse lessons Yennefer had given her, focus her Chaos and do… something. Anything to just make her stop screaming.

She wrenches one hand to the side— if she could use a little telekinesis to just knock the wind from her, it would be enough, but Ciri knows she isn’t trained well, she can’t control any of this, so all she can do is try and hope it works.

"STOP"

The Chaos churns as it does; an unknowable sea, a tempestuous current. Ciri severed her sword and her connection to the other world.

"Ciri—"

The wild haired, green eyed girl almost ounced on her doppelganger. She caged her hands around her and whispered

"This is dangerous, we have to talk—run"

In this moment, feeling even more out of her depth than usual, she doesn’t hesitate to listen to the instruction. She knows when she needs to heed to the more experienced.

She keeps one hand wrapped tightly in the older woman’s and runs as fast as she can, out of the building. Ciri isn’t sure how long or how far they need to go, but she’s not letting this mirror out of her sight.

{Everything I was told my whole life was a lie

{Finding family in the chaos » Arrival » Locked to @rollstoseduce & @choicely

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{There will be a new world in the morning » Sunset Falls » OTA

i. Library (as I wing the hell out of this as best I can rn)

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i. the museum (oh hey)

hey there~

YEEEEEAAAH

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