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.

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Greenhorn's attention shifts from Godhome to the present outside. What about them? Oh, Lemm was surprised to see them?

They were surprised at their own bravery, reaching out to visit without me, the Knight conveys, to a sense of very mild indignance.

That observation gets a simple headshake. It isn't. It wasn't from the moment they became that other look. Themselves and their siblings and all the Void ever was, which they aren't even aware of the depths of, free to do as it wanted when it wanted.

Nearly. They have assurance in their own self-control reaching out to soothe Siblings to know they can stop from doing what many wish--to attack and drown everything frightening or foreign. Too instinctive, and more importantly, too pointlessly cruel. They're learning of neutral and better through the Knight's eyes.

Edited 2022-12-05 16:32 (UTC)

Lemm pretends some haughtiness, folding his arms and tilting his horn at a very slight angle. "I'm hardly surprised! I cut a formidable figure." Never mind that he still has a splatter of ink all over his beard with a distinctive half-eyehole-print in the middle of the mess.

He drops the pretense for this next part and taps fingers on his arm as for once he's careful how to phrase something.

"I think you're being quiet on purpose, which probably means I'm pushing it." He looks down at his counter and begins fiddling with board game pieces again, if only to give them both the dignity of not having to feel seen. "But I notice things, same as you - and I've a lot of time to think. There's not much I can offer you but to listen, but my shop's always open to you. Not sure I'm making myself clear." He sighs resignedly. "Probably not. S'hardly my strong suit."

Hardly. They think of you as fascinating story bug. Whether or not that should be taken as an insult (jokingly, of course, Greenhorn wouldn't quite know how to sling one even if they wanted) is on him.

I don't know. I do enjoy our conversations, but I'm still discovering how/what the "Lord of Shades" is. It isn't only me, and it has many new strengths and abilities I'm still in the process of learning. I've no few qualms discussing it, but wouldn't know where to even start.

He is almost very, very derailed by that first part. He glances up from the words to the Knight in a look of cautious disbelief, just for a second. He will unpick that later when he's alone with his thoughts again. He'd like it to be true, it's just hard to fight the immediate knee-jerk reaction otherwise.

The rest is... something. Maybe it's progress, even if his point hasn't quite sunk in.

"I think your... qualms would be justified with what I'm talking about," he says, somewhat strained. How can he possibly say this in the right way? "If I find anything useful to you in a text somewhere I'll certainly relay it. But that's not..."

Hmm.

Un-frilled truth it is. He'll just have to commit to getting himself in trouble for it.

"Allow me a few questions. I'll... make myself clear, and we can move on. When I upset you," he tries, nerves already beginning to fray. It's possible they'll be upset with him for this. Probable, even. "You fled. That wasn't the first time you've felt that way, was it?"

This is shakier territory they're wandering towards, the both of them. The Knight doesn't quite feel their hackles raise, but they're not sure what he's getting at.

Felt upset, or felt like choosing flight?
My instincts are often to attack problems, and you are not an enemy.

"...Hmnhh."

With that rather undignified noise Lemm pulls a hand down his face, ending up scratching thoughtfully at his beard. He certainly does not feel like they're on solid ground right now, but he needs to be clear. He's already started this off, can't back away and leave it half-explained or he'll make things very complicated indeed.

"That, yes - both, that's troublesome." He struggles for some wording that works, rather than what'll get him out of trouble. "You've sometimes looked like you couldn't steer it all, am I - am I imagining it?"

Concern, wobbling between them. Troublesome. Is Lemm concerned for himself? Or for them? No matter the case, he's now presented a question they can better answer.

No., you're not imagining it. My emotions do often ge reach a heightened state, and my Siblings compound some of them. I can still keep control enough to keep from wildly attacking but not every decision is made with a clear head.

As with all things: he is very bad at this. But he thinks he's starting to get it.

He gestures.

"That's - hard for you."

Is that enough? No, wait, he was making a point.

"You never talk about it. You should... ah... talk about it, I think. With someone." He catches the 'not me, someone else' before it can finish forming. Not this time. "If it'd help, I'd hear it." As with all of the things they tell him, or have ever told him.

Lemm accidentally knocks over a game piece he hadn't realised he was fiddling with. It's one of the more solid ones, and makes a far too loud sound against the board. He winces.

So it is concern for them.

...An offer given, to listen to them.

Rejection is the first urge. Urge with no thought behind it, and so they stay their quill.

He isn't...entirely wrong. He's read over some of their most upsetting history with the goal to hear more. For record alone, it's brought them to realizations and unlocked emotions they hadn't wanted to prod, or even considered they could. And now he's offering for more than his work. Concern for their own state, and the fact their next risen urge is to again flee says more than Lemm possibly could.

They don't exactly have many others to discuss it with. Perhaps Sheo and the Nailsmith, one day. Or, oddly, they next consider Ogrim, who they simply feel would share catharsis.

Though this could be fully wrong. These ideas are just that. Potential, possibility. They don't trust those ones yet, and may not ever. Lemm has made his missteps that weren't...terribly difficult to deal with, no matter how unfortunate they felt at the time. He knows what others don't, and has already gone through a list of assumptions.

--He'd probably like a response rather than a poleaxed stare.

They scribble out their next few words: I could. I don't know. yet. I'll consider it.

The silence is not a comfortable one. He doesn't dare look up, but he knows they're staring at him, he can feel it.

Pieces are fidgeted with and moved around. He is in strange, unfamiliar territory here, as he's often found himself in since committing to getting to know the Knight. The most he can do is wait for a response. There's nowhere to retreat to, anyway - they're in his home.

But the Knight said they knew there'd be problems, and that they believed they both could work through them. That is enough to keep him relatively still and quiet as he waits. It's something to ground himself with.

When the Knight eventually touches their pen back to the page, his attention is immediately on it.

"...That's all I... Yes." A sigh. "That's all. That's enough of that, I think."

The tension goes out of him. He had feared this would go much worse than it has. Time will tell if it was the right thing to say or not. His hands fold on his desk, and he looks away again.

"Urgh. I don't much care for the way that felt, and I'm sure you don't either. What a pair we make."

Edited 2022-12-05 21:31 (UTC)

They could just not do so. That's a bitter thought at first, responding to Lemm's seeming disgust. The Knight pushes it around in their mind until it's shifted into neutrality.

They could not, or they could. It's their choice. An offer on the table that shows Lemm...

...cares, put simply. Cares as they've come to care. Likely with as much claw-dragging reluctance to acknowledge it head-on. Almost certainly determined in the same event with the Lord of Shades furiously storming away and Lemm working to call them back.

Their choice. They have no need to try pouring their Soul onto the page. Not ever, not right now.

If only we could throw a Journal at ~~emot~~ stressful emotions.

At that, in a shockingly uncharacteristic show of over-acting, Lemm rests one elbow on the desk and turns in his seat to give them an expression so jaded it borders on dead.

"If only. Knight, if only that were the case," he emphasises, shaking his head.

He hopes they understand each other in some small, thin way. Dull humour might pull them back out of this rut.

Lemm gathers himself, smoothing down his beard and shifting a bit to take the theatrical look out of the way he's leaning on the counter.

"Failing that, you might always throw one at - Zote," yes, he remembers the name. "I'm sure that would make us both feel better."

The Knight is still, mildly taken aback, before they recognize the humor. It's a tactic they've used, after all.

The subject change is quickly leapt onto.

And they have the perfect addition.

It would be best to knock Zote around himself. I found him in the Coliseum once. Perhaps I should have chosen him as my easiest, but that'd be an insult to the concept of battle.

He did no damage and flew further than Millibelle.

The tense atmosphere is diffused as they go, and a short, scornful snicker is dragged out of Lemm. There is a strange, universal rule that everything is funnier right after the stress fades.

"You've such a knack for detail," he informs them. "I'll have to meet this Zote. In fact I'm adding him to the list. You'll introduce me, and with a Relic Seeker onlooking to record the result we'll have you break the record for 'furthest anyone has ever been flung'. Millibelle can watch." A beat. "And know she's next."

I share the most pertinent facts I can recall, they inform him primly, before promptly collapsing forward until they're nearly flat on their face.

They still reach to the paper, now at their side, to write. The text is slightly more legible than their attempt with the tendrils. Flinging Them- excellenT idea. YOU get to Organize. Had enOugh zOte.

Edited 2022-12-05 23:18 (UTC)

The sight of them doubling over is the final thread that snaps, and Lemm succumbs to a very undignified snicker-fit.

(The sheer U-turn of this interaction, as opposed to how he dreaded it would go! He is beside himself. It does not help with the almost-hysterics.)

"Hm-- I'll arm myself with a - Journal," he manages, one hand curling in front of his mouth like he's stifling himself (and not managing), "and we'll - take turns..." Shaking near-silently and pressing his fist to his forehead, the fingers of his other hand flap impotently against the desk as he summons the strength to finish. "No, we'll each take one, we'll see who knocks theirs the furthest--"

The last part is rushed out and Lemm's horn thunks lightly against the desk, mouth firmly planted in his hand to try and silence himself, wracked with tremors.

The Knight nods in agreement. Fantastic idea. They'll steal some journals from the Soul Sanctum, the correct amount of dignity.

Their arm flops when they try to write this lovely idea out, just drawing a line to scratch all the way off the paper onto the counter. No, they're done. That's just fine. The quill goes onto the counter too.

After a few moments, they reach over--a little gingerly--to pat the middle of Lemm's more prominent horn.

Lemm is still cracking up quietly into the counter for a bit, though the terribly, terribly violent assault of humour leaves him in reasonable waves.

The pat does call some sense back into him, and eventually he heaves a typically Lemm-style sigh into his hand, pinned against the counter as it is.

He tilts his head slightly as he raises back up into a sitting position, letting the Knight's paw fall away, and he sits there just meditating a bit. It's hard to recover after something like that.

He can't think of anything to say, so he just reaches out and pats the back of the Knight's hand in turn. It seems the two of them are a disaster. (His hand lingers there, however long before they move theirs.)

They stay there a while, 'til the warmth of wild amusement is less than the warmth of the hand on their mask. When they finally move, it's only to roll over.

Directly off the counter.

This is genuine miscalculation on their part. They wildly flail with a too-long wing-slap that does absolutely nothing but fling them into clanking a bit of horn against the window before they finally manage to stand.

Well.

That stirs him. Lemm snaps to attention from his quiet haze of recovery and instinctively looks at the Knight.

They are not there.

He glances around a bit, first over the wrong side of his desk then over the other side of his seat, and finally he leans over to peer down at the only remaining place they could be.

With a hand braced on the counter, Lemm stares. His laughter is hard-won and he has just recovered from some, still aching around his middle. So, instead:

The Knight receives perhaps the most smug look Lemm has ever given them. This one is going in the record.

The Knight meets his gaze. What is that look for. Nothing happened. They got off the counter, as they wanted to do at some point. Forget the noise. That wasn't anything. They're just going to turn around and stare out at the rain now.

They're a little dusty, clearly because his counter needs more use and not because they stirred up plenty of the floor.

Alright, alright. Lemm relents, peeling away from the scene to sit back in his chair and just... enjoy the silence, for a bit, with his chin resting on both hands. (He will replay this in his head later. Probably many times. The Knight doesn't need to know.)

Eventually he slides out of his seat.

"I don't know what I can get you," he says, "but I think I need water after that."

He hovers a bit before entering the back room, just in case they come up with something they actually do want. Not that he has much.

They flick their arm, as if waving him to the other room. No, they don't need anything. (They need a moment to work out why he might need water in the first place.)

Though they'll use the time alone to wave their wings and brush the worst of the clinging stuff off. There's still a smear of ink on the crown of their head, too, as they only somewhat see in their reflection. They can wash that off in the rain, or a hot spring if that won't suffice.

They glare at the counter for a moment or two before hopping back onto it, looking the gamepieces over one more time.

He is gone a little while. As familiar as he is with his own clutter there's still so much of it that there's a little faint clunking and rustling as he steps over some things and leans around the rest.

When he eventually emerges, there's a once-rather-ornate pillow tucked under the arm not holding his cup of water. This is wordlessly placed near the end of his desk, slightly nudged into some suggestion of neat alignment, and then dismissed as something he will not bring up again.

"You can keep one if you like." As he slides back into his own seat, Lemm gestures to the game board. "Might be a good reference if you look for spares... Or have them made." He takes a sip. "None of my concern how you finish the set." It is absolutely a task he's assigning them, though.

He kind of wants them to have the board game. Nothing doing without a challenge clause, though.

The Knight absolutely turns to peer at the pillow, but what Lemm says next absolutely knocks them from doing so much as point at it.

The comfortable warmth is back, all along them. They pick the Stag bell, naturally, though that one hadn't been cleaned as well as the rest. It's not the first gift they've gotten from him, but this one is more to their tastes--perhaps that's why it shakes them to their core. They just hold it delicately in their claws, staring at it for a time as they think.

Made...? That seems odd, for one who wants to collect relics, the original things. They can do something like that, though. Fill in what seems to make sense, and then find the pieces and compare, if they're particularly lucky.

The Knight bows.

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