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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Riches. He's not fond of that answer, but now isn't the time to get judgy. She's the Knight's friend, and she's... going through something.

...Right. Vague tends to make people ask questions. There is also the matter that the Knight is listening, too.

He averts his eyes for a minute, resuming his fiddling with the cutlery.

"History," he says evenly. "Found plenty of it - and couched nicely in grandeur, which always adds some flair to my work. Riches isn't far off, just a different kind."

It's the truth, though Lemm hasn't looked up from the fork.

"Oh! I g-guess you are a Relic Seeker, haha. I know the City's a very old p-place."

The Knight flips their paper and writes a very large, single glyph for Myla to see: RAINING. They glance at Lemm hopefully. Explain?

"Very, though there's older down there than the glass and brick. I aim to become an authority."

It takes him a moment to actually look up and catch sight of what the Knight has written, and he isn't particularly sure how to approach the situation. Myla doesn't seem to be completely aware of things as they stand - but this doesn't seem to be quite like, say, Ogrim for example. Maybe the worst he's risking is some disappointment.

It is also one word, and doesn't exactly tell him what they want him to explain.

Ah, well. The Knight knows who he is. He does his best.

"Aye, the rain's constant there. Comes from a lake above the cavern roof." A mild huff. "The sights may not be as glossy as you'd imagine, if you're still calling it the Shining City. Colloquially it's the City of Tears, now. Bring an umbrella unless you like getting half-drowned."

However. This addition is important to him.

"Still worth the visit in my opinion. Just because it's soaked through doesn't mean it's not a thing to wonder at. I've never seen anything like it."

The word is obvious enough for Myla to read, but she makes a lightly puzzled noise, staring at it until Lemm explains.

"Oh? It's not just waterfalls anymore?" There'd been a few in certain places, she'd heard. They were beautiful, for just being pouring water. That's not very charitable of her. Crystals were just shining rocks--

A pause, as she cuts from thinking about that. The City of Tears? "That's a s-sad name. If it wants visitors, they sh-should call it s-something nicer! I still want to, though," she adds, bouncing a little. Grimmchild readjusts. "B-b-besides the rain, what's it like?"

To the side, semi-private, the Knight writes Swimming City.

Edited 2023-03-21 17:57 (UTC)

"Waterfalls?" Oh, that's interesting. Lemm tucks that one away very neatly. "No. It's not technically rain, but it's rain all the same - just drops, and endless as far as I've seen. Though there are warm springs around the Kingdom with waterfalls in them. You'll have to tell me what you've heard - I've a mind to compare."

Lemm tries not to react too obviously to the Knight's little aside, though they get a mild scoff. Easy to pretend that's about what he says next.

"It hasn't wanted visitors in some time. Aside from myself and... a handful of others," he is realising very suddenly that the number of people included on this list really has grown, "the City's deserted. Its population took a dive with the Infection. Nasty business, and the name's as much a lament as it is a comment on the weather." He looks ambivalent about it.

Hmm. She really might not know this.

"The Kingdom of Hallownest lies in ruin," he states outright, "in case you're unaware. But it's a grand ruin all the same. I'm not selling it very well, but I -" hm. He quiets, slightly. "I'm taken with it."

"I...know," she says quietly.

She...saw some of it. Pieces of it, between songs, filtering through the hot Light. But also, those Fools...they complained to each other above her head even as they grabbed her, because they couldn't take anyone else. There weren't enough to take.

"I'm n-n-not--I n-never went far fr-from the mines," Myla says, stutter going significantly worse. "My v-village was ju-just outs-side, and...it d-didn't look full anymore, wh-when I left, haha." This laugh comes out far too high.

Ah. Well. No accounting for his habit of putting out the harsh truth.

Lemm glances at the Knight, checking that he hasn't made an error here, but he can't exactly dwell on that and leave Myla steeping in what looks very much like it might go from nerves to grief.

"We don't have to talk about it," he tells her flatly, unable to come up with anything kinder. And a bit of explanation probably wouldn't go amiss, so... "I'm numb to the matter of it. Others aren't, and I'm well aware. For your own good, don't humour me." There, sound advice.

He sighs, and rather clumsily tries to make nice.

"I'm not one for visitors, but my shop's one floor up in the closest tower to the Storerooms lift. Keep an eye out for anything that looks old and valuable and I'll price it accordingly. Riches I can't guarantee you, but I'm fair."

(Lemm pre-emptively puts his palm flat on the Knight's paper. Don't you dare.)

The Knight's flat stare doesn't indicate they're particularly pleased, because they aren't. This subject isn't necessary.

Myla stares at him a while, parsing the words as she quietly skims her hands across the surface of silver-gold sea, twitching over Grimmchild's back.

"I kn-know there are s-signs, in the City. I can p-probably find you. B-b-but I'm n-not...I'm okay, without riches now," she says, half-laughing in a voice that cracks down the middle.

He can't help it. His eyes narrow, and he has to stifle a displeased little groan before it can slip out. He tried to deflect!

... It sounds like an excuse, even in his head.

Lemm's gaze snaps straight down, and he withdraws his hand from the paper and fidgets his fingers along the edge of the table. What did he actually say that was wrong...? He was just going on what she'd told him, and it - it had virtually been an invitation... Ugh. Something was wrong, though.

(There is a glance at the door. Then back down. No.)

"Sorry," he mutters stiffly. Though he doesn't understand, it's sincere.

"I-it's okay!" It's not okay. Myla can't tell him why, even if he asks, even if he wasn't a stranger she's only met twice.

The Knight quickly scribbles a distraction. Tell her about places she can visit there. Pleasure House/Park/Spire.

Oh, thank the Sh-- thank goodness. Thank them.

Lemm stows his hands on his lap so they can continue fidgeting unseen, and launches himself at the opportunity they've given him to move on. He fails to look back up at Myla from the very interesting and completely empty section of table he's staring at, but it's better.

"Um," he starts. "The City - they had amenities most places don't, out here."

Lemm takes a breath, steadies himself, and falls into the familiar.

"There's an entire tower dedicated to idle entertainment, with a communal spa at the top of it fed by a spring, and a stage at the bottom." Ah? "There'd have been music there." Ah. That might be an in. The little mining-bug sings, doesn't she. "Might be worth the trip just for that. Acoustics are probably stellar. I wouldn't know."

Myla is sinking slightly deeper into Godhome, but she's trying her best to listen.

It's a long pause as the words take time to reach her to make sense, but she eventually replies. "That sounds like a great p-place! I'd like to try to sing on a st-stage...and our friend's told me, about the b-b-benefits of resting in the sp-springs!" Yes, a stage and a spa...those sound perfect.

I believe she'll be asleep soon, the Knight writes.

The long delay does Lemm very little in the way of reassurance. He looks like he's already trying to pull apart what he just said, in case that was as much of a mistake as the last. He's visibly relieved when she voices enthusiasm, not discomfort.

The scribble of the Knight's pen draws his attention, and outwardly he reacts very little to what they tell him. He glances up at them for a half-second of eye contact, just to acknowledge.

"Does anyone good," he agrees, to Myla's comment about the springs. "And there's a view from the top. The towers were built to look elegant, and there're windows in almost all of them. S'only right to appreciate the view, if you ask me. Might round off the trip nicely..."

He is not a damned tour guide. He joked about it earlier, but this is hard.

He manages to go on for a bit about the City's public amenities, like the parks and the Stations, but Lemm finds himself drifting into dull infrastructure talk before long. He doesn't know how he got here but he's here and it's of interest only to him.

Edited 2023-03-21 20:15 (UTC)

The Knight considers reassurance, but that could distract her from pulling thoughts together, so they refrain. Myla does that herself well enough.

"I've heard some are t-tall as the Peak," she says, sounding cheerfully skeptical. She interjects with little hums of consideration and agreement, sometimes offset from what Lemm has actually just said by several seconds.

Eventually, she can't keep herself present. Myla falls into sleep, and Godhome, where it's clearer to think. She splashes away to the edges to avoid just that.

The Knight, ever observing, immediately flutters over and shifts the blankets up around her. She doesn't need so much care now, but habits die hard, and Dirmouth can be chilly even with a little flaming godly child snuggled up to her shell.

They come right back to their seat after that's settled. She'll be asleep a while, and deeply. You won't need to be too quiet.

Lemm's impromptu lecture on the mechanisation of Hallownest's thoroughfares uncertainly slows and gets halting, then stops altogether when the Knight tucks her in and there's no response.

He stares, just to be sure.

Before the Knight is done over there, his head falls into his hands and he heaves a quiet, haggard sigh. He forces himself to pull out of it as they get themselves seated, and folds his hands in front of his face.

"Thanks," he half-murmurs. He's read their message, but this doesn't seem like it was in response to that.

...No, it doesn't. They're not entirely sure what he's thanking them for at the moment. And he looks...uncomfortable? He'd been uncomfortable. Unwell?

The Knight stands back up on the stool. They reach over, half-crawling onto the table and lightly bumping the radish container, patting him on both hands with a paw.

He leans back slightly, though his hands stay where they are - oh. They're being nice. Sure.

...It's hard to talk about, because it feels like drawing attention to the mistake, and that's the last thing he wants to do. But it deserves some acknowledgement.

He sighs again, and his voice stays cautiously quiet now that Myla is asleep.

"I almost put my foot in it, didn't I? Appreciate the bail-out, though."

Ah. They pat him again, settling back down. That's not wrong...and perhaps they should explain.

It takes them a little while, staring at the paper. While it took longer for Myla than the other miners, the riches she chased lead to her succumbing to Infection. Reminders are unpleasant. to say the least. You couldn't have known that. They don't think they explained it, at least.

For the other part, well.

Perhaps refrain from mentioning all the death to the few survivors of it, they add bluntly.

Edited 2023-03-21 21:05 (UTC)

Lemm studies their explanation like his life depends on it, expression tightening as he goes. At the parting line, he sinks back in his seat and gives a frustrated groan, scritching habitually at his beard.

"I didn't..." Hrm. "I was trying to..."

Stop. Think properly. His hands both come up to scrub at his face, and he tries again with his head held between his hands and his elbows braced on the table, and makes another quiet noise.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" he... whispers, with some effort, because that had been about to come out quite loud. "Tried to back out, even, but I just backed right into something else! I'm not good at this," he affirms, as if they don't already know. Then, as an unhappy afterthought: "Shouldn't have talked to her. Sorry."

They know it wasn't intentional, and so they nod to that. To the other, they shake their head hard.

Don't apologize. Don't

The Knight glares at the paper, struggling.

Don't apologize for talking to her. You might consider apologizing for being callous later. But she should know you wouldn't have known/might not know you're aware she was Infected at all.
She liked hearing about the City otherwise. Ignoring her would have been worse.

They keep staring at the paper. This addresses what Lemm said, but it doesn't feel like enough.

Urgh. All well and good to say so... He knows they're trying to be nice, and it almost makes it worse.

Almost. It would, if they were a stranger. As it is, it doesn't.

Lemm folds his arms and sits back again, and stares off to one side with a sigh of shell-deep displeasure, one finger ticking on his arm. It's not that what they've written doesn't make sense.

Once more his eyes stray to the door. Looking away from it is less forced, now, and more resigned. It isn't an option. It just isn't, any more. The thought is exhausting.

"...I will," he mutters, tapping the apologizing for being callous line with a finger, "if she allows it." On that he sounds doubtful. With a soft shake of his head, he meets their gaze for the first time in a little while. "Running damage control for me, are you."

The Knight is significantly less doubtful. If she can forgive me for dragging her into a terrifying unknown realm of darkness and monsters and leaving her there, I expect she'll forgive you mentioning uncomfortable topics.

You've given me enough sensible suggestions. I'm only giving some back. Lemm's a little too far to reach without crawling up again, but they flick their quill at him anyway.

He inclines his head, then, mostly at the pen-flick. It's almost playful, like a half-baked fake dodge of some imagined ink. Some small acknowledgement that, yes, they're still friends, he's reacting accordingly even while he's - like this. In a mess.

The rest will... have to sit for a while. Maybe they're trying to be light about it by being so blunt. That he recognises. He still has to think on a few things.

He can be straightforward, though, in the meantime - he has always been good at that.

"I know you are." He stops to think. The finger keeps ticking against his upper arm. "You're a help."

What a vast, dizzying understatement.

"You're a big help," he tries again, and it still feels like it falls flat.

They should respond to that. They're pleased, the think. They know they're glad to be. They know this means a lot to Lemm, for him to say. And they can't articulate this in a way that feels right, either.

The table is small. It suddenly feels far too big a space between them. They can change that again, and they rock in place once.

But Lemm's been uncomfortable.

But they're friends.

I would like to hug you again, they write finally. Not quite a question, not quite insisting.

The ticking stops. His expression goes pained.

Or, not pained.

"Aye."

If they'd like to. If he - if that's - he can't imagine why, but.

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