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

[baelfyr]

A flicker, then: they get the mental equivalent of a respectful nod from the Nightmare King himself, just as Grimm nods in person. The feeling of this is distinct from the other shared thoughts only in that it is bigger, like brushing up against the shape of something more.

It's only fleeting. And to the Lord of Shades, surely a drop in a bucket.

The idea of taking the entire Troupe into Godhome is met with polite disapproval, or something like it.

"I hesitate to deny you, friend." A cagey and diplomatic way of saying the rest of the Troupe does not belong in Godhome. Whether this is for their benefit somehow or by lack of merit he does not clarify.

"But the Troupe will gladly perform for you here in the physical. It would be our honour to entertain." He fixes his gaze on the little Sibling again, lightly challenging, as one ever might be to a child. "We especially look forward to your keen appraisal!"

[focusedvoid]

They don't want the Troupe in Godhome either, if mainly for embarrassment's sake. The idea of Godseeker calling misinformed praises to Grimm and Divine and Brumm leaves the Lord of Shades shaking their massive head, and sinking by increments closer to the water. Sibling's eyes slide back up to their shoulder. A few more appear on the edges of tendrils, peering at Grimm and the Springs before winking back out again.

Well, they're going to! ...Right?

...Right. When things aren't quite so busy. The Siblings are sure to remind them, yes?

Yes! They will!

And! Who was that! They nudge the memory of the Nightmare King nodding and him in his arena in front of the Heart, too, like a curious crowd member poking a curtain. That one!

[baelfyr]

The metaphorical curtains remain closed; there's no further trace offered of anything deeper than Troupe Master Grimm. He's amused by their curiosity regardless.

Grimm swishes both hands through the water as he turns to wade back towards the edge, dragging a furrowed wave and his floating wings behind him.

"My apologies, little shadow - and the rest! I have no doubt the Lord of Shades could wring out whatever information they liked, but I must ask for patience. It is an unusual thing indeed for the summoner to be so well-acquainted with me before the denouement."

He pauses at the edge of the spring, and glances down and to one side.

"I suppose there is no reason to hurry back with the summoner thus occupied," he reasons. "The show cannot go on without both roles filled..."

Then he turns, settles down, and stretches out in the glowing water with his back against the side. His spindly arms unfold to rest languidly along the fringe.

And, finally, asks the question he wants to ask.

"How fares our child in the interim?"

[focusedvoid]

The Sibling is tugged back. This success is only partial--but while they were truthful they won't force any to do anything as the Lord of Shades, there was nothing about the Knight not using more mundane measures.

The whole of them loosens from the statue and melts, half-literally, into the water.

Sibling can't truly squawk indignation, but they echo a good substitute through their heads, rushing to the very tip of a tendril still drifting lazily above the water. Hey! They're not getting in there!

The Knight is distracted by the sensation of water spilling over their head and face. Something...is wrong? Something...?

No, something is strange, but right: the Lord of Shades has no mask, and so no holes in their face for water to pour into. They revel in it, even as they listen to Grimm's voice carry through the springs, bringing a prickle of guilt along.

Thoughts, carefully packaged: they're fine, the Knight believes.

Images, a scene: Myla, Grimmchild settled on her lap as she stares vacantly under bright lights. Grimmchild, circling their head as they add pots to their shelf. Myla, more animated, chatting with Iselda in their home again, Grimmchild stretching across her and partly onto the Knight's lap on the couch, as they both listen to discussion about the toxicity of cinnabar. Myla's using their back as an armrest. The Knight briefly reaches out to pat them, and is bemused when their paw is grabbed by careful fangs and pulled back before they can tuck it inside the blankets. They put their paw between Grimmchild's horns again and leave it resting there.

Their assistance was enlisted outside of being deadly companion. Is this acceptable?

[baelfyr]

It's not every day one meets a god made up of many, at least not if acolytes don't count. The little shade's reluctance to take a dip despite the Shadelord's nonchalance is endearing, in a distant sort of way.

The Lord of Shades melting into the pool... Frankly, that much is pleasantly ordinary, and he has no qualms with it.

The information shared with him is met at first with caution, and then there is a brief, faint flicker of something like pleasant surprise, or warmth. He is not entirely detached. There is something to the thought that the child is being cared for properly - he could not have expected better, and didn't.

"It is -"

...Can they hear him under the water? What part of Void listens? All of it, or some? He gives a hum and beacons his thoughts instead.

"...It is not for the Troupe Master to decide how the fire is built," he informs them, choosing his wording carefully and giving very little away beyond that initial moment. "But I am permitted to voice my approval. A promising beginning if I might say so, friend of mine." There is meaning in the last three words.

[focusedvoid]

They couldn't answer how if he asked, but they hear him. And the water, falling onto them from above, bubbling around them from below. It's soothing, where Grimm's scorched voice can't be.

They don't protest his thoughts. They can keep learning by experience.

Sent back: concern, in a few layers, some shoved to be poorly hidden beneath others. The highest and most important, considering his words and Grimmchild. They're grateful he approves. But would his input be unsafe, somehow?

[baelfyr]

Grimm tilts his head, speaking to the Lord of Shades in full even as he has nothing else to look at than the poking horns and slip of a Sibling. (His expression is curious, but reserved - the idle watch of an uninvolved party from across a room.)

He supposes the concern has merit. The situation being as it is, they know far more about him than the average summoner. Normally he wouldn't have given one cause.

Grimm gives a slight mollifying gesture with one hand, not that he expects them to see it. In his position on the edge he looks profoundly comfortable, though someone with his command of a room tends not to look uncomfortable anywhere.

"I am permitted my opinions, of course." He folds one leg over the other, wings unfurling red in the water either side of him. "But to try to manage the summoner's role would strip the Ritual of meaning - and, too, would be futile. Ours in creation; yours in cultivation. The die is already cast."

Admittance on some level that he expects no hand in Grimmchild's future. His thoughts feel strange, there, for the briefest moment before they are pulled back beneath his wing. With his command of Dream and Nightmare it is possible but unlikely that this was an accident.

[focusedvoid]

Dryly: they had not quite expected to be a single parent.

Less dry, genuine: Would he like to? Offer opinions, suggestions, not quite managing? They're busy. They're busy. Learning. Fixing mistakes. Their own. Others'. Grimmchild...falls by the wayside, at times, and Grimm would know what they might want and need more than the Knight. They aren't joined as they are with Siblings, after all. (The tendril holding a pair of suspicious eyes sways above the water, sloshing from side to side of black as well.)

Unease is kept at bay, wrapped under their primary concern and genuine exhaustion that they're busy.

Brumm had muttered to them about invisible chains and their own lack of Master, and while they'd never quite forgotten his words, they'd--been busy, then, too. They listened enough to put the Ritual off. They hadn't enough to chase him where he requested.

[baelfyr]

In response: indifference, though it doesn't seem to be meant in an unkind way. It is simply that most do not expect that. Or anything else - broadly speaking, life is unpredictable, and moreover Grimm cannot apologise for the nature of the Ritual.

He is not detached, until he is. Grimm's responses now are scrubbed scrupulously clean of suggestion or deeper thought - except for the fact that he hopes this is reassuring information.

"The Kingdom's embers glow within, and the child will become whether or not you make it your work to fan that flame."

More gently, and this time laced with a small measure of approval for the memories they shared with him by way of explanation:

"What the child may become is an infinite realm of prospects. I find I rather like those prospects as they stand!"

[focusedvoid]

The Lord of Shades lifts their head, still under the water, just enough for their own eight eyes' glow to be distinct from the richness of Soul. Grimm is a black-red blur somewhere to the side.

They are...somewhat assured. And somewhat frustrated. They're looking for an answer to a question they can't ask. But--they really are busy, and the Ritual is something they can put on pause. They can observe the Troupe more later; mask and Myla are higher priority.

Sent very carefully: they are grateful he thinks so, but still, that was not their full query. Does Grimm want to?

[baelfyr]

Grimm's gaze fixes right on them, which they will likely feel as a prickle a lot more than they'll see through the ripples.

"I am afraid my answer remains elusive, Knight." And confusion, this time. Bared. Foreign, coming from him, but for this they should know things are... complex. They have earned that right.

Grimm is quiet for some time. He tilts his head, evaluating.

They are a Higher Being, and he a vessel for his. But they are - or are usually - a vessel, as well. They are not so dissimilar, in ways perhaps unprecedented.

Perhaps there is no sense in not sharing such things. Grimm has limited time, after all.

...Fine then. The Lord of Shades is given a small insight at the very least: a small package of information, in a rush, like the overlapping whispers of a Lore Tablet but harsher and more tangled and more filled with burn and chill in equal measure.

Given the same context, would one make the same choices? Is it not fairer to allow room for change, for error, for growth, in ways unforeseen and unplanned? If you, Knight, were to be given reign over another self, would you want the same grudges, the same fears, the same joys, or would such encouragement lock out the chance at a clean slate? Would that not be what was deserved?

Grimm has shifted, to sit cross-legged with his hands folded in his lap. It was neat and concise enough, even if it lacked years of nuance.

"Rumination has not granted me an answer, and I cannot in good faith grant one to you."

[focusedvoid]

The sensation was strange and hackle-raising for how it reminds them of the Pale King's voice, reaching across time and death to scrape over their mind. Though Grimm's feels worse, it's easy to reign in their discomfort. It's Grimm's. Not his.

The Knight is...uneasy. Skeptical of his concern, almost.

The Lord of Shades stretches, sending little rippling waves across the springs.

The skepticism is an undercurrent in their next sent concepts: even to a Vessel like them, Grimmchild is a strange being, but still that, a child. Not empty. "--the child will become whether or not you make it your work to fan that flame." They have countless Siblings, all from one of Void, split into others, given no chance, returning to again be one in Void. All are highly influenced by the Knight. Despite this, not all the same.

They're not demanding their return, or his puppeting their existence in Hallownest. They are asking: does he want to be there? Give advice? See with his own eyes? Simply visit? They are neighbors, after all.

Neighbors.

An absurd scene rises into their mind.

After some hesitation, they send it, laced with amusement but with honest sentiment: Grimm wandering from the Troupe to their home, knocking on their door for a request of sugar or salt or such neighborly things, ducking in to pat Grimmchild on the head as Myla waves. If he is no threat, as he has said, their door is open.

[baelfyr]

Disappointment -

- only the tiniest flicker of it, before it is promptly vanished. Grimm looks away, schooled and neutral. They have the right idea. For their context. He can't tell them everything.

The image hits him. He is no longer comfortably sprawled in the warm water, but sitting upright, poised and arranged with the appropriate showiness of the Troupe Master.

"Such a fanciful imagination you have!" he responds, and sounds amused. Nothing is being projected. "To cast me in such a role... Who is the grand director of performance after all? I must commend you on your creativity."

A mild bow from where he's sitting, mostly aimed at the Sibling and for their amusement. The Lord of Shades is receiving nothing but words. His thoughts on this are kept private.

After a pause, like reminding someone of a piece of trivia: "Surely you know by now where the Ritual will lead us."

[focusedvoid]

Burn the father, feed the child. Mysterious words, straight from the Hunter's Journal. Mysterious in how they got there, not in what they mean.

They were hoping he wouldn't bring this up.

For a moment, Sibling's head nearly appears in full. What's he talking about? They aren't the one thinking about that! Their door's not open to anyone but Myla! So there.

From the Knight, emotion bound tight away from it, but still with traces of doubt clinging: Yes. And? If he wishes to detach himself to spare Grimm or Grimmchild pain, he can tell them directly.

[baelfyr]

He laughs, again, though whether it's meant is debatable. The little Sibling's confusion is charmingly innocent, and he doesn't plan on clearing anything up for them. Adults are talking.

And what? is reflected back, or the spirit of it. Grimm folds his arms over his chest, and pulls his wings loosely about him from where they had been free-floating in the water.

This is getting troublesome. Grimm watches the water with his head slightly on one side, and continues to betray nothing. They're obviously trying to goad him into saying something about the Ritual that they'll be allowed to find unpleasant, and he's simply not taking the bait.

Perhaps he shouldn't have lingered; better he returned to his perch to sleep and wait. This kind of conversation throws a wrench in the spokes of the Ritual and he is already beginning to fight the rising concern that the summoner will lose motivation.

Not an encouraging thought.

[focusedvoid]

This time, with little sparkles of bubbling irritation: And they think he is making this more complicated than needed.

Does he want to be around Grimmchild, given the chance? Does he not? Currently, he has the option and time. They do not know if this is common or not.

They have other duties right now. In his place, had they family with knowingly-limited time to spend on, they would take it.

While they would prefer knowledge, if he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to, they will not force it even if displeased. This is not a dance. This is not a battle. Stop dodging. That's it.

[baelfyr]

He gave his answer. And they are still pushing. Perhaps they think him incapable of expressing himself? Or disallowed? It wouldn't be a vast logical leap, he can understand that much.

"I," he says very carefully, "do not know."

A steady stream of: conflict. Uncertainty. He does not know how to approach the question from the correct angle, and the Shadelord is not the only one in this room aware enough to ask it in the first place.

Flickers of yes - he might like to, he is curious, he would prefer the child's life be fulfilling and would take steps to ensure it. Flickers of no - it would be deliberate repetition, the taint of same-again, a worrying and unfair lack of freedom of difference from one life to the next. The cycle, endless as it must be, and hundreds of lives lived that he is not privy to as Troupe Master Grimm. The Heart, waiting.

The Nightmare King, watching him debate from the inside and offering no input or direction.

And, slipping through the net because he is being so open about this: mild irritation that they didn't seem to believe this answer the first time.

[focusedvoid]

They're irritated. He's irritated! They--

--are being pushy. He's conflicted, and they, of all beings, know how it feels.

The Knight prods their Sibling in warning, who vanishes into the dark when the Lord of Shades shifts in the water, sinking and rolling slowly onto their back, letting their limbs stretch out into the air. It likely appears silly. Or would, if a single claw wasn't the length of the Radiance's legs.

Sent: tired, flat apology. It has been--

Silence.

Sent: They are preoccupied with doing lately. With family. With community. Too many plans. He has time to decide. Their door will stay open.

[baelfyr]

Grimm watches carefully, as if some movement of theirs might betray whatever thoughts they're really having. But it looks like they're just getting comfortable. Grimm waits patiently for whatever they opt to do with his answer.

With a glance at their talons Grimm is reminded how effortless it had seemed for them to reach even the Nightmare's Heart, and to send its greatest acolyte cowering. Nightmare would have been foolish to challenge Void, even if it hadn't been wrong about intent.

...Regardless. Apology accepted.

"It is not unreasonable for you to want answers, Knight. Regrettably I am limited in providing them." He will allow a small whisper of approval to follow his words. Family, they said, and community. Objectively constructive goals. That Grimmchild is included in some of their doings is a positive.

Enough, perhaps. Grimm tucks his long legs back under him and stands, water cascading off his wings with a rush of noise. He turns to step up out of the spring.

"Tarry if you must," he addresses them, bowing, "but your performance is awaited!"

[focusedvoid]

Once his legs disappear from their view beneath the water, they shift until their head breaches above, and bows their head back. The edges lap against the stone.

The Knight reminds him, with a ripple of what could have been laughter: yes, but their Siblings are looking forward to whatever performance the Troupe puts on first, next time they drop by.

[baelfyr]

There is similar mirth in his voice when he speaks again, and it feels more real this time.

"The dread Troupe will be delighted to have all of you in the audience." All of them meaning the whole of the Shadelord, or is he referring to the many Siblings? - Yes.

Graciously, he takes a swift turn to make his exit. There is a hiss of evaporated springwater and a light spattering of more of it on the floor; Grimm vanishes in a burst of flame.

(The presence of him, and of Nightmare, might be sensed flitting back out and up through the Crossroads to anyone so inclined. Elderbug, having firmly shut himself at home after the last scare, is not.)