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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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.

Oh, but that feels nice.

They melt into it a little more, until his words properly hit.

They start shaking their head and nearly clip their horns against his face for it, so they pull back just a little to do so harder.

It's not only stuff. They're gifts, and dramatic as it might be, that's important. And he thought they were rejecting it all, so they need to be obvious. The fact they aren't fully letting go, paws and now Shade Wings against him even though it leaves them awkwardly half-clinging, hopefully helps in this impression.

He gives a soft grunt as he flinches out of the way of their horns - watch those, he'd like to scold, if his mind was working properly, but it isn't. It rarely does at times like this.

He tilts his head very slightly as he looks back at them, himself looking strangely subdued. There's very little of a self-reliant business-bug in him here, he's just - searching, softly.

Whatever he's looking for in the Knight's inexpressive face, he seems to find it simply enough.

Lemm shakes his head mutedly and wraps them back up in his arms, taking little notice of the Shade Wings clinging at him. They're part of the Knight; they're not unwelcome.

"Keep coming back," he mutters into their shoulder, and it means something different than it used to. "You've got a key for a reason. And stop listening to me when I come out with rot. I talk a great lot of it."

It's easier to nod pulled against him. He can feel it, surely. They drum their paws against his sides in agreement in case it isn't enough.

They want to do more, still. They want to...explode in a Shriek, which they can't do, and they don't know would truly help. Certainly it wouldn't help both of them, even if they pulled away to keep from doing damage to Lemm and what he owns.

Edited 2023-07-09 03:36 (UTC)

It's a fine answer. In response he settles around them as he did before they pulled away, close and tight and, again, safe. He wants to rub their back, to reassure, to chase off whatever made them so desperate as to look for solace in a grumpy old Relic Seeker's shop of all places. So he does, he can, and he doesn't dread being told to let go.

There are paws around him, too, as far as they can fit anyway, and it serves as a reminder that this goes both ways. Lemm finds himself privately overwhelmed - that this is something he is encouraged to do, something welcome, and that they'd do the same for him.

As it always does when something like this happens between them, the prickly little defensive streak in Lemm shuts up and relaxes, and something pleasantly warm settles in its place.

This is for them this time, and he'll wait until they're ready to pull away properly. Lemm doesn't find himself moodily anticipating that either.

Emotional, overwhelmed, assured even so, the Knight stays there a while.

Sibling, gifts, Lemm. Worries they have. Worries about them. Worries they will tackle as they can. Worries that settle with arms pressing them close, with Lemm's steady breath and pulse (so much softer than the Nightmare's Heart, more noticeable now than before their encounter with it).

They listen. They stop thinking about anything so hard, and just do that. Listen. Breath, pulse, endless rain, gentle together.

Until they start to get heavy.

Literally, from a solid bug-like form to suddenly something entirely full of liquid, sinking down over Lemm's legs, from his arms--

--they jolt and fling themselves back, barely missing the pile of shards as shadows retreat back under their mask.

For a while he thought he might get used to this. Now he's fairly sure he is, or he's getting there. Whatever it is that he can't name them, it clicked into place when he wasn't paying attention, and it makes this so much easier.

It's a while before he takes notice of the way their mask is subtly tilting, the numb-adjacent feeling of Void creeping in as the shape he's holding onto feels bit by bit less solid -

(Lemm holds his position. Perhaps it spooks him, a little. He decides even as he's gingerly loosening his grip around the melting shadow that his nerves should not be their business now, but he steals a glance down.)

- The Knight flinches away from him, and Lemm is cautious not to make a grab this time like he had when they'd spilled the tea.

Hesitantly, he lets his empty hands settle down onto the counter, and he watches them with a carefully-schooled expression, the one that serves as whatever Lemm has that is closest to polite.

"Should I be worried about whatever that was?" First things first.

They sit there for a moment, reorienting.

Alarm belatedly rises, what they could have done--but did not. They hadn't forgotten what they were doing, or where they are. They lean over to look Lemm's shell over, but already, they're not expecting anything. They, the Lord of Shades, didn't feel the familiar dragging that they so feared would cause damage.

The Knight claps their paws on the sides of their mask a few times, shaking their head and semi-rising clarity confirming their suspicions.

I was falling asleep. I believe.

Sorry, they add hasily. They woke Lemm in the first place, and then they nearly sleep on him, literally. That's...embarrassing.

He waits patiently for them to figure out... whatever it is they need to figure out. He is unsettled, but he can't quite chalk it up to abject fear. They've done more frightening things in front of him.

And - importantly, somehow, because not everything is logical - this is his shop.

The Knight looks at him like they expected to leave a mark, and he can't help checking too. All he finds is clean shell. This somehow doesn't surprise him.

Lemm stares at their writing for a short while, betraying nothing.

"Is that so."

Like the pooling Void on the Stagway platform. Lemm considers that. And then he considers the inverse: himself, asleep in the Knight's home. Suddenly embarrassed and not entirely sure why, he averts his eyes and ticks his fingers against the counter.

And then he considers that strange, restless anxiety that had chased him around the City when the Knight declared they'd be going off to some deep, unknown corner of Hallownest to rest there.

Lemm shakes his head, eyes still boring holes down into his countertop. "No harm done."

Good, they write, since he's not looking to see their decisive nod. Confirmation is important.

And then they just sit there, blankly. The only worries in their head are their Siblings', new and old, and are easier to drown out with the sound of rain. Or perhaps their head is full of it.

They shake it, as if it genuinely is, and glance back over at their gifts. Furniture. They can't fit it in their inventory. Not the big ones. Unless they can now? The Lord of Shades can. They...are tired.

I should sleep before flood your shop.

He glances sidelong at their paper, just enough to read, then back at nothing in particular. His hands disappear under the counter.

"Right."

You can sleep here. You should sleep here. There's no room. Is there? I want you to - I would feel better if - it would be safer - Would it? For who?

He starts, and glances around properly, at the clutter, all of it, and the Lord of Shades would never fit in the back room, probably, though from his studies Void is not strictly euclidean -

He looks up reluctantly. "That sounds like a fine idea." What part is he addressing, here. "Don't worry about the - any of that, now. You obviously need to go and get some rest if you're melting on me like that. Leave it here."

Thank you.

...Those aren't enough words.

For the gifts and holding me. It was nice. And they're too tired to be anything but entirely straightforward.

They stand and gesture loosely to Lemm and then to the back room, first. Will he return to sleep? They'd like it if he did.

"Don't mention it," he says passively, much like earlier.

He follows their gesture and doesn't seem to have any good response to it. Whatever is going on internally is rarely the business of anyone else standing in his shop, and he's very good at making sure it stays that way.

Only -

"You could -"

Lemm abruptly stops and shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from the curtained back room and reaching up to scratch restlessly at the fluff around his shoulders.

"It was nice," he re-reads their words out loud, in a way that could be read as sarcastic (but isn't) - because the only way they'll come out is if they feel like they're someone else's. With a herculean effort at finality: "I'd better not find you in a puddle out in the rain."

They gesture to the curtain one more time, but they're not going to keep it up. Perhaps they would in circumstances where they don't have a private worry puddle in the rain may, in fact, be a state they could fall into on the way out.

The Knight steps back over and pats his fluffy shoulder one more time.

It was nice. It's always been nice. They've resolved to do more...physical leaning on before, hadn't they? And this only adds to it.

Fine. Fine, he doesn't talk about his private life but he won't avoid the Knight's question a second time: "Aye. Soon." That's all they're getting, though.

They pat him. His hand stops and falls back into his lap.

Sometimes, self-proclaimed professional Relic Seeker Lemm feels like a foolish old bug whose words don't work and who doesn't know anything. He has done a rather good job of feeling clever and avoiding this until recently, when it's begun sneaking up on him from strange angles.

Feeling out of his depth and with his mind uncooperative, Lemm knows he wants something. A few things. He wants to tell them something he can't even address in his head. He wants to invite the Knight to stay, he wants to be sure they'll be safe, he wants them to...

He wants something to do, that's what he wants. He doesn't really want anything: he just wants something to do. Lemm quietly picks up the tin of glue and unscrews the lid.

"If a stranger did that I'd have their arm off," he mutters. Rather good-humouredly.

It's good they're not strangers, then. They're friends. Friends who give each other gifts, and carefully take note of what they talk about and like. Is that common for friends? They haven't enough experience to know.

The Knight nods seriously to both of Lemm's statements, and very deliberately plants their paw in the center of his forehead.

His hands go still on the glue tin.

Then he sets it down with a quiet sigh, his hand resting loosely over the lid. Distraction immediately derailed, Lemm doesn't look up at them, but his attention couldn't be on anything else.

He doesn't know what that means. He knows what he wants it to mean, more or less. And he's tired of working so hard to convince himself he's wrong, and anyway he's not supposed to do that any more, not since Great Knight Ze'mer's mansion.

Lemm gently takes their hand from his head and holds it between them, and gives it a squeeze.

"I'll tidy," he mumbles cryptically, perhaps to himself. "Off with you, Knight."

A reminder, teasing, both? Even the Knight doesn't know their own impulses' reasoning, but they know they curl their claws to squeeze his back.

They nod as though it was to them, anyway, and reluctantly pull back. (They can't acknowledge that sleeping here is something they really wouldn't mind doing, on some level.)

The furniture hasn't gone anywhere in the moments they weren't looking at it. They turn back towards it all, thinking hard, and stride over the the pillows. Drained and so small, they can't carry much, but they can carry at least one of these, selected for its similarity to the cushion still on his counter.

It disappears under their wings, and they Dash through the room, to the doorway, before they might melt to the floor. (--And that moves them further now, it seems. That's interesting.)

In the doorway, they turn and bow one more time.

A promise, if only to himself. If he can get rid of the extraneous variables - the clutter, the mess, make certain his shop (his home) is presentable, then at least he can offer. Other variables are things he can't account for, which means the nature of Void and the scale of the Shadelord and the Knight's willingness are not his problem. The worst that can happen is refusal. When he offers.

(Next time. Next time for certain - maybe.)

Lemm watches them, returning his hand to the metal tin and rubbing his thumb idly on the lid, noting with amusement that they still take a pillow. He suspects the Shadelord could carry all of it, but the Knight has made it quite clear how they feel about taking that shape in his shop, deliberate or not.

Considerate, as he's previously maintained.

All of this he keeps to himself, just a still shape behind his counter, as ever. Same as he's ever been, despite continuing encounters with the eldritch and familiar.

The bow gets a typical, dismissive little hmph. And a slightly less typical minute dip of the horns. (Mostly the same as he's ever been.)

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