abraxaslogs | [ CATCH-ALL ] and what you see is not the dark

Catching up with Aloy over drinks.

[ In truth, Ciri's been avoiding the Horizon since... everything. She's never been the type to spend a lot of time here anyway, hasn't been one of the people who most take solace in this otherworld. Not when everything she's built in the reality outside is so important to her, feels like something she fought tooth and nail for and won. Things here are too easy. Fun, sometimes, but--

Not real.

None of it was real.

But when Clive reaches out to see how she is and expresses a desire to meet, Ciri can't refuse him. They've all suffered the same thing, and most of them were still too much reeling when they were taken back to their respective territories to even really say anything. She too has been slowly trying to make sure everyone she knows and cares about made it... more or less intact.

Ciri waits for him in Clive's Domain, where she sits in the grass with her knees up and watches Wolf and Torgal play-wrestle nearby. ]

[ It's been a few days. Time feels... odd. Slipping by too fast, or too slowly, and all in a haze.

They take care of the necessities, first. The animals. The house. Restocking, shopping, fixing, settling in again. Home. Anything that Ciri can do with her hands, she takes up, cleaning and rearranging and doing errands with dogged efficiency. She spends a lot of time with her horse, or with Jaskier in silence taking the animals out to stretch their legs. Geralt seems to be, much as he always is, simply himself.

One day, she comes back to her room to find a gift left on her pillow. She knows without needing a note who it's from.

For a while, Ciri sits on her bed turning the little wooden cabin over in her fingers, tracing the details of its doors and windows with a nail, examining the way the roof comes off to hide something inside. Then, she puts it back together and sets it gently on her desk, and goes to find Geralt. ]

You made me a little house.

[ The house has been too quiet for weeks now.

Ciri pulls the lute off its stand in the corner of her room, examining the dust settled on the wood. It might need some actual, proper maintenance, but a quick few puffs of breath get rid of the surface layer at least. She grabs the folder of sheet music too, and makes her way to living room. The house is open and airy; the sofa is in full view of the kitchen, where Jaskier is baking too many things at once again.

With the lute in her lap, Ciri begins spreading the music sheets out on the table, eventually picking something to start strumming at, testing the strings with the first few notes slowly.

It's not tuned at all anymore. ]

[ She will discover him downstairs, where he often is when not hunting or tending to the horses. The house has been equal parts frenetic and quiet. Geralt has not interfered with Jaskier's dogged determination to bake every fucking loaf of bread in the Free Cities.

The days are still young. He imagines in time, things will...be less fraught.

He keeps a close eye on Ciri, but otherwise leaves her be. She will talk when she's ready, and so he is not surprised when she eventually appears at the bottom of the stairs. He glances up from his work table, a small vial in his hand. ]

I thought a big one might be excessive.

[ The joke lands, at least enough to tease out a brief lift at the corner of her mouth. Ciri takes a few steps toward him, eyes skimming over whatever he's working on automatically to see if she can figure it out, though she doesn't ask in this case. There are other things on her mind. ]

Hey. Can we talk?

About... you know.

[ One of them will have to make the first move. After everything that happened (it didn't really happen), Ciri feels an obligation to him. A debt to be repaid (a price she never really gave).

And a nebulous, nagging worry in the pit of her gut: how much does he remember? Will he realize how much she'd kept from him? Will he change?

Will they?

Ciri finds him in the workshop after hours, opening the door without knocking if it's still unlocked. Maybe he won't be here. Maybe it'll just be one of the others tending shop and she can make her excuses and see if her courage remains tomorrow. ]

Viktor?

[ It's an ongoing experiment with sword oil, to see if he can enhance the blade—though he does not realize that soon, this will be unnecessary when his sword mysteriously splits a boulder in half like butter. So much for his work over the past two months.

For now, he's oblivious to what lies ahead. He puts his equipment aside, full attention on Ciri. Their memories (visions) were not unpleasant, but what they came back to...the uncertainty is tough to ignore.

He wants what they had. But he wants it because they forged that road themselves. Not because some mystical power saw fit to absorb them into its consciousness. ]

Sure. [ He walks around the table, joining her by the shelves. ] What's on your mind?

[ He knows what's on her mind. Ciri sighs.

It seems so easy for him to go back to his daily life, and while she makes an effort and her struggles aren't nearly as obvious nor as pastry-based as Jaskier's, it's still... difficult. Seeing Jaskier not himself, either, has been difficult to watch. She's spoken with a few others about their thoughts and experiences coming out of what they've seen (not quite lived through), but Geralt is who she looks to in the end. For reassurance, if not exactly guidance.

He's always and ever stubbornly Geralt. She's pretty sure she knows what his answer will be. ]

How do you feel about it?

I want to know what's on your mind. That thing toyed with us, made us feel all those things that didn't happen. Jaskier and Yennefer wanted it to be real, didn't they?

What about you? I want to know what you think of it all.

[ She doesn't need to wait long; Clive extends the invitation, and finishes up his deliveries around the castle, collecting his coin and tucking it away for safe keeping in he and Jill's shared space before stepping into his Horizon, appearing his the rookery. He tries to make noise as he approaches her from behind, settling down beside her, one leg drawn up with his forearm resting on it, the other stretched out, eyes tracking Torgal and Wolf play. It's the most fun he's seen his dog have in years, and he smiles at it, before looking over at Ciri. ]

Looks like two of us made it out alright.

[ His arms fold across his chest. A small sigh escapes him. What is on his mind? Jaskier, primarily. Ciri. Yennefer, though her letter has done much to reassure him. He worries for them more than over a rush of centuries. ]

Do you recall when you first entered the Horizon? How your past faded? [ Regardless of her answer, he continues. ] I was amongst the first. We entered through the crater, just as we did here, and were lost inside it for weeks. I met faces anew. Built friendships. Found—a family.

[ With her. A shadow of her he does not mention now. ]

When we awoke, I felt the loss of something I never truly had. But...as time passed, I came to understand those memories remain in all of us. Whatever we felt—the world it took place in might not have existed. But the people in it, we are real.

[ He pauses. It's complicated. The line between illusion and memory. He gave her the little cabin because it means something to her as it does to him. The fact that he did not build it on this plane doesn't change that. It doesn't make the memory any less important. She's right: there's an unyielding stubbornness to his perspective. He simply does not want to give some vision or god the power to make him question his reality. To worm in doubts about what is or isn't possible.

He's only ever sought one thing. ]

I want a life for us. One without fear or unending loss. [ The immortality, the power—all of that is mere window dressing. What he held onto the most was that she no longer had anything to be afraid of. ] I don't think we need to forsake our choices to have it.

[ There are far better ways to deal with a dream that feels incredibly real rather than ignoring it but there's only avoiding that she can do before she has to come to terms with it all. But maybe it's fine if she pairs it with a little distraction - a low-key but nonetheless meaningful belated birthday gift for a friend.

She had given Ciri little details aside from telling her that it was a birthday gift, they'd be outside in the shade and that there would also be no monsters or any kind of weird magic involved.

On the appointed day Hilda arrives at Ciri's home with a large picnic basket in hand. Ciri's appearance at the door has Hilda letting out a bright gasp. ]

You look so cute! Ready to go?

[While normally Jaskier would be the first in the house to go absolutely insane at the quiet, the lack of company, having not performed or done much more than bake and take Feainna for walks -- he has still not found that spark of life in him he so desperately would like back. He's picked up his songbook several times only to lay it back down without a drop of ink spilled.

He's not content in being quiet and keeping to himself, but it's what has happened. The least he can say is all the excess in cooking has led to many gifts to the local orphans, who now somehow "end up in the neighborhood" several times a day, hungry as ever, while they take his bread loaves and attempt to pickpocket him nearly every time.

And so it remains quiet. Geralt is often out, and Ciri... well, he can only imagine she's the same. All of them have been scooped out like the heart of a fruit, left to heal from a wound that isn't clearly defined. It will be another afternoon of wet whisking, kneading, the hiss of pain when his wrist twinges. His arms have never been so sufficiently sore.

Then a lute note breaks the silence, as sharp as shattered glass. A shiver goes through him at the sound, like it's stabbed him right in the heart. But he does turn, spying over his shoulder, to just see Ciri's bent leg, and the beautiful rounded wood of her lute.

She's... playing?]

You need to tune her. [Badly. Oh, the poor, beautiful thing. He goes back to his kneading, but he stops again. He's surprised, actually, she isn't hunting out or... doing Lady of the Prophecy things. He's figured she wouldn't bother much with the instrument after a little time.

He looks over his shoulder again.] You remember how, don't you?

[ It's been a few weeks since their little sojourn into the future, and Cid is just now starting to feel like he's sorted himself out again. He's made it his business to follow up with new acquaintances as best he can but, even so, it takes him a while to track them all down when their names or appearances have changed and there's no small quantity of false memory to muddle through.

He's been keeping half an eye on the caravans and their guards in between his other work but, if he's honest, he runs into Ciri entirely by chance. Once they've traded pleasantries, she's kind enough to agree to a late lunch at Sarstina — or perhaps, just willing to indulge his request — and they tuck themselves away in a quiet corner to chat.

They're unlikely to be overheard with the usual din of the tavern, but even then Cid pitches his voice for just the two of them. ] You've no obligation to answer me, but I think you'll understand why I ask... The portals, and the riders — how much of that was more than just a dream?

[ His nature is slow to change; it's always been this way, and -- if the stretched-out time spent together in the Singularity's crater is any indication -- he always will be. Sometimes, this is frustrating to her, even infuriating. Just as often, though, it is a source of steadiness and strength.

He gives her what she needs: reassurance that spears through the doubt clouding her waking hours these past days, a light to follow out of it. Something behind Ciri's ribs loosens. She lets out a slow breath. ]

The people were real. Some of them, people I've barely met before, or never even laid eyes on.

Is the time spent with them real if it didn't happen?

I keep thinking about it. And-- [ Briefly, she hesitates, looking away toward the shelves where some of the specimens are kept. ] I wonder also what the others remember. I didn't keep secrets after a time. The time might not have been real, but the secrets still are.

It's too much to hope for that no one will ask questions.

[ She hears him coming, but doesn't look over until he's sitting down.

What an observation. Ciri can't help the snort of a laugh that escapes her nose, making Wolf look over momentarily. It gives Torgal the opening he needs to tackle him, and the two canines go tumbling in the grass.

Ciri shrugs. ]

Sure. All limbs still attached and everything.

[ Just a bit of macabre humor, considering she'd lost an arm to her own recklessness in the time they experienced but didn't really live. That part, she supposes, is a relief. ]

[ It's awkward. Everything feels... stilted, a little out of place. Especially her relationships with people outside her immediate family -- besides Jaskier's manic depression-baking, at least she knows how to talk to the two of them, and Geralt remains doggedly the same as he ever is.

She's not sure what remains the same and what is different between herself and Hilda.

Somehow, she still manages to be surprised that Hilda somehow remembered her birthday, of all things. When she tried to protest that it's long passed and there's no reason to do anything, Hilda had roundly told her that didn't matter in the slightest, after which Ciri really had no recourse but to accept the invitation. And then fret about it up until the moment Hilda knocks on the door.

Nudging Mog away from the door with the toe of her boot, Ciri peeks through the crack first, as if she might have been mistaken about the visitor. No such luck. She opens it wider to let herself out. ]

You always dress up. I had to make an effort, at least.

[ The heat just keeps climbing, so Ciri's outfit is loose and airy, since Hilda mentioned they'd be outdoors. ]

When are you going to tell me where we're going?

[ Since Hilda has apparently decided they don't need to talk about what happened, Ciri will play along. She can pretend to act normally too. Maybe it'll even get easier. ]

Hm? [ Another flat note lingers in the air. So she's gotten his attention already. That was faster than she'd hoped for. Good.

It would be truly a new level of alarming if Jaskier didn't even notice a poorly tuned lute. ]

A little. [ She lies. While she could probably muddle through on her own well enough, the goal is to get Jaskier thinking about something else. ]

You have a better ear than I. Will you come help?

[ How many times did they do this, in the centuries that didn't happen? Did they sit together, talking about music? Did he teach her more? Did she care at all after a time?

Ciri can't remember, but she catches herself trying. Forces herself to stop.

No more getting lost in the muddled half-memories of a lifetime that wasn't real. This is the truth, here and now. The smooth wood beneath her hands, the cushion beneath her, the cool stone floor on her bare feet half off the edge of the rug. Home. With the people who make it so. ]

[ Hilda knows that they probably should address what happened to them. Their friendship had seen plenty of up's and down's and then just before the sky began to fall, it had felt like it was veering into something more. It had never been anything concrete though that she's been finding herself going back and forth over what to do: let it all fade back into a dream or see where exactly Ciri stood with them. ]

Is what I'm wearing a little too much? I wanted to look nice.

[ 'For you' goes unsaid but it lingers in the air, however briefly. She looks down at her outfit before looking back up towards Ciri from under her sun hat.

Looping her arm through Ciri's she begins to lead them away from her home and towards their destination. ]

I wanted it to be a surprise but I guess you'll find out sooner rather than later. There's a lovely little park in the middle of Cadens that isn't too busy, has been mostly cleaned up and has just the right amount of sunshine and shade. So I thought a picnic might be in order.

[After everything, Viktor is content to hole up in his workshop. Perhaps this is unsurprising, but there's physical recovery to be had as well. Despite the hallucinatory nature of the experience, all of it felt real, and finding himself back in his original body has ben an adjustment, to say the least. He's not sure how to face his friends--he's not sure how to face himself, after everything he did. Viktor isn't even certain that he disliked what he became.

So, as always, it's easier to work. Let people seek him out, if they want to talk about what happened. After a few days, Viktor re-opens, but doesn't otherwise invite anyone inside. Ciri will simply find that the door is unlocked, when she attempts to let herself in. It's a moment before he responds, as if he's resigning himself to this.]

In here.

[Said as if the laboratory is more than one large open space--Viktor is just tucked behind some machinery, hunched over one of this worktables.]

[ He's almost always tucked away in some corner or obstructed by the machinery or rolled under something to tinker with it. Ciri follows the sound of his voice.

Being in the workshop again, after what feels like a crushingly long time (only a few weeks), fills her with an uncomfortable, prickling sense of déjà vu. She walks slowly, letting her boots make deliberate noise while she approaches.

They'd all been so disoriented on the way back, as the Free Cities military and officials had herded them all home in various states of scattered and confused. There'd been no time to look for anyone beyond her immediate priorities of Jaskier and Geralt. Maybe she caught a glimpse of a few others, made sure they were accounted for, including Viktor. But she hasn't spoken to him, or really seen him, since then.

He looks the same. Mostly. Why is that shocking? ]

We need to talk. Is now a good time?

[ She gives him an out. If he really needs it. ]

[ The awkwardness remains, even weeks later. Whenever she meets someone she knows from their false time together. When she's aware of things about them they wouldn't have otherwise shared. When they're aware of her. It leaves the back of her neck prickling uncomfortably, that unmoored sense of what was real? spinning her thoughts out of reach into barely-remembered dream worlds.

At least Cid isn't a complete stranger. She knew him-- knows him, in the real and waking world. So when he insists, she agrees to meet, and if he decides to pick up the tab, she won't argue. Nor will she hold back on the drink orders.

His questions don't surprise her, though they might... complicate matters. Ciri sets her tankard down, keeping the cup between her palms to grip. ]

You're right. I have no obligation to answer.

[ Which is answer enough on its own. Ciri's green eyes remain leveled on his, while she considers how much to say. ]

The things we experienced weren't real. Those circumstances aren't real.

I may as well ask how much of you is a giant horse-man.

[ CATCH-ALL ] and what you see is not the dark

CADENS.

NOCWICH.

HORIZON.

Aloy.

Clive.

Geralt.

Jaskier.

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Viktor.

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