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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Lemm is quiet. There's nothing to say, yet, except the Knight is tearing the page with whatever emotion they're struggling to describe, and his eyes linger on the ink and the blank space after it. No real clues there.

Sibling squabble, maybe. He can't imagine what the Hollow Knight might have done, and it's hard to imagine them doing much at all after meeting them just the once. Or maybe they're hurt.

He's not getting any answers right this second. What he does get is -

The Knight reaches for him. He's beyond pulling away now, even if the instinct is there, but it takes a lot to hold still.

They are in distress and it's Relic Seeker Lemm's shop they've come to hide away in, and they reach for him. Who does that? In what world?

What else can he do? They're in front of him and they're upset. Lemm places his hand over the coil of Void around his other arm, same as he had with Greenhorn when they'd hid with him once. He pats it, experimentally, and then lets his hand rest there. Deceptively ordinary.

Softly, eyeing the unfinished sentence on their paper: "Easy, now. Are you still with me?"

The tendril tightens slightly. The Knight looks vaguely up at his horn, unsteadily reminding themselves that he can't fit even if they yank him over. They don't know why they would. They don't want to be held onto. They want--they don't know.

A paw presses against the side of their mask. Here. They're barely here.

The previous apology gets a tap. They truly hadn't intended to wake him. Fleeing to keep from drowning their already-suffering Sibling in their horrified panic, they hadn't been sure of what they were doing at all.

No words are enough. Nothing can explain.

But the thought of leaving it lie is a burning in their chest that even Grimm's flare couldn't touch. They scrabble until settling on the simplest terms:

so much more hurt than I realized, and I am scared

He dutifully re-reads the apology and just mildly shakes his head (and, yes, there is a slight mis-measurement and his horn clacks lightly against the counter).

"Aye," he says, and before he can think it through he's already leaning hard into normality: "well it's easy to say that now that I'm up, isn't it."

Even as he's speaking he feels his heart sink, because even now, even now his default is being a moody old -

- That's normal, he thinks quietly, and as he thinks that over his thumb brushes back and forth against the curl of shadow.

Normal is good, when you're upset. The familiar. Goodness knows he falls back on the familiar, when the days go badly. They've come to him. They know what kind of a person he is. Ergo.

"Mad of you to show up here, in a state like that," he points out, pulling no punches with the truth of it. "When there're far more sociable bugs in Hallownest. Ridiculous decision. Come on, then," Lemm begins properly, and scoots back to make space.

He doesn't stand, yet. His wrist stays more or less in the same place, now held out between them with the Knight's tendril like an anchor.

(Subtly, it twists, so that he can take hold of the line between them with his hand.)

"Up you get. I don't make invitations to everyone."

His head inclines in the direction of the back room.

They shrink further into the footwell, deeper than there's room for. They shouldn't have come, Lemm is--

--a little annoyed. Tired. Naturally. They burst into his shop in his sleep. If he wished to ignore them, he could have turned away and left them to...be rattled in his shop until they left, or until he woke again.

The Knight is afraid on their own, and their sibling's added terror is broken armor puncturing through the whole of them. Being reasonable is difficult.

They shudder and lean forward. Gingerly, after a long moment of staring at his hand, hold out a paw. That would be easier. (That would make a better anchor to with him.)

All of the above. He's not good at pretending, and frankly trying would make things weird. He is what he is: pragmatic.

As a rule Lemm spares little time for beating around the bush and lacing flowery words into things to make them sound better, so he doesn't try.

He does shift his hand from their tendril to take their paw right away, because that seems a rather important priority. It gets a slight squeeze, fleeting and barely-acknowledged. Lemm shuffles back a bit further, and pushes himself awkwardly to his feet. He doesn't yank them upright, but a slight motion towards himself might beckon them up off the floor.

"There are conversations for the shop floor," he explains, dusting himself down with his free hand, "and there are conversations to be had in private."

Whatever that means.

"Up off my floor, Knight. That's it." He holds out his other hand, just in case. He suspects he may be a little steadier than they are.

...Whatever that means, indeed. They don't question it.

--They don't question it yet. They don't know if they want conversation at all anymore, but one bare, solidifying thought is that they don't want to be left alone. They've had horror gone to numbness back to horror again. Neither is desired, and an outside grip helps keep some at bay.

They take his other hand and pull up.

A moment of still staring, as they register holding both hands and moving would be difficult. A paw is transferred to hold one of Lemm's hand with two paws instead.

The tattered paper is left on the floor.

The paper can stay where it is. Compared to the mess Lemm has recently made, it's nothing to note. He plucks another couple of sheets off the counter on his way past just in case.

Lemm weaves through some of the the junk he dragged out that didn't make it out to the corridor; the Knight is guided by a steadfast hand, and he moves slowly and smoothly through to the back. He holds the curtain, ushers them through first, and disregards the ugly flutter of nerves at the idea of bringing anyone else back here, again.

"Straight on," he mutters, now walking close behind them, steering them by his arm held forward over their shoulder so that they aren't made to let go.

The back room is (to Lemm) unsettlingly bare. Empty but for the tiny, barely-used kitchenette, and the curtained-off corner at the back where he sleeps - but private, in a way the shop isn't.

Safe in a way the shop isn't quite. The safest place he could think of to deposit the Knight back then, when they'd been upset and he hadn't known quite what to do about it so he'd fallen back on the golden rule: when you have something you suspect is delicate, you bring it straight home and you put it somewhere safe.

Lemm shepherds the Knight to the very back of the small back room and steers them to the collection of pillows he calls his bed. The safest place he's got.

"Better here than huddled under my counter," he explains, kind of. "Sit."

The Knight follows his lead, ignoring an urge to...what, insist he go first? They don't fear where they're being brought, and so they only hesitate a moment before stepping through the doorway.

It's not bare enough to be unsettling to the Knight; enough to, however, be strange. It hadn't looked this way last time. Moreso, somewhere Lemm is not being entirely surrounded by objects is a foreign sight.

The pillows are familiar, though. Barely. A trace of embarrassment surfaces,, drifting away as quickly. Lemm doesn't need to prompt them; they're moving to sit before the word's entirely out, though far too stiff to relax.

They will need prompting if he wants them to release his hand.

He almost tries to take it back by default. They'll feel a twitch.

But it's as he told himself; they came to him.

Lemm's expression shifts in some almost imperceptible way, and he lowers into a crouch in front of them to get on their level and leaves his hand in theirs. He leaves the spare papers on a pillow beside them within easy reach. His free hand sets itself usefully on their shoulder.

"Here, then. We'll do tea in a minute. Look at me."

Their grip tightens, then loosens. They felt it. They want to keep him here, so they don't fully let go. This is only their paw, no tangled mess of Void that can try swallowing him arm-first. Should he try, he can get away easily.

The Knight can't drink tea.

(Massive claws wrapped around a cup, watching the steam dance, look at what the Hollow Knight has done, being granted something like this, supplies wasted upon--)

They look up.

There, that's present enough to work with. He gets the feeling there's a lot going on under the mask, but this is present enough. Never mind that it feels like the spotlight is on him to say something right, and he never can, never does, and never has, that's irrelevant. They came to him.

"I told you I'd hear everything," he reminds them, and their shoulder gets a light squeeze. "Trouble is you've got to write it, and that's not going well, is it."

The next part sounds pretty insistent. He's good at being stubborn, at least.

"Have a moment, steady your hands. I'll make tea. M'not going anywhere, and neither's..." He nods vaguely at them. "...All that. Whatever needs saying. D'you understand?"

Unusually, the Knight looks away. As is less unusual, Lemm's right.

...And they suppose that's why they came, in the end. So it was known. So he knew. As a friend and as someone directly involved, more than for historical documentation's sake.

Their Sibling gave permission he could know anything through them. This approval is terrible and...unfair. Wrong.

They're falling further back into horror. It can wait. They can sit with their friend and hold tea and wait until this passes.

Their paw trembles, and though they nod, they tug Lemm's hand up to press it against the forehead of their mask before letting go.

He's not sure, for a second. The old, familiar fear crawls back out of the corner he's been pushing it into and tells him he's messed this up, predictably, because if they're looking away they're not looking at him and that means he's lost them somewhere along the last few sentences.

But they nod. And it settles.

Relieved, he huffs quietly and - lingers, a moment. They've put his hand on them and it stays, of its own accord or his, even he's not sure.

In a rare bout of daring, he slides his hand further back so that it rests on the top of their head, between their horns. It's been there before, but never invited.

With a herculean attempt not to overthink it, Lemm decides he's not being adequate.

"Here -- here, then."

His other arm leaves their shoulder and slips around their back, and rather gingerly he attempts a hug.

Immediately, the Knight leans in, pressing their face flat against his beard before wrapping their arms as far as they can go (and a few tendrils of Wing reaching around more). They didn't quite think they wanted this until it was happening.

The thoughts aren't any quieter, but they, and all the horrible wrongness, are easier to ignore.

They'll let go before Lemm does this time, but make no motion to pull away.

He's not convinced this is the right move until he is. It comes on fast, the moment they reciprocate and there are small arms trying to fit around him and Void hanging on further; this was the right thing to do, there's no uncertainty about it, it just is.

Lemm holds on tight, faintly squeezing them closer to his chest, his other hand still resting between their horns. (Distantly he registers: smooth, intact, not that he has any idea what it looked like broken and he never intends to, but the point is they're all right. And another lingering frayed nerve smooths back into place.) He stares over their head at the back wall, processing.

When their limbs drop Lemm retreats slowly. The hand on their head lingers the longest.

"Steady," he says again, with a mindful look.

He eases back upright, and pushes the heavy curtain aside so that he can keep an eye on them while he busies about the stove.

Edited (perspective pedantry) 2023-06-14 20:30 (UTC)

Lemm keeps an eye on the Knight, and they do the same in return. They're distantly curious to watch, but even more, it keeps them from looking at the papers by their side.

Slowly, as kettle and the like are collected, the Knight sinks from straight-back bench pose to a slump. They push memories of their Sibling's frozen claws away, settling their paws on the pillows on either side, just to feel. Grounding, present. They still have two arms.

With conscious effort, they lean back. It's an awkward angle, but that's to their advantage. It's all soft enough not to be terribly uncomfortable.

Once again he wishes he hadn't moved everything. There's less to do, and to fidget with. He empties and cleans the cup he left to go cold earlier, and that's it before he finds himself waiting for the kettle to boil with his hands splayed on the edge of the counter space, tapping his fingers restlessly and staring at nothing.

Lemm shoots them a long, studious glance, just to reassure himself they're staying put. And they are, reclining a bit even, which is better than he hoped. He stares back at the wall.

Twice he's brought them back here, now, and twice they've stayed, as if it was remotely a good idea. He has some strange unidentified feelings about it and for practical reasons it is time to unceremoniously ignore them. Not now. He reaches for the kettle.

Lemm returns quietly to their side with just the one teacup, filled with tea he now knows won't get drunk and only he can smell. This is not the point; the point is the cup is warm and he holds it out in front of the Knight's face in case they're zoned out enough to need prompting.

"Awkward thing, aren't you," he points out, thinking of the pillow on the counter again, and with little fuss Lemm moves one of the pillows up, tucking it behind their knees so they're no longer in danger of sliding onto the floor.

They take the tea carefully, staring at him. What. A bit of annoyance bubbles through their horror. Yes? None of this situation has been particularly comfortable. Lemm's tapping over the counter made it extra clear the awkwardness is shared.

It takes his added pillow offering to realize. Right. Physically, he meant.

Writing that the angle was intentional would be too much...effort. Too much.

There's a warm cup in their paws to give attention to now. They can't smell or taste it, but they can tip their head down to examine the contents and the cup itself perfectly well.

Oh, if he'd been talking about being socially awkward, that would have been the highest point of hypocrisy he'd ever risen to. No, he's just... fidgeting at them. He won't say fussing. It's just to stop them sliding out onto the floor on their back like a discarded piece of paper and that's that. He's practical.

Lemm perches beside them (with space between, but only small) with his hands folded together, legs straight in front of him, and gives himself a short moment to stare into space and brave the next step.

(In the dim light of a lamp strung up overhead, the tea is a rich reddish-brown, with flecks floating around at the bottom that look like they might be bark. The cup is predictably antique, decorated around the handle with scratched silvery leaf; there's a painted Hallownest Seal on the inside, and Lemm has filled the cup appropriately to the middle line, as if by habit. It's part of a matched set, they might remember - someone might remember...)

"...Wait til the tea settles," he advises, quietly, as if this is a rule he's gone by before. "You'll know your hands are steady enough."

Sibling remembered. The drink more than the secret art of the Seal within, and how it wasn't needed. This is a good thing, as the sight alone is enough to make the Knight's hands tremble double until they focus more on the fact that Lemm made it, and it's warm. It's a comfortable warm. Not burning, no, nowhere near burning or dangerous, comfortable. The warm of Hot Springs, intended for healing and pleasure.

(They spare a thought it's likely positive they're unable to drink this. Feeling warmth from inside would go poorly.)

They sag and tip their horns at Lemm, and then at all the pillows behind their backs. If he wants to lie down again...

Lemm just sits there, mostly still, fidgeting a little with his hands. He gave the advice he gives himself, because that's what people do. Only later they might realise, which is a level of vulnerable he isn't comfortable with. Maybe they'll forget. That would be convenient.

At the motion out of the corner of his eye, he's drawn to glance at them, though he looks away and shakes his head just as quickly. Too wired. Or he won't while they're here. Or it'd be impolite. Or he isn't tired. One or several of these are true.

He should talk. Fill the silence. That'd be something ordinary.

"Thought I'd tidy." Obviously.

He scratches his beard.

"S'not going well." Obviously!

Lemm folds his arms, then, and slumps back against the pillows in a sulk. Fine, he's comfortable. The Knight might be jolted very slightly as the pillows shift.

"Not my fault everything I pick up is worth keeping. Can't fault a bug for that," he insists, sounding rather like he doesn't believe a word. "I'd say at least there's space to move in here but I know it's all coming back as soon as I let it. Remember well what ye'll see not again," he quotes from somewhere-or-other, and gestures to the empty floor. "Forgot the tiles were patterned."

Are their paws steady yet. He hopes so. He doesn't have many 'safe' options right now other than to talk about his own business and frankly it's no fun.

Too wired, they assume. Too difficult to settle again after the Knight burst in like a Furious Vengefly. ...Or perhaps crept in like a Nosk would be more fitting.

In spite of that, they're quietly pleased when he drops back. The tea is steady enough not to spill across their lap.

Tidying. Yes, that would make sense. They nod along, peering down with some genuine surprise. Look at that, the tiles are patterned.

...Each time they think about what they came here for, their paws tremble more.

So they won't. Not yet. They can respond to this, at least, albeit in wobbly glyphs at the angle they use, careful to set the tea and keep it steady on their lap with one paw.

Wondered if you were moving.

Patterned, but not very clean. Lemm seems to be avoiding looking at the floor right now for this reason, though he seems to have resigned himself to the Knight being aware. It's not like they haven't seen worse.

Their words get a sharp look. Then he tilts his head back and studies the ceiling. (Which could also use a duster, now that he's looking.)

"I've thought about it," he admits. And it is an admission, an unpleasant one. It says too much about him. There are conversations to be had - that can only be had in private. "Bugs don't have to be quite as mad to live here any more - you'd be surprised how quickly it happens." With a sigh: "It's happening already... I didn't come here looking for neighbours."

He closes his eyes, rubbing the heel of his hand against the base of his horn like he's soothing a headache.

"No, I don't think I'm going anywhere. This Relic Seeker's found his calling. Hallownest's gotten into me you see, you know it when you find it. I was made for this place." Hallownest. The City of Tears. This shop specifically, even.

A pause. There are conversations -

"Anyway," he says, more quietly, "I don't trust my luck for you to find my shop twice in one lifetime, Knight. If I ever so much as up sticks to Greenpath you'll hear about it in advance."

Edited 2023-06-15 19:12 (UTC)

The dirty floor gets no consideration.

Just as his moving away hadn't, not for some time. Not after promises about not disappearing.

The Knight's tiny claws grip the cup's handle tight. They thought he might move shop to somewhere more convenient in the City, not...well. He would have told them, and they knew that before he reassured. They nod again.

--They should say it.

I knew you would tell me. Still, thank you.

...Thanks aren't what they're here for, though.

The quill hovers over the paper. They're not as frantic as they were. This doesn't mean they know where to start.

Yes, they know. Well.

"I'd tell you first," he corrects. "It'd pointless to start without you. You'd be excellent transport." They would not be finding out via finding his bags halfway packed, so to speak.

Lemm watches out of the corner of his eye as they begin what looks like a very familiar false start.

"Events first," he prompts. Lemm locks his eyes politely fixed on the ceiling. "If you're struggling, go through it chronologically. Doesn't need context or details yet." This isn't a historical account. He alters the wording a bit: "Just tell me what happened."

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