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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Myla blinks and turns. She'd been staring at the thing in her hand--the nothing in her hand in Dirtmouth--and didn't know he was here. She stares at him instead in absolute confusion for a long moment before remembering. "Oh! Hello, Relic Seeker, sir."

She looks back at the empty air, and then down to the Knight. They're still, from mask to wings.

And filling with a quiet, familiar dread. They can't see what Myla's holding, but there's only one she that she must mean in this context. She'd left their Siblings to swim back, and they'd passed that along, but they don't even need that much.

"It's not a real g-grown flower. It's made of metal? Like all the rest there. It's really g-good c-craftsmanship, actually," she mumbles to herself, turning so the petals gleam.

From weird to weirder. 'Sir'? Really? He's just woken up, he'll unpack that later. (He doesn't know what to do with a 'sir'.)

"...A flower...?" She's staring at her empty hand. Why?

Luckily he is quick to gain his faculties; a little shot of adrenaline will do that. Things fall into place quickly: right, she's only half-here, and disoriented. (He can relate, currently. Hadn't even expected to fall asleep.) The other half of her is...

Lemm cranes around to look at the Knight, thinking. The fact they don't seem pleased is also noted.

He turns back to Myla.

"Hrmgh," he says, very eloquently, as he tries to shake off the grogginess. "Who'd you say gave it to you?" Did she, even? Maybe there was more conversation he missed.

"Oh, Godseeker. Oh, is--should I say that?" she adds, faster than most things.

The Knight unfreezes to nod. Yes, it's fine. Lemm can know. Even if they don't want to know. That also reminds them their Wings are out, which they hastily retract. How long was that happening?

"Okay! Well, she says it's...I think she meant it's a p-prototype model."

Oh no.

"B-b-but she gave it to me b-because it looks like came from the 'old lands' and d-doesn't want you to look at it."

No doubt she said that in the most insulting terms possible, the Knight thinks.

Which isn't far off. Myla listened for a while as Godseeker self-flagellated that the first crafts were made from the unworthy designs of gods long gone, and essentially told her to throw it away or at least hide it from their eyes until their shame and punishment can be addressed properly.

Myla decided to 'hide' it by the hidden bench up the stairs all the Godseekers decided was their God of Gods' secret holy place, where she's currently sitting. She'll set it down on the side later.

"Aye, I know something of their lot."

What he's been told of the Godseekers rises slowly and clunkily to the surface. While he assesses that, one hand presses itself to his face to try and fail to stifle a yawn.

The motion of the Shade Wings catches his eye and he watches them vanish back into place, unbothered.

"Some gift, if she talked it down like that." Lemm is even less clever about watching his words when he's just woken up. It does occur to him a moment later that maybe that wasn't the nicest thing to draw attention to. He can't exactly take it back, so he changes tack instead. "A crafted thing from the Land of Storms makes it a relic by default, though. I'd like to see it." There. It's still a nice thing to have. Happy for you, et cetera.

He needs to wake up faster. He never has to do conversation this early. Lemm pats at his face twice.

"Not keen, are we?" he prompts the Knight, because they're not.

"It wasn't a g-gift, she wanted me to g-get rid of it. I'm looking at it first, and then I'll hide it," she tells him easily. "I'll see if I can b-bring it out with me!" Entirely violating Godseeker's demand (worded as request), but she doesn't feel too bad about it.

Myla used to be kinder about Godseeker...but everyone has limits. Hers was hit around the twelfth time she was told how amazingly grateful she must be to know the God of Gods, while also hearing it wondered aloud why she deserved it.

The Knight, completely unhelpful, drops back and puts a cushion over their face.

"Pah. I was about to suggest the same, but I've no clue how that might work. Either way I'd agree with the decision not to get rid of it... My calling makes me biased, I suppose."

Despite the sleep he's still shedding, Lemm instinctively runs the numbers. On the concept of a metalwork flower possibly crafted in a land of dead gods and pulled out of Dream by a survivor of a plague that decimated a Kingdom -

- A lot. It would be worth a lot. He almost says so.

The cogs start turning just fast enough for him to remember their last conversation, and the explanation he'd been given after. Instead of naming the thing anything like treasure, Lemm shuts his stupid mouth.

He twists to reach over and pat his hand lightly on the Knight's hiding-pillow, instead, and then pushes forward and eases himself up into a stand, creaky and slow, blanket hanging from his shoulders. He was comfortable. Doesn't mean he's not stiff now.

"Can you see me from there?" Blunt question. Easy to answer, though.

"Mine t-too! It's so p-pretty...I don't know how they made it. If I can see their tools...if they even have tools..." She's never so much as seen any of their hands. If it's solely made from dream-weaving, she'll be disappointed.

At Lemm's touch Knight pulls the cushion down just enough to show off half their eyes. They drop their hands from it once they realize he's not asking them anything.

They'll elaborate on Godseeker. Just...let them be exasperated in peace for a moment.

It takes Myla a while to realize the Relic Seeker's talking to her. She looks up from the flower towards his voice thoughtfully. "I c-can see your shape. I'm not awake enough for d-details yet." She's been asked similar questions by Cornifer and Iselda. "...Did you find a robe?"

Oh. "Aye. The crafting of a thing tells you as much about the culture it's from as the finished product." Even as the words come out Lemm is mildly surprised. "You've a head for crafting, then."

...Hm. He gathers the blanket more around his arms, so that it trails less. He hadn't really meant to pick it up.

"No, I..." It's possible she didn't even know he was sleeping in here. That's a comforting thought, lowering the witness count from two to one. "...Got cold. It's a blanket."

With her answer he doubts Myla will see any better than she did if he gets closer. That's also helpful, because it means he doesn't have to.

"Hm." Carefully: "Get you anything?"

"Yes, I...yes. It was a hobby. And now I'll get a chance to get b-b-back to it!" Myla swerves from the poor memories that trips before it can linger. It's hard, but she's getting better the longer she stays away from the mines! "Maybe I c-could make a copy! Can you go see if there are any tools?"

The Knight knows where she means. They finally sit up and nod, then wave a paw. Yes, they'll try, but not very soon.

"Thanks! And I need a drink and food," Myla answers them both after a short pause. "I'm not actually hungry, b-b-but I still need it. I don't notice for a while!" She's learned that lesson.

The Knight pops up. The paper with the RAINING is still conveniently nearby for them to push towards Lemm as they patter to the door; they'll get the water. There's a well a little way down a road from the back of Dirtmouth. This one doesn't have any holes into Hallownest.

Edited 2023-03-23 19:49 (UTC)

Lemm tilts his head a tiny margin at that. She's not the only bug he's ever met with cheery optimism, and usually if someone asked his opinion on that he'd complain about it.

Knowing what he knows, Lemm thinks maybe she wears it well.

"Everyone's got an interest. I'd be content enough to see some approximation of that flower, if you manage. Better than nothing."

He affords a glance at the Knight's paper, manages to put two and two together, and nods.

He'd sort of hoped her answer would be no. This leaves him with the unfortunate task of following through on his offer. Lemm trudges over to the table to inspect the container of radishes, picking up the fork and prodding at them experimentally, like the Knight had.

They've kept well, thankfully. He's not sure he's in the mood to go and make domestic requests of the mapmaker right now. ~~Or ever.~~

"Still some radishes left. Looks like you can manage a fork." She should tell him if she needs to be hand fed, still. So that he can get the Knight to do it.

"I'm sure I c-can! The shape is interesting. I just wish I could find the right metal. I've never seen anything like it..."

It'll only be a couple minutes for the Knight to grab the water. Dirtmouth is a physically tiny place, and they've taken this trip plenty of times before, and not only for Myla.

Myla pats around the blankets until she finds a plate that got hidden in there. It's clean! Mostly. "No, b-b-but I can eat with my hands now!" Aiming a fork is hard for the first while, and trying something sharp with a hand full of something from another realm might not go well. Fortunately, her increased understanding was enough to discuss her shakiness, and most meals she gets are things she doesn't need to use utensils for.

"Might be I could point you in the right direction, but I'd not send you out into the wastes. This place needs some proper couriers," he remarks, a little peeved about this. Bane of his life, trying to source the basics. Metals are a whole other problem.

He picks up the radishes, and stands there a moment. Right.

He comes over to Myla and sheepishly holds out the container. "Here. The cartographer said you had these for dinner. I imagine they're manageable, in that case." He'll keep hold of the container until he's absolutely sure she has it settled. Myla's motor control does not seem a thing to rely on at present.

Lemm glances at the door. The Knight is not back yet, which. Well. Maybe he'll take the opportunity.

"Not sure how close you two are," he mutters, "but the Knight was - upset, thinking they'd done you harm. They're working hard to fix it. Hard for them to let you know that, I'd imagine." The reading. He sighs, and tries to make absolutely sure he cannot be misconstrued. "I'm only telling you they're trustworthy. Not that a stranger's opinion matters a jot."

"I need to look around Hallownest first!" Maybe she'll find something close...

After her eyes properly focus, Myla tries to take it. Then she laughs at herself, setting the flower down, and takes it properly. "The radishes? They're pretty good! Sometimes they ex-experiment, and it's not that g-great," she drops her voice playfully. She immediately defends them after, though: "They d-don't have their usual ingredients."

She picks up a piece, ignoring the grains of salt, and bites in as he speaks. If she doesn't, she might get too caught up in conversation and forget.

She doesn't have any idea what he might say. She chews and hums agreement. "It's okay!" And she means it this time. "I c-can tell, haha. I don't know all of what they're doing, but I know they helped me when I couldn't d-do anything. I--"

(she can remember KILL THE EMPTY ONE and heat and burning, watching it, them, getting away, ESCAPING, singing, bury my sisters--)

"--I know! I know. I was afraid, but they st-stayed b-b-before, and they helped me from I used to b-be, and they brought me out of the d-dark! I know it was a m-mistake. They apologized after that, too. I t-trust them! A lot," she says earnestly.

"They look it," he says about the radishes, without thinking. He steps back, folds his arms (side-effect: hugging himself in blanket) and latches onto the rest. "Nobody in this forsaken Kingdom has the usual ingredients. For anything. That's what I'm saying. Next wanderer that stops by, that elder ought to harry for errand duty."

Dirtmouth isn't in his purview, normally. Dirtmouth as a part of a supply chain, now that he can backseat-micromanage.

...She is stuttering more. Guilt pools in the pit of his stomach and he reminds himself, again: keep it light, Lemm. What aren't you getting about keeping it light.

He coughs. Lightly.

"Aye. Well, s'the right approach. Just making sure they're... peer-reviewed." Subject change. Subject change now. Think of something, you blundering idiot. "How's this Godseeker, anyway? I'm getting mixed messages."

She grabs a piece with her currently-clean(er) hand and holds one out. "There's p-plenty to share, haha!" There really is. Sight unclear, she can still feel the weight on her lap where Grimmchild's squirmed out of the way.

Myla nods a little. She'd nod more if that wouldn't tip the container on the floor. That's a funny way of putting it, but she gets it! She was afraid. Terrified, even. But they helped her out so much after, and they owned up to their mistake! She knows plenty of miners who could've learned that themselves.

And now, she's being asked about Godseeker.

Myla hums. "Um. She's..."

There's a long pause as she loses herself, comes back, and still isn't sure what to say.

"...She's, um...w-well. What mixed messages did you g-get?"

Edited 2023-03-23 21:59 (UTC)

He's tempted. You wouldn't know it, by the disdainful face he pulls. Hopefully Myla isn't privy to that level of detail.

"I'm not hungry," he says, which currently seems to be a better excuse than his usual one. He also takes a step back, as if he's politely giving her space. (He's giving himself space.)

Draped in the blanket still, Lemm folds his arms.

"I know there's more than one Godseeker," he starts off with. "And I know where they're from, though I've never heard of it. I've a bare few glyphs to work from." An easy shrug. "I'm assuming this one you're talking about is significant. Only the Knight doesn't seem keen."

Myla takes his words at face value and just eats it herself.

"There's a lot of them, but only one that t-talks. Their b-b-b-boss, or spokesperson? And she's...she's, um. She's very...she's pretty weird," Myla admits. "I guess it's what a G-Godseeker is supposed to b-be, b-but she's very religious. She worships the 'G-god of Gods!'"

God of Gods is said in the best approximation of her accent that Myla can pull off. All things considering, it's pretty close.

"All the time. It's all she talks about. And she doesn't...I d-don't think she knows them very well. They're not really...like that, you know?" She waves a bit of radish at 'like that' around.

Speak of the 'god,' not long after, the door gets shoved open by that selfsame being.

They have a jug of water held over their head between their horns. A basket of sweet-smelling something hangs off an arm. The jug has a piece of paper jammed through its handle.

They stumble and move fast to the table. They're strong enough to carry all that, but the jug is still almost as big as they are and unwieldy because of it.

(Easy for some.)

...Myla's odd little impression sends a ripple of mirth through him, quite unexpectedly. His arms unfold; he fidgets with the blanket instead.

"Ah. Now I'm more educated." For all their thoughts on it, the Knight had never shared much on this. Hates politicking, though. Lemm scoffs, though marginally more good-natured than usual. "No, the Knight's not like that. Good to hear you've already come to that impression."

And: the door, the Knight, the sudden precarious-looking collection of objects.

"Ah!" Hopefully the intonation is enough to let her know he's excusing himself.

Lemm shrugs off the blanket, balls it, and throws it firmly over at the pillow pile as he strides over. The Knight will find a suddenly very pragmatic Lemm taking the heaviest item - the jug - and hefting it off them and onto the table.

The paper comes away with his hand, and he snatches at it to catch it. It is immediately offered to the Knight, still folded.

Myla gets caught up in checking to see if Godseeker's around to overhear--but if she hadn't, she'd be pondering aloud how she got that impression.

Massively relieved, the Knight pushes the basket on there as well, slumping into a half-bow of thanks. The paper is taken and absently set by the basket, unfolding to show a sketch of leaves and unfamiliar writing asking a question.

This done, they immediately trot over to grab a shellwood cup off their sturdy shelf. Myla helpfully says, "I was just t-telling the Relic Seeker about how weird Godseeker is."

--That's slightly more blunt than they expected from her. But they pause to nod exaggeratedly for both to see, because she is entirely right, yes.

"Aye. God-of-gods, and such! Nothing I'd name you, in any case. Nuisance."

Any excuse to badger them, gently, in front of others. Not because he aims to embarrass them, but because people ought to know: they are just someone.

The basket sits there, smelling of something entirely unfair.

Lemm sets to arranging everything on the table.

Myla laughs. "Hey, they're n-not a nuisance! They're a n-nag."

Excuse them! They flail their arms at both terribly rude guests before they hop up on the stool, carefully pouring water into the cup.

There's not much for Lemm to arrange. He'll have the jug once the Knight's done with it, the basket, the abandoned fork, and the paper. (If he looks at the last one, it's a mostly-polite request for them to gather leaves from 'around where the leafy greens turn to fungal groves'.)

He scoffs, at that. No, further, it's a laugh, stunted as it is, and clipped off at the end. It's something.

Things are spaced out neatly on the table, as if for swift perusal. Everything in its place. The note is unfolded and spread for their sake, though he can't help from looking.

His head feels fuzzy, and he thought he'd woken up by now.

It's a morning for him, as close as this gets to one, and he is laughing at Myla's input and needling at the Knight and being helpful and.

Lemm goes to pick up and fold the scrunched blanket he cast aside. He's a mess in his own home. Other people's is a different matter.

The Knight helps Myla drink, and notes that her hands are less shaky than the last time. They'll keep an eye on it.

After that, they hop down and wander back to the table, where the basket is flipped open. It's packed full of pastries, courtesy of Elderbug. They're pretty sure it's meant to be payment in advance for his...leaves. He didn't explain what they were for, just that a traveller brought them up once and nobody else he'd asked bothered to help.

They fetch a few for Myla and then push the rest on the other side of the table from where they sit, an open invitation.

If you have more than what you've discussed, I'm ready for questions about Godseeker. As ready as they could possibly be.

Lemm leaves the blanket folded neatly on one of the pillows, deposited like a relic on a display. It came from the couch but that's where Myla is so it gets left where he received it.

The air smells like baking. And he is hungry, this really isn't fair. He should go, and handle it, and not have anyone see too far beyond Relic Seeker Lemm to get to the Lemm part.

The Knight, he thinks, has already seen beyond the Relic Seeker. Hm.

With a flicker of his hand at Myla, he comes to sit at the table, finger-combing the ruffling from his beard only half-successfully, and reads.

"Ah..." Well. The obvious, first. "Can't say I'm not interested. You keep switching - Godseekers to Godseeker. Myla said there's a ringleader of sorts." He does not forget to nod at her. "It's all very odd."

He folds his hands on the table. He doesn't look at the pastries. But they're there.

There's one that speaks, far taller than the rest, with a throne in the Pantheons. I believe she's some sort of Queen/Head Priestess figure. I call her 'the Godseeker' but they're all the Godseekers as well. I haven't communicated with them much, so I don't yet know if they have other names.
(could you read these for Myla to hear?)

They should've done that from the start, but they hadn't known if she was willing to talk around Lemm. An odd assumption, in retrospect. They're not going to beat themselves up over it.

I often refer that Godseeker in singular. The rest mostly sit around and wait, or watch battles, and don't communicate with me except to sometimes bow.

Myla is obligingly quiet as she hears their quill scribbling, switching from the radishes to a pastry with a soft mmm!

Edited (addin a little thought detail) 2023-03-24 03:32 (UTC)

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