the knight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
focusedvoid) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
boxfullofzeroes2022-10-31 05:57 am
focusedvoid) wrote in boxfullofzeroes2022-10-31 05:57 am
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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"Yes." He tries not to glance around at his own clutter, and instead nonchalantly picks up the cloth and badge again like it's pressing work. "Hallownest is well-suited to both of us."
A mapmaker's curiosity is similar to a Relic Seeker's. Lemm is not blind to this.
"Hm. Go safely, then." More casual polishing.
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He doesn't take the Stagways, though he's become aware of them. He's got a strong pair of legs that serve him well, and a shell thick enough that even acid can't bite into easily. He's back in Dirtmouth in a short time.
The door nearly rips off its hinges when he knocks. The little wanderer takes the delivered items with a bow he can barely see of their silhouette before it's closed back in his face again.
Cornifer blinks stars from his eyes and sighs before wandering back home.
Inside, the Knight reads the paper frantically. The most important sentiment is confirmed. Lemm is alive and unharmed. They had to know. They had to.
The rest is difficult to understand. Safe, both. They'll be safe. They're safe. Myla...
...Myla's not safe. They're doing what they can. They're giving her food. They've built a nest of blankets bought and stolen. They drained the Void that was clinging to her like miasma. They're surrounding her with lights all over, because she sounds better in her sleep when there's more of it.
She's not waking up very often. She's disoriented and frightened when she does.
The Knight is afraid. They don't know what they did to her. They don't know what the Fools did first, either.
They stare down at the game for a long, long time before they numbly set it down at the edge of the room. There's kindness behind it being brought to them, for distraction or reminder. They can't stand to look at it, or to consider his offer. There's nothing Lemm can do anyway. He's already emphatically told them he's not a doctor, in memories that they have trouble connecting together.
(Their sibling. When they told him about them. That's right.)
The Knight goes back to their place, seated on the floor beside the couch, and waits for whatever Myla needs next.
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- He thought he made up his mind not to go, he scolds himself as he tucks the key behind the sign. Lemm will be of no use and in this state he'll snap at someone. Maybe he'll - just walk the other way. Around the City.
Walk he does, at the same pace as someone absolutely on a mission, stopping abruptly at the ends of streets and picking directions randomly and horns-first. He thinks it's random, but he keeps ending up at elevators. Once he catches himself striding meaningfully past the Spire in the direction of King's Station and has to swing himself back around the other way, muttering colourful curses learned from journals.
He could check the Colosseum. He knows more or less where it is from the things he's heard, has heard the distant sound of drums and crowd-roar at least once when he strayed that way before. That way he'd have something to report to the Knight... Idiotic, no, it's too far and he'd be torn apart and anyway what if they came looking and he wasn't home?
...In his haste, did he leave a note? Lemm doubles back to the shop.
He ends up standing outside the door, dripping wet with city rain, horns clunked against the sign and arms hanging limply at his sides, deliberating silently to himself for a long time. Eventually he unlocks and goes in. Useless to go. Useless to sit in his shop or wander around tidying. Either way.
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Myla's important. Myla's safety is important, because some of it is their fault. They may feel guilt for not realizing she was taken, sickening and swirling, but they understand they couldn't have known. Her half-sleep state, however, they must have done.
They are not incapable of patience. They know this.
They wait. They pace. They briefly, very briefly, disappear to the edge of Crystal Peak to fetch a shining crystal to see if she might like it.
Later, there's a shattered mess of pink out behind their hut. It's not where anyone can step on the shards, so Elderbug doesn't bother sweeping it up, no matter how he eyes them in concern.
1/2
He finds none of the comfort he's looking for in their kinder words, and only a rising unease in the implication he may be alone in knowing so many of their truths. It was a point of selfish, hidden pride before, but now it only makes him feel strange and guilty.
In the end it is their final, discombobulated letter that breaks through the tension in his chest. What is he doing? The Knight was panicking when they wrote this - he knows this as surely as he knows their handwriting dragging off the page when he upset them in his shop. They ought to have someone - no, enough of that. He ought to check on them. Dirtmouth doesn't know. No one knows, and he is hiding down here being a tremendous stubborn coward. Enough, then. Enough.
The note he leaves is simple enough: Gone on an errand. Lemm is still rain-damp when the ringing of the Stag Bell echoes through the tunnels, and a little out of breath. Cornifer came from Dirtmouth, so the letter came from Dirtmouth. The Knight wouldn't want him to walk alone. There are still rules.
(The Old Stag does not make a fuss of him riding alone, though he senses the Relic Seeker's apprehension of it. When his passenger disembarks and seems too tightly-wound to articulate himself, the Stag is a little surprised to get a very familiar-looking bow instead.)
2/2
Heavens help him, but he tries to sneak past.
"Ho, there!" (Lemm freezes in his tracks.) "Oh - do my eyes deceive me, or do I know those horns of yours, traveller?"
Reluctantly, Lemm turns around with all the stiffness of a creaky gate.
"We've met."
"The treasure hunter! My, but I'm surprised to see you up here again."
"As am I." Lemm recalls their meeting perfectly well. "Though not for the same reasons, I'd imagine."
"My warning was fair, but I meant it kindly. It was terribly unwise to go down there at the time, though it seems the worst has finally passed. Did you find trouble?"
Plenty. "I found what I was looking for. As I knew I would," he adds pointedly. Lemm is tense. Seeing Elderbug about to pry further, he holds up a hand to interrupt. "Now I'm looking for something else. Have you seen a small wanderer with symmetrical horns and a decorated Nail?"
Elderbug walks him to the door, to Lemm's mixed relief and dismay. On the way, Elderbug finds him unwilling to offer much in the way of proper responses, and switches to telling him things instead. He gets little in return there, either. Lemm doesn't have the patience; there is something much more important on his mind.
Curious (nosy, in Lemm's somewhat biased opinion), and perhaps feeling slightly protective, Elderbug would very much like to stay and be a part of whatever this exchange will be. But Relic Seeker Lemm stares at him with such hostile expectancy that he can do little else but leave the bug on the doorstep and retreat back to the middle of town.
Only when he's by himself again does Lemm tighten his resolve and knock on the door.
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Lemm is outside when they crack open the door.
They freeze, staring, a circle of black against a backdrop of whites and reds.
Relief and irritation rise. They knew he was fine. It's good to see. Why is he here. They don't want him--anyone--here.
But he is, all the way from the City, to check on them. Because he cares. Because they both do, and they're friends, and he likely was concerned.
Dirtmouth is buffeted by its usual winds. They're not going to leave him outside.
They lift their paw to the base of their mask, shhh, and open the door just wide enough to let him inside.
The house is full of lumafly lights, the Delicate Flower one still hanging awkwardly from the center of the ceiling. Some they bought, most they stole, a few they somewhat did both when Elderbug protested their plucking them from the lightpoles outside in the more distant streets of the town. There's a torch burning in the middle of the room, alight with red flame.
A head pops up from the nest on the couch to eye the new visitor.
Not Myla. Grimmchild, resting next to her. They mrrr quietly before sinking back into the blankets.
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The door is mercifully opened before those thoughts can really get going, and Lemm suddenly realises he didn't plan what he was going to say. He's just kind of here, now.
"I-"
They indicate for him to be quiet, and it is a relief. It is more than a relief when they seem to invite him inside. They're not too upset with him, then. Good. That's good. Without really knowing how he's going to handle this, Lemm fidgets with his bag and crosses the threshold, coming inside just far enough that they can shut the door behind him. He stands still, then, and takes a cursory look around the room.
The movement of the creature on the couch has him flinch. What is that? It's in here with the Knight and that means it's probably not going to bite him. Maybe. Serves as a good deterrent from going anywhere near the sleeping bug, though.
Myla, he thinks. That's Myla. Don't stare.
Lemm quietly dips into his bag and pulls out a stack of clean paper. His pen scratches softly in the quiet room.
Was worried about you. Came to
...What did he come for? Lemm stalls, glancing at the Knight with his pen hovering.
see you. Sorry to interrupt.
The paper is held at the Knight's eye level, his handwriting now much clearer than his more efficient (messy) shorthand.
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Uncertain. They've been feeling that way often lately. Now, primarily for mundane reasons--they weren't prepared for inviting anyone inside, and they have no chairs or cushions. The couch has room, technically, but they're not going to risk that.
Lemm using his own paper is...sensible, and still odd to watch.
They tamp down irritation. Yes, he is worried. This is reasonable. Their letter was likely incoherent in their panic. They only recall asking for his reply, and crossing out blatant incrimination of themselves just in case it was read by other eyes.
It's fine. as long as you can keep quiet. I'm doing little.
The vast array of lights and such point to the opposite, but it feels they haven't done much. There's nothing to hunt down or cut down to fix this, as far as they're aware. The Knight's already tried what they could think of already, up to tearing off one of their own Charm Notches and pinning Joni's Blessing and Hiveblood to Myla periodically, hoping it'll do something.
Her body has healed. Her mind...
Even the Dream Nail has been little help. She's afraid, and she's singing through it from the inside. This is all they can tell.
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The obvious thing would be to ask about Myla. That's what a sensible bug would do. His gaze traces back to her for a moment, then he sighs softly and shakes his head. He wouldn't even know where to start.
Don't know if I can help with her. Are you hurt? What happened?
More hesitation, then. There's more to this than just asking questions. He already offered this in his letter, but there's no harm in clarifying a bit:
The mapmaker told me you've been shut-in. If there is anything either of you need or would like I will bring it for you. I don't know what else. Not usually a visitor.
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The other part--what happened, what happened. They step away, stop. Step away again. Pace around the torch in the center of the room in a tight circle once.
I'll tell you. First, I need a moment for consideration. I don't think there's anything that can be done. Thank you.
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Lemm just nods at the rest.
Take all the time you need, or tell me nothing. I didn't come here to make you think.
Lemm turns the paper. Then he casts about for somewhere to wait, but... well.
After a moment's deliberation he just finds a space by the wall and slides down. He is feeling awkward enough already in someone else's home. Taking the floor just feels like a polite concession at this point.
He splits his stack of paper and sets half aside, dipping a horn at it just in case. He actually only brought any on the chance the Knight might be running short, but it seems he'll need some himself. (Yes, the map shop is right there. Lemm would personally not be in the mood to go there for something so trivial if things were this bad. This has been privately considered.)
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In the edge of their vision, Lemm finds a seat on the floor. After a compulsive glance over Myla and Grimmchild, they circle the room once more before joining him a little ways away.
I discovered Myla in a cage in the Colosseum as battle fodder. I had no idea she was taken. It was pure accident I went there. And it so easily could have been too late. How long since the Infection had died? She had scarring.
This is forcibly pushed aside. They have a task, and it doesn't involve throwing themselves deeper into potentially-dangerous upset.
I became enraged and grew into the Lord of Shades to remove her from that place. Much of the Colosseum had once been Infected. I found those who had been, and Myla, seemingly kept some of the Void in place of it.
I used it. The Fools died. The arena collapsed in my escape.
She had seemed aware enough when found, but has yet to fully awaken since. I don't know what I've done.
By the time they offer the paper, they've miserably shrunk down into themselves.
The Knight's nerves fail; they fix a stare at the floor rather than watch him read it through. Something whispers that Lemm once simply feared them, not for them, and perhaps he hadn't been wrong for it.
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When they settle nearby he perks up; but from their little distance it's not like he can hover like he normally would, and anyway for once he'd be conscious of it. He instead opts to keep his gaze averted. Nevertheless it is obvious that this makes them quite uncomfortable - he doesn't have to look directly to catch that their posture shifts.
When they're done, he takes their writing and gives it his full attention...
(He is slow, this time. There is no skimming.)
...The paper is settled on top of his, and Lemm looks up into the middle distance, processing.
He glances down just to confirm his understanding of events. And then he sets their paper down between them both, and writes. Lemm's expression is unreadable. It is not a particularly long note.
His paper is placed quietly on top of theirs, and he sighs softly and sinks back against the wall.
"Not every decision is made with a clear head."
I'll forgive you for forgetting [mind wanders], but you told me this yourself.
You look like you feel terrible.
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They read it. Their own words, told back to them. In rebuke, they first think, and then aren't so sure.
They drag the paper back.
I didn't forget. I know it was not a clear-headed decision. I don't know what I've done in consequence of it.
I hurt Myla. I killed the Fools. I do not regret the latter, but I did not know I was capable of that.
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Steering trouble (twice underlined, and he flags this part of the note at them before continuing.)
Would it surprise you so much to hear
Now I see why you cross so much out. very difficult to write off the cuff
Is it strange or offensive to say
Lemm pauses, abandoning lines and not bothering to obscure them. He scratches at his forehead with one finger and tries one more time, clearly struggling.
I can't help you understand how to fix this currently / I don't know what you did either. You are not the only one to ever have this problem it just seems you have it on a larger scale do you understand?
Look at me
He lifts his pen, thinks about writing more, and staves that off for now. The paper is placed in the same spot between them.
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No, they don't understand. They look at him enough to shake their head, putting a paw on the question.
This is not a normal problem. I didn't do it from intentional malice, but I caused damage in a similar way the Radiance did.
I am afraid.
More was going to be written, but that's it, isn't it. They're afraid. They're afraid of so much, suddenly.
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He does not write this time. His empty hand is extended over the papers between them, and he makes a small beckoning motion with it while he watches them closely. The hand holding the pen stays itself over the page on his lap.
He will continue when he knows they're... staying present. That is one way to put it.
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They look at his hand. Down, at their own. Their small claws are digging into their palms.
They want--they want to leave. They can't leave. They want to grab his hand, and they don't. As though they're going to drown Lemm by touching him. A foolish anxiety, they're fully aware. They'd never--they would refuse.
The Knight compromises by shuffling along the floor nearer to his side.
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Lemm gently shakes his head. He decides this will not be a lesson the Knight will learn. Not here, not from him. Not when they've been teaching him otherwise. He's lived far too long with that one to pass it forward.
He is slow, but purposeful. His arm aims to slip around behind the Knight and rest a hand on their shoulder.
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They neither lean closer or away, as much as both war behind their mask. They reach out and clumsily tap their words again. I am afraid.
They don't know what to do. They don't know what to do for Myla, they don't know what to do with themselves, they don't know what to do in response to Lemm. The Knight is afraid. They don't know.
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The best he can do is be steadfast, and he couldn't even do this if they hadn't been so patient.
He trusts wholeheartedly that they will not bring him to harm. It is no longer because of the note he keeps at home. They're past that.
Lemm is not afraid, and he does not care to entertain the thought of rejection any longer. He draws his arm in very carefully and scoots them up against his side. He holds them there, close, and does not hurry back to writing.
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...Fear, solid fear and not a dull anxiety, is an unusual sensation for them. The kind that lingers, at least. A terrifying enemy, a shattered mask, time lost in wild dark mazes--these are horrid, but immediate.
Their face turns to press against Lemm's shell, the whole of them shaking more perceptibly. If they were capable of tears, they suspect some would be welling. Their eyes ache anyway. (It's significantly possible they've been staring into lights for too long.)
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Relic Seeker Lemm learned his propensity for a sharp tongue and blunt words a long time past. There was no room for anything else. If there was, he had already made his reputation and none would find reason to see him change; it became easy to resign himself to his work, and nothing else. If he was a harm, so be it. He would give up on trying to be anything else.
He was wrong. And the Knight does not deserve to come to believe anything so cruel.
Lemm lets his pen sit abandoned on his lap with the rest of the blank pages, freeing up that arm to join the other in holding the Knight; his hand comes to rest on the back of their mask. He is not used to being gentle but it does not mean he cannot be, and it does not mean he is disallowed, and the small being tucked against his side demands it. So he is gentle.
Quiet, because there is a sleeping bug in the room. Lemm reminds himself: gentle here, too. But a sleeping bug will not mind a murmur that barely sounds at all.
"Aye, really..." He strokes a thumb back and forth against the back of their mask, unaware if they can even feel it. It doesn't matter. "Do you think your friend Relic Seeker Lemm would handle godhood any better?"
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The query takes a few moments to register. Friend, he says, as well, as though assuring them off that fact. They aren't about to pull back to scrawl an answer, and so simply give a tiny lift of shoulders.
No, likely not. Truthfully, likely worse. He's trying to reassure. They're reluctant to allow much more of it.
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