boxfullofzeroes | there's so many things that you'll never understand

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.

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.

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When there's a puzzle he can't solve (which is more often than he'd like) and when there's no one in his shop (which is more often than not, and he likes that very much), Lemm goes to the Memorial.

It's not because he expects to find answers there, exactly. Fountains can't talk. But this one does remind him why he's here, because even if no answers have been particularly forthcoming about the memorial either, he can't look up at it and not wonder.

It's an excellent reminder that no one can just switch off their curiosity, however frustrating transcribing a badly-damaged journal may be. Which he will return to, and complete. He just needs ten minutes - and the ambient sound of the fountain, and apparently a crick in his neck from staring upwards at a statue he doesn't understand. That usually does the trick, for reasons unknown to bug nor beast.

Except Lemm has already forgotten about the journal, because there is someone here already, and they look like they might be very tall if they weren't curled right over like they're dying.

Lemm has not seen any Infected in a little while, but he is not so foolish as to let down his guard, and he almost turns right back around and leaves the strange scene to play out by itself.

Almost.

Because those horns.

Lemm freezes for a solid minute at the edge of the square, grappling with a fair few self-preservation mantras that have kept him alive and well in the City of Tears for this long, and finally he curses that damned curiosity and moves forwards. Nice and casual. No reason for either of them to alarm each other with sudden movements. He keeps a sharp eye out for signs of any orange glow, stops at what he hopes is a safe distance away, and manages to wrangle up a bit of courage.

"Paying respects?" he asks bluntly, probing for any kind of a reaction. His voice always sounds too loud out here, and he braces. He's not a great runner, but his shop isn't far and the door locks well enough.

Perhaps, he thinks doubtfully, they're related. Distantly. Somehow. That information is worth a little risk.

They do not startle, though the voice comes from their blind side. A voice, strange to hear at all after so long, cutting through the rain better than the great, blunted Nail resting on the ground, partially submerged in a puddle.

They must turn their head far after they lift it to observe who speaks: a bug with a great horn branching to two, and a beard to the ground, unlike any they can currently recall seeing. Face-to-face level. There is no need to rise further. (Unless attacked. Sister's work will be undone if they do not defend. They have wasted enough of her time.)

Then the voice's words register. The question, which they cannot--should not--cannot--both cannot and should not answer.

There is no reason to be here, truly. There is no reason to not be here.

They're looking back to the Fountain again, staring at the trio of faces beneath their own.

They should be. This is the closest thing the Dreamers have to a shrine, now. But it is wrong. It is...disrespectful, to do so here, coming from the shambles of the Hollow Knight most of all.

Just like with the little ghost that creeps into his shop now and again, Lemm is not deterred by silence. When they turn, that tells Lemm three things: one, that this bug (bug?) is responsive and has certainly heard him, and two, that they are probably not infected. Three...

Three, they are almost identical to that statue.

All of this only emboldens him, but none more than the third. One might think Lemm of all bugs would understand when someone needed time alone, but unfortunately for Hollow, Relic Seeker Lemm has far more questions than social awareness.

"I'd know if I'd seen you in the City before," he says, somewhat ironically, "but since I haven't, I'll tell you to mind yourself. There's a myriad of stuck doors and open sewers, and I won't be rescuing anybody."

He steps forwards, closes the distance, and comes to a halt beside the stranger with a comfortable space between them. He peers at Hollow for a moment, eager to note the differences between this face and the carved stone above them, and then turns his attention back up to the statues.

Lemm stands in peacable silence for a short while. But only a short while.

"You've a stunning likeness to the Knight up there," he prompts hopefully. Hint, hint. "I'm the leading historian on Hallownest. If you know anything about this memorial, the information is better off with me."

There are dots to be connected here, but a good Relic Seeker never assumes, and it's never safe to think correlation is the same thing as fact. Maybe this stranger knows nothing, and their likeness is just a coincidence. (He doubts that very much.)

Fortunately, the Hollow Knight knows little about social awareness or rules outside of the White Palace.

Unfortunately, they also know less about...answering direct questions, let alone dropped hints.

They do listen to what's told. The doors will unlikely be a problem--they hold no reason to enter any of the buildings over ghosting through the streets to whatever lies beyond. They will keep an eye on the ground to step over open sewers and grates. No rescue is expected if they err, from this bug or any other.

The statue that is meant to be them in their prime is a terrible falsehood. While their horns and mask are shaped the same, a crack that won't heal spreads down to their eye. Their current cloak is hardly the fancy thing with armored shoulders at the top (this, too, was unlike reality even at the time: there are no loops for the chains to hoist and hold them in the Egg), and the ruins of their chest are shattered, healed over with only a thin layer of Void for now.

And, of course, only the single remaining arm, which they presently use to lever their body up to a kneel rather than a full-on collapse. They cannot ignore being addressed outright, aiming to face him fully, though their stare goes somewhere over this historian's shoulder.

...Historian. One that studies the past. Hallownest is clearly in ruins. Has it b--?

--it must have been longer than they were capable of noticing.

This stranger-yet-not-quite-a-stranger is about as forthcoming as an Arcane Egg, but Lemm is a stubborn old coot.

"Ah! Now you're listening, which means you do know a thing or two."

It doesn't, necessarily, but it's an in.

Lemm's gaze wanders unabashedly over the stranger's appearance. He has an eye for detail, and there's a lot he's just learned in a few seconds. The more he looks, the more his mind is buzzing with possible explanations for just what might be going on here. (Down! Down with them. Never assume to know something. Stop that.)

"You look like you've been dragged through a thorn bush," he declares bluntly, interrupting his own thoughts. Either he takes the lead, or he'll lose his chance. "If the damp's no good for me, it's no good for you either. I've no interest in idle chitchat, but there are things I'd like to know and I suspect you have answers. So, trade for trade. Humour my questions and sit down somewhere dry for a while. Or stay out here and be wet and miserable."

He half-turns and dips his head in the direction of his shop. He's never made a habit of inviting people over, and he's mildly aware of how clumsy he is at it now.

Is that--?

--they hadn't known turning to look counted as an answer within itself. Movement isn't something they can take back, particularly when their stare is drawn back to the fountain attempting to look away. Besides, if looking towards is an agreement, looking away can only be denial, and that's still an answer all the same.

Being--seeming to be--Hollow was once simple. It seems that's been eroded away with everything else.

They defer to his knowledge; while he is unlikely to have any of Void, they also know little about the danger of dampness. If it is 'no good' then they have no other order to contradict this one, nor is there reason to leave him to wait out in what could be a threat.

The questions...

Later. This will be a problem later. Do not think.

They take their Nail, sinking its point between cracked stone, and heave their body into standing. (Another stark difference: the statue;s posture is perfect, and this living figure is hunched, taking off nearly a quarter of their own height.)

There. That wasn't so hard, Lemm, now was it? Ask and ye shall receive.

They are so tall. Or they should be. And their body is the right shape, even if it's crooked. Despite the few differences, he knows - he thinks - that it's possible... likely? Possible that they're related. (The same?) Related! Tangientially!

He stomps down his growing excitement in favour of taking a cautious step towards home, and watches carefully to make sure he wasn't mistaken and that they are indeed following him. He'll fall into step just a little bit ahead, enough to lead and keep an eye on them at the same time.

...Is this an awkward silence, or a comfortable one? He should probably say something.

"I'll ask you not to touch anything. There's your warning. The Relic Seeking business never pretended to be anything but messy, and I don't see why I should have to pretend either - but that doesn't mean I want everyone's grimy prints all over my collection."

It's... kind of conversational. He's never been too fixed on what that ought to sound like.

Their lengthy legs allow them to match the set pace with ease. Their Nail thunks against the ground with every step, the only sound they make.

Do not touch. A straightforward command. It's relie--it's the first they've gotten in a while, though he tacks on an explanation that isn't necessary.

It was more than shame that kept them from entering the City's buildings. The doorways, and moreso, the elevators were not built to accommodate one of their size. But a Vessel is not meant to be discouraged, and there has not yet been a true request for poise; they simply kneel and shuffle forward to fit.

Lemm's only pause during the walk to the lift is to make sure Hollow isn't about to fall or jump down into the Waterways as they pass the open hole in the street. Wouldn't do to lose his potential answers to the sewers, and he's already made it quite clear he is not going out of his way to fish them out.

Lemm stops on the elevator only long enough for Hollow to step aboard. Then he gives the switch a hefty kick, like he's half-expecting the thing to jam.

"Tall, aren't you," he states, with no sign of this being an actual question, and even less sympathy. He says nothing else - just waits for the elevator to stop and steps off, taking out a key that might well have been hidden in his beard. "Watch your head." A beat. "And your nail."

Lemm enters first, because after-yous have no place in his shop and also because he has to pick up a couple of journals that have slipped onto the floor from their haphazard pile.

A factual comment should not bother a Pure Vessel--though they are not one, they resist the urge to shrink down further.

Ducking their horns and crawling in to fit is easiest. They must leave their nail outside, too long for this small room.

Their claws fix into their cloak at the lack of it being within instant reach.

The Hollow Knight's eye alights on the pile of journals nearest to the door. Words half-understood swim over the surfaces. They direct their stare out the distant window, or try, before looking back at just how many there are.

The order is comprehended more clearly, now, as they could bring the entire thing down with a bump. When it seems Lemm isn't looking, they edge away from the pile.

When he's... more or less tidied the journals into a steadier heap, he shuffles behind his desk - and as he turns he's mildly embarrassed by how little space there is in here for someone of Hollow's size. Lemm quickly stuffs this feeling under a general haughtiness: well, if the room is too small, they shouldn't have come in, that isn't his fault. It's also not his fault there's only one chair in this room. Or that the place smells vaguely of dust and drying ink.

"Careful around those," he says, even though he can already see his guest is taking his advice and touching nothing. "I've yet to translate most of them."

Lemm takes out a quill, an ink bottle, and a sheaf of relatively dry parchment he's managed to get hold of, and lays all of these out on the desk. He seats himself and folds his hands conspiratorially on the counter.

"So."

Where to begin? He hesitates, tapping his fingers on the desk.

"It wouldn't be a coincidence I found the Hollow Knight's identical twin right in front of the memorial, would it?" It's spoken like an accusation, but his expression doesn't match his tone. Lemm looks eager. "I'll warn you not to string me along."

Despite how much that question has been burning him, this is also a test. If his strange guest doesn't speak, which he suspects, then he's about to gauge how they communicate at all.

Their claws, just barely, flex. If they held their nail, they likely would have begun a block.

They are not supposed to do this. Empty things cannot communicate. They have never done so outside of indicating injuries to sister, and tearing into a scream when She had burned through enough that they finally, utterly, broke.

They've failed. They know they have failed, the kingdom is littered with corpses their error had cost. Nothing should matter about their flaws further coming to light. Particularly not while following a command.

Exposing flaws while attempting to cling to false flawlessness.

This struggle of thought is stretched long as they look vaguely toward the paper on his desk. But, eventually, they release their cloak and point a claw to their own chest. They are the Hollow Knight, not their twin. (Anything like a twin they may have had is buried at the bottom of the world.)

Edited 2020-08-25 14:43 (UTC)

Lemm doesn't know what's going on inside that mind, and he has no reason to think of asking. He's just thrilled to get a response. His heart skips a beat and he bats a hand lightly on his desk, about the most animated he's been.

"Ah-ha!" Easy, there. He clears his throat and quickly folds his hands together again. "Ah, what I meant to say is, I knew it. It's never a good thing to jump to conclusions as a Relic Seeker, but I was right."

He's giddy. Lemm has been wondering about that statue for... it feels like forever. In his excitement he's not picking up on the Hollow Knight's discomfort, not that he was ever very good at noticing subtleties.

"I've been puzzling together Hallownest's history as best I could, but there was always a very large piece missing. And here you are in the shell! Ah, but first things first." He leans forwards a little. "I'm loath to admit - aside from the memorial out there, I barely know a thing. Why don't we start with what you did to earn that plaque?"

Lemm slides a piece of parchment across, and then the ink and quill.

Some dubious part of him warns against getting too excited. This could be a misunderstanding, or they could be lying or delusional. Ugh, he hopes he'll be able to tell.

"Why does Hallownest still stand, Hollow Knight?"

They weren't sure what to expect from their response--were not allowing it, have no previous context for it--and his burst of excitement is startling, though they show nothing.

They stare at the parchment. Words. He wants words. They struggle, again, for a time, over the mere concept of giving them, that they shouldn't have them--they were never truly taught written word besides, beyond the most basic if something had to be ordered by text, which never happened.

They do. They have fragments of it, some learned from standing by the Pale King's side, more from the memories of bugs and mosskin and spiders and the mushroom folk, dragged through their mind with burning hooks.

To the question: Why does Hallownest still stand? The Hollow Knight...doesn't understand this question. The population is decimated. The King and Queen are gone. It is ruins and rare pockets of life that She loathed--half the Mantis Tribe was all they knew of, and they were not truly under Hallownest's rule--were nearly nothing.

They pluck the quill up with trembling fingers. As they were not made for words, it was not made for hands of their size. But they have been asked, so they must try.

Hallownest is long
fallen. Infection spread, Nothing l

This is all they write in a mix of archaic Hallownest text and a dash of Mosskin grammar rules, and then their hand spasms and slides off the parchment, leaving an ugly ink line trailing onto the desk.

Despite telling himself he'd sit back and let the Knight work, he can't help himself - he tries to read every word as it's written, upside-down, from across the desk.

Long fallen, he repeats to himself mentally. But you must have done something, you cryptic old-!

He flinches at the Hollow Knight's sudden twitch and it shakes him out of his thoughts enough to continue to the next line. He harmlessly baps the Knight's wrist up and off the desk with the tips of his fingers, then idly rubs at the ink with his wrist without looking away from the parchment. It smears into the surface and dries, but by the look of the desk already, Lemm isn't fussy as long as it's not going to stain anything he puts on it.

"Hmph. Well, no one said a knight ought to have good calligraphy..."

He slides the paper back towards himself with his other hand and twirls it around to read it the right way up. His eyes slide along the ink trail and off the page this time and he raises his wrist, examining it like he's only just noticed the smudge. He looks up.

"...That is... You're not wrong," he says before he can think himself out of it, before he can put the pieces together in a way that will give him some emotional awareness. "I suppose the City was always built to last, while the society that occupied it was not. But," he continues, withdrawing his hand and shaking it lightly to dry the ink on his wrist, "I've pried enough knowledge from husks and wanderers to know that decay didn't happen overnight. Something got stuck in the gears of fate along the way and I'd wager good Geo on it being your nai..."

He realises he's wrong even before his eyes flick to the missing arm, then the torso, then back up to the cracked mask.

Lemm studies them anew, this time watching for emotion.

"...You. I'd wager it was you."

It occurs to Lemm, very belatedly, that he may be being a tad insensitive.

Edited (whoops typo) 2020-08-25 17:06 (UTC)

Their arm retracts to hide beneath their cloak, which is too short to obscure its light trembling. It was few words, but their fine motor skills are disused and fighting against the rules of their existence is exhausting.

They follow his hand with minute shifts of their head, to be watching something that isn't his face as he speaks.

This speaking of gears is...odd, but they can just grasp the meaning. That they had stretched what happened out longer than She wanted in her blaze of fury, that they had failed in keeping Hallownest from its terrible fall.

The Relic Seeker is not asking a question. The Hollow Knight, therefore, does not answer.

The Relic Seeker, for all he knows about the finer nuances of reliquary restoration and study, has no such grasp on navigating the difficult terrain of interpersonal interaction.

Which is really just a long-winded way of saying he is socially challenged.

Lemm rests his elbows on the desk and folds his hands together first one way and then the other. Fidgets a bit with his fingers.

"Back after all this time," he grinds out eventually, "and I found you alone by your own memorial with a blunted nail. What an unpleasant little picture we've painted for you." He's Lemm. He's not going to stop being abrasive. But: "Well, that you're back at all tells me your work is done, whatever it was. Stay out of the rain."

It's killing him not to probe for more information. But that somehow feels like it would be cruel on purpose, which is not something he's interested in. So he's bungled his chance, as far as he's concerned - and as much as he'll be kicking himself for it after the Hollow Knight is gone.

Lemm stands, fetches the journal he'd been working on before he stepped outside, and returns it to his desk. He sets back to work in silence, as if the Hollow Knight isn't looming large in his shop at all.

Words that are correct. And still, he asks no question. They don't know what he wants.

Not knowing something hardly counts as a problem. They are meant to know what they are told, and only that.

He has not told them to leave; there is no rain in here; he may have use for them yet.

They shift until they're not hunched so near the desk, allowing their thoughts to be drowned by the sound and sight of the water running down the window.

He tries to work. It's difficult to go back to something so mundane, something that has been his everyday since goodness knows when, while the very Hollow Knight themself is in the room. But if there was ever anyone Lemm might not shoo for loitering, it's The Hollow Knight.

Lemm is exceptional at getting engrossed in old texts. This one is a doozy; the author was bold enough to use some borrowed vernacular and spelled it so wrong it took him a day to parse.

It's about by line three of the stone journal that the muttering starts, because by then he's a personally-compiled vocab quick-list and two other references deep in this thing.

"...So we descended," he murmurs irritably. "Now, why? Surely you knew it was a cliff-" Lemm pauses, glances at the other piece of writing on his desk, and compares. "...Fallen," he tries out. "We fell. Ah. Clumsy, not foolish."

Lemm is about to go back to his notes, but the thought does occur to him... Well. There are things they know, and surely not every question can be a disaster. He glances over his shoulder at a particularly disorganised shelf, and the cogs turn.

"Hollow Knight," he starts, casual as you like. "What do you make of those ornaments? Beside the glassware. There." He points. "The medals. Would you award those to guards or nobles?"

His words bring them sharply back to themselves, though they hardly show it. But he isn't speaking to them, and they nearly lose focus, part of his murmurs fading to white noise--a Vessel has no need to retain information not given to it, though it isn't entirely avoidable--until he again addresses them directly.

Once more, a question. They angle their head to look, and...it's another somewhat difficult query, but not in the same way that leaves their chest disgustingly full and horribly empty at once.

The Pale King was not one to give awards in person, and they were often with the Pale King or the quieter wings of the Palace, but they can almost recognize the shape of them, and the words. Fairly simple medals, but engraved with personalized symbols of Valor and the City, by the Watcher himself. A noble would not settle for less than something ornate and boasting how much of Geo donated from the troves they coveted so.

They do not wa--

--lifting the quill will likely end in another mess. A different solution must be presented.

Their hand raises, slow and careful to avoid bumping anything, and then lashes downward in a mimic of a Nail-strike.

Edited 2020-08-25 20:59 (UTC)

He watches the knight like a hawk, his quill poised over the paper like he's forgotten he's holding it.

He's had his theories, of course, but considering the material and the craftsmanship - well, that's his problem, he's too well-versed in the details by now and he knows things about these artifacts that probably didn't matter to their owners one jot, things that warp his understanding post-Hallownest.

Lemm realises this now, as the answer comes simply and without err. He doesn't reply at first, just pushes his chair back and stands up to go and investigate the shelf more closely. A hand runs through his beard.

"Well, of course. S'only right, now that I'm thinking about it. ...I'd have got it eventually."

Possibly not true, but who can say? He turns to look over his shoulder at the Hollow Knight and looks like he's considering something.

"I don't normally encourage this," he says, "but you couldn't sort those by rank or achievement, could you? I'd like to see how much you know, if you really are who you say you are." He holds up his hand very quickly to signal to wait, and the quill drips a single spat of ink that he doesn't notice because he is intently focused on Hollow. "With clean hands," he adds, and then, "-hand." Lemm takes a square of cloth from a drawer that might normally be reserved for cleaning lenses and sets it on the corner of the table, then sits back down and watches expectantly.

Does he not--?

--he isn't certain they are what they are, and this stymies their movement. They...there is nothing else they could be. Few bugs are as tall as they, none have a mask such as theirs, or a carapace that reflects only muted light.

This...they don't understand.

But understanding is not their place, and they have finally been given a task, not a question, made into order by offering a tool.

The Relic Seeker said previous not to touch the artifacts, and so they will not with their hand. They pluck up the cloth, wiggling it until it covers most of the tips of their claws.

They barely need to shift to be halfway across the shop in front of the correct shelf.

They cannot be...entirely certain, though the fact he believes a Hollow Knight would be is--is mistake.

With delicate touches, they get to work still.

...And finds they know somewhat more than they thought.

Lurien--they know the Watcher's works to some extent. They know the ranks of the guard that still tried to keep the City safe after She claimed them. (The Great and Heavy Sentries had many, but the Sentries capable of flight had more, despite increased fragility, as they could see from the heights to keep watch...)

It won't all be correct, but it will be close, by achievement.

No one can re-live history. Once everyone is dead and gone, so is their understanding of Things As They Are. Digging up the past later only gives you so much context, and it's the bane of every Relic Seeker's life to be reminded there will never be true context for this thing again.

Lemm puts down his pen and folds his arms, leaning back a little in his chair as he watches the Knight work.

Whether or not it's exactly correct, it certainly isn't random guesswork, which means the Hollow Knight knows what they're doing to some extent. Which means it's as correct as it's likely to ever be from now on. This thought is being turned over and over very carefully in Lemm's mind.

Eventually when the Knight seems satisfied with the order of artifacts, he speaks up.

"Remarkable, really - the wing insignias really were rank relevant. Thought it was just monarch flair, myself." Hard to know what to say. The Hollow Knight isn't acting at all like he imagined a gallant historical figure to act. He opts for using some rusty positivity. "I've never been happier to be wrong." And...? "...Good work."

The Relic Seeker says the oddest things. Happy to be wrong. Good work.

For a moment, they angle a stare his way, unknowingly blatant about it with their head tilted to do so with their good eye.

The awards they've placed stand out among the rest, sorted and set perfectly straight, organized, unlike the entire rest of the room. This...was what they were told to do. Praise is unnecessary, why--

They put the cloth back on the desk and attempts to sit at attention for whatever comes next. Attempts, as they're still too tall to quite do so without knocking their horns against things.

Lemm was very privately hoping they might continue of their own accord, though most of him is also relieved when they stop touching the merchandise. Just because they've occupied his thoughts every time he's visited the plaza doesn't mean they get a complete free pass on fiddling with the relics.

He lifts the pen again and scribbles down some notes on the new version of accolade hierarchy. When he glances up, it looks like the Knight is waiting for something, and he goes still.

"I'm not looking for an assistant," he says, somewhat clipped. "But if you want something to do before you head off..." A glance around. He jabs the feathered quill in the direction of the stone-carved memoirs. "Organising those would help. I know you know what Mosskin looks like, for one."

He deliberately doesn't state how they should be organised, and maybe that's a little mean of him, but he really just wants to know how the Hollow Knight will do it if left to their own devices.

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there's so many things that you'll never understand

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[sweeping gesture] behold the junk hoard

it's being beheld, sort of

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