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 finds himself following his own advice when he feels their shoulders relax even a little, mirroring along with them. Seems he's stressed the both of them out.

Sitting is far better than kneeling all stiff like that, but their answer gives him a new flash of concern and this one manages to show itself on his face.

"Haven't... torn something, have you?"

This is a scary thing to ask, he's going to be in deep trouble if the answer is yes because Lemm has never learned that much beyond the most basic of first aid. He can splint a limb, maybe. He's not too sure about fix a rekindled injury originally made by the possible manifestation of a god. Not really something he'd ever thought to learn.

Promptly, their head shakes. Simply straightening hasn't further damaged the Hollow Knight's shell.

Nothing new hurts, except, perhaps, the lightest sting in their mask, from where their horns struck the ceiling travelling to the crack. No scarred wound has freshly torn.

He presses a hand affectedly to his chest for a moment. There is a mild sigh of relief. "Good," he mutters. "I'd have had to fetch someone. No good with injury, myself." He does not fancy explaining himself to whoever was in charge of their care in Deepnest. (And yet he would have gone, or tried. He thinks the Knight would dislike this immensely, but they aren't here to take issue.)

Lemm just barely gives the Hollow Knight's shoulder the lightest squeeze, shy of any solid action, and lets his hand drop away.

"But it..." Their answer had been yes, still... Oh, he sees; it should have been obvious. Nervous, he scratches at his beard and fails to meet their eye. "I've nothing for that. D'you - shall I make more tea?"

The shape of his claws remain warm on their shoulder. Strange. It is more--more--satisfactory than the tea held within their own.

To the offer of which is given a shaken head. As well as somewhat in response to the rest, in a spike of unsettling daring. Neither tea nor fetching anyone would heal them more than they've reached now.

Much of their body aches. It hadn't been worth attention until the Relic Seeker mentioned it. Scars of burst and burn, always. Joints and feet, through so much leaping in their trek through pieces of Hallownest.

This new awareness does not show.

He nods, accepting what he's taking as a no-thank-you just as readily as anything else they've indicated.

"Fine. But I'll not do that again. I'll remember." As much for himself as for them. He is getting better at minding himself around others, he'd be hard-pushed to deny, even with a healthy dose of pessimism. But the Knight isn't the only one he needs to practice with.

Lemm stills for a moment to give the Hollow Knight a further, uncertain once-over just to be sure.

"You'll... You'll tell me if I'm causing you discomfort," he tries. Better make it a rule, of sorts. Lay the line out. "Or..." A flick of the hand. "Act. I've no patience for you to sit there and endure. Especially not if you've been doing my work for me."

The Relic Seeker doesn't nee--

They could have been damaged. Else a relic could have been damaged. To keep the response from recurring is sensible.

His actions are his own. They-- (do not hope)

--they cast this from their mind.

Past this, they have not been made uncomfortable. It's. It is fine. They are fine. They cannot tell him what hasn't occurred.

Yet--the tea--that had been...strange. They cannot lie to themselves about something so clear. The Relic took their refusal with ease. They should not--he is telling them to--

The Hollow Knight is, again, motionless.

Lemm is learning to take the quiet as a neutral, not a negative. And ordinarily he does, but ordinarily bugs have not been so unresponsive as the Hollow Knight is, and it's... different. Their particular silence leaves room for worries he hasn't had before.

After a moment, then, he just nods to allow this topic to be dismissed, and goes past them, back to his desk. On the way his hand rises to land on their shoulder again and it falters halfway, still hovers in the air after he's out of their line of sight, comes to smooth restlessly up between his horns instead with a sigh.

Lemm picks up the badge. Tilts it, to check the minimal tarnish left over. Awarded for medical accomplishment in the midst of...

"Brave thing you did," he mutters, and slips back behind his desk.

The Hollow Knight is...fragile. Compared to what they once were, depicted outside, where they cannot see but will never forget.

They feel this in their chest. Not the scar. Not only that scar. Behind it. Beneath their shell. If they pressed their claw against it, perhaps it would cave in, weak as glass that holds lumaflies.

Is this--?

--this--

--this is...discomfort.

And there is nothing that can be done about it. What is said is said. There is no way to protest praise the broken Hollow Knight does not deserve.

Their hand is not quite steady, but the movement is far slower when they reach for another relic. Something selected to lack a point.

Lemm closes the distance to pass it to them as soon as he registers what they're going for, along with a new cloth, just to save them reaching so far. No particular fuss or meaning, he's just agreeing: there's little left to do but... go back to what they were doing, the Hollow Knight has got the right idea there.

Lemm picks up the forgotten journal, and in his other hand he takes up his cloth and toys with the badge through it, turning it over and over in the material and not worrying much about how well this actually gets it clean.

Apparently this incident - though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth - has not caused them to go for the door. They're still at it, and he didn't ask them to resume, so... The Hollow Knight can share his space as long as they see fit and he won't make a fuss about it, or the opposite - try too hard to be likeable. Not upsetting them is more than enough.

He'll be quiet for a while, letting the time pass in peace. It feels like they both need the breather.

The cloth is taken. The...object is cleaned. An odd, oblong cup, with swirling shapes molded into its edges. It may have began with significantly more color.

Once, there had been no worries about what might be wanted. Literal commands were followed. All else was ignored. This is how a properly empty Vessel would react.

The Hollow Knight was never an empty Vessel, a fact long-since made clear. Relic Seeker Lemm has made a point to acknowledge it and telling them to do the same.

An empty vessel would not hold concern. An empty vessel would not entertain the concept of discomfort. And an empty vessel would not refuse tea, even if asked yes-or-no to its offering.

The Relic Seeker isn't informing them about the relic resting on their leg. This raises flickers of fretfulness.

Even with emotion exposed, they are unsure if this is a reasonable response for them to have.

The point of their claw digs into the crevasses to flake off filth the cloth cannot.

The journal isn't long, but the language used assumes much of its reader; there's finer terminology about Soul usage here that Lemm takes a while to parse.

It's just a way of passing the time, something for him to do in the present while the rest of his mind wanders. There is still a running undercurrent of worry for the Knight, and though she's a stranger to him, their little friend as well. (This is a little surprising. Strange how his concerns have begun to branch out. And stressful.)

And now this. The Hollow Knight in his shop, the exact nature of their troubles unknown to him but certainly troubled, and him so ill-equipped despite knowing what little he does. Raising his voice - he hadn't, actually, but it had come out in a way neither of them liked and now it feels he might as well have shouted. Troublesome. His private little ruleset is tweaked.

Eventually the honour medal's final smudges are cleaned up, and Lemm sets it beside the vase, dismissing his thoughts for now and casting the Hollow Knight a glance to... check-in, he supposes.

"...Didn't expect you to be so meticulous," he says, keeping his voice quiet and reserved, just as a precaution. "Up to you if you're content getting your claws dirty, of course."

He rises to go and fetch yet another something from the back room. As he passes the Hollow Knight, Lemm eyes their handiwork and gives a small nod.

The Relic Seeker had plucked and brushed far more accumulated filth from their robe. Dirty clawtips are a smaller issue, in both physicality and washability.

Claws are not the same as worn covering.

He does not seem displeased, despite this.

After a visible delay, their head shifts in a returning nod before sharply ducking back down.

The cup is clean.

A chill cooler than the drumming water drips through their chest.

It could be cleaner. There are two indents inside where the handle curves out. The Hollow Knight works on those.

With the curtain pushed out of the way to let the air circulate, the clutter of his back room and everything he's doing back there is visible. Lemm pulls a fairly plain-looking bowl from the back of a cluttered cupboard, and takes the kettle he'd used for the tea earlier and pours some still-warm water into it. After a moment's debate he also drops in a pinch of some powder from a sealed container and ruffles the water a bit with his thumb to mix it.

On his way out, he pauses by the stove and turns the valve to let it die off. The shop is warm enough now, no need to turn it into a hot spring.

Lemm returns and stoops to set the bowl beside the Hollow Knight on the side of their good arm. His hand is still wet; he rubs his fingertips together pointedly.

"S'for metal usually, but it'll do no harm to shell, either. Still - can't imagine why I'd need to say this, but don't get any of that in your eyes." Will it even be an irritant to someone whose eyes are basically Void behind a mask? Unlikely, but he certainly will not be the first to see it tested.

Now that he's closer, Lemm also finds himself snagged by the relic they're working on. It has come up beautifully. It'd be a shame to say nothing, but he'd planned not to lecture them any further on something that interested them none. His hands curl and uncurl at his sides, gaze pinned on it for a short while.

"...You're doing a fine job," he settles on as a compromise, and returns to his desk.

Their head tips to it. The warning is taken. It would be hard-pressed to get inside anyway. The praise is...too, taken.

The Relic Seeker referred to shell specifically, and so they dip their claws directly into it. It's warm; their claws clench, sloshing some over the edges.

They lift their claws to stare.

He'd mopped the floor. They should clean it up.

Their head twists to stare at the cloth, draped over the cup, resting on their leg.

He'd mopped the floor. It is not metal or shell.

More will spill if they pull their hand back to reach for it.

Lemm is a bit late in noticing. Awkwardness has pulled his attention inward and his face is turned down as he passes over the last of the Sanctum journal.

...He thinks he was expecting more background noise, though. His head lifts.

...

What are they doing.

"It's not corrosive," he offers, the only logical concern he can think of.

...Not corrosive. Likely safe for the floor. Still, a mess that should be dried.

More mess is capable of being dried in the same manner. The Hollow Knight's claws flick off the excess and hastily grasp at the cloth.

This does not go well. Confusion and stress affect coordination. The entire cloth is dunked directly into the bowl, destroying its ability to dry anything.

They pause.

They are aware the emotion rising within is known as dismay.

Lemm observes with some confusion, and then a flicker of mild alarm - and then just flat confusion again, for a bit.

Are they going to use that stuff on the ceramic? It won't do any harm but he doesn't see the need for a wet cloth when the thing is already so clean - oh, it was an accident. His confusion vanishes in a wisp.

What is apparently a big private deal to the Hollow Knight barely registers on his radar. Maybe there is an issue wringing out a wet cloth what with only having one hand though? His tone is entirely unbothered.

"It's just water and polish. D'you you want some help?"

The Relic Seeker asks a question.

The response does not come for a significant time.

They do not want--anything. Do not--

They do not want help. A simple task does not require such. The Hollow Knight is assisting him. As guest.

...Dismay is near enough discomfort.

Dismay is, possibly, a type of it. Intricacies of emotion continue to elude them, even as they've learned terminology and experienced many in their imprisonment with the Oldlight.

Their eventual stiff nod is as uncomfortable as their fixed stare downward.

His voice is unconcerned. Mask turned towards the bowl and their arm, the Relic Seeker is on their blind side. No more can be gleaned.

They need not glean anything. There was an offering; there was agreement. This line of thought is crushed as much as is possible.

There is the sound of Lemm getting up again, and the soft thud of a journal set back down. He circles the desk and stoops with very little grace to fish the cloth out of the bowl, and - holding it well to one side to avoid splashing his beard or his guest - wrings it out firmly with both hands.

Over the floor.

"No harm done," he explains, entirely casual about the whole thing. "I'll be the first to admit I don't clean in here as often as I should. Likely this stuff'll leave my floor cleaner than it started. Here."

He offers the damp cloth back.

They stare at the cloth. Tip their head towards the floor. Why--

--it is not their place to question. Anything. And certainly not how one keeps or does not keep their own dwelling.

They take it back, and begin to clean the cup's indents, as originally intended. It isn't made of metal. They are not thinking about that now.

Lemm goes to retrieve the mop and gives the wet area of floor a vague scrub-over, just to minimise the slip risk. It is returned to the bucket without much more effort being made.

"Keeping the damp out is easier said than done, but with the shop as warm as it is I've no fear. I should keep it on more... How's your cloak drying?"

The pretense that the stove thing was just for the shop is off, then.

Lemm stays busy now that he's up, gathering a few of the used cloths that have too much grime on them now to be useful and chucking them haphazardly into the mop bucket, then going around to do a little bit of... pseudo-tidying. Moving stuff around.

The temperature increase, just as pain, was unnoticed until given specific attention.

The cloak becoming drier was also missed. The Hollow Knight shifts. Spidersilk slides across their shell, with most along their limbs dry but for where it was most creased, and some where it rested against the cushion and floor.

This question was not yes-or-no.

...A nod would communicate satisfaction. Could. Often does, among others.

Uncertainly, they do so.

He's not one to suddenly turn enthusiastic over a small response like that, but this is a markedly better atmosphere than his earlier awkward attempts at catching their attention with relics, and he does brighten.

"Good! I've guessed for a bit it's pointless warning someone like you against catching a cold, but still it can't be pleasant to sit in wet fabric." A slight pause; Lemm huffs. "Old aches can act up in the cold and the damp, sometimes. I've heard."

Maybe he'd see if they might be able to take the umbrella with them, when they opt to go out again- but the Nail's the trouble. They'll not leave without that, and don't have a spare hand for anything else.

...He was absently staring at the relic they must nearly be finished with by now, but his gaze wanders, and settles on the Nail leaning up in his shop. He looks pensive, suddenly.

None of their aches can be considered old. Compared to the time each and every one had to fester, the wounds are freshly-healed. No difference that can't be ascribed to their climb stands out.

...The damp could be considered a discomfort. Less comfortable, by definition. The silk is not as heavy on their body now, negligible as it is even soaked.

The oblong cup is cleaned to perfection in every cranny, to their eye. They hold it to the Relic Seeker for his own examination.

He tears his eyes away from their Nail to acknowledge their offering up the relic; Lemm draws closer to put in a proper examination, plucking it from them with steady hands. He turns it slowly, examining all angles of it with patience bred from a lifetime of appraisals. The type of item is common, but as with most of Lemm's claimed relics it's a show piece, why is it so hard to do this without talking -

- he can talk. He's not disallowed from talking. It's his shop.

"Show piece," he says out loud, and his thoughts click easily into place. "For sauces. Would've been set out on the table for guests, if the family wanted to give the right impression." He dips his thumb inside to press the claw-tip against a textured stamp in the ceramic, smoothed over by glaze, previously hard to make out amid the grime in the internal divot of a handle. "Crafter's mark there, three Hallownest towers. I've seen this before, but I've yet to learn the maker..."

Lemm clears his throat to cut himself off.

"Excellent job you did with it. All of it, actually."

He sets it carefully with the vase and the medal, and stares at the little collection of stuff for a moment. They won't want this, he shouldn't think. But they've worked for him. He should offer at least.

"We could," he falters, but only for a second, "have a look at your Nail, if you'd care to. I'm no smith to fix it for you, but -" Lemm gestures to the bowl by their side "- I've some more of that. Might come up cleaner at least."

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every motherfucker on the planet this morning: time for phone? phone time now?

PATS.... u_u