voicetest the voiceless

[focusedvoid]

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.

Comments

[capitalcurator]

He's not sure how to react. But rather than lapse into his personal safety of prodding too far with questions or being too dismissive, he makes himself stay silent.

They want the picture? He studies their claws as they reach up. They're hesitating: no. They don't want the picture?

They're siblings, as the Knight put it. Lemm knows that to mean there's a connection. It's so uncertain here. He does not have context, vital context, he needs so much more to make any kind of decision -

- this is not his decision to make. He is not on an expedition alone; he is with the Knight, and they have their own thoughts. Lemm is not the only one who gets to make decisions. Not like always.

He studies the Knight carefully, no longer looking at the picture at all.

"D'you want this?"

[focusedvoid]

Yes. No. Maybe.

For a while, they stay standing there with their claws clutching the edge as if stuck tight.

But they're not. It's a simple movement to let go, allow their arm to drop to the side. Their discomfort over that is foolish. It's only a picture. A rare picture, probably one-of-a-kind. Still only that. Their real sibling is in Deepnest, and they swear that's where they'll go next, no matter their potential frustration with Herrah.

I don't know. I Maybe. I didn't was startled to see this them.

They nearly add they have nowhere to put it, but that's not true anymore. They have a house. They can hang anything they like on the walls. But that means anyone who goes in can see it.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm waits a little while, even after he's read their stuttering reply, just in case they amend anything else.

Eventually he looks back up at the picture, and his reply is... practical. Unassuming. Very Relic Seeker-like.

"I could hold it for you in the back room. S'not like I don't have the space."

It is easier to be clinical and offer a solution than to ask them why they're so hesitant.

"Could pick it up on the way out."

[focusedvoid]

They shake their head sharply before stopping, dipping their head. They hold up a paw. They...let them think about it.

Their initial disagreement is fear of the picture being destroyed by the City's many water leaks, which helps them decide their own internal state a little more. They must want it. It's unlikely, Lemm has his own objects he doesn't want destroyed, it would be safe. But it's still...they want it. They don't want to leave it here.

Thank you. but I'll take it elsewhere. On the way out.
If you wish to study it you should do so now. I don't know why but I feel uncomfortable with others looking at this. At them like this.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm nods. He looks up at the picture.

And immediately down at his feet.

The quiet little rule he's following, about what the Knight doesn't want him to pay attention to or ask questions about...

The wish to study, to draw conclusions, and all this by having - it is all tucked under a rug until the embers extinguish, no matter how they protest.

Lemm shakes his head and turns, almost nonchalantly, to Dryya's portrait. "What'd you see in this one?"

[focusedvoid]

They're faintly surprised he's not taking that chance, but too shaken to question it much, and latch onto the next question tightly.

Great Knight Dryya. It looks like she's holding her weapon, unless it's a prop. Unlike her corpse outside the White Lady's abode, she has a thin Nail. Thin enough they have doubts of its effectiveness.

[capitalcurator]

There's only the two of them here. They have time. If the Knight changes their mind, they're not likely to come back and find it gone.

Great Knight Dryya.

She - her armour is -

He can't focus. He commits her likeness to memory and nods, hoping he looks thoughtful enough to give himself a little time to actually think. The Knight was troubled by the last picture. Their garbled sentencing told him that much, and it sits in his head like a thorn.

...

Lemm shakes himself, rattled though he is, and with much steadier hands he mimics the position she's holding the Nail and nods.

"Either she fenced, or it was a lance," he concludes, patting his hands together decisively. "Either way, she didn't fight like you. Stabbing and puncturing. Less of this," he adds, and swishes his hand very half-heartedly, just to punctuate.

[focusedvoid]

He seems uncomfortable. They are uncomfortable and may or may not be projecting. The Knight forces their legs into moving in the direction Lemm was going in the first place.

The Mantis Lords have lances. Their handles are longer. The Mantis Lords and Traitor Lord also had blades that seemed to be spellwork of wind or were moving too fast to see. The Traitor Lord's attacks were fueled by Infection and rose in waves.

This is information disconnected from their current subject, but perhaps fitting in the home of the lover of the Traitor Lord's child.

[capitalcurator]

Ah, good! Something to ease the discomfort: information that is not related to anything about the Knight or Lemm or their lives or. Whatever.

"Ah. You can't tell - the edge of Dryya's weapon is cut out of the frame." He is talking as fast as they wrote. Maybe they'll both put the strangeness behind them that way! "You talk about spells like you're familiar. Surely you must be."

There is a door on his left. When he pushes it gently open the room beyond is dim: the lumaflies in the chandelier have dulled somewhat, and there are curtains drawn tight over what might be windows to the barren expanse outside. There is just enough light to see the carpet of letters over the room, over the curtained, four-postered bed (made, but not well).

Great distraction for them both.

"Her room, I think." Lemm gestures ahead.

[focusedvoid]

I learned some from Snail Shamans. One in particular. The others were dead but present enough to be learned from.

I battled the Lords each. The Mantis Lords are three sisters and barred the way to Deepnest unless I won against them and so I did. They had a treaty with Hallownest. The Traitor Lord was blocking the way through the Queen's Gardens. Their brother.

They don't look up until Lemm gestures, and--ah. Yes. That is a great amount of writing to distract them, enough they edge carefully into the room to avoid stirring much of it up.

Beside the bed, there's a strange...something, hanging from the ceiling. They eye it for a moment before realizing. A Mantis hammock.

[capitalcurator]

"Spellcraft is a bit beyond someone like me, but I've heard of the Snail Shamans..."

The Mantis stuff is interesting. Relevant even, if the Grey Mourner courted one in her private life.

"The Traitor Lord being the one who took the Mourner's love with him. I wonder how the other three Lords felt about that. Or if they knew at all." He steps carefully between the papers on the ground and gives the room a once-over, his hand straying to run lightly over the edge of the hammock material, and it takes him a moment to register what it is. Other bugs than a Mantis weave hammocks, though this one's more vertical than he's used to. It's in a bedroom, though, so the dots are not difficult to connect. "...Ah, I see. Can't abide these myself..."

A lot of these papers look a little less ancient, and thus less likely to crumble than the ones in the study, and Lemm will get to those in a moment. First he heads to the bay windows, where there's a kind of ledge seating area, and pulls open the curtains. There's not much light out there to let in, and the view is... a little depressing, honestly.

He gives up and pulls out his lamp.

[focusedvoid]

I'm stronger than I was and should not demonstrate inside. Later if you want to see.

They could ask the Lords. They could bring a list of questions from Lemm, as with Ogrim. It's possible they could get a response, though they might need to duel for one.

...Unless it's too much a secret, or taboo. The Traitor's Child didn't so much as get a name on her grave, and they can't imagine the Traitors being lucid enough to carve such a thing even if they were proud of their status. Unlikely.

The Knight stands under the hammock and puts a paw under it, to see if they feel anything inside. There only seems to be a weight of a pillow, or something similarly soft.

[capitalcurator]

"Eager to show off, are you?" He's teasing a bit. He'd be eager to watch, not that he expects to learn much outside of 'what the Shade Lord can do'. "Yes, I would."

Lemm doesn't hesitate before going in to scoop up a few letters. The Knight said they met her, and it could be considered a bit off for him to be going through her personal effects - but they led him here, and they knew he'd be interested. Any concerns about this are far from his mind.

"I'll say this for the Great Knight: her writing is a marvel to look at. Doesn't make translating any easier, though." He holds up his lamp and peers a bit closer at the pages he's holding. "Poetry...? Poetry... Poet- ah, no, this one's a letter. And she signed it, I think, but it's very smudged. Find me a clearer signature."

[focusedvoid]

More eager to shake off their still-clinging tension, but that's hardly incorrect. They were already significantly pleased with their Dive and the Shriek. All of them, really. It would be interesting to see how they look from the outside, changed or not.

They nod and start checking. Being significantly smaller than Lemm--several of the papers are literally the size of their body--and not wanting to put them away, they make do with pushing the papers apart into somewhat-neat rows on the floor.

There is absolutely too much poetry. It's normal poetry to some with drawings of flowers and the King's symbol (cursed sign, even here?) to mushrooms of the Fungal Wastes around the edges. She was probably a better wordsmith than artist, though the Knight isn't one to understand the former, even when they can read the language.

Eventually--another letter, writing they can't quite read but seems clean enough. They lift it up sharply, enough to make surprising noise in the silent house. Look, does this work?

[capitalcurator]

Lemm wanders among the paper, stooping to pick up anything that looks simpler at first. He is working very hard to pick this up as he goes. It's lucky he has the head for it - and he's helped a lot by reading so many different Hallownest dialects and having other references to draw on from his time before. There's a lot to work with despite her flowery language. He'll be missing a lot of nuance, but that's fine.

The Knight's letter is plucked out of their grasp, and he skips straight to the end.

"Le... Didn't you say she called you Le'mer? This doesn't make sense."

He squints a bit harder.

"Oh. My mistake! That's not what that symbol is. Ze'mer, I think. Great Knight Ze'mer."

[focusedvoid]

Ze'mer. That seems...possibly right. As Lemm says, that sounds like what she called them. It could be a title of some kind? But Great Knight Ze'mer sounds more fitting as a whole.

...They might've been thinking this over for too long.

Ze'mer. I think that's right. It's been bothering me enough I'll keep looking to make sure.

[capitalcurator]

It's hard not to interpret that as distrust in his translation ability, and they get a little bit of ire with this: "That's what it says."

Lemm is distracted reading through the rest of the letter, mostly just to prove he can. The syntax is a challenge. He thinks he's getting it, though.

"There are Mantis words mixed in here! No wonder I was having trouble. It's the script - makes it look wrong." He takes another pass. "This one's... a lament written after the fact. Never meant to be sent or exchanged, I shouldn't think."

[focusedvoid]

A pause occurs from Lemm's annoyance. They thought he'd want to look at more of the Mourner's history--ah. Perhaps they shouldn't seem to doubt him.

Then it must be her name. It would be strange to give her late lover a title back.

Is that name there as well? She deserves more than the moniker of Traitor's Child. For at least someone yet alive to know. If they're thinking of their sibling as well as genuine sympathy for that one, it doesn't need to be said.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm picks up another sheaf of notes that the Knight piled up. He skims these, too, and his tone is far less prickly this time.

"You're absolutely right. And if their courting was so frowned upon, I'd find some satisfaction in knowing, wouldn't you? Yet more of Hallownest's history someone tried to bury!" Not the Pale King this time, but apparently just as shameful in Lemm's opinion.

Scan for another name he does. Several times he thinks he finds one, only to backtrack and figure out from context that it means something vaguer like my love or turns out to be some floral pet name.

"I'll need time. So much of this is steeped in the frilly language of a lover I'm finding it exceptionally hard to - what does that mean." Lemm scrutinises one of the letters very closely, and rereads something several times. The paper is jerked away from his face very suddenly, and he looks scandalised. "Oh, you can't say that..."

[focusedvoid]

Meanwhile, they continue putting the papers into neat rows. It gives them something to do, and will leave more places for both of them to step.

Their judgement of Ze'mer's poor drawing was possibly cast too early. Yes, many of them are questionable, but the shape of mantis' claws and not-so-Delicate flowers are better, more practiced.

The exclamation has the Knight pausing in their paper-pushing, looking up expectantly. It seems he's found something important on his own. Or at least attention-grabbing.

[capitalcurator]

Alas, there could be a name in there. Lemm struggles to the end of the letter with the helplessness of someone who's already started a task and has little choice but to finish it.

He becomes abruptly aware that the Knight is looking at him, double-takes, and then flags the paper at them scoldingly.

"Now you be mindful what you look at in here! It seems Great Knight Ze'mer had an - an imagination." His eyes stray back to the page just to reconfirm what a couple of words seem to be implying, and then he just shakes his head. "Er - she called her something I can only take to mean 'fragile one'. Look for a symbol that looks like -" he almost shows the Knight the paper, thinks better of it, and manages to snatch up a different one instead "- this, here, the looping bit. It's likely anything with that symbol will be addressed to her, and we'll have better chances of finding a name."

[focusedvoid]

The Knight cottons on quickly. It's one of those times where it's lucky for all parties they can't show amusement without intention.

Could she be calling her 'Delicate Flower'? That was what I was asked to bring to her. There are none in the greenhouse now, but the lights nearby look like them.

It would be a strange term of endearment for a mantis.

If they're right, perhaps that was the point. Traitors or tribe, they don't seem the type built for gentleness.

[capitalcurator]

He compares the writing on both, distracted from the somewhat more romantic aspects of the text and zeroing in on semantics.

"...That could be it. But it's written as a single word in her mother language, and I've no hope of pronouncing it without a guide." He hums interestedly. "Could be it's the real name of the flower."

The Knight is as observant as ever, and Lemm is once again leaning on their prior knowledge. He actually doesn't mind it.

"I'd imagine it was quite strange. There's something to be said for the vulnerability," this is as tactful as he gets, because the text he's just read was implicit of a very specific kind of vulnerable, "and that could've been the point. Gah! Don't make me read into this. Skimming was enough."

The offending paper is slapped down on the end of Ze'mer's bed.

"Anyway wherever Great Knight Ze'mer and her flowers were from, it's nowhere I've been. Must've been quite the task for you if you cleared out the garden, though."

[focusedvoid]

They track the paper with a tilt of their head, faintly wishing they could read it. Flirty and smutty types of writing aren't that interesting, but Lemm's obvious disquiet leaves them wondering without wanting to push.

The last bit is enough to refocus them on a more comfortable topic for them both: annoyance.

They fell apart if anything hit me. Anything. I couldn't take the Stag, either. I believe I called them 'Delicate' rather than anyone else informing me a name. I was perpetually surprised there were any left after the dozenth try.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm can't help but be a little bit amused. Here is something the Lord of Shades couldn't do, he thinks.

"You had your work cut out for you."

(He can read that annoyance. Lemm has watched them write enough now that it's like picking up nuance in speech, and he thinks he sees them pressing just a little bit harder into the page. He's rarely picked up on this kind of thing in times past, but here they are.)

Lemm quirks his head slightly to one side in what might have been an amused laugh if he were the type, and just sets to wandering through the papers, peering down at them with one hand idly combing his beard, looking for a name.

"You managed, didn't you? I can't imagine what that would be like, but it says a lot about you, you know."

Maybe that's too far. They aren't a passage in a historical carving and he'd never think of stating his take-away understandings directly to any of the figures he's studied before. But it's positive? He hopes it's positive.