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 was reasonably expecting that not to solve much, and it doesn't seem to disappoint him so badly.

"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."

But they'll still think like that. They can feel their Sibling's desperation, and they don't know what will dissuade them--

--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.

He very pointedly does not pull away. He does glance down, just for a split second, like he's trying not to get caught in the act of looking, but it's brief.

"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.)

Lemm seems unbothered by the touch. So they let it stay, firmly slamming their concerns about that away. They just said he's one with a clear head; if he didn't want them to be doing so, they'd be shooed off. He isn't made of glass. The Knight isn't, either, no matter how shattered they felt stumbling their way in.

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.

Oh, he can't believe they let that slide. People say those sorts of platitudes all the time, but he could never quite understand why. He still sort of doesn't, but less so.

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."

He's trying, and he's...likely not wrong. They panicked. This feels so much bigger than they are, but wasn't it just the same, after they thought they might've ruined Myla's mind?

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.

Edited 2023-07-06 20:17 (UTC)

His hand stays where it is. It's almost like he's forgotten where he's put it, only that can't be true because he obviously felt them push back.

"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."

They feel insulted on these hypothetical blades behalf, somehow, even as they know it's nonsense on multiple levels. They brush it off. They know what he means, and that bragging is obviously genuine.

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.

Lemm stoops to take up the scuttle holding the broken pieces, and steps out through the curtain.

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.

It could be a good thing he's not looking for their reaction, because their initial one is...nothing. Outwardly, they're just motionless at the edge of the room, staring at the middle of it all.

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.

Lemm doesn't turn around, so there's nothing really to see there. He is busy. Looking for glue.

...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.

It's more than they've ever been given before. Nearly a literal wall of gifts.

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.

Lemm admittedly wants to hide under his desk. They had the right idea, actually. He takes the tweezers and ticks them together in his fingers as he squints at their writing.

"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.

The Knight sits down.

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?

Lemm knows their tells, but not all of them. And there's context to be considered, which is that they're stressed, their actions are going to look clunky anyway, that doesn't tell him much. And he has just tactlessly offered several things they never asked for and he doesn't make a habit of giving. And they're not reaching for a pen and they don't seem to be getting up again to go and deal with any of that so -

- 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.

They could. They tip their head towards the shards, because they do want to help.

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.

Never mind the desk, he wishes the ground would eat him.

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.

Their head snaps back around at him, aghast. They snag the quill to scribble out their thought:

Why would I

Lemm scans their writing in a flash, and gestures irritably - one hand free, the other pinching a shard of cup between the tweezers.

"I don't know! Why would I know?" He jabs the tweezered shard in their direction accusingly, like they're the one being unreasonable and not him. "I'm not in the habit of giving things away, how should I know what you'd want? It stands to reason..."

He falters, registering what their words actually imply. And he retreats a bit back into himself, suddenly feeling very awkward.

"I don't know," he repeats lamely. But he understands, now. Mostly.

There's been an obvious miscommunication, and the Knight...

...is exhausted.

Their head sinks to peer back down at the paper, questions and confusion and upset and shock swirling wildly along with the more positive this is for them behind their mask, and none of it forms into something they can transcribe with ink.

He fidgets with the tweezers a bit longer, managing not to stare at them and instead staring down at the desk instead. Then he glances back over at the things he salvaged for them.

(Looted is a dirty word, but it's hardly that. Technically the Kingdom is the Knight's to pick at, he's basically sanctioned to recycle if it's for them. Reasoning, reasoning, reasoning. With a little sprinkle of kidding himself.)

"Handle twists clockwise under the seat. Thought you might use the extra height." Lemm sets down the tweezers and mimes this vaguely.

He folds his hands in front of his face, and sighs.

"Thought, actually, it might take your mind off a few things. You'll tell me if I'm misstepping."

They nod vigorously. Yes, they would. If they hadn't wanted any of it, they would have been far more clear.

All those things. All those gifts--why, Lemm, would they have ever refused?

They should ask, but they're staring at it all again. They tear their gaze away. They should say something.

Yes. And it's worked. Thank you. The last words are underlined multiple times, but that's not enough. They need to...explain. Say more. Something. Do not speak, whispers their Sibling's voiceless resignation again, but no, it's not anywhere near that. Their mask is going to burst open all on its own with how much is going on within it.

Words are fine only when they work.

The Knight stands and steps around the shattered pieces, holding their arms out loosely.

He'd like to come across as above this sort of anxiety, but Lemm's gaze snaps down to study their next words with subtle intensity. There is a shift in his expression, and in the way he's sitting - less tense, if barely noticeable to begin with - and he looks down at his latest task again.

With the doubting part of him sufficiently quelled, Lemm slips neatly back into the mask of stoicism. He's just a shopkeeper doing a favour for an acquaintance. These things happen all the time. (The pretense that they'd be doing him a turn is, too, dropped, now that he doesn't need to hide behind it.)

"Don't mention it." There is the soft clinking of shards being arranged by fitting edges. "I mean that. I don't need anyone thinking I give things away. Getting other bugs to understand the business - and me - is hard enough as it is. I don't want a reputation for being approachable, it leads to trouble and expectations and I'll have no part of it. ...Ugh, come here," he sighs.

He stops fiddling with the pieces and leans forward far enough to tuck his arm around the Knight's back, sweeping them close, after knowingly making them wait for him to finish talking. His other arm folds around them in a tight squeeze.

The Knight sinks into his hold, face resting flat against his shell.

They know. Gifts aren't something anyone would do for just anyone else, and certainly not Lemm. It just makes it hit all the harder, that he chose to.

How absolutely taut they were holding themselves is only realized when they loosen in Lemm's arms, melting. Somewhat literally, Wing-tips unspooling to hang off them without much notice.

It is all too easy to do this. All things considered, hugging the Knight has felt jarringly ordinary. Good grief, but they're leaning on him - Lemm adjusts his hold, learning on the fly - how they fit, how this works. He's getting better at it. Less stiff, at least.

"Easy," he hears himself say, a little softer than he means to. He didn't expect them to come apart like that. "It's only stuff. Not even valuable stuff, at that. Don't make this dramatic, Knight."

As much as he sounds like he's trying to persuade them into retreating, he isn't actually letting go. If anything he just holds a little tighter. (Safe. He can't solve their problems, he knows he is terribly small in the face of them, but he is here and he is bigger than them right now and he will make them safe.) He tucks his face in and sighs against their shoulder; unwittingly, one hand begins rubbing their back lightly back and forth.

Words are only fine when they work, and the thing is that the Knight has become something he can't name out loud.

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