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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"Ahh, there's no harm in it, Wielder! You've taken well to the Dream Nail, and it seems you've gone from strength to strength since. I've no fears for you losing your way, and I've had company of my own..."

Her antennae straighten very slightly.

"It is your domain now, whether or not you step into your role as its patron..." She pauses. "...It's not for me to wonder, but it's pleasing you'd choose benevolence. A Wielder's hand I've guided, but the hand of the Lord of Shades I certainly will not."

Seer dips her head in something like deference, nothing so dramatic as earlier, but clear enough.

"I would make a request of you, Shadelord." Not of the Wielder. This difference is important.

The Dream Nail is still sitting on their lap. They pat its hilt, signifying fondness. They're reassured, that even knowing what they can be, what they're capable of, they're not leaving all who learn of it terrified.

And Seer has a request of them. Of that being, of Void and Dream and Godhome and Siblings. The Knight doesn't care for the bow, but they only respond by straightening their small back and looking at her full in the face. What does the Seer wish from this reluctant Higher Being?

There are things she doesn't need to ask, sensibly speaking. Was it quick? This she doubts - the Radiance was a god, and obviously resisted - but Seer is a Moth, nothing more, and quite willing. She has been given the opportunity to sense that measureless Void, and there has never been anything more obviously sufficient. (Her antennae fan out a little, again, at the thought.)

...Yes, a suitable path to follow.

"I am old," she begins, because that is usually a good place to start. Explaining the Moth way of thinking to an outsider often begins there. "Only one duty remains for me now, of carrying the memories and the crimes of my tribe with me... Those will go where I go, and I find myself content in all else." Seer straightens up a bit, enough to meet their gaze. "Yes. It is time that I followed Her, I think."

She waits to allow this to sink in. It would be convenient if they understood swiftly, but she's patient.

The air goes as heavy-cold as the Knight's own mood.

They stand.

They tuck their map and Dream Nail away, unhidden by their wings.

The Lord of Shades bows to the Seer.

And they leave.

They are not slow about it. They turn, they dash, they're gone with a blur of black; down, down, with the heavy SLAM of their Descending against the sturdy grave at the bottom.

Ah. A negative reaction she'd been prepared for, but that she hadn't quite been expecting. (There is a crash from a distant back room, like pottery breaking on the floor, as somebody recognises the feel of angered Void and does not take it well.)

She could follow. Explain further, better. Other beings don't view death the same way, have dread of it, see it as something terrible -

- Seer is old, and experienced with the ways of people, and she is not so foolish as to press; she knows it would be a poor choice. By the sounds of it, too, it's not as if she could chase them down.

Instead she rises slowly, antennae flared madly with the Void-charged air and a healthy level of fear, and passes through the curtain to go and perform some damage control, to fuss over someone else instead of dwelling on the fact she has just upset the new Higher Being of Hallownest.

Regardless her answer was no. She understands. (She doesn't understand, completely. And the guilt must still be carried. That they would leave her living under the weight of it does not feel pleasant.)

Relic Seeker Lemm (title now firmly slipped back into, as comfortably as another bug might wear their mask) is sitting on the bench of the Stag Station, Arcane Egg retrieved from his bag and held gently in his lap as he smooths his thumbs over the outside, thinking. He'll need another lens, and soon. Prying into these may be the best chance he has of being helpful, outside of the work he's undertaken. And for his curiosity, of course -

The familiar feeling of the air going bleak and uncomfortable is his only warning before the rush of something dropping past the Station entrance puts his heart in his throat.

The Egg is stuffed in his bag again and Lemm is already halfway out when the ground trembles with the impact. He gingerly peers over the edge.

"Knight?"

The Knight is a black-white shape far below, frozen the tomb they landed on.) They regret letting Lemm come, because now they can't go.

No, they can. They just won't. They won't let Lemm climb down alone, or force him to brave the Stagways without choice. They're too benevolent for that.

They had to leave. They would not have granted her request, but they may have done something else they'd regret.

They're furious. They're hurt. They're insulted. That last one shouldn't be important, but it won't be shaken off: they simply are. That she would be so polite to them, and speak to the Knight about being seen as they are and then ask for that. As though they're yet nothing but Void that will drown someone they care about, as much as they may not have been friends.

Mechanically, they tilt their head up to meet Lemm's distant gaze.

..Hm. That's not good. They're doing that thing again, where their motions are all measured and careful and doll-like. Lemm frowns.

"...I'm coming down," he calls. Wait. Wait for him. Yes, they can't go, but only not yet.

The grapple comes out; he's faster than he was, but always careful, a sense of urgency not outweighing years of being careful. Not until the end, anyway, when there's a drop from the last platform he decides he can manage. Lemm hangs over the edge of it and drops neatly to ground level into a crouch, with a grunt that is only slightly strained, and pushes himself up with his hands.

He comes to their side. And he glances up, just for a moment, wondering what on earth happened up there.

Lemm does not make the mistake of asking just yet.

Rattled, he offers this instead: "Shall we walk?"

Internally seething and locked into control, the Knight waits in place, following his descent with their gaze. Their heights are disparate enough they they don't need to tilt their head, even when he joins them next to the grave with a name too worn to read beneath their feet.

They want to use the Crystal Heart and blast across the Resting Grounds until they've left it behind.

They hop down and start forward.

He's itching to ask. He does not. Lemm falls into step at their side and - picks up the pace, a bit. They're upset, he can tell that much, though whatever its nature is he has no idea.

Seer had seemed so calm! And easygoing! He'd left so easily because she'd been that way, he'd thought he had nothing to worry about. What could she possibly have said or done-?

He slows for a moment as they pass through the tunnel, falling behind so that he can swap to the Knight's other side, putting himself between them and the Dreamers' memorial and most of the strange horn-shapes. Not as if he can block them out, but it still feels right. And he talks.

"I've not a clue what happened back there, or what you need. A walk's something, though, isn't it? Where to?" So that they don't feel compelled to pull out paper: "I'll go with you. You set the pace, eh?"

That they might be trying to escort him home occurs to him, and is held at arm's length. Ugh, he hopes not.

They should respond.

Their claws itch at the thought. They don't want to write. They don't want--anything, but perhaps to turn back and Shriek their fury. That won't be productive, and won't make them seem the Knight, no matter that it is them. Their rage. Their affront.

They continue on, through the Grounds, past Xero's grave, on and on until they realize they've halted in front of the empty Tram station, not absorbing anything on the way.

Lemm grows steadily more convinced that this is something extreme, as the Knight keeps walking and continues to broadcast absolutely nothing of their thoughts. The air still feels strange and cold to him.

"Aye. Best to keep moving," he offers, after a bit. He should keep talking. Right? "The sooner we're out of here the better - we'll go somewhere less depressing..." Except he can't think much to talk about that isn't the Resting Grounds, or about Moths, or just continuing to talk about what they're doing as they're doing it. And all of that feels like just adding more of the same to the pile, so...

Lemm does stay quiet for a while.

And, ah. They're at the Tram Station. Except the Knight just seems to be standing there.

...Don't they-? He thought they must have a Pass, considering where they've been. Maybe not.

Lemm scrambles for his bag at the realisation and it takes him a second to dig around, but from an inside pocket he withdraws one of his own, and holds it up like a suggestion. Yes? No? They knew this was here, it's on their map, but he's no stranger to forgetting where he's going when his mind is occupied.

Edited 2023-03-17 11:25 (UTC)

They Knight turns to Lemm. Who has a Tram Pass.

They wonder, distantly, where he might've gotten it. How rare they were was impressed upon them by how cursedly difficult it was to find their own, in the worst mess of Deepnest their third go-round.

They nod shortly and let him do as he will. When it arrives, they'll sit.

Not hit the button. Only sit. They don't have a goal beyond being out of the Resting Grounds.

This is worse than the Nailsmith. Then, they'd been significantly more detached. It was easier to consider before discarding it. They didn't know each other. He was the Nailsmith, they were a client he served his best for, and that was the whole of it. But for the quality Nail he forged, this sort of relationship was hardly uncommon.

They're not at that level of detached now. Not in general. Not after they'd just written out half their Shade for her, right then and there, about their hopes for the future.

--And she isn't even alone. The Nailsmith had been. Even Cloth had been. Except for them. A stranger. They weren't anymore, to Seer. Or so they'd made the mistake of believing.

Shade Wings curling around its cushions, the Knight presses flat against the back of the seat.

Right, then. It's been a while since he rode the Tram. Even despite the atmosphere Relic Seeker Lemm can't help himself - he hesitates just a moment before he sticks in the Pass.

The Tram comes - because of course it does, it's a marvel of engineering and it's another of those ostentatious look-at-what-Hallownest-can-get-done things that he's so fond of, and it's only goodness knows how old and still working...

...A sigh. Enough. Lemm manages to keep his mouth shut, and settles for tracing a hand on the door frame on his way in. The Knight sits, so he draws over to operate the controls, and then takes a seat near the end. Feels like a bad idea to crowd the Knight right now.

There are bodies in here.

Lemm looks out of the window.

"Won't take long," he mutters, completely at a loss.

Lemm is--

--over there.

He isn't wrong; they don't want crowding. They don't want company.

And that isn't fair to Lemm. They brought him here, they are friends, they try to be--benevolent. They wish they could spit that word like an Aspid.

They don't want him to feel like they're upset with him. They don't want to upset him more than they likely have.

When the Tram rumbles to a stop, they don't get up. Their Wings untangle themselves from the seat, and they scoot over, staring down at their lap.

An invitation. If he likes.

The mood does kill any novelty he might have normally gotten out of riding the Tram. His mind is elsewhere. It's just - he doesn't know, and he can't know until they explain, and they can't explain without writing, and that takes effort and a clearer head than he suspects they have and he doesn't want to make them try because none of it is their fault.

The rattling, noisy silence of the moving Tram at least gives him time to think, but he's grateful when it stops.

Lemm braces a hand on the back of his seat to push upright, and makes to leave -

- ah.

He comes to stand in front of them, instead.

"...Not in the mood for a walk, then?" He - will, if that's the case. Only - whatever it is - it seems suspicious that they've decided to have a sit down about it.

They don't know what to do. What they want to do isn't necessarily the right option. And now they don't even know what that might be.

They keep staring at their lap for a while. They should explain. Their mind won't cooperate to even think properly, to form the aching tightness into something to be expressed through ink.

Thoughtlessly, their paw goes to their Nail, pressed between their wings and the seat.

After realizing this, with somewhat more intent, they lean forward and draw it out, holding it with the point carefully aimed opposite of Lemm.

And then they just...look at it. Pure. Shining. Amazing. A wonderful Nail. Theirs.

But still a Nail.

Edited 2023-03-17 12:31 (UTC)

He watches them carefully for... tells, he supposes. Anything that might give him some insight, because right now he doesn't even know what kind of upset they are. He can't fathom how Seer could have drawn any of these out of them, but they could be angry, or sad, or anxious, or - anything.

Accepting that he won't understand something (at least for a while) is antithetical to who he is, but... Is not knowing really important right now?

They are sitting there holding their Nail like they're seeing it for the first time, and they aren't using it to cut down plants or metal posts, so he will have to accept that storming around slashing at things is not what they want to do right this minute. At face value. Without knowing for certain, or understanding why.

Lemm heaves a sigh, dumps his bag on the floor, and sits down beside them.

"I don't know what you're thinking," he admits quietly. "And you've no obligation to share. Keep your paper to yourself, I'm not that nosy."

Gingerly, and uncertain if this is going to make them more uncomfortable or less in whatever mood they're in, Lemm just stares at the floor, and rests a hand lightly on top of their head. One way to find out if he's being too much.

Anyone looking would never be able to tell, but Lemm will feel the Knight's head bow a little further.

In his presence, with physical touch grounding them, their anger is ebbing; the resulting hurt isn't. Seer was so placid, so certain. The Nailsmith had not a thought in his mind when they were staring at his back.

For a long while, they're still, with only the sound of Lemm's breathing and distant, distant dripping from somewhere outside. The lumaflies above them illuminate the metal's beautiful patterns.

Eventually, they put their Nail back, and pull out paper anyway. They have no doubt he's not going to expect what they next write. They can't gather the faculties to make it kinder.

When the Nailsmith finished my Pure Nail, he requested I kill him with it.

They don't push him away, so his hand stays.

They'd have been perfectly fine to, and it wouldn't have been about him, he's not so self-centred - sometimes a person needs space. But something tightens in his chest as he registers that's not why he was expecting it.

...His thumb brushes softly back and forth a couple of times against their mask before going still again.

There are tracks in the dust on the floor, from the door to the switch and the bench. Lemm's gaze wanders to the iron-braced windows and out at the fossils of the Crossroads Station, up to the lumaflies hovering idly in their glass lamps to watch the way their light catches on the decorated ceiling. He's not really thinking about it all; he's just looking, occupying himself. Lemm is in no rush to break the quiet. Maybe it's doing them both some good.

The Knight's paper rustles softly, and this is one of those times Lemm does not hover and read while they're in the middle of it. When they're done, he turns to look.

His hand slips away so that he can fold his arms across his front, and he's quiet for some time.

He looks away and smooths a hand partway up his longer horn in a muted little fidget.

"...It doesn't shock me."

Maybe that's a terrible thing to say. Lemm sighs.

"I told you he wasn't well. Any fool could see it. I could see it." They weren't wrong to have a similar thought once. He isn't exactly the shining example of emotional sensitivity. And yet.

They'd been expecting more.

...It's good there isn't. Just now, they wouldn't know what to do with it.

I considered it. Not too long ago, they wouldn't have dared admit that. But it seemed pointless. and cruel. Even if he was reverent. It's a good blade but it is not the world. So I didn't.

The Knight's writing is a little choppy. They don't need to be saying this, really. They just are.

As ever, they didn't need to tell Lemm a thing. This feels like an admission of guilt for something they didn't even do.

But they tell him things, all the time. They're always telling him things.

Lemm's hands fold together in his lap. He stares at the floor, and thinks of the empty forge.

"Thought I should've said more," he says, finally. "Always been a poor neighbour, you know. I thought..."

He fidgets with his hands, then shakes his head dimly.

"Doesn't matter what I thought." The Nailsmith is fine, isn't he. "Doesn't matter what you thought about either. Except that you didn't do it."

Keenly noticing the space where his hand no longer is, the Knight nods. What could Lemm have done? What could anyone have done? They did what they could when they walked away.

I don't regret it. Of course. I wouldnt have regretted it even if he found another way. I didnt really know him.

They think of the Nailsmith's back, looming large in their vision. Of Cloth's fear and later cheer. Of their sibling, still horrifically injured, crouched in the Failed Tramway for Hornet to track.

I didnt really know a lot of people here.

Edited 2023-03-17 20:13 (UTC)

Still fiddling - just shifting his hands, unable to settle, exept that his thumbs keep coming back to his palms and rubbing restlessly at them - Lemm shakes his head.

"I didn't know him either. Just stopped by once or twice. Told myself it wasn't my business, but..." He belatedly and quietly corrects: "More than twice."

All his thoughts are so disjointed all of a sudden, and the Knight's seem the same. Thoughts of the Nailsmith have hounded them both more than they'd thought. Among other things.

Lemm frowns down at his hands.

"Not knowing people doesn't mean you aren't watching." They know this. He knows they know this.

The Knight doesn't know what to say.

They should say...something.

Eventually. They keep their paper out on their lap, head bowed over it, as their thoughts move sluggishly.

He has Sheo now. Theyre happy, comes out eventually.

They've said this before. Lemm knows. Lemm is grateful.

I didn't know him. He didn't know me. I never wrote to him. I never did anything that anyone else wouldn't have done with a Nailsmith.

They're grateful he's alive. They're glad he's happy.

But the Nailsmith isn't the point of this. Not entirely.

Seer ~~wanted~~ wants me to kill her.

No. It's not just that. It's worse, they realize, all at once. She wants to follow the Radiance. The Radiance is more than dead. The Radiance is gone. It's what she never wanted, and what Seer does, for her, for all that she remembers.

She wants the Shadelord to kill and erase her and the memories she carries.

Their claws are trembling.

Lemm goes... quiet. Quieter. His hands pause their increasingly nervous fussing and go still in his lap, his head turned to read their paper but - he's done reading it, and he does not need to read it again, but he doesn't look away. Or can't.

It doesn't make sense to him. These things have never made sense to him, but he does know one thing with certainty:

"No," he says, a little hoarser than he meant to. Then again, differently and with growing agitation: "Absolutely not."

That sounds - it sounds like he's telling them what to do, but that's not it, he -

"Does she know?" Sorry, Knight, he is already sliding off the rails, and he doesn't leave any room for that to be a proper question to them. "She doesn't know," he reminds himself, after racing to collate the likely facts. "About you."

Lemm sits back in his seat and hooks a hand over the back of his long horn - it sort of hangs there like he's putting pressure behind it.

He should clarify.

"She's not to ask you that." He wasn't saying no, don't. He was saying no, she can't. "I won't let her ask you that. I don't care who she is. Knight -"

He remembers himself, that the Knight should be allowed their space, and wrenches his attention back to them.

"Are you - sorry." He sags, forcing the restless tension out of him for the time being, and gestures at their page, to indicate they should keep talking. "Sorry."

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