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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The Lord of Shades stills, and their small amount of grip goes completely slack. If Lemm is done, he is, and they're not going to contain him for an instant longer. He's not Grimm, who could be smothered in layer after layer of shadow and be shaken but fine.

--But he comes back nearly as fast as they do so. Leaning more, holding more, matching their aborted motion. And it's overwhelming, that he is, and that they can feel it like this.

They return to it.

And, in what would be absolutely horrible penmanship, had they a pen and not tracing blunt lines along his back: GRATEFUL.

Now that he's actually given himself some space to soak it in, this whole thing is profoundly pleasant. Lemm closes his eyes. A moment. Has it been a moment? Only - he can afford a longer one, can't he? Can they? -

- Is that a glyph. The sensation isn't unpleasant any more than the comforting touch was, but it's new and he shudders, and that's - embarrassing, he knows they'd have felt that as well as his stiffness earlier and he just. Cannot. Bring himself to care enough.

"...Butterfly's chance in a gale that I'll be able to read that," he mumbles, half-muffled by his face being pressed into cold hard Void. "Tell me in a..."

...Moment. Right. No, he's had several, this is getting ridiculous. They need to go and get their mask fixed.

With all the reluctance in the world, Lemm eases his face away and slides his arm back and gives them a gentle, indicative half-nudge. (Ah, he doesn't want to. All the more reason.)

"...Tell me," he corrects. He sounds sluggish.

They uncurl their hand immediately, though it doesn't go far as it might've just minutes ago. They rest it in a loose fist next to him, points of those claws, even the dull one, tucked away but for the thumb.

GRATEFUL,

is repeated from another hand.

The Lord of Shades isn't getting up.

This was nice. Differently than Lemm might feel it, but still. Very much so. Something fragile and warm is sliding around their mind and body. They don't need to surge up from lying, half-coiled, on the wet pavement. They haven't exactly made an appointment.

Lemm forgets, for a little while, to account for or correct the disoriented, half-drowsy look still plastered on his face.

He can read that now, though. He tips his head acknowledgingly to one side, sheepish.

Them, or him? He is. More likely though they're referring to themselves, which is - is nice. Is nice, too. They got what he was trying to do.

"Aye." It comes out as a sigh. He really is discombobulated.

Still, they look messy, all tangled up on the puddled floor like that. He'd invite them back, but... He sincerely does not know if they'd be able to fit.

Lemm folds his arms. Poor substitute. But they're not moving, so, still somewhat swept up in the wave of impulsive decisions, Lemm sidesteps and leans a shoulder against their fist.

"Got worried," he mutters, earnestly, with a hand-flicker against his arm. "There'll be a day I can get through the unpleasant surprises without... losing my temper. Getting better at it. Might not look that way."

Ah. Contact like that seems to have loosened his vicegrip on personal explanation, a little bit. He dares prodding that a bit more.

"I -" this is bitten off, like he expected. Undeterred, he takes another try: "I liked - that was fine," he struggles out. "Most things're fine, but I." Half-shrug. "And I can't. Ah." This is incomprehensible. This explanation rather fell flat.

He looks down and rubs at his arm, slowly.

They hadn't thought to aim focus at it, as the volume generally wasn't what troubled them.

But they had noticed. The Shadelord's head shifts along the wet ground, leaving ripples in puddles on stone as they nod.

He's leaning on them. He's not putting words together nearly as well as usual, but--he's leaning on them. The word liked penetrates a little late, and they don't know what to do with that, with the bloom it spreads and shivers. The latter, physically so.

The Knight is experiencing a great deal of emotion today.

Liked. Most things are fine. I can't.

Parsing their own thoughts about this is difficult. Their emotions, however, conclude...perhaps...they could--they should--take more initiative...?

Their thumb-claw uncurls again and settles against his other side. Not quite pinning him between it and the rest of their hand, but, once again, holding. If not quite so encompassing as prior.

In the meantime Lemm has settled for staring at nothing and rubbing a finger joint at the spot between his eyes, grappling in private with the tangled-up layers of reasons he can't get the words out. He's already given up for now, relegating this conversation for another day when he's had more time to comb through it all. Maybe he can rehearse.

When their thumb makes contact he's a little unsteady on his feet, suddenly, and it pulls a tiny, soft noise of surprise out of him.

His hand lowers. And he just stares, for a while, at the Shadelord. There is something oddly helpless about that look, before he wrenches it away to stare back at the floor instead.

The hand settles on their thumb. His thumb sweeps back and forth, half-restless and half some attempt at returning the comfort, a tiny range of motion against the vastness of them. He takes several tries at saying something useful.

"...Bleeding heart, you are," he forces out, voice a little shaky at the edges. "Trying to turn me into one as well, are you? I won't stand for it."

The protest is null. He's quite obviously not going anywhere.

Lemm is their friend, the Knight, the Lord of Shades, the same--he doesn't fear them, he trusts them, they've thought this and they've thought this and it's hitting them like a blow which leaves their vision bursting with stars.

This means they can still....be them. They're more, Siblings, Void, but they're yet themselves. Bleeding heart. Not a common descriptor, but none have gotten near enough to know anything similar. Therefore, perhaps they are!

Infinitely gently, they tip their thumb until he's just barely squeezed between their thumb's knuckle and their fingers. Teasingly, gleefully:

TOO
LATE.
GOT
YOU.

The squeeze wrings a shaky sigh out of him, but he's quicker this time to lean into it, to allow... whatever it is that comes flooding in. It'll take practice. He's still stiff, a little bit.

And he can feel the strange weightlessness behind the feeling, the sneaking suspicion that the more he opens that door the more he's going to want to stow behind it. A little daunting. Like an empty storeroom. He has his habits...

He can't be bothered to identify all of that right this second. Lemm lets his head drop against their hand, a kind of gentle forehead butt that only involves the very bottom of his horn. He stays there, still leaning, and watches their signing sidelong with a soft, unmasked little breath of a laugh.

"I've told you. You're a pest." Still stroking their thumb with his, arm hooked around it, Lemm holds on a little tighter. He'd stay here all day, hugged tightly by their hand and his horn pressed against them both in ways that make his head spin, if he could, but -

- But he is pragmatic. It's raining. It's cold, and wet. The metal rack needs cleaning. They have a broken mask. Slowly, Lemm shifts back, stops leaning. He pats their thumb twice.

"Come, then. Enough." It is not. It is scarily not. He is going to have to ease into this more carefully, maybe, in future. "We've both got things to do, hm?"

Another scraping nod, far more enthusiastic, shaking the ground just a little.

BEST
PEST!

The Lord of Shades reluctantly withdraws their hand, nudging his back one final time with the curve of a knuckle. Lemm's correct.

The whole of them shifts oddly as they forget they haven't got legs to stand on. Still this form, not the Knight's form. They could make legs, perhaps, but that wouldn't be of any particular help. It could be amusing, perhaps, to tower standing above some of these buildings. Not now.

Front half drifting from the stone, they look down to Lemm, and back to the hat rack once more.

CARRY?

they offer again.

Another laugh, this one a bit more like himself, a bit less out of his comfort zone, more half-sarcastic.

"The best of a rude thing isn't desirable. How ridiculous."

Their hand leaves him and he is out in the open, suddenly, again, and he feels weird about that.

He is being terribly silly. Lemm takes a deep breath and strokes down his damp beard, and smooths out the precariousness he's feeling just standing there by himself like he always has.

"Yep, if you like," he says with a sigh, and without thinking about it this time. Then he blinks. "...I mean I'd manage. Hm. Never mind." He goes to scoop up his crowbar.

The Lord of Shades bows. It's strange to do in such a sinuous form, with a high amount of their body still half-coiled on the ground. Unfamiliarity doesn't stop them.

...Hmm. They know he'd manage, and they're realizing, suddenly, with their size disparity, if they carry it, they'd leave him behind. They can deliver it. They don't want to.

They pick up the hat rack in a single hand on one side, held between claws by its base like a splinter.

And then, shyly, they set one of their other hands by Lemm. In front of him. Palm-up, flat.

He's amused by that, too. It's a stunted little half-bow they get back, done for the novelty and lacking in any real formality.

Lemm watches them pick up the hat rack with... no real surprise, he supposes. He could have specifically told them not to, but he went with a fiddly little never mind instead, so that's on him.

Their hand is examined, and it takes a moment for understanding to sink in.

Oh, but that's different. Only he knows they're... active, is maybe the easiest way of putting it. He's seen the way the Shadelord moves, all that flowing Void and such. Has seen the Knight blast across the square with the Crystal Heart and trot about like there's a fire lit under their backside.

Lemm shifts in place, debating.

"Now... Now you know I don't ride well," he stutters, meaning the Stag. It's not much of a decision either way.

CAREFUL.

They will be. Completely. They're confident in this much, now. They're not going to risk hurting Lemm to the slightest degree, even if they'll have to slither through the streets at a pace that would frustrate them normally. They'd still make better time.

NO
FORCING.
BUT
VERY
CAREFUL.

The Shadelord's claws curl inward a little.

He makes a very displeased noise. Because, well, he's going to have to, isn't he.

He's not totally obtuse, he knows exactly what the Knight has been struggling with lately and all of this is not nothing. This offer, even, is far from nothing.

...Anyway. Who else could claim to have done this. It's making history. That's all this is. A perfectly Relic Seeker-ish thing to do, he tells himself, as he inches forwards staring at their palm and - puts a hand on it, feels his way forwards, stooped right down.

He puts a foot on their hand. Nope. Takes it off and straightens up and scratches at his beard self-consciously because right, yes, they are watching him work through this aren't they.

Lemm counts to five and grabs shakily at one of their claws for support and hop-steps up, wobbling despite there being absolutely no reason for it.

The Lord of Shades waits, patiently. They're not going to rush him. Shoulder-tendrils shift only in quiet anxiety. They're confident and nervous at once.

...Lemm's weight is so slight. His smallness, their hugeness, hits them all over again.

Another hand comes to curl about the edge closest to where he stands, as though he might tip off. Not impossible, truthfully.

Their hands lift, slow and fluid, until he's steadily held in front of their face. It's not too terribly high--for them. They're still nearly two stories up, watching him fixedly for more obvious fear.

Lemm is really not sure about this. He's just got enough time to register they've effectively given him a safety bar when the floor starts moving and oh, no, no. No. He doesn't like that. At all.

"Aye -!" The sight of the ground dropping away doesn't help and Lemm ducks his head and screws his eyes shut.

His other arm flails to blindly brace himself against another claw and his legs bend slightly like he's anticipating a fall. It doesn't seem to matter much how slow they go. He can feel the shift in gravity and it's evidently not doing him a service.

"Aye - alright. Alright."

A deep breath. A long, shuddering exhale. His stance does not improve when they stop moving, still hugging to one claw and wedging a straightened arm against another. It's a wholly unnatural position and he is holding it tighter than a coiled spring.

This is the least comfortable bug in Hallownest, up to and including anyone unfortunate enough to get into conversation with Zote.

The motion stops.

"- Oh," he says, voice unusually high. He shakily raises his head again and forces his eyes open to meet the multiple Soul-pale eyes of the Shadelord.

Obvious fear seems to be the sticking point. Still, by the way he's using them as a safety device, it seems unlikely this is about the giant Void being thing.

Edited 2023-04-22 20:08 (UTC)

Perhaps this was a poor plan. They suppose they've never seen how he interacts with heights as well as speed--no, they have, he's grappled up the sheer levels of the Resting Ground. Both?

Hand pulling up until Lemm's half-covered, the Lord of Shades sinks their whole self back down, until they're about a single storey up. They're not sure what might help but backing out of this entirely. Their head angles down, scanning for somewhere to set that doesn't have any obviously-deep puddles.

Edited 2023-04-23 03:26 (UTC)

There is no reason Lemm ought to be unbalanced except for sheer nerves. They're being so careful. And on some level he knows that.

Still. There is a lurch in his guts when they sink, and Lemm staggers a step like his senses are overcompensating.

He takes a steadying breath and hunts for some fraction of resolve.

In a quick, minimised motion he turns and plonks himself down to sit back against their fingers, bracing himself against them. Lower to the 'ground', pressed into a 'corner', this is easier. By a hair.

"Make it quick." He sucks in a breath. "Not too quick."

He's fine he's fine just get on with it.

Oh.

Well.

This has been committed to by them both, no matter how unwise it's likely to be.

The Lord of Shades defies reality with their cautious rise into the air. Higher, higher, about a third of the way up of the building they've stopped by, claws shifting to protect Lemm as though from more than a potential fall.

They watch him and they survey their surroundings, abruptly realizing they're not entirely sure where they are. Places appear different from above.

...They're pretty sure the place with the Fountain is that way.

They orient as best they can and begin to move, weaving between and around jutting buildings and bridges gently.

He makes a very quiet wavering sound as he registers which way they're going (up) and a hand snaps out to cling tightly at one of their claws.

He should have let them put him down, maybe. But he wants to push himself, a little. Other bugs do it all the time when they have good reason, in Journals and diaries and messages. Usually because they have some silly idea in their heads of what the future will look like if they do. Not all of them end so badly.

He manages a furtive glance up at the towers they're passing - through a cage of claws, he registers, because they are being terribly careful. He wishes it helped more. It's not fair on them that it doesn't.

As if to try and assuage some of the guilt that springs up there, Lemm manages to give their claw an even tighter squeeze. He knows they've got him, it's just - his body won't take the memo.

He's not going to be much help with navigation.

The speed changes every so often. At their size, the Lord of Shades doesn't notice, but Lemm in his state likely will. Slight jolts forward when they think they recognize something, or realize they don't; stretches where they slow and drift minutely downward, reconsidering the whole thing. But then what was the point?

Lemm squeezes, in reassurance or fear, and they can't respond back.

They don't have their map.

No, they have it. It's just useless as it is. A few Siblings shuffle through their things to peer, just in case, but they technically lack charms, and so the Wayward Compass doesn't activate, and so they don't know where they are. The City is huge, and the endless water obscures their vision further out. (Overcautious, knowing this, they still don't dare reaching too far with other senses.)

But--the Spire. It has to be visible at some point. They just--they keep going, shifting to follow the streets better. Surely, eventually...

His heart jumps every time. It's not fair! Of all the things it's motion and the sudden jolts (they're not, really, but in his state he'd call a nudge a shove) are really playing on his nerves...

What are they doing? He's a little disoriented and caught up in the terror of being carried around like loose change but shouldn't they be there by now?

Lemm forces himself to lift his head just slightly, just enough to squint out through a small window between their claws to catch sight of the windows sliding past. After about three, the familiar map in his head sparks up with some useful information.

"Oh," he says, still immeasurably tense, and squeezes their claw again. "Knight! Why - why are we in the southern quarter?"

His voice may be smothered by his nerves, but there's a familiar note of indignance lodged in it nevertheless. This is... not where they maintained they'd be going.

Southern Quarter--the Spire must be more Northern, then. Likely in the center of the City entirely. Which is...north.

Where is north.

The Lord of Shades shudders to a stop awkwardly in midair, the top half of them going near-ramrod straight. Slowly.

Hello, Lemm, sorry, they...are not prideful enough to admit they aren't lost in this scenario. They use the hat rack to vaguely point. That way?

Lemm shrinks back against their claws again in dread as he feels them brake.

But it confirms his suspicion, which is that they were not in fact sure which way they were going and he's just cast further doubt on it. Ugh.

Ugh! in fact.

Lemm presses trembling hands behind him and eases himself forward a bit. He can't get a proper view with their claws cupped so closely around him like this.

"Off with you," he directs, ticking his horn vaguely at the hand being used as a guard. "Let me see."

Their claws spread to give a better view. They're not going to take their hand away fully, no matter how large their palm is. Lemm's shakiness throughout their attempted ride was noticeable, and the unsteadiness of that first Stag ride is sharp in their mind.

There's still plenty of room. He could walk over and lean against one claw like a railing in front of a drop, should he like.

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