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]

Returning to the role of a scholar is like stepping back onto solid ground. This at least he's experienced in.

Lemm picks a quill out of his rolled map, spreads a couple of references on the floor, and beckons for them to put their paper down as well.

Ze'mer's style of script is too affected to be written that way on a grave - they'll need a standardised version. Lemm kneels, leaving space for the Knight to watch, and constructs the symbols far more cleanly and legibly on their notepaper.

"Leave that honorific out," he adds, tapping what looks like some kind of complex little accent mark in Zemer's version. "We don't want to imply every passerby might address her as... my dearest, loosely said. There, now. D'you think you can manage that?"

...Just in case, he adds the Mantis version a with a little less ceremony. The Knight might as well have both, if only for their own interest.

[focusedvoid]

The Knight crouches on the floor, intently studying his writing before pulling the paper back and copying it just below. They leave the accent off, as he said. (Since everything Ze'mer wrote included that, the name looks bare and short without it.)

Working carefully and without playing around with size or tendrils, their usual calligraphy is functional enough it's understandable. The Mantis script, at the least, looks fine to their eye.

They still glance up to Lemm to check its acceptability.

[capitalcurator]

They've filled pages with neat and legible writing before and a lot of it is sitting in his desk at home. Of course they wouldn't struggle with copying one unfamiliar name down. Still...

He still has one foot in the emotional sea right now and thus is far, far too late to mask his pride by the time they look up.

"Serviceable enough. You'll be steadier before you put it anywhere permanent, I'd imagine." He nods approvingly. "As expected."

[focusedvoid]

They can't show their surprise, or how pleased that pride makes them, in more than a deeper nod before they write.

Thank you. I'll practice. They'll need to in writing and through carving words in the gravestone. There's nowhere to do it in this Mansion, but there's plenty of various stone types throughout Hallownest to work on, and a blade that seems incapable of dulling. They'll manage.

On the subject of writing--they turn and flutter back onto the bed, dashing and fetching the quills in great pawfuls, ruining the organization of that as well to hold out for Lemm. Look, they're beautiful. Surely he must want at least one?

[capitalcurator]

"You know where to find me if you want advice." He liked it well enough when it was just Greenhorn asking random questions. It feels surprisingly rewarding to teach things. Careful, Knight, before all visits to his shop turn into lectures.

"What're you - oh? Careful with those!"

Lemm is immediately keen to see the quills. He rather overlooked these before, deeply distracted from his usual tendencies by questions like what do you mean you can die over and over? and other such troublesome things. It's not the case now. He doesn't think twice before drawing one of the quills from their grip, balancing it horizontally on his fingertips.

"Look at the weight of that! Barely makes a difference, of course, but it was the prestige you cared about back then. What is that grip, shellwood?" He tilts the Knight's grip slightly to get a better look at some of the quills. "I'd bet good Geo the making of that one had a smith involved, look at the metal and the etching on the nib..." A pause. "Reminds me of your Nail. I wonder if that's how they balance these things?" Another pause. His hands reluctantly retreat. "I don't suppose you'd...? I'll pay well, of course."

Yes, hello, he is still dense.

[focusedvoid]

The Knight tilts their head at him exaggeratedly. You just watched them pick these up, Lemm. Even if they weren't shoving them in your face, they don't have much claim to these.

They set the rest of the quills flat on the bed, drawing the rose-gold one they find their favorite and disappearing it under their wings. Then they deliberately jump to the floor before waving back at them all.

They'll write it out if they must, but hopefully this is obvious enough.

[capitalcurator]

Yes, he watched them pick those up. If he'd found them first there wouldn't even be a question of giving any to anyone -

- Oh, no, he's wrong, yes there would. He's already made similar exceptions. He even has a game set in the shop with their name on it.

"...Ah." He'll get the hang of this whole mutual friendship thing eventually.

Tempting as it is to just scoop all of them up, the Knight made a single choice, so he'll respectfully follow by example. He tries a few in his hand to admire the quality, but eventually he's magnetically drawn back to the one made to look Nail-like. This one is selected and tucked into the roll of his map with his original quill.

"Thank you. If it still works it'll see some use from me, I'm sure. As a Relic Seeker I'm too used to the finders-keepers rule." His tone is a tad humorous when he adds: "Of course you wouldn't tell from the moment you walked in my shop, would you?" Hands off, not for sale, etc.

[focusedvoid]

If he likes. They'll leave these lying where they are if either of them want to retrieve more, or perhaps for some other enterprising explorer. They have some doubts of that. The drop into the tunnel through a crypt alone is quite unnerving, and not all seem to have their own lumafly lanterns.

The Knight answers with a nod, and a question they wouldn't have let themselves ask just a room ago pops up behind their mask.

Has anyone tried to buy something back or steal it? They don't expect much robbery in the middle of Hallownest's ruins, but perhaps before...?

[capitalcurator]

Lemm isn't stressed by the question, nor that they're asking, but he does sigh in undirected annoyance.

"I've sent a fair few packing, if that's what you're asking!" ...He does not need to be quite so evasive about it. A little more of the truth is probably fine. "I'll tell you what I told Greenhorn: things come and go. I'm no fighter, even if I know the weight of a Wanderer's Journal well enough. Sometimes you let a few things go, if it means you get to keep your horns."

He makes for the door - they've about exhausted this room unless they want to hang around reading heaps of poetry. He'd like to see what other curiosities the Grey Mansion has in it.

"What about you? I'd bet no one could match your Nail, but everyone starts somewhere."

[focusedvoid]

The surging desire to use that Nail on those thieves nearly trips them up into an abrupt stop. They weren't certain what they were expecting, and tamp down on that anger until it's well and comfortably buried before starting up again.

Lemm is followed quietly for a bit as they think.

Wasteland bandits tried to rob me a few times. I sometimes fought and sometimes allowed them, as there was nothing but my Nail to find in the first place.

One group thought me a feral grub. Multiple, actually, but some of those stories go back to a time that still shames them. They're not going to tell that tale today. Decided to keep and 'raise' me.

[capitalcurator]

He walks slow, automatically accommodating for their having to walk and write. Bandits he's familiar with, though most of them were easy to trick into thinking he wasn't worth the fuss he would make. It occurs to him now the same is not necessarily true of someone the Knight's size. (There is a similar urge in Lemm to crack a few shells, not that he's fool enough to think he'd be capable.)

"...How awkward. Took your Nail, did they?" It's the only logical step. Lemm can't imagine the Knight wouldn't have started whacking, otherwise.

[focusedvoid]

They tried. They were impressed how well I fought without biting.

The leader had recently laid a clutch, and I believe he was trying to use me as 'practice'. It didn't really work out. I mostly spent time guarding the eggs and playing bait.

They automatically turn into the next room, dimly aware it's some sort of art gallery with thoughts caught in the past. It was a long time ago.

[capitalcurator]

There's something about the decor in here, but he's been distracted looking down at the Knight's paper.

"I see. You took to the role of a guard quite well though, it sounds like." He looks a little amused, though not for the reasons they might think. "Believe me, no one likes a biter."

Lemm looks up. And stops.

Well, first of all, the craftsmanship is exquisite, he knows that much. It's just hard to tell what the sculpture actually is, because it's one of those visual nothings that is meant to evoke an impression. In old Hallownest they called it modern, maybe.

He tilts his head on its side.

Ah. That is not modern anything. That is a visual something, actually. That is several visual someones, in fact, and they are certainly evoking some kind of impression.

"Oh good grief."

[focusedvoid]

They give a small shrug. The group wasn't too unreasonable, for bandits, and they didn't have more pressing goals.

They consider writing as much when Lemm exclaims. Nothing threatening by tone, they tense nonetheless, looking to see what he sees.

Ah. The Knight relaxes, amused.

I don't believe butterflies can actually bend like that. The one in the middle, they mean, seated on the face of a lanky-looking beetle, arching backwards to press antennae and mouth against another butterfly attempting something similar. The wings that can't fold down very much make the image as a whole confusing.

[capitalcurator]

"Ordinarily I would agree," he emphasises, "but this one is very convincing."

He sidesteps around the sculpture, lifesize though it is, and tries to turn around only to clonk his horn clumsily against another statue. He flinches back and in doing so gives himself a wider view of... two wasps of some type utterly foreign to Hallownest, their etched stripes filled in with some kind of expensive black resin - he is almost impressed by that until he registers just where they both have their mandibles.

Lemm's hand curls into an affected fist and this presses perplexedly to his mouth. He glances back at the Knight.

[focusedvoid]

The Knight does a half-step in his direction, still eying the butterflies, admiring the strange coloration of their wings before they turn around as well.

They meet Lemm's gaze before they see what he's standing next to. Wasps, playing with each others' stingers--or ovipositors?

I hope nobody posed for that one.

[capitalcurator]

Watch! You can see the understanding dawning on him in real-time as his composure cracks down the middle like a glacier.

(- Oh, stop!) He flaps at the paper, batting it out of his view, and turns away.

No, there's nothing inherently wrong with a bit of erotica, and no, this is hardly the first time he's run into any, because he's a historian - as far as the term will run, anyway.

But places with as much Geo to burn on frivolity as Hallownest are few and far between. It is impressive how much is here.

"Well!" he starts, retreating from a wall of paintings of... it's art. It's art. Never mind the ants performing a frankly non-euclidean mass union in the top left. "I'd say we've covered what's in here. Fascinating. I think I saw some other room down the hall. Knight?"

[focusedvoid]

You don't want to study Ze'mer's tastes? Perhaps of the other Great Knights as well?

They're teasing, but do gesture to the other side of the room--there are good-sized chairs by some dusty tables, possibly for sitting and discussing, possibly for more active viewing. They could be for any sort of visitor, but at least one seems enough to support the entirety of Hegemol's armor.

Still, the Knight politely shadows his steps after that, unsurprised by the discomfort. He warned them about the Pleasure House, after all.

war

[capitalcurator]

"Do I-?" he splutters.

The problem is they do make a good point. The problem is admitting he's embarrassed would be a slight against Relic Seeker integrity! ...The problem is the art here is very good.

He hrrms under his breath, reluctance written into his posture, and stops and spins to face them, arms folded.

The problem is they have just told him they do not take keenly to being treated as anything but an adult, and Lemm may have been projecting a little bit, sometimes. Alright, then.

"...You know, you're quite right to ask." He clears his throat. "When I say mid-fleogean abstract, does anything spring to mind?"

[focusedvoid]

They halt, slightly startled. Apparently their teasing was seen as more of a challenge than intended.

Far be it from them to back down, though, or at least rudely cut off a good Lemm outpouring of information.

Abstract art tends to look well away from anything realistic. However, I'm unaware of the first term.

[capitalcurator]

This is absolutely going to embarrass Lemm more than it's worth. Still - they've challenged him on his interests and he won't stand for it. Sacrifices must be made.

"If it were any other movement you'd think so. Every culture develops art in a way they see it best, though the ones doing the naming often don't learn until later. Come over here."

He beckons the Knight to the seating area and leads the way there - but he doesn't sit. Instead Lemm gestures across the room to a small sculpture on a plinth. It's pockmarked in strange little diagonal impressions, like it's been criss-crossed with the tip of a chisel, and the whole thing takes a bizarre shape in loops and twists.

"You must have met a few with compound eyes. Any thoughts?"

[focusedvoid]

They follow in what's now the opposite direction as requested, bemused and amused in equal measure. If he insists.

The Knight decides use the nearest seat anyway, fluttering up to get a better angle. It's silkier than it looks, and they need to hastily overcorrect to not slip. The cushions must have been imported right from Deepnest.

I presume someone with such would be able to see another smutty image better than you or I in that?

[capitalcurator]

Lemm automatically sticks a hand out in their direction like he's about to push them back into place if they actually slip off - they're fine, though, so his hand returns to his side.

"It's probably safe to assume, yes. We won't get the full... urgh, benefit, but stay here and tilt your head..." Lemm stares at the thing and experiments for a moment. "...That way. No, wait, that way."

He walks backwards away from the table for a short moment so that he can indicate the angle to them with his arm.

"And don't blame me for the Great Knight's tastes!"

Then he turns, approaches the plinth, and fiddles with what look like ornamental plates on the sides.

They slide up to reveal the inner sides are reflective - the surfaces are broken up into many tiny angles that sit around the back of the statue like a hall of mirrors, breaking up the reflection and... rearranging it a great deal.

[focusedvoid]

The Knight tilts their head this way and that, amusement only growing. They don't doubt him, but still aren't seeing much. They could possibly try to stretch their perception. Sadly, it's that the artist accounted for sight changed by ascended Void.

Don't worry. Ze'mer has tastes far from unusual, only geo amounts that are. They hold up the paper so they don't need to move away from their spot.

With that adjustment, they can sort of tell what's happening better. Nearly. No wonder it was difficult to figure out--Hallownest isn't the type to find much necessity in clothing, and this seems to depict someone holding up the skirt of a dress as though it's taboo.

[capitalcurator]

"Yes, as I'm steadily finding out!" he responds, only a little disgruntled. There are certain things about the Great Knights he did not set out to learn, or consider too heavily that he might. He should have, really, as soon as he saw the Pleasure House.

After some fumbling around Lemm finds a catch to lock the panels in place, and makes his way back to the seating area. He leans an elbow on the table and turns to look, horn angling sideways.

"...S'a bit tame, isn't it?" It's not as wet-and-wild as he was expecting, is what he means. "Ugh, I can't make out the details. I'm sure they've used a real style of dress, there..." He waves a hand as if clearing some mental fog and sighs. "Anyway, you don't get art like this commissioned unless you've got the eyes for it, it's too hard to explain what you're after and the sculptor's got to be skilled."

He pauses.

"What d'you think that says about her?"