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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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.

They can bow with all the quiet appreciation they like - Lemm will not be responding to it with the dignity it deserves this time. He's not in the habit of giving things away and this is the first time it's felt right and he knows the rest will be going to them, too, eventually. He knows this, even if they don't.

One little piece borrowed against the rest is hardly a bother.

Barely considering it, Lemm pats them on the head while they're bowing and takes another sip of his water.

Theirs now. Whether or not he requests it back eventually, theirs now. Living in the moment is hardly foreign to the Knight, whether it be surviving a battle or enjoying a bauble.

They're patted and pleased about it, though they're not to ignore the pillow forever, no matter how many distractions reach them. They crouch, switching the bell to the hand they write less with.

Thank you. I appreciate this. And 'this' encompasses more than only the little gift.

-If you'd like to sleep now, you have an entire pile of pillows better than the counter.

He is a little floaty, after everything. It'd be easy to get sidetracked, but he has nothing to get sidetracked with right now. His headache is gone, he has navigated one of the most important conversations in his recent memory, and he is content to just... exist, and not work, and not fuss.

He peers down at the page and swirls his cup idly.

"No. I'm sick of seeing you sitting on that hard surface. Heretic." He takes another sip and closes his eyes, comfortably zoning out. The pillow, he has already decided, will be there whenever they are.

Ah.

They eye the pillow. Alright, then. Telling him they don't need it would be rude. This is another gift, small and freely offered.

...Important. Important, in a physical symbol that indicates their having a place here.

The Knight pats it once and settles in.

They'll need a few moments to adjust, admittedly. They're, as ever, rather small. Even a slightly raised soft surface is enough to put them at a strange angle they need to wriggle a bit to keep from being more inconvenient than not.

At the soft rustling of someone fidgeting in their seat he blinks a little more alert and watches them a moment.

Lemm kind of wants to see how long they'd fidget just to be polite.

"Not very comfortable, are you?" He can't help being a bit amused. "I'll admit I'm not sure what else to offer you."

Now, that's just a challenge.

They scoot to be better-centered (if feeling significantly worse-balanced) and start messing about with their Charms. See, that's functional enough, letting the Knight casually look at Joni's Blessing.

Fine, then. If they'd rather save face, Lemm will oblige. He's mildly touched that they'd bother, anyway, because he certainly wouldn't stand for it.

He eyes the charm with obvious curiosity.

"What's that one about, then? S'got a nice shine to it."

I don't suppose you'd- this is snapped off before it starts, again. Despite the open door, as far as he's concerned right now his shop is closed - they just happen to be sitting in it.

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