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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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.

As the Lord of Shades' claws let in more of the dim City light, he blows out a breath in a long, measured huff. Alright.

His hand slides up their claw behind him and he pushes himself slowly upright. He tests how the platform of their hand feels under his feet - still not good, but manageable when they're keeping fairly still.

Now that he's standing though he can make out the details he needs. There's a closeness to the towers here that turns this part of the city into somewhat of a near-opaque tangle - no wonder they couldn't get their bearings. But he's been here, or nearby. At least one of the buildings nearby he's pretty sure he's been in to the ground floor.

Lemm's head turns to point directly north, with little ceremony or forethought. There's a tower in the way.

"That way," he declares, and points past it down a turn-off with one shaky hand before it snaps safely back against their claw. "And then a right."

A short nod (that nevertheless shakes their whole form). That way. They have no reason to distrust him, only their own self--direction-wise, at least.

They return their claws to position around him. They'll wait until he settles to keep moving.

There are a pair of eyes peering at Lemm from their palm.

Agh, and the shake has him rattled again. Whatever - they've got it, they've got him, they've got their direction - Lemm presses his back against them again and slides down without a sound, eyes already screwed shut. Standing up was maybe a bad idea?

...He's fine. If he just stays down and keeps breathing steady maybe he can adjust, even! Maybe. Not now though. They might feel a slight tremor now and then in the way he's bracing himself this time, though Lemm does his best to keep it to a minimum.

Still, at least if he keeps his wits about him maybe he'll have some more warning about which direction they're going to move next, so Lemm forces himself to look.

There is someone looking back.

Relic Seeker Lemm stares, kind of intense without meaning to be, and unable to formulate any kind of more acceptable response. He is under a lot of stress!

It's not Greenhorn, until they're there too. It's the Suspicious Sibling, emboldened by their encounter with Grimm, phasing into existence, 'sitting' on the Lord of Shades' palm and staring placidly back, as though a normal occurrence. Greenhorn appears a moment later, shooting across the claws until they're clinging to the one Lemm is, just on the opposite side of him. Hi, hello! This is less scary to them than the Stag was, because they're part of it.

The Knight is moving at a glacial pace, trying to make sure they're going the right way and keep an eye on the little Shades about at once. They shouldn't bother Lemm right now. He's dealing with enough.

This goes entirely ignored.

His head twitches towards Greenhorn and back to the other Sibling in minute acknowledgement. That isn't them, then.

He's dimly wondered how much the little Siblings might be aware of when they're part of the whole - either way, even if they've seen him before, this one is a stranger to Lemm and he wishes their introduction wasn't happening now.

Neither of them should see him like this.

Subtly, Lemm straightens up.

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