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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

His head tilts up somewhat sharply. It's not a jerk, he's more well-managed than that, but he does fix them with a serious look.

There are implications regarding this journal and the context in which it was received. Siblings getting a mention does not sit comfortably. And the Mistakes were a shock, and there may be stranger yet.

"Right," says Lemm, and attempts to force the switch from personal back to scholarly, and tucks his head back down.

Mawleks and infection, infection, infection...

He stops, not so subtly, at the sight of pronged horns.

...It's only now, image mirrored from the paper and face above, they notice how Lemm and their kin have similar horns. Not the same--definitely not the same, with their sibling's horns far longer, and there were once more--but it's enough to raise a chill within their chest.

The Hunter isn't who drew the Broken Vessel.

Wordlessly, they tug the Journal back to add a sketch beside it: their Lost Kin, head whole, uninfected.

At peace.

This entry is complete.

Edited 2023-02-21 23:56 (UTC)

His hands come to rest on the counter as they draw, and Lemm settles patiently and says nothing at all in the interim. He just waits for them to finish. It's their journal.

The complete entry is examined with his head on one side. As a scholar he should be asking a thousand questions. He doesn't want to.

...Lemm nods, lightly.

"Looks better that way," he mumbles vaguely as he studies the new sketch. The proper platitudes would come out all wrong, anyway. And his thoughts are sticking. He sits back a bit. "If you... realise there're things in here that aren't a Relic Seeker's business," he offers, a little lost, "you'll say so." Right?

I don't know. I do not mind you knowing. That's the important part to them.

They put a paw on the edge of the Journal before changing their mind and lightly tapping the back of Lemm's hand.

You don't need to read every entry now. Or ever, should you prefer it.

Edited 2023-02-22 05:08 (UTC)

... They're worried about him? That won't do. Lemm rallies, realising how he must look.

"No. If you'll let me I'll finish the whole thing," he informs them, much steadier than before. "Never shied away from the facts. Just gave me a - surprise, that's all." Understatement. He's not going to dig any deeper at why he was so uncomfortable right now, but it sits stubbornly heavy in his head.

He swaps their hand positions and pats the back of theirs, once. He returns to reading. The next segment is Coliseum stuff; he'd think it a good distraction if not for recent events. He should know about this, though, so he studies the text even if his mind is lingering elsewhere.

"It didn't occur to me any of the others made it out," he says quietly, without looking up. It's not phrased as a question; if they have nothing to say about that, he's not going to press.

Alright. They'll trust his judgement, and only pat the word now once more.

They look at the Fools and wonder, vaguely, if there's been any attempts to rebuild the Colosseum, or if they destroyed it thoroughly enough to finally end it. Another thing to check on.

Later. Much later.

It isn't a question. The Knight responds anyway. This all began with considering their own history.

I may explore the Abyss eventually, searching for escape routes. I don't remember how I did. as you know.
I am the only survivor I know of. A few were found around Hallownest. My Lost Kin, and the Nosk lured in several.

Near-imperceptibly, their shoulders slump.

They lean over to the map and tap the pillars towards West Greenpath. They need to mention this--they should have said this before, and they're unhappily grateful this came up, to avoid sudden shock later.

The first I discovered is there.

A nod. He might consider stepping back from this read if things get any more complicated. Getting to look at the Hunter's Journal doesn't seem like a one-time-only opportunity. Stopping midway has never felt necessary before, but this, with the cracked Vessel and the strange icy feeling in his chest when he'd seen their horns, came surprisingly close.

Lemm doesn't think he needs to say be careful down there. Or impress upon them that he thinks it's a bad idea - that would be hypocritical. He just nods, and at the mention of Nosk he skips back a bit to double-check the image. It's on a second pass he realises what he took for mandibles are an eerily familiar set of horns, upside-down. This earns a displeased hum.

After reading the final line he glances again at where they're pointing on the map, thinks about it, then gives an even look up at the Knight. Is, they'd said.

He doesn't say much, just: "Will we visit?"

If you have no objections.

They haven't mourned this sibling, exactly. They haven't fully mourned any of them, which they're coming to realize could become a problem later. What they believed was natural stoicism, within nearly as much as without, was simply...held back and ignored.

Their claws linger atop the three pillars for a little while.

The Knight never knew them, even their Shade seemingly gone. All they can tell is what they saw.

Hornet knew they were there. Their Nail was through their own chest. She is colder than she is cruel. I do not know if she killed them herself.

They had a cloak threaded with mothwing strands. I took it. I knew I could, without understanding how I knew. It allowed me to move quickly, and assisted avoidance of danger many times.

Objections. As if he'd even consider it. "I have none," he confirms, with an agreeing nod.

It doesn't seem like they're done with this part of the conversation. Lemm turns his gaze back to the journal without reading it that intently, and when their pen moves again he lets them finish before looking up to read it.

"I don't know her from the next bug," he reminds them, first. "Wouldn't like to guess and I doubt I'd be winning any favour if I asked. Might be that she'll tell you herself one day. Maybe not." Lemm found himself very wary of Hornet, and a lot of it had admittedly been bias from what little the Knight had told him about her. At least it had been before she pointed a Needle at him.

How to offer condolences for something like this? He doesn't even know what to say to a bug with an ordinary loss, and nothing about this is ordinary. A sibling they never knew who died mysteriously, and that on top of everything else.

Pragmatism is easier. "Whether or not they'd have 'wanted you to have it' -" this is quoted from so many personal journals, and it shows "- if it served you so well maybe that's the sentiment to take with you."

...That's... not very good, he thinks, as comfort goes. Lemm takes a second pass.

"We'll visit. Tidy the site, maybe. If you want." He knows how to do that, more or less.

Good. For practicality's sake alone, their fallen sibling would be difficult to avoid. They think he'd like to see the shrine of Unn's past them.

He's given a brief glance. Yes. I'd prefer if you didn't. Would Hornet impale Lemm for asking a question? They don't know her either, truly, but even should her temper be easy, they doubt this is an easy subject. And they don't fully expect he would, but still.

They tap their quill once before taking a moment and curling their claws around his smallest two, thinking.

They have no idea if they would have cared. The Knight wouldn't have cared for the cloak, had they any awareness. (Awareness that is far more possible than they knew of, when they first came across a body that was so much like their own.) Their Nail, however...

The Shade Wings have long since subsumed the Mothwing Cloak in itself. Their claws trail from Lemm's hand to touch them.

The Knight nods quickly at the suggestion. They moved their Lost Kin, as unnecessary as it may have been. For their other sibling in Greenpath, they can do the same. Even show off what the Wings have become, and give thanks.

Their look is matched with a mildly sardonic glance of his own, just for the short moment it takes to convey yes, yes, I wasn't going to - but he doesn't give any real rebuttal. In fact he turns markedly docile the moment they take his claws. He just sits there, quiet, until they let go of their own accord.

(His hand curls subtly.) Lemm gathers himself, turning back to skimming the Journal after they nod. He's said all he should. Any more would be... too much, he decides, with a remembered pang of embarrassment. A subject change is in order.

"These." He indicates the symbols decorating figures like Xero and Galien. "Moth stuff, is it? What does it mean here?"

They pull out the Dream Nail, setting it on their lap in the cushion's place. Absently, they note they'd gathered a bit more than 2400 essence. Seer will be interested.

The description at the start of each 'Lingering dream of a fallen warrior' is gestured to.

The memory of particularly strong bugs still kept, and I could challenge these to combat. Winning against them gained a great deal of Essence. It seemed to put them to rest. The pins marking each were removed after each success, but they still have them. They Knight takes one of those out too, tilting it to catch a small shine in the shop's grey light.

Despite topic-shifting, the image of their fallen sibling among the lush foliage stays rooted in their mind.

Lemm laces his fingers in front of his face and eyes the Dream Nail over the top of it, then the grave pin, contemplating a few things. Like - that the Knight fights ghosts sometimes. Mildly he wishes he'd met more moths, or at least taken any interest in the few he did - but it's not like he would have believed any of it even if they'd seen fit to share.

"...Alright..." he says slowly, processing. "Hm. I'd put good faith in that being one of the thing's main intended uses, if that's true. What an artifact you've got."

'Putting to rest' and 'passing on' and the like... Lemm never put much stock in it no matter what culture was talking about it, but a great many do talk about it. Should have been a flag. Anyway, all of this is far too close to the previous topic for comfort.

Lemm bluntly swerves into a different one, tapping an illustration of Grimm. "Business only with yourself, you said. I'm still to leave that alone, am I?" He's just checking...

Nod, again. They're most worried about Divine directly, but Grimm...is still asleep, as far as they know. Awaiting their grand entrance.

I should be taking care of that soon. I keep forgetting.

And pause.

As well as putting it off, they admit. They check at their Charms, almost used to the gap of Grimmchild being up with Iselda. I'm leery of more Higher Being business. I haven't been accosted yet. So it's...fine, probably. And not something they want to try until Myla's problem is fixed.

"Aye, well, you tell him to wait his turn." Said without the decorum that is probably owed to a Higher Being, as is Lemm's way with these things.

He eyes the artwork again. The guy looks an awful lot like the teleporting thing in the Knight's house. It's not subtle.

"I won't, then," he says.

He moves on. Not very far! There is a picture of Sly with a Greatnail, and some rather interesting information that the Knight did not mention in their handy little Dirtmouth Census.

Lemm looks up and just stares at them.

Their next nod is much shorter. They have. They are. They have a choice to make, unless they've waited too long in the first place.

...Lemm is staring at them.

They look down at the entry.

Great Nailsage Sly.

Ah.

Retired from the Nail Arts, they write. Ruthless with Geo now more than his blade.

Lemm takes a deep breath, and then a slow sigh. Watch out for the small ones, he supposes...

"That I'd believe. Rips off worse than me, apparently." Still salty, by the way. "There're mentions of a Nailsage here and there - not much, just enough to pen it as quite the revered role."

And up until recently it belonged to a shopkeeper in Dirtmouth. With a reputation for Geo-grabbing.

"Does take some of the gloss away," he admits. "Maybe I shouldn't say that to his face, eh?"

They've withdrawn inward throughout their conversation, and that soundly returns them to the moment. Lemm gets the soft end of the quill flicked at the center of his face. They're not taking it back!

Likely unwise, they agree dryly. I discovered this only after learning Nail Techniques from the three Nailmasters. He seems to enjoy being a shopkeeper.
I don't expect he'd want this knowledge spread.

His reaction is a very pronounced head-twitch away and an instinctive scrunchy look of disgust, gone as soon as it appeared. It's pretty easy to get a rise out of him. Not that they didn't know this already.

"That's why you didn't list it when I was asking about Dirtmouth, is it?" Lemm scratches a claw idly at his face where the quill tapped him, looking thoughtful. Knowing will make any future interaction with Sly rather awkward. ... It was already going to be. This is a total moot. "I know how to keep my mouth shut. As I will about a lot of this journal, I think."

He doesn't recognise the Wingmould, next. The Retainer is just a bug. After that, though, he taps a claw insistently at the Kingsmould. "That I've seen. Dead, at least."

And the next - ah. Oh, that is a lot of everything, suddenly.

Lemm is quiet as he makes his way slowly to the end.

This time, their nod is a full-on bow. It's only partly overdone.

You have? Has Lemm been all the way to the White Palace, or are there others they hadn't known about?

The next entries' art are all the Knight's work. Multiple scribbles of their Siblings (yes, one is shaped like Greenhorn--it could be Greenhorn, but they're not going to bring that up first).

Hornet in battle-stance, noted in the Hunter's brief interaction to seem like a Hunter herself.

Their tallest Sibling, hale and unwounded, without the ugly harnessed pauldrons that appeared on them at the start.

The Radiance. Forgotten, yet immortalized in their art and Void's memory, smothered to nothing in the darkness despite this.

Their own Shade. They wrote a reminder, here, though it might not look it to another's eye. Become whole. The Knight has always known being without it goes poorly. That doesn't always stop them in making foolish decisions, and leaving it behind in their stubbornness.

(They need to bring Jiji an egg, or several. For old times' sake.)

"Aye. Down under the Kingdom, by the old Palace. Though as I've said, there's nothing there now." He's talking on autopilot, staring at the last chunk of Hunter's Journal entries rather intently. "I wasn't pleased to find that out, I can tell you."

He sits back, arms braced on the counter and one claw tapping a few times. There is a lot to think about.

The Knight knows he's looking at it all, is the thing, so he's going to have to address at least some of it. Scholarly compartmentalisation comes into play: one thing at a time, start with what you know. His gaze tracks back to the Siblings.

Hornet is in here, and she's well. Great Nailsage Sly is in here, and presumably he's well. The Hunter's Journal seems to be about the hunt, not necessarily the kill, at least after it changed hands from the Hunter's to the Knight's. And their Siblings are... Lemm isn't sure. Somewhere between? They have died, as he understands it, but they're still present, maskless and entirely Void, and he can see them without waving a Dream Nail about.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, and then his fingers still so that he can rest one on the entry.

"...Odd to see them here." Should he even acknowledge it? Too late now.

Lemm's been there? Memories of the shattered bridges flash through their head. They deliberately put a paw on their mask to ground them. He's here, he's fine, they'll guide him to the space if he wishes again--

...Have they told him about the White Palace's dream?

The Knight subtly glances to the papers they'd organized into a stack, and so foiled any glimpses into their own earlier discussions.

The Pale King left a Dream of it in/though(?) that Kingsmould. I don't believe it is accurate to reality, however. I do not know how. They could try to learn now, perhaps, but would prefer not to bring a nightmare of buzzsaws and blinding light back onto its own ruined foundation.

They watch Lemm's fingers tap, tap, tap as they do when they think of what to say.

They don't know what to say, either.

Yes. They're safe now.

To be around as well as from outside danger, real or perceived.

Sudden tiny flickers of guilt from Siblings listening in are firmly denied. None of them could understand what was happening. There isn't any need for that, and no blame. The Knight's claws settle at the center of their chest, where the Voidheart hides; it won't be happening again.

As ever the Knight is hard to read, but Lemm is already getting to a point where the subtleties they do have don't quite get to slip by. He wasn't looking, too fixated on the journal, so he missed the mask touch and the glance. Their other tells may not be so lucky.

Their pen is moving, so he looks up. It is obvious he is about to ask questions when he learns of the Dream of the Palace, but this interest is quickly dampened by the not accurate to reality part. That could mean anything.

"I was looking forward to seeing it," he settles on, quite smoothly, and keeps his usual breathy half-sighing out of the sentence. It is pleasantly innocuous, and says nothing else of his disappointment when he found the damn thing completely gone. "Whatever the Pale King made of that I'd hear about it later." Scholar's focus. They are on so many other topics right now he thinks even he would get muddled.

Safe now. Lemm does not even begin to think of a second meaning to that. It does confirm what he already thought, which is that they're - fine, in whatever sense of that word applies to the Siblings. And the Knight's response was very short, which doesn't exactly invite more probing.

His gaze is on their hand-over-heart motion, for a short moment.

"Yes." And - he's tried this one before, kind of, but it had been at an awkward time. "How is all of that? How are they," he clarifies, and this is just as awkward a time, he supposes. Why is the most ordinary social question the hardest to ask?

That's for the best. Just thinking about the buzzing blades leaves their shell itching with phantom cuts.

For all it technically wasn't real, the whole place was highly unpleasant.

Once again, he gives them a broad question. In general, fairly well. They enjoy seeing the world through me.
Some have been annoyed lately. Myla's presence was known, but I was fretting too much to listen.

Embarrassment creeps up even while they write, but Lemm should know. More proof that he was right. And more truth that they still need practice in a great number of new things, from ascension to being a sibling.

It's a fairly normal answer, all things considered. Never mind the strangeness of their being, and of their Siblings, and the context. It feels like he asked about their family and got a normal answer.

The tension in him eases somewhat, and he loosens from having his arms braced against the counter to rest his hands in his lap instead.

"Hm. Well, you'll listen to them more often." Mindlessly picking at his clawtips behind the lip of the counter, Lemm is compelled to rack his brain for advice. He doesn't know what he was expecting, because it feels like scraping the bottom of a barrel. "Think of them sometimes," he admits, which is more than he'd like to say about himself but at least it's something.

Edited (minor edit, attempted clarification: *he* thinks of them sometimes. doesn't feel lemm-ish if he phrases it properly but im hoping you can imagine theres an audible inflection for it) 2023-02-23 21:57 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject