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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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.

Lemm shakes his head and waves a hand - flaps it, like he's chasing off stray lumaflies. I know what I said! I say a lot of things!

...The gesture changes into a half-shrug. He motions behind him, just in case that changes anything. When they get back, then? Here? Anywhere. He taps the word rest and relents. He's made his point, hopefully.

They dip their head.

It's not a promise. This sort of tired isn't something a brief sit on the bench will fix, and they're not in a place to allow sleep.

His visit and their small breakdown's already helped, shaking them back to reality from their mire of horror and guilt.

They'll try. Perhaps if he sticks around when they return. They're not going to pressure him, however, by conveying such in writing.

With a wave, they depart. Hastily. They want to be fast, they want to return--but they learn just how concerned everyone else in Dirtmouth has been, and are in a better state to field them. It will take them far more time than they realize.

A while after the Knight has left, a voice pipes up, soft, quavering. "M-my helmet...?" Myla hasn't opened her eyes.

No sense standing in the doorway - he has a watch to keep, and he is a pragmatic bug; this is what they need of him right now. Lemm pulls the door closed to the room full of lights with no hesitation, and returns to his place by the wall and settles down with no complaint about the hard floor.

He always includes a Wanderer's Journal in his bag. This one is yet untranslated; it'll occupy him for some time, amid occasional glances up to check that the bug on the couch yet... breathes. And breathe she does. (To his relief.)

Lemm cannot lose himself in the fog of history right now, re-reading the same parts over and over, returning to his own thoughts fast enough that he gleans nothing from the text. So it is with immediate presence that he snaps to attention and scrambles to his feet, quiet as he can, journal pressed to his chest.

Helmet. Mining, he thinks, she's a mining bug, and wrings every little piece he's gleaned from his texts while he stalls for time.

"There was an accident," he tries. It's not untrue. "You're to rest for now."

A beat, a recall, some corporate release he'd painstakingly read to his own boredom between even less interesting ones about ore imports and standards and welfare. Relic Seeker Lemm uses what little he knows.

"You're on sick leave, Myla. No need to wear that here. Until you recover."

Accident. Sounds right. "F-fell," she agrees, and then sings, voice cracking: "Bury the knight with her..."

Myla's claws blindly feel around for something, grasping another blanket and pulling it onto herself in a lump.

"Wh-who's--? Who's there," she says suddenly, louder, a few moments later.

Edited 2022-12-24 18:26 (UTC)

Yes. Yes, it's fine, it's working, he almost breathes a silent sigh of relief but -

Lemm puts his weight on his back foot, but does not step back. That would make a noise. He does not want her to look at him.

Quick, then, quickly find something to work with. His thumbs run back and forth over the grooves of the journal's heavier text.

He doesn't know. The records did not - he can't lie fast enough -

"A Relic Seeker," he tells her. "I'm tasked with knowing, you see." He's nervous. She could panic. May well panic. He promised to guard her. Lemm steps a little closer to the couch, despite everything. "What was that you just sai- sang? Did you sing?"

"Y-yes. I'm--I--I know, um, a few s-songs. There's the colors, they're... It's d-dark, and it's....good to n-not be alone in the dark, haha. The one about a c-crown, I remembered it. You know." She moves to sit up, but it turns into more of a sideways flop, and her eyes are open, she's staring at him now.

"You--why are they l-looking at me," she asks urgently, antennae twitching. "They're b-by the mouth. It's not crystals. I c-cant give them anything."

Lemm moves a bit nearer as she tries to lift herself, mind racing. He was left little instruction and he feels he needs so much now that she's not just a shape on a couch-! But it occurs to him in time that the Knight had no solid advice to offer. They are perhaps both as inexperienced as each other. It's up to him to try to handle this, so that the Knight is not compelled to run ragged.

"...I'll take your lyrics, then," he insists. Perhaps she's seeing things. He'd better take her mind off that. "Never mind who's looking. You're right. No one ought to be alone in the dark. What's this about a crown?"

Myla stares at him, wavering a bit. "...Oh, you...I was r-remembering. It's--it kept me awake, when..." she trails off into silence that lingers for an uncomfortably long time. She keeps looking at Lemm, glancing toward the door (shut tight) and window (completely covered by tarp) between the lights, before she finally gets the words arranged into place and sings.

The Knight slips inside in the middle of this.

Iselda is behind them. She doesn't interrupt whatever's going on, but she's holding a pot--there's no proper place for it, but she sets the whole thing on the ground, glaring at Lemm until she knows he's paying attention--then gesturing at the pot, Myla, and the Knight very pointedly. Make them eat, she's saying, before she shuts the door.

The Knight doesn't notice, producing some cushions to drop on the floor. Their claws are shaking a bit.

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