the knight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
focusedvoid) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
boxfullofzeroes2022-10-31 05:57 am
focusedvoid) wrote in boxfullofzeroes2022-10-31 05:57 am
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 kneels and begins tinking the shattered wet ceramic piece by piece into one cupped hand. This is easier for it all being in one pile like that. They've helped enough, and anyway guests shouldn't tidy. So he's heard.
(He pauses briefly over a large fragment with most of the shiny handle still on it. Narrows his eyes.)
"Keep writing when you're ready. Didn't mean to interrupt."
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Their own last few sentences are reread once they soak up most of the mess. Lemm's overreaction jarred them firmly into the here-and-now, if nothing else. The Knight's paws are perfectly steady.
They loosely underline I am afraid to look and stop again. Deciding where to go next about this is no less difficult.
My apologies. For the mess this time.
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"Don't be ridiculous," he retorts. "Grabbed you like a tiktik. Not your fault."
He returns to the puddle of tea and kneels to mop it up with the cloth.
"Sounds like it was dumped on you like a pile of stone journals," he muses, distractedly thumbing the damp fabric at the edge of a tile and examining the result disdainfully. "Probably good to remember you don't have to go through it all at once. Probably best you don't."
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They think a moment before exaggeratedly stretching their Wings--see, they could've taken off if he'd asked! (They're teasing.)
...That's reasonable advice. They dip their head. But.
I'll avoid trying. But I'll need to eventually. It is as if
they gave me those memories and emotions. I know they are not my own, but I feel them nearly as vividly.
For example, you used this cup for them. Or one like it. The tea was darker. They were unsettled by the steam and did not see the seal art. They had not held a teacup before but knew they were capable of it after healing.
It's less unsettling sharing with their other Siblings. But that's likely due to how few memories the others have at all.
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He finishes dabbing at the floor and drops the cloth in the scuttle with the rest of the mess. Out of sight, out of mind, for now.
When he turns to rejoin them he's buried his embarrassment very well. Not even fidgeting. Why don't they - just pretend that never happened. He peers at their paper.
It's... kind of disconcerting to know there are experiences being passed along. Weirder that it's anything he was involved in. Lemm doesn't think he likes it much; this is neither here nor there.
"Aye, well, I mean not all of it at once - not none of it, never. Dip in and out. That's my advice. Never finish an account in one sitting if you can't make it through without a fight." Unsettled. Well, that's about how he felt for most of the encounter, so maybe that's fair. (That's petty.) "You can tell them it was camellia, if that means anything."
Lemm folds his arms, thinking hard.
"Never held a teacup..."
And all the rest that implies, that's the unspoken part. He waits to see what the Knight will say to that.
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The Knight hasn't had much chance to hold teacups in their past either. This is...different.
It may. They were never taught such things, nor sat in where others drank or ate, but they have many memories of the Infected. (I received few of those.)
The Knight turns and drops heavily on the pillows again, staring down. They aren't sure if they should've shared that, knowledge with layers of shame coating it that are
different from the rest.
I don't knowI shouldI have their permission to share all. Because I am their King. I can do anything I wish. and you are important to me, I've told them about you as my ally and then friend earlier.I wish to share pieces so we can go over them. but
there isit doesn't seem right.and I do not want to pass this along as the King.
or evenThey stop before they can write again about being the deserving one, the Vessel that did not fail.
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(He tries very hard not to snag on important to me. That's not the point, it's - not the point, Relic Seeker, you've a duty here. Focus.)
"...Hrm." Translation: he's thinking. He doesn't understand, not yet, it's - he has to look at it through a few different lenses, first.
There are accounts of those in service of greater purpose, taking their angle to extremes. It feels like a similar story, but reasonably it's not - all the agency is gone. Besides, what the Knight is saying is personal, they're saying something is wrong with the Hollow Knight. Similarly, like there was something wrong with the Knight hiding under his counter...
Ah. Yes, that does it. There is an unpleasant pang at that, and Lemm holds onto it. Important to... Like that. It is the point, actually. Abruptly, he blurts out:
"Well, you should look at it how you want to look at it." He flaps a hand vaguely. "Never get bogged down in what someone else thinks of you. If the Hollow Knight thinks you're the King of Hallownest that's their problem. You're their sibling. You want -" pause, stop. He narrows his eyes at them. "You do want to be their sibling...?"
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I do.
But theyThey don'tIt is my problem. I am the King despite that being unwanted.I am their Sibling. They have nothing else but a title they never should have had, feel they do not deserve, and devotion to duty that does not exist. How they see me matters. to both of us.
What they will allow of me is more than they should have ever thought to give.
I want to help
Inside their chest, the Voidheart is a solid weight. They press their itchy Branded hand against it, as though either would be fixed.
and I do not know how. as Sibling or as King. I do not want to be King. They're repeating themselves. I can try
but I donfor their sake. but I am unequipped. That is what I am most frightened of.I cannot killI have killed all the problems for them I could already. I cannot combat their way of thought with Nail and Soul.The Knight has stumbled into their own uncertain past countless times, killed seemingly-unstoppable Gods, confronted fear they didn't know they were capable of, nearly killed and removed half of a friend's very being and have yet to solve that fully--
--and yet this, now, feels more daunting than any of that combined.
The mass of pillows have perfectly good crevasses to partially press into.
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"Pah," he responds quietly to their rebuttals, in a deliberately de-fanged sort of way. "Well, my advice was never going to be any good here. No siblings," he adds, to explain it. As if this is the most ordinary conversation in the world, like the Void and King's Brand and the Hollow Knight's legacy don't factor in and it's simply basic sibling drama.
They do factor, but he is an ordinary bug. What use is he with any of that?
"Look, you've come to the wrong bug for social advice - aye," he interrupts himself, noticing them retreat into the pillows, and pats a hand lightly on one near their face to attract their attention. Still with him? "But it's not about being equipped. If it was about being equipped..." He stumbles to a halt.
"...Don't be King at them, that's all I'm saying, if you're no good at it. From everything I've read the King's main function was to look like he knew exactly what he's doing, so don't give them false impressions. I haven't bothered pretending at you like I'm a - like I'm -" he makes a whirling hand gesture with his other hand "- Marissa the Songstress. And it's gone shockingly well anyway, hasn't it! Well, it hasn't gone horribly. You're still here."
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--but. But. Lemm is right.
The Knight rests a paw on the edge of his arm, very gently, so he can pull away if he wishes. And then taps it, at the comparison. The mental image is distractingly entertaining, as they presume was intended.
...No, they're not a King, no matter what the Brand was intended for. They can fake it, they can try and pretend, but it won't hold up over time if attention is given. Certainly not with one they can communicate with on such a clear, intimate level. It would cause both of them pain in the long run.
The advice is helpful. Your head is much clearer than mine in this. Thank you.
It doesn't help much in knowing what to do, perhaps, but eliminating an unreasonable idea is still a step forward.
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"Hm."
Short, dismissive, and makes him sound fairly unconvinced. Still, if the Knight says it's helpful, he can't exactly argue without implying they're a liar. Which they are not.
Lemm snaps his gaze away from them entirely and just sits there looking thoughtful for a little while.
"So you say, but that's the end of it! I've no more to say about it. Sorry," he adds, half-muttered, tacked on like a last-second regret.
But, while he's already talking, and since their hand is on his arm so really they started it:
"You're good at being stubborn - do that. It'll... work itself out." There. Advice and reassurance. Some bugs do this all the time. (It sounds so clunky when he says it.)
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Be stubborn. Hm. I can do that.
Apologies for not waiting to come in. As much as he isn't lingering on it, and as much as they did need to be knocked out of their spiral, they're still rather unhappy they startled him out of bed.
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Another soft little pfeh and Lemm shakes his head, still not looking at them.
"Nonsense. You're -" that sentence sticks, suddenly, and he abruptly changes tack. "I gave you the key, didn't I? S'not like anyone keeps solid hours down here, so any way you look at it it's my own silly fault."
What he can't say, he might communicate. Lemm shifts his arm from under their paw - only to pat them on the head reassuringly.
"And I broke the cup, so don't go apologising for that either." A beat. He tilts his head and stares at nothing, his hand lingering awkwardly between their horns. "Maybe it'll glue. Been here since the previous owner, that set."
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The Knight shakes their head a little. Not his fault.
So not theirs, either. They press their head into his hand more firmly.
...Now that he's brought it up, they want to again. The pieces looked large enough.
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"Ah. I could fix far worse," he brags, naturally, "but a broken blade's worth more to a Relic Seeker than a brand new one, so to speak."
He glances back at their writing again, and looks contemplative.
"...But that was just something that was here when I moved in. Cheap stuff, I've seen others like them in other dwellings. The owner was a tacky sort." Wistfully - or perhaps almost fondly: "I might find the glue."
Lemm pats them once more on the head and eases himself up onto his feet with a decisive sigh.
"Come, you. I've some junk to offload on you, you unlucky little trespasser. Might as well have you pay your dues for breaking and entering."
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Alright, then. The Knight stands when he does, a little slower with all the wriggling it takes to extract them from the pillows.
They look at Lemm and then back to the pile, but--well, if he has something he wants to give them or ask them do, he can sleep after sharing it. Dregs of anxiety sink far beneath curiosity over what he might mean.
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There's still stuff, everywhere, but he's not interested in most of it right now. He puts the metal scuttle on the counter and stands there, facing away, hands flexing restlessly by his sides for just a second, and then steels himself.
"Any of that over there. Rack," he gestures stiffly with his horns without turning around, "chair, pillows. You don't have to take anything, and you don't have to take it now," he adds, and suddenly he goes hunting through drawers because finding some glue for the broken cup is far more important than watching their reaction. "Turns out story shelf is dialectical. Haven't found one that wasn't built-in yet, and I couldn't manage a writing-desk by myself. I'll let you know if I find anything free-standing but you might be better off looking elsewhere..." This trails off into a deceptively irritable sigh.
The metal details of the rack are clean and polished, and it looks like it might hold anything from hats to coats to masks to weaponry - the kind of thing someone puts by a door if they're expecting guests, which Lemm generally is not.
The bar stool has had a couple of parts removed from the bottom to make it sit level without having to be screwed down, and the mechanism that adjusts the height and the way it spins have been oiled so that both work smoothly. It does not have built-in cushioning, which some might find uncomfortable.
The armful of pillows are clean and about as dry as anything gets in the City of Tears, and seem to be from different places so that there are options as far as colour and design go.
Not that Relic Seeker Lemm would spend any of his valuable time thinking about any of this. And certainly not while procrastinating tidying up.
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It's obvious what Lemm is saying here.
Regardless, the Knight's mind clunks the information together, clumsy and slow as a Mossfly realizing it isn't alone. It isn't all their Sibling's lingering lack of agency and desire, either.
These are objects for them. For their house. For them to have, and take, that Lemm paid attention to them possibly wanting, and taking Myla's suggestion. All prepared seemingly well before they came back.
They turn to look at Lemm, carefully busying himself.
And then shuffle over to put their paw on the edge of the stool. Because it's nearest. They don't even think to sit on it, overwhelmed. A significantly better way than how they arrived.
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...And battling a few things.
First is that this isn't how it's supposed to go. People don't come into his shop and leave with things, this feels all upside-down and strange. Leaves him with an uncomfortable itch like he's doing something wrong. But this he can dismiss.
The second thing is the hard bit, and that's where the stiff movements and clumsily-slightly-too-loud shutting of a drawer comes from; it's that this is a gesture, isn't it? And gestures do not go well, usually. But it's the Knight. But they never said they wanted anything. But they are - they are close, aren't they? He just - wanted to.
Lemm finds what he was looking for at the back of a drawer, a flattish tin and a small paintbrush, and he stares blankly at them in his hands for a moment before he realises he's listening. Silly, that. He goes to take his usual seat and doesn't look up, and quietly starts taking out the broken pieces of cup and arranging them on the counter.
What the Knight thinks of a bunch of junk he fished out of a dead city is not his business. If it's damage, it's done.
He clears his throat.
"Pair of tweezers on the shelf over there. Bring them here, would you." In case they need an out.
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They whirl to grab the tweezers, walking past the--the rack. The hat rack, that's included, that they thought he wanted for himself. For hats, coats, umbrellas. They don't have those. No, they have the cloak, don't they. And it's shiny. And the pillows are much more plush than the ones in Dirtmouth. And--
Their movements are jerky and furtive, and they stand staring at the counter before actually remembering to jump up and hand them to him.
All of this is for me? they hunch down and write out, slightly unsteady. They're feeling terribly strange. Not afraid, but it's difficult to look back up--oh.
The Knight can't recall the last time they felt shy.
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"Well -" He stumbles to a very quick stop.
Yes? No? What's the right response here, one that won't get him singled out for doing something strange, something others do but isn't expected from him? Right, he had a line for this already, thank goodness for being prepared.
"Well, I certainly don't want it! Not a single item of historical value in the lot, unless you're talking about the thread count. The metalwork's as generic as it gets. You'd be taking it off my hands, I've too much clutter as-is."
There. Sufficiently haughty and detached and...
Lemm would really like to go back to piecing cup shards together, only he can't seem to move. He just sits there staring at them with the tweezers awkwardly poised in one hand like he's going to do something with them but has forgotten what.
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The cushion is close, but not right where they're standing, so they land on the counter itself instead with a soft thump.
Lemm's dismissive words don't fool them. Even if he only did wish to get rid of it all, he could easily have shoved them to another part of the building, or shoved into a canal. But...he didn't.
Their mask turns towards the clutter that he saw and instead thought of the Knight. He thought of them enough to hunt some of it down, because those pillows along with the hat rack certainly hadn't been anywhere in their previous visits.
They haven't been offered many gifts before. Their house, yes, that, which even now leaves them reeling when they have a moment to dwell. But otherwise...what had they gotten that wasn't intended for another's use, for furthering another's plans, or plucked up by their own paws rather than simply given?
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- probably, their note was them being very polite.
Lemm fidgets with the tweezers. Understandable. Better than taking offense.
He begins piecing together the fragments of pottery, cleaning the spilled tea off each one with a cloth. He doesn't have much to say to that.
"If your hands are feeling steady you can help me fit these together," he mutters guardedly. "If you're looking for something to do. I don't need any favours from you at all, you're not my employee." They're free to go, if they like, without feeling like they have to participate in de-cluttering.
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But.
Magnetized, the Knight's head swivels back to all that stuff. No, they aren't feeling steady enough for that. They haven't for their whole visit, and now for multiple reasons.
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Lemm silently keeps working. What else is there to do? Order them out of his shop so he can drown himself in embarrassment in private?
They could at least stop looking at the stuff like it's going to be a problem. It's not. He's not making it their problem, it was just an offer. It can stay here, he'll deal with it. They don't have to worry about it. None of this makes it out of his mouth.
"You can just say no," he says dully. This does nothing at all for the leaden feeling in his shell, but at least it might move things along.
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