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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...

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?

Very well. They'll keep out of it. He can take care of himself, and they have another to be keeping an eye on.

I should whether or not you stay long. This house is under-equipped.

Tired? The Knight nods, slow and somehow heavy. Yes. It's been a hard...however long it's been.

He shrugs at that. Their home, and he knows they like to perch on things. (And if he visited again it would be convenient - oh, he's already thinking about that, is he? Interesting.)

If you need a ^short break I can watch her for you. She would be safe.

He doesn't have much faith in that suggestion, but it's worth saying.

They're visibly conflicted, head tipping between the paper and the couch. Lemm wouldn't hurt her. The worst that could happen is some confused upset, and there's been enough of that.

Short break, he specified. That nearly draws up a spark of amusement.

I should look for seating. and fetch a meal. If Myla wakes, all you need do is make sure she doesn't walk into anything if she tries getting up. Would you like any food?

Lemm is, too, considering his bedside manner. The one that does not exist, as far as he knows.

...It will not be a disaster, he reprimands himself firmly. No matter how inexperienced he is he can keep a little bug like that from harm, and that's likely all he has to do.

Oh. He sort of should have expected they'd trust him with this, shouldn't he? Lemm is careful to stay casual as he replies.

Easily done. She will come to no harm, on my word. Will not take eyes off her.

No. thank you. Maybe later. Wait, but is it rude to refuse? Agh, he's forgotten everything about etiquette.

Standing up is a struggle, or perhaps it's pulling away from contact. Frank reflection leads them to understanding they'd like to sleep while clinging to Lemm, and how they can never allow that.

They glance over and pause. Peaks of a pair of black horns are barely visible.

Grimmchild seems to assist in her rest, and they can't stray far from their Charm. Are you capable of equipping one? They lightly part the front of their wings to reveal their Notches and its face, no longer unsettling to them.

Lemm has seen them upset before, and they'd often seemed unbalanced. His hand settles over their shoulder a while just to be certain they aren't in danger of stumbling, and they'll feel it tense as they reveal the admittedly eerie little visage in miniature.

He stares at it for a moment. He has a lot of questions suddenly, but now isn't the time to indulge his curiosity.

As long as there's nothing to worry about. Looked at me when I came in.

Never went in for charms much. No notches unless a thoughtful pause, and he shakes his head maybe in the shop. None on me.

Headshake, as their wing drops back into place. No, nothing to worry about, merely the Charm and vessel of a nightmare god. They'll need to take them with and be hasty about it.

Worth asking, but it's fine. I'll be within shouting distance should something happen. Nobody's seemed to begrudge their recent habit of breaking in places nearby.

Grimmchild, upon sensing the Knight's intentions as they take a deliberate step towards the door, flitters into the air and teleports to hover above their shoulder. "Mryeeh," they chatter quietly, peering at Lemm with some interest.

This gets another nod out of him, and Lemm pushes to his feet and follows them to the door.

He eyes Grimmchild with some guarded suspicion, the teleportation getting plenty of confusion. It's not that he has reason to think they'll be trouble, but a little healthy wariness helped carry him to Hallownest. Still, the Knight is comfortable with them being around - especially now - so it must be fine. He'll ask his questions later.

Before the Knight can leave, Lemm scribbles another note and taps them lightly on the back.

Seats and meals aside, get some rest. This is accompanied by... the old settling-Void fingerwaggle he made when he didn't know what to say about their encounter in the Crossroads.

He wants to look stern. He can't; he's still too worried. So they get what is unmistakeably a pleading little head-tilt instead.

They mimic the gesture somewhat, and then point to his own word on the previous paper: short. They can't promise anything short if they went so far as sleep, as well as keeping Grimmchild away. They seem to help, and they're wary of removing Hiveblood to place them directly onto Myla instead.

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