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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He nods. Yes, he can keep quiet.

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.

Edited 2022-12-23 11:15 (UTC)

Unhurt. That much they can assure.

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.

He is visibly relieved. Cornifer's relayed concern that they'd been injured somehow had been sitting in the back of his mind like a thorn, even if they didn't look it at first glance. The Knight doesn't look a lot of things at first glance. (He doesn't know what he'd have done if they had been hurt, but that's not important right now.)

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.)

They nod shortly. Acknowledgment. They don't have to, but they should. Accidentally luring him up here to check on them deserves better response, and not explaining--they can't. They did something. In many cases, they have no concern of keeping past mistakes or outright crimes to themselves, but this is now. This is affecting Myla, and it could be doing so to other survivors in Hallownest.

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.

It's easier than expected to temper his nerves and wait. The overthinking beforehand, and the journey here (ugh, that ride), and then the unplanned meeting with the Dirtmouth elder... All of this had him wound very tightly indeed, but with the Knight safely in front of him now it's not so difficult to be patient. He fiddles with his paper and pen and keeps his eyes down. Wouldn't do to look at Myla, or the strange thing beside her. Wouldn't do to rush the Knight. Lemm does nothing.

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.

They eventually look vaguely in the paper's direction. Focusing on the text is--difficult, and so they don't try, instead watching his hand's steady movements until finished.

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.

Lemm shakes his head quickly. His writing is a little more frantic, suddenly.

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.

The Knight struggles to parse this before working out not all of it's connected. Frustration spikes, hastily quashed. If they were in a better state, they'd cross his words out themselves.

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.

Lemm is also frustrated. It is, for once, handled.

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.

...

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.

He recognises that reluctance. There is a familiar tension to the way their paw curls and the shape of their thoughts holding them still.

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.

He'll feel minute trembling.

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.

Lemm... nods. Just that. Yes, of course they're afraid.

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.

No matter how unwise a part of them finds allowing him to do so is, they do not resist.

...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.)

He is still.

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?"

The Knight presses against him a little harder. They wish--they wish they could melt and wrap around to be even closer, as Greenhorn did when they were frightened. They could, possibly. Pride would have stopped them earlier, and now, they're merely too afraid to.

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.

Edited 2022-12-23 23:13 (UTC)

He feels their response more than sees it, because he is looking over their horns at a distant patch of floor. But it tells him they heard, which is admittedly better than he was hoping for.

Lemm doesn't have much else to offer. Leaning into the will to help does not make him much better at knowing what to say.

But he shifts in place a little bit, following the Knight's apparent will to stay close by turning more towards them and holding - hugging them to himself a little tighter. If this were a simpler situation he would challenge someone, but there is no one to challenge, and no one to be angry at. He settles for being a defensive wall against the rest of the world, instead. This he can do.

Regardless, Lemm chooses the correct action. They're held tighter. He's quiet rather than continuing to speak things that feel trite, no matter his intentions.

No, in their place he may have done something similar, or worse. He can snap. He pushes others away. Except, now, for them.

He trusts them. He cares for them still. After this, they nearly feel they've tricked him.

...but they haven't. They'd won him over. Somehow, by being the Knight, and didn't chase him off as the Shadelord, even at the start.

And they can't do to him what they did to Myla, or those Fools. They can't, and wouldn't. They won't to anyone, now that they're aware.

Perhaps his words weren't so trite.

They still deeply regret losing their head. They're...tired. They continue being uncertain, though some of the worst of the fears abate and settle with the presence of a friend, holding them close. Letting them close.

They'll stay in his arms for a long while before they finally shift.

He doesn't know what else to do but stay. The Knight is kept wrapped tightly in his arms, and he's content to stay put.

(He is compelled to angle his horns slightly down and forwards, jutting out over the Knight like a threat. Some deep, instinctive part of him wants a fight. Would relish one in defense of the small shape in his care.)

...So it goes. They are not so small, really. Consciously he knows well it is a god in his arms, likely older than he is. This does not deter him nor hurry him to let go.

But Lemm feels them shift, and he's quick to uncurl a little bit, loosening his grip to give them the space to readjust or retreat. He doesn't know what else to do but peer down at them, just to check. Like he came here to check.

They pull from his grip until they're mostly resting against one leg.

They reach up towards his shoulder before hesitating--he didn't seem to like there last time--before they settle on patting his closest hand.

Thank you. And my apologies. for the strange letter. It's fair to say I've been overwhelmed. The text is a little shaky, as they still somewhat are.

Edited 2022-12-24 00:06 (UTC)

He lets them go and masks a strange wave of reluctance. He barely resists the temptation to flip his hand and catch theirs and hold it and keep holding. He cannot cling to the Knight forever, as much as he would, if they wanted. They do not want. They are comfortable against his knee. He braces that with the other one and relaxes against the wall, shifting momentarily to ease the stiffness starting to sink in.

Lemm retrieves his pen. It rolled off his lap onto the floor at some point. His paper is also taken back up and straightened.

I haven't worried about anyone like that in some time. He does not remember. This is not written. Still I would rather know than not. Thank you for that. My apologies for taking so long. It's fair to say I am a fool as well as a scholar.

They pat him again, on his leg this time. They nearly mention they weren't expecting him at all, but with clearer faculties, they realize it could come off as insulting.

That's alright. Truthfully I don't know how long you took. I've been somewhat measuring time by meals and that's all. They tilt their horns towards the couch; her meals, not theirs, of course. Which should be soon, I believe.

Will you be staying long?

They somewhat want him to now, in complete turnaround to the start of this visit, though they don't expect him to. Waiting and caring for Myla is more nervewracking than riveting.

Truthfully he doesn't know how long it took either. Truthfully he does not feel compelled to take meals regularly enough that there is any structure to be gleaned from it. He dips a horn acknowledgingly to that regard.

...Will he be...?

Here, in Dirtmouth, Lemm registers, and his hand tightens around the pen. His place is below. There is nothing up here for him. Except the Knight, now. He hovers as if to write, and falters twice.

Coward, snaps the voice that brought him here in the first place. His pen meets the paper this time.

A little while. I have some errands bugs to see. Not sure.

...Bugs to see.

They tap that once, a question without writing anything out, so he can avoid answering if he so chooses.

It seems I'll need to find something more to sit on.

He shakes his head curtly. No elaboration, thank you. He's - that's - he has to sort that out himself, first. He told himself he was making it up on the spot, but there could be a lick of truth to it...

Not theirs to know right now. Lemm moves on.

Made you sit on a cold counter enough times. Don't know how long I'll stay besides. Your home; don't concern yourself. He does pause, vaguely aware of the catalyst for all of this sleeping quietly on the other side of the room. Tired?

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