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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The Knight shakes their head to show off their matching irritation. Why is she even staying? There are better places to travel to gather wealth.

...Unless she's survived in the ruin since Hallownest's fall. Or she's trapped here, too weak to ford back through the wastes even with her vault-like defense.

Their head shakes more sharply, dispelling these thoughts. They'd rather keep from linger on sympathy for someone who stabbed them in the back. Actual stabbing in the back would have been less insulting.

They'll just--let her be as much as they have been.

Lemm is peered up at before they shift to the side, following his horn's pointing, where there is...a lot to look at. They haven't in a while; it's only the background to the shop, and the shopkeeper. And there aren't any weapons to go for, if he wants them to pick. (A similarity the sibling Knights share, though they don't know it.)

Did I bring you any interesting Journals before? they ask in lieu of getting up.

There were weapons once, at least a couple of smaller daggers more for show than use. These have been largely tidied away out of sight, or even moved to the back. The whole collection had been somewhat shuffled around to put the pointier stuff at the back of the shelves, though in his anxious wait for the Knight to report back, Lemm had somewhat messed this attempt around again as he tried to kill time.

"All of them are interesting," he replies, brightening considerably. And then quite abruptly he dampens it and has a re-think.

Because - the Knight has written to him once on this topic, and it had been when he'd been dismissive of their losses. I found the corpses of other bugs who must've thought the same. A lot of them made it far. I sold some of their journals to you. He doesn't need to, but Lemm finds himself staring at their notes again.

He looks up a moment later, somewhat more gathered.

"Hm. A lot of them ended unpleasantly. I gather you're aware of this." Lemm slips out of his seat and begins sorting idly through a pile of Wanderer's Journals, hunting for any with less morbidity. "You'll forgive me for being enthusiastic. That's just the thing about history; everyone's gone and died before I read about them and I'm a bit far removed from that fact by now. D'you have a preference on location?"

They make a gesture to acknowledge this. That's alright. They're well aware, and they're generally not made so raw about the deaths of strangers.

Not the Crystal Peaks, they decide. Anywhere else is just as well. I never tried to read any of them in my hurry, but now I can wonder other perspectives.

At the sound of their pen, Lemm turns and half-steps back over to scan their words from a distance, then nods. That's understandable. He turns back to his task.

"Might've had trouble if you did. Plenty of them were written in thick dialect. S'a struggle getting your head around it sometimes."

He picks out something that seems innocuous and almost turns to bring it back to the counter before catching the word coliseum and dropping it with a distinctive thud. They said not Crystal Peak, and he's decided not Kingdom's Edge, either.

Lemm eventually returns to his seat with a different one, resting it comfortably in one hand and partly against the counter. With a glance at the Knight, he clears his throat and begins reading.

"Were it appointment mine that - ah, bother, you're one of those." Lemm scans ahead a bit, then tries again. "...Right. If I were appointed to a more importunate task I would forge ahead, but with no haste, prudence begs me to seek shelter. Eyes seek me from the green verges and unease clouds my duty..."

He pauses here, and chances a look at the Knight again to see what they're making of this.

"I'm not doing a voice," he states, mostly joking. "Anyway this one's from Greenpath. Tourist following the Pilgrim's Way by the sound of it. S'this one too dense?"

They're paying attention, though they're not indicating much. In truth, they were expecting Lemm to jump onto asking them for more information, not give them his own. They determine this is another indicator of...trust. Friendship. Something along that track.

The Knight half-shrugs with one arm. Dense, yes. Enough to put them off, no. It takes a lot to do such. Especially in this circumstance--listening to a friend share something. Read me all the fancy words you wish.
I wonder if they were fearing the Mosscreeps.

Lemm already knows quite well how he feels about being listened to. He is prepared for the contented feeling that settles on him at their invitation to continue, though it's still unfamiliar all the same. As in Great Knight Ze'mer's home, it is a different kind of content than chatting in the Knight's direction had been before they picked up a pen. He's surer that they're listening, and that they want to. They have their own thoughts. It's nice.

He does a little more preparative reading. Parsing this stuff into more understandable wording takes time, though luckily this is a dialect he's familiar with already.

"Likely they were. We can suspect good reason for it, if this is from the period I think it is."

He goes on. The journal is not massively lengthy, despite the flowery prose; it speaks of a bug spooked very much by the erratic behaviour of some of the inhabitants of Greenpath, who seemed to be actively following the writer at a distance. For fear of being set upon in some way, the bug had sought a hiding-place and remained there - only to notice their only exit haunted by more of the same.

Lemm theorises this was about when the Infection was setting in. And then he starts meandering a bit, discussing the details that imply where the bug might be from, why they'd head to Hallownest's capital, and the like. Then he gets onto the topic of linguistics.

He is likely going to be at this for some time.

The Knight scoffs with a twitch of their head. Mosscreeps. Weaklings that nobody should fear. Some may even find them cute. Even Infected, they were an irritation more than threat. The Moss Knights and the things with spikes were the only opponents they'd worried about.

Along with the acid. Not for the first time, they send gratefulness in Isma's direction for her Tear.

They continue listening patiently to all of Lemm's reading and explanations. Occasionally, they take a moment to scratch out their own thoughts, such as wondering if knowledge of the Infection's apparent reemergence was being suppressed intentionally, and asking a little elaboration about the theorized homeland to privately try working out if they notice anything familiar.

Weak they are, though there's something to be said for the strange erraticism forced out of living creatures by the onset of Infection. Likely the writer of the journal did more to spook themselves into a corner than their odd onlookers ever did.

Lemm has thoughts about the deliberate obfuscation of information. He suspects the Knight is entirely correct, and tells them as much. Now isn't the time for him to get as animated about that as he'd like - they're trying to lower the stress levels in the room, not raise them - but he makes his opinion crystal clear, with a carefully-managed tone. Those in charge back then deserve a kicking. Stupid way of going about it. Speaking as a scholar, of course.

The Knight's interest in tracing the dialect (he... thinks?) is addressed with patience and detail. There are a couple of places he passed on the way to Hallownest that still have traces of this way of speaking, and Lemm describes the locations.

"...Some of the closest waypoints, in fact. One's a temple, or it was - repurposed into a rest stop by settlers long after it fell into disuse. The other's a shabby little overground town, not unlike..."

Lemm remembers too late that the Knight lives in Dirtmouth. And cares about that place even if they didn't. He stumbles awkwardly into the next sentence and hopes not finishing that thought will count as even slightly graceful.

"...It's to the west of here, if I remember rightly, in the lee of a hill. Locals are shieldbugs mostly, with some foreigners. Probably friendlier than I gave them credit, but then I was in a damn sour mood by then."

The Knight agrees with quiet intensity, though they counter with a tiny bit of understanding. None would want to believe the plague was returning. The denial of the desperate is powerful, as they've experienced firsthand multiple times.

In particular, any potential for fondness for the White Lady was long outweighed by disgusted pity--but they refrain from continuing, if Lemm doesn't intentionally prod. They still haven't visited her since before.

They know what he was going to say, and don't comment. They're fond of it, but he's entirely right; most of Dirtmouth is its own ruin.

I think I passed through there, they note with some surprise. From the Journal, they were wondering at further lands they'd wandered across, a long time ago. This is recent history, they think, with an internal flash of humor. I was moving too quickly to assess it. None of them got in the way, at least.

Interesting. Lemm tilts his head quizzically and considers that.

"On your return journey? Likely you came from the same general direction as I did then. Not that it narrows anything down." Lemm waves this off. "I was in a hurry, as well. At least I was trying to be. Getting proper directions out there is like picking at a stuck moult."

This is said with only a little venom. It seems likely this is a Lemm problem, and he knows it.

Short as their experience of the place might have been, he's curious. Comparing travel notes is not something he often found the opportunity to do.

"Still, maybe you saw that shieldbug leader with the antique staff, in passing? The young one. Not a clue how to handle the role. Had her ceremonial sash on backwards."

Tap, tap, tap goes their claw on the quill, showing they're thinking about it.

And they are trying to recall, but they also realize why they wouldn't. At that poiny they knew, somewhere in their gut, that they were nearly there. Nearly to where they heard some kind of world-rending scream of desperation, which they know now was their breaking sibling, or the Radiance tearing through whatever taut remains of connection--that still, somehow, existed through their sibling to reach them.

They told Lemm they didn't want to discuss their current situation.

That isn't exactly current. The Knight doesn't know how they feel about potentially discussing it so suddenly.

...Having their mind bouncing between wanting-to, not-wanting-to is getting obnoxiously familiar.

I could have? Someone with a pike or staff tried to either greet or question me, but I didn't pay attention.

Edited 2023-02-17 08:24 (UTC)

As much as the Knight has shared with Lemm about their past - and it's a lot, it is a lot - there are plenty of details Lemm does not have, and many of them are tucked into places he would be unlikely to think to ask about. The simple reason being... why would anyone think to? Their situation is uniquely strange.

There is always a chance of him stumbling across these things by accident. More than once he has come close to this one.

"Aye, that'd be her," Lemm guesses, faintly but equally amused and irritated by the memory. "S'what I mean. Too heavy-handed. It's a pity," he adds with a headshake, "they used to be poets, if their literature is to be believed. Things change."

Lemm stops to think about what the Knight has just told him, again.

"Sounds like you were in more of a rush than I was, or better at getting directions. Well, you didn't miss much, if it's any consolation."

Edited 2023-02-17 08:51 (UTC)

They distractedly nod. It's possible they still do, and just aren't interested in sharing with rude travellers, but there's no need to mention that. It's not as if the Knight knows.

I didn't stop at all.
No doubt I came off as incredibly rude.

It's up to them to bring it up or not.

Tap, tap, tap.

~~I didn't know~~
I could discuss some my own and my sibling's unpleasant history, if this is currently acceptable.

~~Every chance.~~

"Well, no use worrying about how we come across to bugs we'll never meet again." Ah, though he has no idea if that will be true for the Knight. Hallownest is comparatively small, he supposes, for how far they must have travelled. The thought occurs to him that the Knight might opt to wander away from it, and that is an... unwanted thought. He drops it quickly.

They're fidgeting. Lemm watches closely, mindful of what that could mean. And he's right to be wary, if the next thing they write is any indication.

He straightens up a bit and offers a firm affirmation. "Of course it's acceptable. I told you I'd hear all of it, didn't I?" His curiosity sparks up despite the gravity of anything Knight-related, and Lemm is just quick to temper it. He can't help his nature, but he can act proper about this. In a gentler tone, Lemm offers an out. "...Hm. But is it a good idea? 'M only saying."

They've been stressed. Understatement of the century. Lemm is not about to encourage them to make it worse when they came to his shop for... a visit.

They hadn't thought about it at the time. It doesn't really matter, and they don't feel much guilt over it--later, they might even find amusement, looking back at how confusing their small form storming through the main road could've seemed.

The Knight had come by worrying about Myla. Now, they worry about Myla and their sibling--but they've both settled somewhat. They're working on Myla's situation; they're going to visit Deepnest to see their siblings, or to know where they might try tracking them next. A plan is a foundation, they're aware, as rarely as they stay steady on one.

I want to, they choose. It isn't pleasant, but now is as good a time as any.

And they don't want their nerve to fail them.

I didn't know I was from Hallownest. I didn't know where it was located. I didn't know what Hallownest was. I don't entirely know where my memories begin, only that it was somewhere in the wastes well away from it.

This was still true when I was by the Cicatrice termite fortress, to the North-West. Near Ivolis, they add, as a city that had grown into a fairly well-known travel hub the last they'd passed through.

(And it was, about a century ago. Currently it's in ruins after a wildfire burned the whole thing to its foundations, even underground, where parts are rumored to still smolder. In any case: it is very, very far away.)

I was there for work. A beat. They don't need to censor this, really. I'd been hired to track where the alates were going, despite not having functional wings and never indicating tracking as a job I would actually take. I was going to try to see if I could sell the wings if I could actually follow any.

They twitch the quill dismissively. Recalling the sheer exasperation of this helps kill the remaining urge to dither.

It wasn't going to happen for a while. I was bored but prepared to wait outside of the soldiers patrol routes.
And then I ~~heard~~ ~~felt~~ ~~heard~~
It was as though my mask had burst from the inside-out and healed before I could feel it.
I knew it was a cry of some kind. It was pain. It was fear. It was not my own.
And I knew the direction it came from, if not where, or who, or what.

Edited 2023-02-17 10:14 (UTC)

They want to. So. Relic Seeker Lemm stays sitting straight in his seat, and gives them his whole attention.

Cicatrice he knows, and he's heard of Ivolis. Unfortunate business, a wildfire. Rarely leaves much behind for his profession to look at. This is a fleeting thought, because Lemm is far more focused on the fact they have just informed him about what amounts to massive memory loss.

In the time they take to move onto the explanation, Lemm weighs in a little bit.

"First thing you said to me was you'd only recently... discovered yourself. Wondered what that meant at the time, but I wouldn't have thought..." He shakes his head. "Can't imagine what that must've been like, Knight. That kind of thing's rare barring a nasty knock to the head, and I doubt that's what happened to you." The biology probably doesn't add up? He has no idea, actually, but it still seems unlikely.

The work they undertook is just given an acknowledging nod. Lemm's not one to care how others scratch a living. He's seen enough to remain unfazed by worse things (and he has done business, on occasion, with far more unscrupulous individuals). He can picture the Knight as a mercenary if he tries. This is considered while he waits for them to finish the rest.

Which nets a wince, as he reads the description of that feeling, and the understanding that followed.

"Ah..."

What to say to that? Offering sympathy feels terribly inadequate, and he doesn't trust that he has the words to do it properly. Lemm hovers a while looking troubled, and his fingers run absently along the edge of the counter.

Maybe there is no good way of responding to that. Lemm sighs, with some finality, and tries to smooth over his distress. They're telling him; best he can do is not make this any harder for them.

"I can guess at whose it was. It's beyond remarkable that a... sign like that travelled so far." He tilts his head. "May be that travelled is the wrong word. Not for me to puzzle out right now. And you followed it..." Oh, that's... right. "But you didn't know."

Highly unpleasant early on. And later, but it was worse then. I didn't know anything about who I was, and how/why I was so unlike the others I met. I was very afraid and angry much of the time, and encounters with bugs wandering the wastes made it worse. They're quite matter-of-fact about it. It's been a long time, and they can't begrudge either their past self or many of the others who found them alarming.

Mostly. There were a few stabbings that still feel well-deserved in hindsight.

Their claws run over their Shade Wings. Forget the alates; the wings of a god-king would sell significantly higher than the discarded ones of potential termite royalty. They'd best make sure Sly never learns of that little business.

No. But it was horrifying. I was curious, though I couldn't have ignored it even if I hadn't been.
-Have you heard of/seen fireworks?

Edited 2023-02-17 13:01 (UTC)

"I imagine anyone would feel that way, left lost like that. Sounds dreadful and bewildering. By the sounds of it you've made the best of it you could. You have my..." sympathies, condolences, something? Something. Anything. Lemm draws a blank. "Sounds horrid." Clumsily said. That's alright, if he gets his point across.

Lemm is struck once more with the feeling of... responsibility, he supposes it must be. The Knight is yet again trusting him with knowing these things - their feelings, that's the thing. And he is registering now that what he mistook for a burst of scholarly curiosity a little while ago is far more personal: he just plainly wants the Knight to tell him, he wants to know, wants them to be comfortable in knowing he knows. This feeling comes from a different place than his work, now. Dimly he wonders how long this has been the case. A while, by how deeply it seems to have sunk in when he wasn't looking.

"Heard of them," he nods. "Or I've heard them described. Never been one for... big celebrations, that's the kind of place you'd see them, isn't it? No. I hear they're bright, and loud. Why are we talking about fireworks?"

They understand, and appreciate it. And perhaps they understand Lemm's feelings faster than Lemm does, head tilting almost imperceptibly towards the wanderer's journal and adding Thank you. I'm grateful that time is long behind me. Now I know what I am, and I've become a king and a Higher Being all in learning it. I couldn't have imagined anything like that.

They draw a bit of one--a line for the ground, a dotted one for the trail, a burst above and some clouds.

Comparison. I don't know how else to describe it, but fireworks are close. If they're shot into the sky, the noise rattles through one's head enough to sometimes hurt. If you look at them as they explode, the light falls apart and fades, but an imprint stays against your eyes, blocking out some vision with its shape for a few moments.
Finding my way to Hallownest was similar. The light of a firework stays in the eyes no matter what direction you look until it fades, but the 'mark' of the call stayed where I could 'see' to the South-West at all times when I tried to find it.
I abandoned the job to follow. I never stopped unless I was forced to. I don't have any frame of reference how long the journey was.

He's relieved when they just... get it. Making himself understood on matters like this is more difficult than it should be, no thanks in part to second-guessing his phrasing, among other things. His biggest concern is that they'd think he wasn't taking things seriously. Lemm gives a small nod.

He leans forward in his seat slightly to peer more closely at their drawing, studying it a moment; their further description is scrutinised the same way. When he sits back, he fixes his gaze on the opposite wall for a time, seemingly trying to picture it.

Lemm turns his attention back to the Knight, apparently satisfied with his understanding of... well, at least how they'd described the call. He doubts he'll ever understand fully.

"You had a compass in your head, and the magnet was... here," he offers, along with a small gesture up at the ceiling to clarify. He knows the comparison isn't quite right but it will hopefully let them know he's got the gist.

He is quiet for a moment.

"You followed without understanding. And from there... Ah. From there - Kingsoul, Brand, Dream Nail, Abyss." He counts on his fingers. "But there was a great deal before then, in between." Another pause. Lemm gives the Knight a fairly unreadable look. "You were working blind on a task you didn't understand for a long time, it seems - s'that right?"

They Knight gives a small nod. They could scrape endlessly at the details until they run out of paper--compass magnet works well enough, even if it loses some of without the concept of the light intrinsically linked.

Yes. I wasn't sure of myself for much of it, though none of it stopped me.
As you know.

I thought perhaps I was mad at times, before I started learning enough to know there was something to it. But if I wasn't, I couldn't leave it. ~~It was~~ ~~there~~ I can't describe it. Some creatures screamed like it when I challenged them here, but it wasn't the same as that first time. Those were all the Radiance, I believe. The first was not her alone.
I can still hear them. sometimes.

A pause, brief, as the Knight's unoccupied paw settles above the hole of their eye. The same eye their sibling's mask radiates a crack.

And if I was mad, at least I was going somewhere new. I didn't need to be where I was. I simply was.

"Being sure of yourself when you're starting something is overvalued. Sometimes your heart's more set than your head. Anyway I doubt there's much in this world that could have stopped you. A very tenacious thing, you are."

The rest...

Lemm takes his time with the rest. His hand moves mostly unconsciously and feathers his fingertips underneath their writing, half-following as he reads. He is unreadable himself, for a time.

"And you know now it's Hallownest itself that's mad," he says - and it is not up for debate, by the way he says it so factually. "It was, and is, a result of a load of unbelievable misconceptions, oversights, and atrocious decisions. Anyone would start to question themselves in a place like this, and in a position like yours. You're clear on that now, are you?"

This should be addressed first, and with care.

Their head tips up to look at him, paw sliding down until it's resting on the bottom of their mask. The Knight is quietly bewildered for a moment, before going over his words again.

Yes. I do.
I do now.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I wondered if it was true. This writing is more rushed. I don't always feel as much as other bugs seem to. I wondered if there was truth to it. That Vessels cannot feel, and so I don't. ~~It's been~~ ~~I've~~ I know it isn't. Things have changed now that I've been here long enough. But when I learned I wondered.

He notices they're writing faster as easily as he would if it was spoken word. Nerves, then, or more likely something quite a bit deeper; Lemm holds his place steadfastly and waits for them to finish, reading just a little bit behind their pen.

Halfway through, one finger begins tapping anxiously at the counter. Still he holds his response, because they should be allowed to finish before he lunges in with a rebuttal.

When the Knight seems to come to a stop again, Lemm quickly shifts two fingers over to the bottom of the page and taps on it twice, as if to indicate a stop, just in case they might have continued on. He needs an input, here. It's important.

"What'd you feel when I upset you that first time? When I was being... smart. Told you I'd go where I wanted. You left my shop in a mess. I know you've decided you're past this already, but I reckon it bears the question again now. Don't write. Think on it, but don't write." His hand lies flat on the counter, far from preventing them from touching their pen to the page again, but his fingertips lie on the bottom edge of the page as a reminder.

Edited 2023-02-17 22:11 (UTC)

Their quill nearly stabs the paper, but Lemm--asks. He's not in the way, he's only asking, and they stop from scribbling how, as they wrote already, they already know it isn't true anymore. They know what they felt--furious, hurt.

And grief. Grief that they hadn't been able to stop and let happen. That was the emotion that underlined it all.

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