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]

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?"

[capitalcurator]

He snores, a little. It's quiet. Other than that, he barely moves save for a moment where he shuffles deeper into the blanket, hiding his face from the light.

The sound of a voice pulls him abruptly out of it. There's a deep breath and he yanks the blanket down and out of the way of his view, glancing around completely bewildered.

Bag's still here. Unfamiliar room. No, familiar house. Small stranger - no, Myla, and the weird black and red creature, and... the Knight. Right. He's here.

He gives a soft huff and relaxes, one hand snaking out of the fabric to rub at his face.

Muffled, he comes out with: "Eh?"

Best he's got. Sorry, Myla.

[focusedvoid]

Myla blinks and turns. She'd been staring at the thing in her hand--the nothing in her hand in Dirtmouth--and didn't know he was here. She stares at him instead in absolute confusion for a long moment before remembering. "Oh! Hello, Relic Seeker, sir."

She looks back at the empty air, and then down to the Knight. They're still, from mask to wings.

And filling with a quiet, familiar dread. They can't see what Myla's holding, but there's only one she that she must mean in this context. She'd left their Siblings to swim back, and they'd passed that along, but they don't even need that much.

"It's not a real g-grown flower. It's made of metal? Like all the rest there. It's really g-good c-craftsmanship, actually," she mumbles to herself, turning so the petals gleam.

[capitalcurator]

From weird to weirder. 'Sir'? Really? He's just woken up, he'll unpack that later. (He doesn't know what to do with a 'sir'.)

"...A flower...?" She's staring at her empty hand. Why?

Luckily he is quick to gain his faculties; a little shot of adrenaline will do that. Things fall into place quickly: right, she's only half-here, and disoriented. (He can relate, currently. Hadn't even expected to fall asleep.) The other half of her is...

Lemm cranes around to look at the Knight, thinking. The fact they don't seem pleased is also noted.

He turns back to Myla.

"Hrmgh," he says, very eloquently, as he tries to shake off the grogginess. "Who'd you say gave it to you?" Did she, even? Maybe there was more conversation he missed.

[focusedvoid]

"Oh, Godseeker. Oh, is--should I say that?" she adds, faster than most things.

The Knight unfreezes to nod. Yes, it's fine. Lemm can know. Even if they don't want to know. That also reminds them their Wings are out, which they hastily retract. How long was that happening?

"Okay! Well, she says it's...I think she meant it's a p-prototype model."

Oh no.

"B-b-but she gave it to me b-because it looks like came from the 'old lands' and d-doesn't want you to look at it."

No doubt she said that in the most insulting terms possible, the Knight thinks.

Which isn't far off. Myla listened for a while as Godseeker self-flagellated that the first crafts were made from the unworthy designs of gods long gone, and essentially told her to throw it away or at least hide it from their eyes until their shame and punishment can be addressed properly.

Myla decided to 'hide' it by the hidden bench up the stairs all the Godseekers decided was their God of Gods' secret holy place, where she's currently sitting. She'll set it down on the side later.

[capitalcurator]

"Aye, I know something of their lot."

What he's been told of the Godseekers rises slowly and clunkily to the surface. While he assesses that, one hand presses itself to his face to try and fail to stifle a yawn.

The motion of the Shade Wings catches his eye and he watches them vanish back into place, unbothered.

"Some gift, if she talked it down like that." Lemm is even less clever about watching his words when he's just woken up. It does occur to him a moment later that maybe that wasn't the nicest thing to draw attention to. He can't exactly take it back, so he changes tack instead. "A crafted thing from the Land of Storms makes it a relic by default, though. I'd like to see it." There. It's still a nice thing to have. Happy for you, et cetera.

He needs to wake up faster. He never has to do conversation this early. Lemm pats at his face twice.

"Not keen, are we?" he prompts the Knight, because they're not.

[focusedvoid]

"It wasn't a g-gift, she wanted me to g-get rid of it. I'm looking at it first, and then I'll hide it," she tells him easily. "I'll see if I can b-bring it out with me!" Entirely violating Godseeker's demand (worded as request), but she doesn't feel too bad about it.

Myla used to be kinder about Godseeker...but everyone has limits. Hers was hit around the twelfth time she was told how amazingly grateful she must be to know the God of Gods, while also hearing it wondered aloud why she deserved it.

The Knight, completely unhelpful, drops back and puts a cushion over their face.

[capitalcurator]

"Pah. I was about to suggest the same, but I've no clue how that might work. Either way I'd agree with the decision not to get rid of it... My calling makes me biased, I suppose."

Despite the sleep he's still shedding, Lemm instinctively runs the numbers. On the concept of a metalwork flower possibly crafted in a land of dead gods and pulled out of Dream by a survivor of a plague that decimated a Kingdom -

- A lot. It would be worth a lot. He almost says so.

The cogs start turning just fast enough for him to remember their last conversation, and the explanation he'd been given after. Instead of naming the thing anything like treasure, Lemm shuts his stupid mouth.

He twists to reach over and pat his hand lightly on the Knight's hiding-pillow, instead, and then pushes forward and eases himself up into a stand, creaky and slow, blanket hanging from his shoulders. He was comfortable. Doesn't mean he's not stiff now.

"Can you see me from there?" Blunt question. Easy to answer, though.

[focusedvoid]

"Mine t-too! It's so p-pretty...I don't know how they made it. If I can see their tools...if they even have tools..." She's never so much as seen any of their hands. If it's solely made from dream-weaving, she'll be disappointed.

At Lemm's touch Knight pulls the cushion down just enough to show off half their eyes. They drop their hands from it once they realize he's not asking them anything.

They'll elaborate on Godseeker. Just...let them be exasperated in peace for a moment.

It takes Myla a while to realize the Relic Seeker's talking to her. She looks up from the flower towards his voice thoughtfully. "I c-can see your shape. I'm not awake enough for d-details yet." She's been asked similar questions by Cornifer and Iselda. "...Did you find a robe?"

[capitalcurator]

Oh. "Aye. The crafting of a thing tells you as much about the culture it's from as the finished product." Even as the words come out Lemm is mildly surprised. "You've a head for crafting, then."

...Hm. He gathers the blanket more around his arms, so that it trails less. He hadn't really meant to pick it up.

"No, I..." It's possible she didn't even know he was sleeping in here. That's a comforting thought, lowering the witness count from two to one. "...Got cold. It's a blanket."

With her answer he doubts Myla will see any better than she did if he gets closer. That's also helpful, because it means he doesn't have to.

"Hm." Carefully: "Get you anything?"

[focusedvoid]

"Yes, I...yes. It was a hobby. And now I'll get a chance to get b-b-back to it!" Myla swerves from the poor memories that trips before it can linger. It's hard, but she's getting better the longer she stays away from the mines! "Maybe I c-could make a copy! Can you go see if there are any tools?"

The Knight knows where she means. They finally sit up and nod, then wave a paw. Yes, they'll try, but not very soon.

"Thanks! And I need a drink and food," Myla answers them both after a short pause. "I'm not actually hungry, b-b-but I still need it. I don't notice for a while!" She's learned that lesson.

The Knight pops up. The paper with the RAINING is still conveniently nearby for them to push towards Lemm as they patter to the door; they'll get the water. There's a well a little way down a road from the back of Dirtmouth. This one doesn't have any holes into Hallownest.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm tilts his head a tiny margin at that. She's not the only bug he's ever met with cheery optimism, and usually if someone asked his opinion on that he'd complain about it.

Knowing what he knows, Lemm thinks maybe she wears it well.

"Everyone's got an interest. I'd be content enough to see some approximation of that flower, if you manage. Better than nothing."

He affords a glance at the Knight's paper, manages to put two and two together, and nods.

He'd sort of hoped her answer would be no. This leaves him with the unfortunate task of following through on his offer. Lemm trudges over to the table to inspect the container of radishes, picking up the fork and prodding at them experimentally, like the Knight had.

They've kept well, thankfully. He's not sure he's in the mood to go and make domestic requests of the mapmaker right now. Or ever.

"Still some radishes left. Looks like you can manage a fork." She should tell him if she needs to be hand fed, still. So that he can get the Knight to do it.