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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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."

Does Seer know? The Knight doen't understand what he means. But he's distressed. Distressed for them, distressed like them.

After a long moment of stillness, they tip, slowly, until they're pressed against his side.

Lemm doesn't need to be sorry.

I left. I hope that's answer enough.

He flinches - because he's already tense, not because of them. It passes just as fast as it appeared, and his hands settle back in his lap.

Answer enough. He'd meet anyone who asked more of them with the point of his horn.

Lemm breathes in deep. Then out, with a sigh that carries the worst of his nerves (anger) with it.

There are a few false starts - a couple of angry ones, and a more muted one. Ultimately he says nothing.

(He is allowed, it's allowed:) His arm curls around the Knight and pulls them closer, squeezing them to his side by their shoulders.

The Void is immeasurable. The Lord of Shades, only a fragment of its entirety, is massive, bigger than buildings.

The Knight alone has defeated countless foes that dared underestimate them, or that they had to throw themselves at again and again, too stubborn to fall.

Pressed against Lemm, they feel small.

In earlier times, they rarely have. When they had, it was irritating.

It isn't.

One of their paws reaches up across their chest to settle on his arm.

He wishes there was something actionable in all this. Maybe he'd feel better if going back there and tearing Seer a new opinion felt like a good idea, but it doesn't.

Though with their paw there, actually, this feels like enough. Which is an unfamiliar thought.

Lemm settles for holding the Knight tucked by his side, shifting so they fit more comfortably. Another wave of protectiveness rolls through him - these are becoming familiar - but this time it feels acted on.

"...Bugs're unfathomable sometimes. Everyone's got a history, and for once I've no taste for the kind I mean. Don't let it get to you." His voice soft, Lemm squeezes their shoulder reassuringly.

They nudge a horn into his side. It's obviously getting to them right now, Lemm.

...But they understand what he's intending.

Insulted, hurt. Betrayed.

That's a term for what they're feeling. Betrayed, and yet again, they can't understand the Radiance for what she had done. How could she return with wrath? They want to do nothing more than flee and stay away from Seer forever.

Possible. It's been this long. They could. Currently, it's what they want, but the Knight knows themselves enough. They...do care about her. They like her, despite how they feel she's cracked their mask and the pieces fell somewhere in their chest. If she wants--if she dies for herself, they will not stop her. But they'd rather she not, and she should know this.

Lemm's arm is already around them. Their mind catches up to an idea, and they finally twist and hold him with both of theirs.

He knows. On the surface, what he said is the equivalent of just don't be bothered by it, which is functionally useless. But that's not the way it was meant.

They seem to get it, if the way they turn to him is any indication. (As ever, it catches at his chest that they would, far more than he's willing to let intrude on the moment.)

He'd tuck his other arm around them as well, but his build and their positions on the Tram seating make that difficult. Lemm settles for just squeezing them closer for a moment in reciprocation, and then consolingly rubs at their back under their Nail hilt, mindful not to catch at their wings.

Ordinary moments like this are unfamiliar to the both of them, though becoming less so. Gazing idly out of a window, Lemm still hopes he's doing his part right.

Edited (*makes him look at something in the middle distance* p r o s e) 2023-03-18 10:50 (UTC)

They stay there for a little while, arms wrapped around where they can. (Maybe a few strands of Shade Wings around his wrist, gentle and thoughtless.)

It's...nice.

They count the bands of his shell, slowly tipping their head until they get look at his ruff, and once more wish they could sigh. Insult, hurt, betrayal, grief. They pull back.

Taking out their cloak floats across their mind, but that feels...too much work. And they don't want to drag it around. They'll need to leave the Tram eventually.

...Maybe sooner than eventually. There are bodies here. Hallownest's corpses are far too common, and they hadn't really considered it. They feel unsettled for Lemm, a little, and suddenly more like they're surrounded.

The Knight straightens up and pulls out their map on habit. They can...do something. Stare at it. Dirtmouth?

Edited 2023-03-18 13:55 (UTC)

Examining him this close they'll notice a few scuffs and imperfections here and there, all the usual tells of a bug long out of the moulting phase - though he seems to have taken care of himself quite well over the years, because actual chips are few. If he knows they're looking - likely - he does a good job of pretending he doesn't.

Lemm knows the Wings on his wrist when he feels it. This too gets no reaction. (He feels compelled to put his hand over them, like he did with Greenhorn when they'd panicked, except the angle still gets in the way and it wouldn't be as subtle as he'd like. Nothing, then.)

When the Knight is done hugging him, Lemm takes it as a cue and loosens his arm from their shoulders as well. His hands slip very softly from the cling of Shade strands and fold back to his lap. The fidgeting does not restart.

...He's been in Hallownest long enough that he's grown fairly numb to the scattered corpses, but he'd always done his best not to sit with them. Someone should probably do something about all of those - is a thought he has fairly often. (Perhaps they noticed the few places he showed them in the City were devoid of bodies. Perhaps they didn't.)

He glances down. The Knight seems to be at a loss over where to go.

"Could find something historically important for you to whack," he suggests, with a flimsy sort of fist-bop motion like he's miming holding a Nail, if you've never used a Nail before.

They stare. They wouldn't, especially not with--

--oh. Teasing. Lemm gets a soft swat where they'd just hugged.

And then they point to the center of the Crossroads. He's reminded them. The Failed Champion's--Hegemol's--armor might still be there, where Cornifer's label still is.

(The Knight did hit it a few times. It felt there was even less damage than when it was worn.)

He looks rather pleased that he got them with that one. At least it's distracting, which was the goal.

Lemm peers down at the part of the map they indicate, cogs turning. Hadn't they talked about this before-?

"Ah. I'd be willing. Might take our minds off a few things." He does pause, though, and affords some more thought to it. "...Thought we'd be putting the expeditions on hold for a while, though." He supposes they're already quite off-track. The Moth did throw things into disarray.

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