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

[focusedvoid]

Carried away, obviously. The Knight nods slightly. They're not thinking of the back just now; the wall-to-wall relics alone are a hefty indicator.

For a moment, they consider teasing about him ever being as small as them. That wouldn't make much sense, though, and they're not feeling up to humor.

They shrug. The principle is the same.

Although perhaps not now. Later. for time to consider it. We've had a long journey for such a short route.

This particular walk from City of Tears to Dirtmouth has been more emotionally eventful than most full-kingdom circlings.

[capitalcurator]

This, he can agree on. They've barely done all that much travelling and he feels like lead. It has far more to do with the mental than the physical.

Lemm gives an uneven little wave of his hand. "Aye, aye. Not trying to get into it... I'm just saying, that makes two of us."

He registers he's looking at the radishes again when he catches himself zoning out. Maybe it's time he went home and did food. Proper food, instead of grazing on preserves at his desk between translation projects. Might make a change... Didn't he tell himself that last time?

It's just - despite everything that's happened and the concern of overstaying his welcome, Lemm finds himself reluctant to leave.

"One of these days we'll manage to meet without it turning into a theatre production," he mutters. "Looking forward to that." Half a joke, but only half.

[focusedvoid]

They nod, waving a paw in general agreement. And doubt. Hallownest has been a production since they got here, even if currently it's on a less apocalyptical scale now.

Observant as always, Lemm's apparent eyeing is noticed. You can have some if you like. Or I can find something else if you can't digest those. They completely tuned out Cornifer initially offering them.

[capitalcurator]

He shakes his head. "I just ate," he says without thinking, the same answer he gave Cornifer.

...

Maybe it'll still slide past, if he's nonchalant enough about it. He asks another innocuous question to move on.

"D'you have a cycle up here? Time, I mean. Day and night." By the accompanying circling hand gesture, he means the 'royal you'. All of Dirtmouth.

[focusedvoid]

It doesn't.

The Knight stares at him in absolute confusion. They hadn't seen him take anything out of his pack on the way. They remember to tilt their head to express it better. When?

They're slow in answering, so Lemm can have time to explain himself on that.

The sky gets lighter sometimes. Elderbug has a schedule to sleep. I don't know if anyone else does past caretaking shifts.

[capitalcurator]

He turns his head away for a second or two, reassessing, then offers something slightly less like nonsense: "Not hungry, I mean."

Urgh. That excuse always works so easily when he hasn't just spent a long span of time in someone's observant company. Which used to be never.

"Ah. I'd wondered. Not much in the way of rhythm down in the capital either, as we've seen." Their meetings are random and disorderly and completely unscheduled. It's worked so far, and he's not knocking it. "I was wondering if there was a way to tell how long I've hung about in your property. Don't think I ought to get in the habit of imposing, but I've never had much sense of time. My shop closes when I close it."

[focusedvoid]

...Alright, then. They don't know how often he has to eat, so the Knight leaves it. After a few more moments of staring.

I mostly let Cornifer and Iselda set time. I don't have any reason to.

Do you want to get home? they write with a pang.

[capitalcurator]

There is a mild, short-lived flicker of relief when they take to the subject change without pushing further.

The question is unassuming. He stares at it anyway.

"I've nothing pressing to get back for," he says, which is true. "Which is why I'm asking. If you're needing your space you'll have to say so. I'm prone to losing track of time."

[focusedvoid]

They shake their head quickly.

And then hesitate.

They're not wanting space. But they're wanting...they want to stop, for a little while.

Not sleep. Not leave. Just stop.

I don't want you to leave. if you don't. But I'm getting tired of writing.
And I don't want to kick you out when Zote's out there, they add, mustering up a flicker of levity. Even if it's honest.

[capitalcurator]

Proper relief, this time. It wouldn't have done any good to overstay, especially not when this is the first time he's been invited. They still want him here. (After making the mistake with Myla, that concern was somewhat bigger than he'd expected.)

Lemm glances over at Myla, still sleeping. Then back to the Knight.

"You've no need to write a thing, then. We managed just fine before you started pulling out the quill." Simpler times, even.

Wait.

He squints. "Zote was out there?" He glances at the door, this time in bafflement - and then it clicks. "Oh, him! I didn't get a good look. Half a mind to go and rectify that so I know what I'm up against." He's not serious. He is in no mood. Still, worth the return joke.

He waves a hand, then, to indicate he doesn't need further information. Not on Zote. Not on anything, except this.

"I'm - I'd be content to stay. Anywhere you'd rather I sit than here? Wouldn't want to get in your way."

[focusedvoid]

Just fine is a mild overstatement, but they take it gratefully.

They nod and pat the hilt of their Nail. Lemm can use it. ...If he tried, they bet he could split through that Life Ender's shellwood, even without training.

They wave vaguely--they're tired of writing, but they're going to be clear here: Little to get in the way of. Myla sleeps. I wait and listen. You don't need to be quiet.

With that, though, they hop down and flutter over to the cushion half-pile, flopping onto it. With one paw, they shove one of the plushier red ones out for Lemm to sit on or otherwise grab.

[capitalcurator]

That's it, then. He's invited to stay. Easy as that. Somehow he was expecting it to be more of a fumble about.

He stands and goes to fetch his bag - there's a Wanderer's Journal in there that will do nicely as a timewaster - and considers returning to the table, but the Knight is offering a pillow closer to them, and... For now, he's willing to indulge the part of him still making a fuss over how willing they are to share space with him.

Lemm quietly comes over and nudges the pillow into a convenient position beside the pile, and eases somewhat stiffly down onto it, bag set beside him. A Journal is dug out and rested on his lap.

He affords the Knight a glance, just for a moment. He's hard to read with so much still processing, but it's one of the rare times it's an entirely unguarded look. The gist is that it's fond. He's tired enough from today that he can't be bothered to keep that to himself.

Lemm turns his attention down to the text. He gets a few lines in.

"I could read out loud, but I doubt this one's going to be much of an adventure." Just an aside. He's not bothered either way, but his default is silence.

[focusedvoid]

The Knight shifts a little closer when he isn't looking. Not because; they just don't think of it until he's settling in.

They wave vaguely. It's up to Lemm. They're listening, mostly, for threats. Not that there are any in Dirtmouth, but old habits die hard.

Listening for Zote, mostly, as he might actually disturb their guests. Listening for Iselda or Cornifer or Elderbug or Sly, not overly likely to visit, but to wander by. If the winds are low, their sharp hearing can catch bits of conversation that happen by the bench. Iselda and Sly argue sometimes. Iselda argues with Zote more, but she doesn't argue with Zote for nearly as long.

They'd like to see her weapon one day. They presume it's something interesting, and to scale with her height.

[capitalcurator]

He settles for quiet, then.

(He notices that they're closer the next time he looks. He is valiantly pretending he doesn't, because anything that risks the warmth in his chest is not worth addressing.)

He will sometimes read out a line or two, though, even if he doesn't parse the whole thing. Just small fragments here and there, bits that mean something he finds interesting or funny and suspects the Knight might, too. Mostly it's silence, interspersed with rare, short snippets of very quiet, calm commentary.

...His position becomes untenable after a while. Trying not to overthink it, Lemm pauses to scoot backwards until he's resting his back against the pile of pillows. Far more comfortable. That he's a little bit closer to the Knight is a side-effect. He's surprised when he finds that pleasant, rather than a new source of things to worry about.

He sleeps on pillows at home, just like this. The Knight is a comforting presence. The soft whisper of winds is almost a parallel of the rain on the window. Earlier stress falls away, piece by piece.

Feeling pleasantly untethered, Lemm finishes what he's reading and rests the journal against his chest, and just stares quietly at the ceiling. He could get used to this. He'd like to.

[focusedvoid]

When Lemm says something particularly interesting, they motion for elaboration, or pat their stomach with amusement at the funny strange parts. Otherwise, the Knight mostly keeps in place, letting themselves rest. They're already in position to let their head dip down, like a bench. Thoughts about Seer or the Nailsmith or unpleasantly mundane things are easier to skim over and set aside.

It'll be up to Lemm to break the steady, settled silence. The Knight is content.

[capitalcurator]

After a time the journal is slid aside onto the floor and Lemm's empty hands fold over his middle, comfortable and content. In someone else's home. With someone else. Not for business or to settle anything, but to be here. To be present.

With someone else.

His head feels like flaking bark. In a good way.

...A long time passes.

Half-dozing, it feels like the weight of his horns pulls him against the pillows. Lemm quietly pushes forward, up off the cushions, and picks up the journal again to quietly re-read.

[focusedvoid]

At the larger movement, the Knight lifts and turns their head, amused and...not exactly worried. But they think he might be getting bored.

They wriggle a paw at the journal in his hands.

[capitalcurator]

Sluggish, it takes him a moment to register what that gesture means.

"...Just reviewing," he mumbles.

The Knight's home - moreover, the Knight - is quiet, and safe. Soporific as that is, Lemm finds it hard to focus on the text. He settles for staring vacantly down at it instead.

A walk in the Dirtmouth winds would wake him up, but there are people out there. Anyway he doesn't want to. Being half-awake here is pleasant, and newly so. He'll be fine if he stays upright, even if his posture sinks into something that'll have him stiff later.

[focusedvoid]

The mumbling raises them to worry for a lean instant before they realize--he must be tired. This is how Myla's sounded for a while. And setting that aside, Lemm is far, far from the only sleeping bug they've kept watch for.

The couch isn't far, and neither are the blankets hanging off the sides. They nearly stand. But they don't need to do that anymore, even though they're small.

With much shifting of fabric, they reach over with their Wings to half-lift a long, greenish blanket up. Does he want this?

[capitalcurator]

He rubs at his face with one hand, feeling a little foolish. Now that he's stopped to think about it, it's been a long while since he slept; he should have accounted for this, only he'd been stressed, and then the Knight had been a surprise, and then their trip had been a series of distractions. It isn't like he planned to be gone at all, never mind so long.

Dirtmouth isn't the warmest, but he isn't particularly cold, why are they offering him a blanket?

Lemm stares dully at it until it clicks: it is probably an invitation to sleep here.

...Ah. That sends a convenient jolt through his nerves.

He wants to say no, but maybe that would be taken as a rejection of their hospitality? Not worth the risk. Lemm settles for a mild, sideways dip of his horns instead. Kind of a non-answer, but easy to read as a yes. To the blanket. Not the implication.

[focusedvoid]

The Knight reads it as both.

They use the Wings to manipulate the blanket gently from the couch, to avoid bothering Myla--unlikely, Grimmchild moves more, but better to be careful.

And then they drop the blanket on the whole of him, over his head.

Seems they've gotten a little more of their humor back over the break.

[capitalcurator]

Good, that's conveniently vague. He doesn't want to offer a lie, but there's no good way of explaining -

Lemm is smothered in fabric. The idea of an exotic pet having a dark cover thrown over its cage comes to mind, and he gives an annoyed huff as he tugs the blanket away from his face, mindful not to snag it on his horns. (Annoyed, but only in the mild way they'd intended.)

"Pest."

Lemm arranges the blanket more neatly around him. The journal is given up on as quickly as he'd tried it, and dumped on top of his bag again.

Maybe it's strange to just sit there, though. Likely why they'd offered. Reluctantly, Lemm leans back against the pillows again and renews the battle against feeling supremely comfortable.

...He drifts again, for a while. The problem - the only real problem here, if he's honest, is that there are other people in here. This is no one's fault.

[focusedvoid]

To that, they pat their mask. Pest they are.

The Knight is patient. They have no hurry for him to fall asleep, or for Myla to rouse, or for their shift to change.

And they can look inward. They can't as far as they can asleep, but they can better prod their siblings for inside updates: how are things? How is Godhome, is Myla?

The air gets heavier. Without their conscious knowledge, the Shade Wings melt along the edges, curling loosely around the sides of their cushion and the fringe of Lemm's blanket.

Myla's fine. Myla's slapping ripples in the water until they hit the Void, with flair-horn and down-horn siblings doing the same the other way around. Soul-water and Void mix along the half-defined boundary, making pretty swirling angled shapes that they dip a tendril or hand to mix more.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm is about as far from stressed as it gets, content - no, entirely happy just to be here, to be allowed and invited to share the space. There is the fact of being invited to rest in the Knight's home, and the fact their pillow-pile is sending very familiar signals to his head about what he is supposed to be doing.

Lemm flinches awake with an unpleasant gravity-lurch as his mind helpfully pretends he's missed a step. He sighs quietly.

It is a little annoying that in order to be happy sharing space with others, the others actually have to be present. (Nonsense. Nonsense thoughts. He's tired-tired, then.)

It's now that he notices the familiar weight to the atmosphere, and turns his head slightly to check on the Knight. The thought occurs that there might be something wrong, but this is dismissed quickly when they appear to be doing the Vessel equivalent of zoning out.

There is a Shade Wing that has spread itself unknowingly very close to where Lemm's hand rests beneath the blanket. Lemm eyes it cursorily, and decides to pretend he saw nothing. He closes his eyes.

...

He hovers on the edge of sleep for some time, deeply reluctant - but he can't keep it up forever. His limit is lower than he'd like; he's getting older despite his better judgement. Lemm's breathing goes tell-tale steady.

[focusedvoid]

Time passes.

Exactly how much is difficult to measure. Rather more than it took for Lemm to settle. The Knight's shifts are long, but usually Iselda or Cornifer eventually come by to deliver a new meal, or sometimes now, to offer Knight their tiny back-room kitchen.

The Knight is lightly startled into straightening when a voice pipes up from the couch before that can happen.

"Um, she g-gave me a flower?"