boxfullofzeroes | voicetest the voiceless

voicetest the voiceless

They're not dead.

Less dead than they'd felt, at least. Their shell doesn't normally take so long to reform.

Then again. Their shell doesn't usually break of their own violation as they ascended in a boiling rage, ate at least one realm, a god, and all the Godseekers.

(That last point is debatable, actually. There's some odd sense, deep under their...shell? Void? Wherever they once stored things like Isma's Tear, much deeper now...that the sea-mind is still there, sluggish and held in a stasis. They're already adjusting enough, and they don't seem to be dying or trying to kill them, so that problem is neatly sorted as 'for later'.)

They push their body to stand. Their horn clangs uncomfortably loudly against the grate they've apparently woken up beneath. They're somewhere in the Royal Waterways. A quick check of the map--or, not so quick, as it takes time to locate where it had been--shows they've risen about halfway through, closer to the City of Tears than the White Palace. They'll go to the Stag Station in the City Storerooms next.

So they think. Complications arise on the way.

The Infection is gone, leaving dead Flukes, Pilflips, and Hwurmps in piles enough it takes time to force their way past. Their body seems too small. No, their body is fine--there's something wrong with perception itself. That will take time to adjust to.

Then, they discover the Monarch Wings now stretch and warp when used, twisting around the nearest pipes after landing before the Knight forcibly calls them back. Shade Wings, they decide to call these.

Once they're high enough to hear the rain above, they realize a noise they'd ascribed to water running in the distance is, in fact, something swirling behind their mask. Many somethings. All the fragments of Siblings with enough self left, staring out from their eyes. It's disconcerting.

By the time they actually get out of the Waterways, they're using their Shade Wings to grip ledges and drag themselves up, with those holding onto things better than their own arms are with the Mantis Claw.

The Knight faceplants awkwardly onto the floor of the building Lemm's shop is in. If the City is the same as below, there's little left to try killing them in the area.

They'll just take a moment here, thanks.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Knight considers reassurance, but that could distract her from pulling thoughts together, so they refrain. Myla does that herself well enough.

"I've heard some are t-tall as the Peak," she says, sounding cheerfully skeptical. She interjects with little hums of consideration and agreement, sometimes offset from what Lemm has actually just said by several seconds.

Eventually, she can't keep herself present. Myla falls into sleep, and Godhome, where it's clearer to think. She splashes away to the edges to avoid just that.

The Knight, ever observing, immediately flutters over and shifts the blankets up around her. She doesn't need so much care now, but habits die hard, and Dirmouth can be chilly even with a little flaming godly child snuggled up to her shell.

They come right back to their seat after that's settled. She'll be asleep a while, and deeply. You won't need to be too quiet.

Lemm's impromptu lecture on the mechanisation of Hallownest's thoroughfares uncertainly slows and gets halting, then stops altogether when the Knight tucks her in and there's no response.

He stares, just to be sure.

Before the Knight is done over there, his head falls into his hands and he heaves a quiet, haggard sigh. He forces himself to pull out of it as they get themselves seated, and folds his hands in front of his face.

"Thanks," he half-murmurs. He's read their message, but this doesn't seem like it was in response to that.

...No, it doesn't. They're not entirely sure what he's thanking them for at the moment. And he looks...uncomfortable? He'd been uncomfortable. Unwell?

The Knight stands back up on the stool. They reach over, half-crawling onto the table and lightly bumping the radish container, patting him on both hands with a paw.

He leans back slightly, though his hands stay where they are - oh. They're being nice. Sure.

...It's hard to talk about, because it feels like drawing attention to the mistake, and that's the last thing he wants to do. But it deserves some acknowledgement.

He sighs again, and his voice stays cautiously quiet now that Myla is asleep.

"I almost put my foot in it, didn't I? Appreciate the bail-out, though."

Ah. They pat him again, settling back down. That's not wrong...and perhaps they should explain.

It takes them a little while, staring at the paper. While it took longer for Myla than the other miners, the riches she chased lead to her succumbing to Infection. Reminders are unpleasant. to say the least. You couldn't have known that. They don't think they explained it, at least.

For the other part, well.

Perhaps refrain from mentioning all the death to the few survivors of it, they add bluntly.

Edited 2023-03-21 21:05 (UTC)

Lemm studies their explanation like his life depends on it, expression tightening as he goes. At the parting line, he sinks back in his seat and gives a frustrated groan, scritching habitually at his beard.

"I didn't..." Hrm. "I was trying to..."

Stop. Think properly. His hands both come up to scrub at his face, and he tries again with his head held between his hands and his elbows braced on the table, and makes another quiet noise.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" he... whispers, with some effort, because that had been about to come out quite loud. "Tried to back out, even, but I just backed right into something else! I'm not good at this," he affirms, as if they don't already know. Then, as an unhappy afterthought: "Shouldn't have talked to her. Sorry."

They know it wasn't intentional, and so they nod to that. To the other, they shake their head hard.

Don't apologize. Don't

The Knight glares at the paper, struggling.

Don't apologize for talking to her. You might consider apologizing for being callous later. But she should know you wouldn't have known/might not know you're aware she was Infected at all.
She liked hearing about the City otherwise. Ignoring her would have been worse.

They keep staring at the paper. This addresses what Lemm said, but it doesn't feel like enough.

Urgh. All well and good to say so... He knows they're trying to be nice, and it almost makes it worse.

Almost. It would, if they were a stranger. As it is, it doesn't.

Lemm folds his arms and sits back again, and stares off to one side with a sigh of shell-deep displeasure, one finger ticking on his arm. It's not that what they've written doesn't make sense.

Once more his eyes stray to the door. Looking away from it is less forced, now, and more resigned. It isn't an option. It just isn't, any more. The thought is exhausting.

"...I will," he mutters, tapping the apologizing for being callous line with a finger, "if she allows it." On that he sounds doubtful. With a soft shake of his head, he meets their gaze for the first time in a little while. "Running damage control for me, are you."

The Knight is significantly less doubtful. If she can forgive me for dragging her into a terrifying unknown realm of darkness and monsters and leaving her there, I expect she'll forgive you mentioning uncomfortable topics.

You've given me enough sensible suggestions. I'm only giving some back. Lemm's a little too far to reach without crawling up again, but they flick their quill at him anyway.

He inclines his head, then, mostly at the pen-flick. It's almost playful, like a half-baked fake dodge of some imagined ink. Some small acknowledgement that, yes, they're still friends, he's reacting accordingly even while he's - like this. In a mess.

The rest will... have to sit for a while. Maybe they're trying to be light about it by being so blunt. That he recognises. He still has to think on a few things.

He can be straightforward, though, in the meantime - he has always been good at that.

"I know you are." He stops to think. The finger keeps ticking against his upper arm. "You're a help."

What a vast, dizzying understatement.

"You're a big help," he tries again, and it still feels like it falls flat.

They should respond to that. They're pleased, the think. They know they're glad to be. They know this means a lot to Lemm, for him to say. And they can't articulate this in a way that feels right, either.

The table is small. It suddenly feels far too big a space between them. They can change that again, and they rock in place once.

But Lemm's been uncomfortable.

But they're friends.

I would like to hug you again, they write finally. Not quite a question, not quite insisting.

The ticking stops. His expression goes pained.

Or, not pained.

"Aye."

If they'd like to. If he - if that's - he can't imagine why, but.

They see that expression, hesitating a moment.

But he says yes.

They aren't particularly fast getting up, dodging the food and fork to walk straight across the table, in case he changes his mind.

If he doesn't, they'll essentially collapse against his chest, pressing their face directly into his beard. It's easier to hug at this angle than seated sideways.

There is no change of mind. Nor does he move, even a jot, once they're - on him.

He just needs a moment to stare at the ceiling, gathering himself, before his arms peel out from their folded position and re-fold around the Knight, hugging them closer. There are residual shakes of someone who has just been trying very hard to keep it together, but they're on their way out, just a leftover tell he'd been keeping to himself.

Nice to know he hasn't messed up irreparably. They aren't pulling away. After a moment his chin comes to rest glumly on their head, right between their horns, and he sighs softly.

Right.

They wait. And worry, when he doesn't move. They don't pull away--if he wants them off, he can dislodge them.

But he doesn't. The Knight is held back, and they just squeeze tighter. They're doing this...because they want Lemm to feel better. It's that simple.

With the size of them, at this angle his arms would be curled around them too far - so he's opted to fold around them casually, like they just happen to be in the midst of it while he was crossing his arms. The position still has them pressed comfortably against him, and it feels... nice. His face rests between their horns; they're both folded in like fitting shapes.

If he is their friend, then his mistake is on their reputation, it was their this is Relic Seeker Lemm, hope you get along, and he managed it very badly.

This didn't go well, he hadn't managed it well, but they're letting him - he tightens his grip a notch, suddenly overwhelmed - they'd still touch -

...

He loosens up and makes himself let go before he can cling too hard and push his luck. His hands fidget back into his lap.

It has helped. He won't overdo it.

This seems to help, and hopefully can communicate their appreciation better than yet another bow.

They were slow to come over and hold on, and they're slow to let go, hanging on and then letting their face press in.

...This is a little for them, too.

They Knight peels themselves off and slip back onto the table, sitting there instead of going back to the chair. No matter how light, Lemm was trembling. He's so much more upset...than they thought. Than they want.

They had time to put thoughts into words, clinging to his shell. And to go over a lot of things they know of him by now.

You're not 'good at this' but you weren't 'good at this' before, with me. You learned with me. I don't expect you to become friends, and I don't care if you decide you don't like Myla. or if she decides she doesn't like you. It isn't required. That doesn't mean I think you're too fool to be incapable of learning with her.

Edited 2023-03-22 02:44 (UTC)

Lemm just - sits there. Odd that they haven't gone to sit down. Odd that they're still so close. They're odd; this is reassuring when the other things won't seem to land. He stares down at his hands and waits for them to finish writing. Some part of him half-expects a lecture, and when he eventually looks up that's more or less what he gets - but it's a kinder one than he was waiting for.

(Lemm knows the Knight wouldn't have been unkind. This does not yet shake off conditioning.)

He stares at the page a bit longer. It's only now that he's realising how much trouble he's having dismissing the belief that certain things are expected - things he may not be able to do. Now that he's removed the option of simply leaving and waiting for his problems to go away, it feels like a trap. Setting himself up to fail.

This will be easier to catch now that they've identified it. And the Knight thinks he might not, and - it doesn't matter if he does. He'll have to keep an eye on that. Gratitude slowly creeps up on the miserable coil in his chest and sets to work.

They get a small, stiff nod. It's too hard to address the rest out loud, but he can let them in on one thing. Because it would be too easy to let them think he doesn't, and because it feels like he should offer something positive:

"I like Myla," he half-explains. Lemm looks down again and shrugs. It's difficult to admit after he committed to letting everyone believe otherwise. "I like a lot of people." The problem is rarely with them.

Lemm's done an excellent job putting up that front. Enough that even the Knight, who's poked and prodded and seen through that, is struck by it, and still for a while.

...But that makes sense, doesn't it. Why they had to do such in the first place. Just as with them, there must have been many before Hallownest--possibly in Hallownest--who leapt upon his bluntness and saw only cruelty, or didn't even give that much of a chance and struck first.

And they've been honest about a lot of things. Explained much they never had, not for lack of wanting to, but for lack of being listened to.

I see. And I believe it's too early to decide Myla doesn't like you. I doubt it.

I know less about your history than you do mine. and I assume there's a good reason. But I believe you have been unfairly/quickly judged far too often. Like myself. Know that I'm glad to help cut against that.

They're touching a boundary they haven't fully before; poking a Shade that isn't their own, at all. The Knight needs to work to keep steady, and can't fully manage it in every glyph.

"I don't care if she doesn't." That came out too quickly, like most things he says about other people, and it isn't quite what he means. He tries again. "She doesn't have to," he corrects. That's better.

The thing is that it's not usually up to him whether or not he's liked, and he's long made peace with that. He can watch other people's lives play out from the outside and not get involved. It's safer that way. There are hundreds of other people's lives on his shelves; it's all the same.

...The Knight likes him. And they have a fair few things in common, as they both keep finding.

"I do know." Lemm's gaze drifts up to meet theirs, just studying them for a while. "You've made it clear enough." By helping him. Offering so much patience. Their reassurances, over and over, that his mistakes haven't put an end to it. He knows, and it's more than enough.

This isn't how they meant it, but it strikes him as unfair not to offer something. They're right; he's witnessed so much of their history, and he has let them in on almost nothing of his.

Hesitantly, Lemm offers them this:

"I'm not keeping any big secrets, you know... Hard to imagine what'd be of any interest." A huff, soft and just barely tinged with forced humour. "Like you, I suppose. Except anything I thought to tell would be shockingly mundane."

They nod. It doesn't matter that much if two friend of theirs don't get along; they would prefer it, but they know forcing it from the outside isn't needed. It's why they wrote as much. They're close to that with the Nailmasters, after all. Allied with Deepnest and the Mantis Tribe both.

They just don't think that's a concern. Myla's been kind to them nearly the whole time they've known her, and the few times she wasn't were under extreme duress where she wasn't herself.

Under his gaze, they're still.

A little too still, they realize, and make their body relax into their natural tiny fidgets.

It wouldn't be mundane to me. should you ever want to. It isn't as though they'd know what to ask, other than tearing ugly truths to light that might not need to be. They wryly gesture around the room. I don't even know what a house should have.

He's still a little shaken up; normally it doesn't get this bad. Normally the situation is his to handle and he gets to deal with it how he likes (get angry with himself, burn a bridge, go home and hide).

He'll be fine. He just - needs to adjust.

"Aye. Well. I can't say shelves full of relics with a straight face." The sigh he gives sounds tired. "Made me realise I've not given much thought to that in some time. I get..." How to put this delicately. Because Relic Seeker Lemm is so very good at delicate. "Carried away."

His back room shouldn't look like that, is what he's saying.

"Last time I lived in a place that looked like the kind of house you're talking about, I'd have been your height." He shrugs. "One of the few times being a Relic Seeker in a dead city's made me sound ordinary - I wasn't pulling suggestions from my home, I mean. You weren't the only one at a loss there."

Carried away, obviously. The Knight nods slightly. They're not thinking of the back just now; the wall-to-wall relics alone are a hefty indicator.

For a moment, they consider teasing about him ever being as small as them. That wouldn't make much sense, though, and they're not feeling up to humor.

They shrug. The principle is the same.

Although perhaps not now. Later. for time to consider it. We've had a long journey for such a short route.

This particular walk from City of Tears to Dirtmouth has been more emotionally eventful than most full-kingdom circlings.

This, he can agree on. They've barely done all that much travelling and he feels like lead. It has far more to do with the mental than the physical.

Lemm gives an uneven little wave of his hand. "Aye, aye. Not trying to get into it... I'm just saying, that makes two of us."

He registers he's looking at the radishes again when he catches himself zoning out. Maybe it's time he went home and did food. Proper food, instead of grazing on preserves at his desk between translation projects. Might make a change... Didn't he tell himself that last time?

It's just - despite everything that's happened and the concern of overstaying his welcome, Lemm finds himself reluctant to leave.

"One of these days we'll manage to meet without it turning into a theatre production," he mutters. "Looking forward to that." Half a joke, but only half.

They nod, waving a paw in general agreement. And doubt. Hallownest has been a production since they got here, even if currently it's on a less apocalyptical scale now.

Observant as always, Lemm's apparent eyeing is noticed. You can have some if you like. Or I can find something else if you can't digest those. They completely tuned out Cornifer initially offering them.

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

LEMM JESUS CHRIST ;_;

sitting on that one for a while ngl

💔

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject