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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What are they doing up there? Actually, that's an important question, as well. What business could they possibly have on the side of a building - and why had it looked like they'd been trying to get in?

"Use the door," he mutters very quietly, to try and convince himself this is an ordinary situation. Being grumpy about something usually helps.

He glances down at the space they'll have to work with if they actually deign to hit street level, and steps back a few paces to give them some more room as he watches them descend. Yep, still huge...

"Don't normally see you..." and he flounders here for a moment before awkwardly coming up with "...wearing the ink."

Which means a lot of things, like: why? And are they alright? Are they just stretching their metaphorical legs - tendrils, whatever? He's not so good at saying these things at length.

The Lord of Shades settles on the pavement.

Greetings, Lemm.

...They're not sure what to do now. Though as the frantic urge to get away settles, they find they're glad to see him, despite not wishing to explain.

After a few moments of staring, they realize how much they're looming. The Lord of Shades sinks down further, even though their face still towers above Lemm when their chin rests on the ground. (While capable, they'd rather not literally melt to properly match eye-level in front of him.)

Lemm catches himself instinctively wanting to take another step back. He's only acted on that once and he won't be doing it again, and the urge is flattened. They're not angry at him this time, anyway, they're just... here. Mysteriously.

Ugh, not mysteriously! Crawling around on the outside of towers is not mysterious just because a bug can't do it. That's just something they can do and it's well within their rights!

He appreciates not having to crane his neck, but... Lemm eyes the wet floor where their face is touching and squints, displeased. "Ah, get up a bit, that can't be pleasant," he half-scolds.

Lemm carefully hefts the hatstand down and stands it in the street, rolls his shoulder, and sighs.

"It's a shame I've never seen a quill your size, but we get along without, don't we? You're all right, then? For a moment I..." He cuts off with a dismissive grunt.

It isn't uncomfortable, technically, but it does distort their...yes, it is vision. The visual input is what vision is. While they can reach with other senses that seem like a mixture of touch-vision, it isn't quite either.

They lift their head. A little.

--Oh, now they can do a very strange little thing they've noticed certain other beins do, but never got to try with their own proportions: folding their hands together beneath their head to rest their chin on instead.

Their front pair. One of their back pair gestures vaguely towards Deepnest, as though that's any kind of answer.

When did it get so hard to be straightforward?

...The answer to that is since they care if it ends in hurt.

He watches them closely. He's still not used to them like this, and it bears getting used to. He knows their tells as a Vessel. Like this? Not so much.

A gesture, however, is fine. Lemm doesn't need specificity this time. He follows their gesture slowly, assessing, and then tracks back to them.

"Checking on you-know-who," he guesses, incorrectly or not. He gives a clipped little nod. "If there's anything from the City you think might be useful, leave me a note sometime. I'll be..." Vague gesture with the crowbar. "Seeking." (Scavenging? Never!)

They're sorely tempted to leave it at that. The Knight doesn't want him upset. They are going to see their sibling after this, so that's a truth.

...None of them want Lemm to be upset. The Siblings, collectively, rather like him by now.

The Lord of Shades main body is still, scratching at this thought. He might not learn of it if they don't inform him. But it would chew at them. Eventually they--the Knight--could slip. And if the Mask Maker can't solve their problem...this could need its own practice. It could take time.

They tilt their head in appreciation, and slowly, they stretch out a hand. They could scrape right into the stone if they needed, but they don't think they do.

DEEPNEST
MASK
MAKER.
SIBLING
AFTER

Simple enough glyphs to trace through the film of water, repeated once, angled to not come too close to Lemm but still be visible. He's perfectly capable of upside-down reading.

And then the Lord of Shades aims a claw at the thing he's been holding. They would like to move on immediately, as well as genuinely being confused as to its function.

Lemm observes with what is at first mild interest - his head tips a bit, too, as he parses their glyphs from the wrong way up - then befuddlement.

"...Someone needs a mask? It's not mine to decide what should still be the culture, I suppose..." Even as he's saying it he knows there's something wrong with that theory, something poking at him from a rather notable memory.

While he's working on that he glances aside at the hatstand - and shakes his head quickly.

"It's badly tarnished. Taking it back to see how well it'll polish." Not for them to worry about right now, he's just gathering relics. As is his profession. He reaches out and grabs the pole of the hatstand possessively. Unfortunately for the Knight, this is a topic he is also actively avoiding.

Probably a good thing he has something to anchor on, because it's clear by the sudden shift in his expression that the geo just dropped.

"No, wait. Who's the mask for."

The Lord of Shades sways their head. Gestures to it, as tendrils twist outside their view and conscious consideration. What does he think.

--They could ask for their sibling. They could fix the injuries weeping Void, but the mask was not theirs, and so they couldn't work on the crack to their eye.

But that's not for now.

SEEMED
THREAT.
FEAR.
DEFENSE.
BROKE.

WHAT
LEMM
HOLD?

Lemm goes tense. More so as the words keep coming, like they intend to bury one conversation under another. They said they'd be careful -

They were, he very sharply cuts himself off. They told him they would be, so they were. It's not right to assume otherwise and it would be especially thoughtless of him to dare that kind of thinking after they said so to his face. It's a knee-jerk reaction, it's nothing. It is nothing. And he could have done nothing, most likely of all.

So Lemm says nothing too, for a while; he waits out the unsteady, angry circling of the word died until there's room enough to speak without saying something he doesn't mean.

Gruffly: "...Better get it fixed, then." It comes out stiff and unpleasant and has edges in all the wrong places for such a short sentence. It's still a thousand times better than he might have managed, a while ago.

They don't want to talk about this. That tell he recognises. With a privately tremendous effort he manages to say something that isn't what he's thinking.

"Hat rack," he says, quietly. Then: "For coats too." And masks, in rare situations where the removal would be appropriate. Don't say that one right now. "Umbrellas. Whatever goes on a hook. Not much to say about this one." Another pause, and his hand loosens and re-shuffles and tightens again on the pole. "S'not cleaned up yet." Stop looking at it? He can't tell them that without telling them why he picked it up.

They nod, quick (quicker than a giant being should be able to move, it could see) and are grateful. They were expecting more, and...a little worried, perhaps, that there isn't, but not enough to pursue. Later, after it's fixed. After, after, after!

The back half of them shifts from a taut tangle to something that spills somewhat up the building.

Hat rack. And umbrellas. They genuinely didn't know hats had their own device like this, though umbrellas make sense, with their awkward size and hooked handles.

HEAVY?
CAN
CARRY?

The Shadelord's hand unoccupied with anything more hangs in the air, somewhat to the side of Lemm, carefully not too close, but beckoning.

Lemm is still barely withholding something, evident in the discomfited way he begins agitatedly ticking the end of the crowbar against his leg like there has to be some small outlet somewhere. He keeps a lid on whatever it is.

"S'not heavy."

Not heavy-heavy, anyway. He can carry it. That's not what they're asking, maybe? Ah, no, they can carry, it's an offer.

Lemm glances at the hat rack. Then at their hand, huge and pointy and nothing like the small paw he's held on multiple occasions. Several things run through his head: making them deliver something they have no business delivering, the shop as it stands, the turbulent whatever going on in his head, and most importantly the Knight with an apparently broken mask on their way to get it fixed and then on sibling business and...

He shifts, slightly.

"Don't you have more important things to be doing," says Lemm, in a small and weirdly conscious way.

While their massive claws are nothing like the Knight's tiny paws, the hand-wiggle is doubtlessly familiar.

CAN
FLY
QUICKLY?

BUT
IS
OKAY.
NO
FORCING

It's on their mind, after so much insistence of that with Grimm. Worried, they're more worried, but they still tuck that hand back against their body to show it: see, they aren't pushing it, it's fine. The Lord of Shades can go, if he wishes to move on. After all, this stop wasn't intended.

Edited 2023-04-17 00:59 (UTC)

Lemm forces the crowbar still. And pulls a sour face. They shouldn't be worrying about him, they died!

Tick-tick-stop. The fidget travels to his other hand and he taps one finger restlessly against the metal of the stand instead. Smaller. Less obvious.

"Don't want you running errands for me right now. I could use the walk," he spills out suddenly. Being forced is the last thing on his mind. "But if -"

Lemm cuts off with an irritable grunt and studies them closely, gaze darting over their huge form like he's trying to do an on-the-spot relic appraisal.

"You're fine," he grinds out, stiff and carefully-measured. They could read it as a dismissal of the help, if they like. If they really don't want to answer the question, which is what it is, if they read between the lines. Is that cheating?

Edited 2023-04-17 04:57 (UTC)

Recently, they've been reminded what they are in every aspect. The Knight and Siblings, Higher Being that prefers what others do not, creature that holds control, but frightening, dangerous...and, very simply, large. They are large and Lemm is small, and they have no way to change it easily but folding inward uncomfortably, and so they do not.

ALRIGHT.

The Lord of Shades is a massive length of slightly-restless shadows.

A walk. Don't you have more important things to be doing. Are they the only reason he's acting so oddly?

LEMM
YOU'RE
FRIEND-OF-KNIGHT
FRIEND-OF-SHADELORD.
IMPORTANT
STILL.

Edited 2023-04-17 06:10 (UTC)

He'd been in such a good mood! It's not - fair. How quickly that changed. He'd have liked to give them that side of him, not this one.

When the glyphs come together and he gets an unpleasant pang of guilt, Lemm lets go of the hatstand to firmly wave off their pseudo-chatter.

"Stop! Stop it, that's ridiculous, I'm fine! You're -"

Stop. His hands tighten around the objects he's holding onto. They don't want to talk about it.

Well - tough. He does. If they're going to call him important and friend and keep pushing then - then he damn well gets to ask!

"Are you -" not in that tone, though "- I'm - you're - urgh, dense, is what you are -"

Not like that either. Lemm reaches for something to steady himself and for most of his life he struggles to find it, but lately he finds plenty.

He stares at the ground and valiantly manages to actually think before he explodes.

"You drop a bombshell like that and then you don't tell me, what do you think I'm supposed to -?" nope. "Tell me how you're doing, Knight! For goodness' sake!" A pause. "Tell me if you're - alright, or not alright, or." He gestures, wildly and helplessly, with the crowbar. He's out of words that aren't unpleasant.

...Perhaps it is just them. They're not insulted; dense might be right, with how worry mixes with worry mixes with worry, layers and multitudes--all while unable to appreciate how this truly might seem.

They've died before. A hundred times, a thousand times, so many there's no counting, and never has anyone acted truly concerned after, even when they reappeared in front of those uninfected later. He cares, and they can't.

They lift their head to nod again, fast. One previously-folded hand makes an aborted movement the Knight has in the past, but it's harder to hide when each claw is twice longer than Lemm himself, reaching in his direction.

FINE!
CONCERN
FOR
FIXING
MASK.
FINE
OTHERWISE.
THIS-PROMISE.

Idiot idiot idiot he is not saying out loud, because it's rude and unfair and isn't what he means.

Are they trying to pat him. They'd squash him. Idiot, again, but smaller and less... just less.

Lemm watches them painstakingly trace out reassurance; he takes a deep breath halfway, focusing so intently on what they're telling him that he can see nothing else. Holds it. And out, slowly, at the promise.

"For goodness' sake," he grumbles again, though the bite has gone out of it and now he just sounds vaguely grumpy. Then, sounding unusually weary: "Best I've ever handled that."

He stares at their free hand, mulls on the strange disappointment that sprang up a moment before, and then - beckons. At it. Vaguely. With his eyes on the Shadelord's.

SORRY

They do want to pat him. ...No, they want to hug him; that's currently impractical enough to count as impossible.

Twisting tendrils shiver from their head down their back as they realize both these things atop each other.

Lemm is beckoning them over as if that doesn't matter.

They--

They set their claws down. Near him. (Near to their perspective. Still quite a few steps away.)

Always the problem is that when Lemm isn't skilled at handling a feeling it will often express itself as cross. Doesn't matter this time, and as it gives way to uneasy relief Lemm finds himself grateful to the Knight for that. They don't seem mad at him for the slip. That or they're hiding it very well.

He's uneasy about this next decision, too, only he's finding he needs rather an awful lot of reassurance lately and there are... allowances. Sometimes there are allowances. Anyway it's that, and it's damnable curiosity, and it's wanting to assure them somehow that even if he's raised his silly voice again it's not like the anger was actually real. And certainly not aimed at them. Not really.

Lemm lets go of the rack again and tosses the crowbar aside with a clatter of metal, and closes the distance with a huff as if to indicate well you could have gotten closer.

Gingerly - but with very little hesitation, because he is about a hundred strange events away from a bug who flinches at this exact scenario - Lemm reaches out to pat experimentally at their foreclaw, and pauses to study their hand with his head cocked while he waits to see what they plan on doing about that.

Those claws are the most solid part of the Lord of Shades, feeling akin the Hollow Knight's handshake more than the little Knight's soft shell or solid mask, or the pliant tendrils that make up their current body.

They do...nothing. Lemm is so tiny next to them, an errant twitch could knock him down. Even the rest of them is finally, fully, frozen still.

Nothing? Nothing is good, probably.

Lemm slides his hand along their claw slightly, acclimatising. Unfamiliar, and at odds again with the memory of small paws.

He follows his hand along theirs, to their wrist. He stops, steps away, and moves along beside the rest of them for a quick once-over. (Like he had, once, when they'd appeared on his counter and he'd been anxious then, as he is now. The appraising look is back.)

What is he even looking for? Since when has the Knight ever looked injured? What does he expect to find on the Lord of Shades? And they're - they died, only they didn't, exactly, and this is just what happens after. Technically he's talking to their ghost. Only that's not exactly true either.

This line of thought unsettles him. The point, he decides very suddenly and very firmly, is that he can't see anything wrong with them. Tendrils everywhere, inky darkness, four arms that bend like a bug's do, and no sign that he can tell that there is anything left of what put them in this state. They seem fine. That'll have to do.

Appraisal over, Lemm returns to their hand rather quicker than he left. He clears his throat.

"Let's have that up," he instructs, and as an example: he lifts his own hand flat, and then tilts it up onto its side. Lemm pats their claw again expectantly.

The Lord of Shades keeps in place, not moving their head to follow. They don't need to.

The further back their form is observed, the more it seems made of tendrils packed together, as if they're a being woven through thick threads, or ropes. There are no wounds to observe, only Siblings whose eyes flash to spy on him for the Knight, and a few who tentatively form long enough to wave.

Or not tentatively at all: hello, Lemm! Greenhorn is happy to see you, but listening to the Knight not to stay out for more than a wiggly wave.

He returns to in sight of their main eyes. Touches their claws again, unexpectedly, and motions for them to flip their hand, and they lift it slowly until it stands in front of him like a curving wall.

(He is focused, and momentarily stressed, but this is broken briefly by the appearance of the smaller Shades. Greenhorn especially gets a hesitant, wavering little acknowledging nod. Hello, yes. He sees them...)

The shadow of the Shadelord's palm towers, a little bit.

At his sides, Lemm's hands squeeze into fists and loosen again.

He comes closer, resolved, and touches at their palm. His own flattens against it, in fact, like some terribly mismatched celebratory gesture.

The Shadelord's hand is solid, still, in a way the Knight's were softer. It is still them. He can get used to it. And they're fine. They are, for all intents and logical purposes, fine.

Lemm huffs a sigh and, hand still against theirs, turns to look up at their face.

"This isn't one of the silliest things we've done." Is it. Affirmation? What is normal, for them?

Compared to theirs, his touch should barely register, if at all--and yet it does.

They don't know what he means. They're having trouble thinking, suddenly.

Lemm's hand is tiny speck of warmth, the shape of his claws spread across their palm no matter how little space it takes up. They want to hold him, like they did Grimm, but they're--they--they're being absurd, they know it, but still--

One claw. Their smallest. Carefully shifting, creeping closer, easy to see coming, easy to get away from. Coming to curl around his back.

Ah.

He doesn't look. He sees, definitely, there's no way he'd miss it - but he doesn't look.

If anything he stares at the floor, determined, or resigned, or something else entirely.

The Shadelord's talon touches at his back, and Lemm sways just the barest little nudge at the contact.

It's. Fine.

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