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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She contemplates that gently, and quietly. Their preference is examined.

The little addition of levity is met with a curious head-tilt, and then: "Aah. Nothing so brash." Amusement toys with her tone for a moment. Yes, very good.

But:

"You are the Knight," she concludes, careful and slow, and watches them for signs of displeasure. "To me, you have been the Wielder. I have grown used to it, through no input of yours. Except now."

Seer slips their letter from her wings, and sets it between them. Your Wielder, it says.

"The title I gave you was given by my Tribe... Ah, but it is only us, now. The Dream Nail is yours, and I am proud to have passed it to you. I would like that the title became ours, as well. Perhaps a shift..."

Not Wielder as foretold by anyone else, but Wielder as what they have shared? History and guilt need not account.

Their head dips to stare at it. It feels like they wrote it a long time ago, and yet just looking at it twists their chest up in knots. They look away, back to Seer's wings, dragging up to her eyes.

Your Wielder. Hers. What she called them before any Higher Being's title. It was written on impulse alone. Hindsight clarifies their own thoughts: another request to see them.

I believe I would like that. If you continue to be comfortable with it yourself. They hadn't felt the connection it was meant to have. Perhaps that's thoughtless of them, but it's still the truth. It was always a gift from Seer. A gift and a guide.

For a single moment, they glance at their letter again.

To Seer:

To Seer. The Seer? They are the Knight, and they are the Wielder, and they are the Ghost and more. Titles, chosen and not. The ones unchosen rarely hurt them. They know what they are. They decided who and what they were long before they knew the whole of it.

They recall wondering after her. And the Nailsmith; he can't just be named the Nailsmith. They were going to ask his, next time they visited. And Seer is a title, isn't it...?

~~Do you hav~~ ~~Do you l~~ Is Seer what you wish to be called?

Seer gives a small nod in response. Not her Wielder as in her tool to shape, or in the possessive at all.

Yours, as the signing of a letter. Hers because they are the one she knows. Pleasant, and friendly.

"I would like that very much."

Despite how exhausted she feels, a wisp of happiness curls in her chest. Things can be put right. It will take time, as with all hurt, but they can.

At the Knight's question, Seer gives a small, pleased hum.

"It is what I am," she points out. "It is certainly more convenient than Belladonna Beneath The Mountain." There is a pinch of good humour there at the length of it. "You may take your pick, though..."

To have it known. That is perhaps a step in... some direction. Forwards.

They pause.

That...is a long name. It could be frustrating to write often. 'Frustrating' is hardly impossible, and they have plenty of ink and paper.

Their quill drifts over a new line for a moment before they return to the previous words, underlining the you. Her desire is important. More than what she thinks the Knight might want.

"...Aah..."

She thinks about it.

And. Thinks about it. She may have avoided specifying on purpose.

"...Mm." Troubling - because she doesn't know.

It's been a long time since she even heard that name. Whether it will sound - will read familiar any more, or whether she will prefer it to Seer, is up in the air.

"We shall see if that old cloak still fits!" she decides eventually. "But," and her eyes glitter conspiratorially here, "perhaps I'll leave the particulars to your imagination, Wielder. There is no hurry to settle."

A compromise. She chooses her name over Seer, at least between them, and at least for now. The Knight can play with it until something clicks. It is, after all, quite a handful.

...The particulars. Name her themselves? They do have nicknames for some, or shortenings, but when they choose such, they're rarely being kind. Or shortenings, in truth. Millibelle the Thief.

Belladonna Beneath The Mountain.

Belladonna is an elegant plant with fitting purple flowers. I believe. If I'm recalling correctly.

It is also incredibly toxic, and they abort their habitual fact-listing before they can say as much. Although that's why they know what it is, and to never cook with it. They don't think that's quite as fitting.

Edited 2023-03-31 17:20 (UTC)

She watches for continuation - and when there's none, she gives a soft huh.

"Ah, elegant and fitting, how generous of you to say. It's also related to tomatoes," Seer - Belladonna Beneath The Mountain - meaningfully tacks on the end. She knows where that was really going, and she's amused they cut off.

"None grows here that I've seen, of course. Another thing passed down from who knows how long ago. I don't mind it."

She sticks out a hand expectantly.

They duck their head, flustered. Sensible she knows the meaning of her name better than the Knight does.

Hallownest has unique plant life.

Seer--Belladonna's hand gets a blank look, before they slowly lift their paw to settle against it. Handshake? Are they overstaying their welcome?

There's no harm in their telling her. Shows they're paying attention, if nothing else. Their bashfulness, too, draws dim amusement out of her.

"That it does. If only it would grow less on the monuments and more where it belonged."

She does go in for a handshake, and her weariness is evident by the shakiness of it. But when one would normally pull away, she adjusts her grip to wrap the Knight's paw in her hand and gently hold it up between them.

"I am sorry that I led it to happen quite this way." A light squeeze. "But it is a pleasure to properly meet you, Knight, and Lord of Shades."

A complaint to possibly lodge with the White Lady. It's tempting to write that thought, but they only shrug instead. They don't want to introduce another Higher Being's name into this. Particularly not one they hold dislike for.

Ah.

The sentiment is shared. They bow their head further and squeeze back.

I wasn't expecting giving my letter to turn out so well, they admit after pulling away. I am glad it did.

But you seem tired. I'll visit again later. if you like.

She tucks her hand back beneath her wing.

"As am I..."

There is more she could say: that for several moments she feared it wouldn't, or that she is grateful they came to give the letter at all, or that she is sorry, again. All of this is abundantly clear to both of them and doesn't bear dragging the conversation down.

She nods, slowly.

"I could have kept that up much longer once... Aah, but it was always taught as an anchor, not a beacon. I'm seeing the wisdom of that now."

There is a subtle shift beneath her wings as Seer sits herself more comfortably.

"You may come and go as you please, Wielder. My home is yours, though I would have you give my guests more space than I. Whatever the matter I would be pleased to see you again."

Edited 2023-03-31 20:28 (UTC)

The Wielder stands and bows.

...And glances to the side, where they know the others are. Somehow.

'Somehow.' They're no fool. Whatever was in the other Infected is obviously in them as well, and they don't know if that matters.

Thank you. I will. I hope to at least have an update with Myla before long.

If you or they need anything, send word to Dirtmouth. Even if there's no need for the Lord of Shades, the people there are^mostlykind and helpful. (Although Sly the shopkeep will rip you off if you want to buy anything of his and Zote is unpleasant.) The Stagways are open and go to much of the kingdom now.

She doesn't get up. She bows her head, though - carefully in the way of a neighbour rather than a subject.

The last note is studied.

Seer Belladonna gives a soft, contented hum.

"Good... Good." For Dirtmouth! She is more pleased about the gossip than she's used to admitting. Dirtmouth seems alive by that description alone. What a nice thing to hear. She feels connected suddenly to another place. "I will mind myself carefully, if..."

...Yes.

"There are Stags still running?"

They make the effort to tilt their head. Mind herself?

Could she be as concerned of new people as Lemm?

...They'll need to get to know her better to learn that.

There's one. He's known as the Old Stag now. The maps of places he can go are marked in each Station, though I highly suggest keeping away from Deepnest should you decide to explore. Or the Queen's Gardens, unless you're highly skilled in aerial acrobatics. Both have considerable traps and potentially hostile people.

Edited 2023-03-31 21:27 (UTC)

Not so strange perhaps that in all this time it didn't bear checking the Stagways; she had nowhere to go and no one to see. And as far as she knew, they had been closed. Even if she'd known for certain that a Stag remained, she wouldn't have sought the company. Perhaps this, too, was selfish.

"My, I'll have to introduce myself, at least! But you can be assured I'll not be taking myself off to see anywhere so intense. Acrobatics and hostility don't suit me."

She pauses, then, because that reminds her - she tilts her head ever so slightly down at the letter. If you choose to attack - well, really.

"I am not so adventurous as some," she reiterates. "Nor as foolhardy. I'll be keeping to safety, Wielder, as an old Moth should."

Nodding, nodding. They think the Old Stag (perhaps they should ask his name as well...) could use more company, as well as the other way around.

And they certainly hope Seer--Seer Belladonna would know better. After all, she's promised.

I appreciate your reassurance. Many are not. I would also guide you around, should you like. I do that with others at times. There's the shortest pause before 'others'. The Knight shouldn't write Lemm. All those memories involving him being shared were accidental, and currently unrealized.

(They'd be pushier if they suspected she had issues with flight.)

She nods at the offer, though it feels like getting ahead of herself to agree to take them up on it just yet. Today has already marked a strange and unexpected shift.

"I have no doubt you're a marvellous guide. Perhaps in future... Ah, there are many possibilities, now that things are the way they are."

No Radiance nor Infection, and a Wielder she's bound to in friendship rather than fate. Yes, it's all rather new.

"Let's not forget you though, shall we, Wielder? If you yet struggle to solve that strange problem of yours, or indeed any other, you're welcome to come back here." A flicker of amusement. "Though I can't claim to know any more about the Dream Nail than you do, now. Still, there is sometimes nothing quite like peaceful company for a fresh perspective."

She might be more helpful as a neighbour than as a Seer. What a novel thought.

The area around the Voidheart swoops.

Help from another ally. It's been happening more and more lately, and they know it's going to be quite some time before they're used to it. A part of them wants to walk away and process it.

Quashing the urge, the Knight bows instead.

Thank you.

I'll see you later. unless you'd request anything else first?

She returns the bow with another little gracious dip of her head. It is nice to have it feel like simple manners rather than a tribute.

She thinks for a moment with an introspective hum, and decides whether there is anything else. Perhaps not. She has no need for much else than rest, now, although...

They care for her, they've made that clear. That they appreciated the rescue, and that they appreciated the kindness - it was too much to process at the time, along with everything else, but now that she can decompress Seer finds it is nice to have that clarified. And relevant, perhaps.

"...Mm. This is no request, merely a suggestion..." She sounds unsure. "But perhaps you'd like to part with something other than a handshake? I'm not cold to such things."

The Knight stops.

They haven't just met. She knows them now. They've shared more than then usually do, before, and now, to be understood. They've already helped her and had a wing held around them, which--meant little more than being near her, but it felt...

...pleasant.

It wasn't the same, but similar, to having a fuzzy cloak wrapped around them to stave off a sickness they're incapable of getting.

Hesitantly, they slip across the rug and hold their arms out. She--Seer Belladona meant this? They're not reading those words poorly?

"Ah!" That looks like a positive reaction. "Yes, come here... No reason for us to be shy of these things."

Nudging her wings aside she holds her arms out until the Knight is close enough to be welcomed into a proper hug. As her arms close around them, her wings drape naturally into place around them like blackout curtains. This probably wouldn't happen if they were bigger.

She is smaller and frailer than her wings make her look, not that they do much in that way to begin with. She is, however, quite fuzzy - and a confident hugger, apparently.

She wraps her arms around them, and, emboldened, they wrap around her--as much as they can, at least. Their stubby arms don't go far, and their Wings keep flat from swirling shyness.

Still, the Knight holds tightly as they dare, small claws gently tangling in fuzz, face pressing against her chest without thought of breath, since that isn't a concern.

They'll...be a little longer than appropriate before letting go.

As far as Seer is concerned, there is no inappropriate. Such comfort ends when it is ready to end.

But because she is what she is, she notices that the Knight lingers.

She shifts subtly to hold them a little closer, one hand coming to rest on the back of their head as if to reassure there's no hurry in pulling away.

There is healing in such things, no matter that no Soul is cast and no Essence touched. A Seer knows this quite well; Belladonna Beneath The Mountain believed it long before she became one. Being wrapped in the comforting warm dark of arms and wings is something one learns, being a Moth.

When eventually they part, Seer touches at the side of their face lightly as they back out. Whatever she could say would say less than the hug, and so she stays quiet as her wings pull back into place.

Much of what they felt earlier is resurfacing, irregularly. They're not nearly as hurt, but they feel hurt. They're still grateful, happy, and that gratefulness and happiness holds. They press in a little further into her ruff in her hold.

They find they stumble when she runs her hand along their mask in time, instinctively making sure they don't pull away too quickly.

The Knight bows again and hastily strides away. They do need to process all that's happened. And if they don't, they might not be able to leave.

They leap a few levels down, thinking of the Stag--but he should stay, if Seer Belladonna might think of leaving. They'd had a plan.

The Dream Nail flares, and they disappear.

"Welcome b-b-back!" Myla says brightly.

Iselda turns and drops her modelling clay. "Hello!" she says, glancing between the door (closed) and the Knight (wandering to sit on the couch).

No explanation is forthcoming.

...She sighs and gets back to the conversation about pin-making.

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