Hollow Knight / Pure Vessel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
impure_void) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
boxfullofzeroes2020-08-24 06:43 am
impure_void) wrote in boxfullofzeroes2020-08-24 06:43 am
there's so many things that you'll never understand
MEMORIAL TO THE
HOLLOW KNIGHT
------------------------
In the Black Vault far above.
Through its sacrifice Hallownest lasts eternal.
HOLLOW KNIGHT
------------------------
In the Black Vault far above.
Through its sacrifice Hallownest lasts eternal.
There's a figure at the base of the fountain, bent double, yet still taller than most bugs that once wandered these streets.
The Hollow Knight was sealed before it was raised in the center of the City. In all their glimpses of the world through Infected eyes, they had never seen this--this figure of themselves, towering high above the Dreamers that protected them, sacrificed everything for them, only differentiated by the carving of each mask.
This should not matter.
The emotion that is their flaw screams it does. Why--?
--This figure of them should not have ever been here. The Pale King prioritized their image above the living. A memorial to a thing. A memorial to a failure, still standing tall, lie inscribed for the straggling remains to see.
They should not wonder why. They should not feel the wound in their chest throbbing with new pain. Do not think, do not feel, do not do not do not--
Gendered Child, sister, told them they may go, and they have gone.
And they are here, beneath the shadow of a false Purity, beneath pounding rain in an empty City.
Nothing about this spurs them to move. Their mask presses flat against fountain's base, hard enough to ache.
They empty their mind, and wait.
no subject
...What he does instead is pause for a long time and then drop into a crouch beside them, beard spilling against the floor.
If there's a thought that this is The Hollow Knight in-person in his shop--
He's sick of that already, much sooner than he thought. Never meet your heroes. Ruins your sense of awe. Really grounds you in an unpleasant way. (Not that they're a hero! Not that they're anything. They're just a statue he's seen, they might as well be nobody. Does that matter right now?)
He's been silent for a while. His mistake.
"Can't bring me any more relics if I have to throw you in the canal."
no subject
No memory of their own is similar. The Hollow Knight needs no-one near.
The Hollow Knight needs nothing but what they are given.
And they have been given a blanket.
It's a long struggle to hear what he says, and longer still to comprehend any of it.
They twitch their head in a tiny no, too exhausted to parse or even second-guess if he is asking a question. No, they could not, and no, he cannot. They're too large, and would most likely float more than sink, if being thrown into a canal was chosen to dispose of them.
no subject
Lemm is many things, but he's not cruel. He heaves a deeply inconvenienced sigh.
"Stay there, then."
He straightens up somewhat stiffly, and remedies the anxious tightness in his chest by pottering around and adding more clutter to the situation.
A throw-pillow is at some point slipped under their mask, embroidered and scratchy and smelling a lot like several years spent under a couch. (He's careful when he does it, and lifts their head only by the far end of a horn, opposite side to the break.) The blanket is far too small and Lemm scavenges a curtain from somewhere, thick and weighted, that probably originated from some noble's study. He has nothing appropriate. He's never needed anything appropriate. The curtain is draped loosely over the Hollow Knight and is not adjusted again.
Lemm awkwardly disappears into another room, stumbling over some large carved mantelpiece trinket and cursing under his breath, and then there is the suspiciously kitchen-like sound of clinking utensils and pouring water.
no subject
It isn't completely comfortable, but they do not need comfort. Beyond sitting up or standing, they could not move even if they wanted, horns too large, stub too sensitive, to simply roll over. They are too tired to sit up. Lemm is not telling them to sit up.
They stay where they are, listening to whatever he's doing and staring into nothing.
The Hollow Knight was entirely not made to sleep. They may be wasting his efforts, even now.
no subject
There is a lot to work through. He thinks about the little ghost, the one that visited those few times and silently dumped relics on his desk, and how the Hollow Knight did exactly the same thing in the same kind of silence. He considers what it means that he hasn't seen the little one in a while, but yet an impossible fragment of the past showed up unannounced practically on his doorstep.
He doesn't know what sickness they have... if it's a sickness at all. They could easily have faked the whole thing, could be robbing him blind right now as he stands staring into space -
Lemm rolls his eyes and pours water over tea he rescued from an abandoned cafe some months back, and unhurriedly carries two mismatched antique cups into the main room. He shoves an ancient rolled-up carpet with his foot, nudging it into place, and sits down on it beside the Hollow Knight. Lemm sets one of the cups on the floor, within view and reach. If they're even still watching. He can't tell.
"Don't know what I expect you to do with it," he mumbles, "but it'll warm your hand at least." Sometimes tea is less about drinking it, and more about it keeping you company.
no subject
It's warmer than his touch, enough it nearly hurts, and they subtly shift it around to keep it from resting directly on the middle wound that will not heal. Their cloak being caught in it before had caused more problems in healing than the burns alone.
The tea steams. They watch it drift upward until it's gone.
Lemm is still here.
Why--?
He--
--there is no--
...
Why?
They can't fight off wondering, the tiny amount of fortitude they'd built up since leaving Sister too fragile, cracking under pressure like their own mask. Why is he still here? Why is he allowing them to be? They're--they are broken. They cannot give him what he wants just as he wants.
And he...gave them a blanket. Blankets. Pillows. A drink. Nothing they deserve, or need.
Their chest rises and falls heavily. Though they do not need to breathe as most bugs do, it is a sigh, utterly silent.
no subject
As much as he claims to hate chatter, he sure finds himself doing a lot of it. He sips his tea and falls into the same trap again quite willingly.
"I won't expect you to hop up and walk out of that door until you can be certain you'll make it more than ten paces. I don't look for company, but obviously I won't send a traveller to their death if I can help it. I'm not a monster."
Lemm flashes them a sidelong glance, appraising that small motion they made, and tuts.
"I would say whatever's wrong with you is none of my business, but why do I have this sneaking feeling you didn't go running off to hunt down relics just for the geo, hm? You know I'm not a social bug, don't you? Trying to get in my good books is a waste of time." Lemm makes a small gesture with his teacup. "Don't try to please everyone. You'll work yourself into the ground, and plenty of bugs can't be pleased with anything."
no subject
...They aren't injured worse than they've already recovered from, beyond the exhaustion and the sparks of pain going through their face.
They let the tea balance where it is. Parts their cloak, to show him their scar, that it isn't bleeding, that they are not falling apart in the physical. Points to it, gestures limp-wristed to their entire body, and then to the door, and the Nail gleaming outside against the doorframe. They will not die if he demands they leave.
They may want to, but they will not waste what Sister and now Lemm has given them.
Their hand curls back around the teacup.
They need to do what they are told to do, pleasing or not. They shouldn't do anything else. They can't tell him this, with their limited gestures.
no subject
While he's missed some nuance, it does cement in his head that the Hollow Knight is here and should stay here, contrary to whatever they think they ought to do. It is strikingly like they are, and have been, doing whatever they think he'd prefer.
Lemm thinks he's earned a little nosiness, and he studies their scarred torso with interest. Some fight they must have had. And he suspects they could still manage to crush him one-handed.
Sigh.
"Let me know if there's anything I can do for you." A beat. "Not that I plan on learning to be a good host this late in the game."
Lemm doesn't know why he instinctively reaches out to pat them on the shoulder. He manages one and the embarrassment catches up with him, so he hurriedly eases himself back up onto his feet and carries his tea back to his desk with him.
"I'm adding another shop rule, by the way. No dying on the premises."
The quiet returns, punctuated this time by the barely-perceptible sound of dust once more being brushed from the King's Idol.
no subject
They should be. Need to be.
It's what they are.
...But Lemm's gone to such trouble for them. They are tired. Leaving now would mean leaving in this haze. Nothing would be found for a significant amount of time. Sifting through unsound buildings may end more terribly than spending a little more time, lying here.
This is enough doing for them.
When he pats their shoulder, they stay passive. It isn't unpleasant compared to the tea. They won't die, either, which is another reason to stay until their exhaustion passes by.
Once he returns to his desk, they shift their head just enough to watch him work.
no subject
Speaking of, he's since made a couple of breakthroughs thanks to those ordered emblems, but it was wrong of him to make them do it. A waste of their time. He's starting to think the Hollow Knight is taking his suggestions a lot more seriously than he's used to. It doesn't sit well with him.
Lemm engrosses himself as best he can in cleaning the idol, and when it's eventually as clean as he's going to get it, he carefully sets it aside and stands again, opting to pick up the scattered journals from earlier. There are plenty of things on his floor waiting to be tripped over already, and he needs to catalogue these.
As he's picking up a journal, he mistakenly glances across the room at the Hollow Knight and meets their eye. Awkwardly hesitates.
"Thanks..." Ugh. Back to clearing up. He shakes his head irritably. "Hmph."
no subject
The rhythm of the brush, simple working with hands, shifts to something else. Another sort of haze. Softer.
When he thanks them, they tilt their head just a little further. Another something they do not understand. They are resting in his home and gave him some of what he asked for, and some he did not and disapproved of; there is nothing to thank them for.
no subject
The soft scratch of the pen is a little louder than the brush work, and it's punctuated occasionally by a sigh and the creak of his seat as Lemm sits back to figure out a stubborn bit of text.
After a while, as subtly as he can manage, he checks on the Hollow Knight. Just a little glance up. Because he can't forget they're here this time, he's-- he's not worried, none of his business, but. But they're not well and they're watching him and...
Lemm turns his face back down and forces himself to work.
"I'll be closing the shop soon. No need to move."
no subject
Yes. Shops close. Bugs need breaks, to rest, to eat. Sections of the City--no, all Hallownest--had periods of time where shops and such places closed, and others that had been closed opened then, and the cycle continued once those had closed.
The Radiance (and they tense, merely thinking of Her, though they force their body to settle) had, in one of her calm phases, told them it was once dictated by the rise and fall of Her Light. They understood she was not lying, but they couldn't comprehend the idea of an entire kingdom resting all at once merely because it's dark above.
There are no other shops to open with this one closing.
Their troubled shift would be imperceptible if it didn't rustle the blankets.
no subject
They aren't, and he is privately relieved.
Lemm works a little longer. Just long enough to disguise the idea that the thought of closing only came to him on a whim.
When he stands, keys in hand, and crosses to the door, he stands there looking out into the corridor for a moment.
"I'll just bring your nail inside." It is large. "I think it'll fit." Maybe.
no subject
And knocking the tea down to spill all over the floor.
The Hollow Knight, defeated by blankets. They could tear through them, but that would be deeply unnecessary.
Despite its graceful appearance (--once-graceful, it's rather ruined now with all its cracks and bluntness, but it's still thin and bright beneath grime) their Nail is heavy. It would be worse if Lemm injured himself trying to lift in in.
no subject
Lemm jumps, whirling around to see them swamped in curtains. He steps back slightly and runs through the escape route in his head.
"What-? I won't touch it, then!" He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "I wouldn't break it if I did - but it can stay there. I'm leaving it! Watch me leave it."
He steps away, keys still in hand. He'll leave the door unlocked. He's a little afraid of what they'll do if they feel trapped. (Kick the switch, down the street, and into Fountain Square. Except the Hollow Knight isn't infected, might follow him there, might follow him into the Resting Grounds, has definitely been there already. He blanches as spilled tea pools around his feet.)
no subject
He. He's. Afraid. Afraid? Afraid. They don't know the subtleties of voice, but back up, back away, surrender is something they do, scared hungry scared.
(Not all Infected attacked all things that moved; only Vessels were not spared from rage over instinct.)
They thump down on their chest and stomach. The wash of pain that hits is less terrible than being--frightening.
no subject
Lemm stays frozen in place for a long time.
What they've done around him - all of it, everything - is unusual and strange and not anything he understands. But he doesn't understand people, anyway, and they usually don't understand him either.
Lemm arranges himself into a less flighty stance. After a pause, when he's pulled himself together, he says:
"Hello?"
If they've died in his shop...
no subject
They know what emotion they're feeling, even the name of it: fear. One they've felt on their own and through others, one they learned from--somewhere, in the White Palace. A voice they've forgotten, speaking to someone else they don't recall, speaking of the fear rising in Hallownest as the Infection was growing, spreading in a way that most illness did not.
They do not understand the fear locking them up now. Fear of...fear of them. Fear of his fear.
The Hollow Knight attempts to flatten themselves smaller.
no subject
...They've been...
They've been helpful. On purpose. To him specifically. At a cost to their health, maybe? And now they look like they're trying to be nonthreatening in the way that a tiktik might try to be nonthreatening.
That's a lot of variables that spell out the faint possibility that... he might be overreacting.
"I... think," he says haltingly and with a great deal of uncertainty. "I think I'll go for a walk first." He holds up his hands. "I won't touch your nail. Just an old Relic Seeker, leaving."
no subject
An irrational urge rises through them, so powerful they shudder, to go get the Nail and fling it away.
But they've done something terrible, and that would be far more frightening.
He holds up is hands. They do not rise. They do not move. They do not breathe.
no subject
Lemm doesn't have a clue what he'd say that would resolve this. Instead he steps outside and shuffles past the resting nail while making a point of not touching or approaching it, hands in the air, the whole presentation. He keeps walking and steps onto the elevator.
There is something nagging at him about the Hollow Knight. It feels like he's missing something, like there's something he hasn't figured out yet, something crucial. Lemm can't read people but even he knows there's something very off.
"...I'll be back," Lemm calls over his shoulder.
He puts his weight onto one foot and punts the switch. He does not look over his shoulder.
no subject
--until they notice the tea running lazily from the fallen cup towards relics resting on the floor.
Should not, do not, but they are the only thing here capable of stopping it. They have shown so much feeling already, and he is not here to watch them.
Before, they were tired, the world dropping from under them, the world and memory and terror crushing them. They still are, the heaviness of it bites at the edges of their every action, but the prickling need to do something, fix something, help drags their body from their blanket cocoon.
They don't know where the cloth they'd used for relics is, and it would likely be too small to work on the full cup's amount. They'd already soaked a hefty part of the...curtain, layered on the top of them. The rest of it can be used to mop.
They are furtive while folding it and doing so, though they would hear the elevator long before Lemm could get close enough to see their effort in scrubbing.
What to do with it next is--unknown. Difficult. Something must be done anyway, they cannot leave it in the main room, too much to ruin with the tea soaking and threatening to drip; so they creep into the next one, a kitchen, and deposit it roughly in the sink. The teacup, with only a minor chip to its handle, is retrieved as well, set delicately atop the curtain.
They crawl back. Hesitate. Make their way to the door, sticking their head out carefully, and nothing is different, the Nail is still resting where it was put.
The Nail. It was the root of the problem. Throwing it away would be a waste, however, and they would have trouble getting around when aches spread down to their legs.
They want to be certain he won't injure himself by moving it, and moreso to not fear them by the idea of attempting to move it, but there is so little room in the shop. They lie it flat beside themselves, right in the little corner that they have been placed in. The throw-pillow is clumsily set over the blade's middle, as though this will weigh it down or be a discouragement.
Then the Hollow Knight lies down as well, folds their body up as tiny as they can make it, drags the remaining blanket from the floor to cover their upper half, leaving only the point of one horn and curled-in legs sticking out.
They...should not be quite so frightening if they aren't watching his return.
They--
--they--
--they hope. They hope they are not. They cannot stop hoping, they never have, that was the Pure Vessel's greatest flaw, and they do not want to be frightening. Not at all, not to anyone, and particularly not to the Relic Seeker who has done so much.
no subject
Who are they, anyway, to come waltzing in and to drop like a dead vengefly without any warning? Who are they to taunt him with a cryptic statue and then show up in person and upset his routine? (...Who is he to upset someone who earned their own statue?)
Lemm stops on a long bridge (his running theory is that there were few wings in this district) and draws to one side, his hands resting on the crumbling architecture as he stares sullenly down at the dead city. His eyes fall directly on Fountain Square, and he sighs irritably. Of course he would end up here.
The Hollow Knight has tried to be helpful, has taken to all of his suggestions, dove into a dangerous place to retrieve relics and seemed less than eager when he offered payment. The knight should have read him like a Hallownest sign and known exactly what kind of bug he was from the start. He's not subtle. But they did not. They did not and they did as they were told and he-- he thinks - he is pretty sure they are still diligently following some kind of knight's code. Something that makes them do as they are told. Something that drives them to be helpful.
Stay there, he recites in his head. Stay here. Don't touch. Humour me. His fingers worry at a chip in the rail, made by a javelin maybe. Imperatives. It's all imperatives. Suddenly a lot of things make sense.
When the elevator finally activates again, a bedraggled Lemm steps off it and trudges casually into the shop. He evaluates the still-damp tea stain, the huddled knight under the too-small blanket, the disappearance of the curtain and teacup.
"Hm," he says, marking some of his theories as confirmed, and goes ahead with what he planned to say. "So. I might need to apologise, as it turns out. Are you listening?"
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
whoops
as though muse or mun have a concept of time
time is relative. by which i mean its fake i'm pretty sure
(no subject)