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 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.

The minute jerk, the way they hold the pen. That's indicator enough that his question landed how he intended.

He lets them steep in it for a moment, but not too long. A moment is enough; longer would be cruel.

"That's you," he concludes, jabbing a finger in their direction, ignoring the sharp stab of a reminder that he was the one to make them feel that way. "You had every right to feel it, and you did! Hurt hurts."

Out-loud acknowledgement that he did hurt them is... hard, too, but necessary.

"And you certainly let me know about it, didn't you? Mind, will, and voice. Never mind what anyone else thinks, or's been led to think - we know better. Getting paraded through a spring let me know better. Being painted in graffiti let me know better, and I wore the proof." Lemm's fingers slip from the paper and he folds his arms, withdrawing slightly to give them space. "Hearing you're cold doesn't make it true. Even if it's all you hear."

Edited 2023-02-17 23:28 (UTC)

They didn't need the reassurance.

They were only--explaining. Confessing.

Still, they realize the sting of insult at Lemm's rough kindness is wrong. It isn't allowed to sway them into an outward snap.

The Knight runs their claws under I know it isn't.

They start to write enough times that there are blots of ink blocking off a chunk of the next line before they truly begin.

I ~~haven't~~ hadn't been able to care about anything for a significant amount of time before now. I have not had family. I have not had friends. I have not had connection to place or person, as a shadow that wandered for so long along the edges of where others are.
My siblings, you, the ones who I met again and again in Hallownest have changed this/reminded me.

Edited 2023-02-18 05:44 (UTC)

He knows it was likely unnecessary, and their insistence as such is not reassuring that he made a good decision. It is a comfortable relief that they do know this, anyway. And that's not why he said it.

Lemm is more patient for them to finish this time.

He doesn't quite know what to say to that. Tentatively, his hand comes to rest beside their paper, palm-up, a silent invitation.

"I didn't say all of that because I thought you hadn't worked it out yourself," he explains. His eyes are fixed on their writing like he's committing it to heart. "I said it because you ought to hear it from someone else. Someone who isn't you."

Still locked on the page, Lemm sighs softly, and with his other hand he taps have not had, have not had, have not had.

"That's why I said it. So you'd have gotten to hear it from someone else. Want you to have that, at least."

Edited (repeat phrasing was bugging me) 2023-02-18 09:00 (UTC)

Yes.

When their mutual care and friendship was fully realized, there was a reason the Knight described Lemm as used to being overlooked, part of the background: they know what that is. They hadn't intended or expected to have him left believing the same.

It's why they made a point, here, when they normally wouldn't--when they wouldn't have before, when they wouldn't waste time for many others, that he is part of reminding them of the truth already.

And why they know he's likely right. Or he could be, eventually. It's better to have it out and open than hidden in only their own head.

It's better to have someone who assures them when they don't need it than no-one at all.

I'm grateful for you doing it. to remember if ever I forget. No matter how--hopefully--unlikely they feel that will be.

Lemm is content with that response. More than, actually, because the way they've written to him...

"Aye," he mutters, and looks away, if only to gather his thoughts. "Sorry I went about it so clumsily."

...It sinks in slowly, every time. There are a lot of layers for their sentiments to get through and he never handles it gracefully. That they'd talk about connection like that and chase it with a list, and that he would be on it, is a kind reminder that he's going about this the wrong way.

The moment he walked in and saw them sitting there he was hit with the will to - a lot of things. To hurry forward, check them over, fuss - but he'd curbed all of it, made himself be slow and kept his distance. And talked too much, to flatten it. Silly; that hadn't been what they'd needed from him.

"Maybe..." That's the problem with trying it the other way, all his diction goes out of the window. He gives up on it.

Lemm takes his hand off the counter and makes an awkward little beckoning motion towards himself, instead.

They take their head a little, nearly a twitch.

Lemm makes mistakes, which they can accept, but his reaction now isn't one. The raising of the emotion they certainly have wasn't a problem he needs blame for. And they're controlling the negative.

Mostly.

They hesitate, wondering--

...wondering more than they need to.

The Knight shuffles across the counter to settle well within reach; close enough to try leaning in against shell and beard, particularly careful not to catch the latter.

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