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]

Lemm forces the crowbar still. And pulls a sour face. They shouldn't be worrying about him, they died!

Tick-tick-stop. The fidget travels to his other hand and he taps one finger restlessly against the metal of the stand instead. Smaller. Less obvious.

"Don't want you running errands for me right now. I could use the walk," he spills out suddenly. Being forced is the last thing on his mind. "But if -"

Lemm cuts off with an irritable grunt and studies them closely, gaze darting over their huge form like he's trying to do an on-the-spot relic appraisal.

"You're fine," he grinds out, stiff and carefully-measured. They could read it as a dismissal of the help, if they like. If they really don't want to answer the question, which is what it is, if they read between the lines. Is that cheating?

[focusedvoid]

Recently, they've been reminded what they are in every aspect. The Knight and Siblings, Higher Being that prefers what others do not, creature that holds control, but frightening, dangerous...and, very simply, large. They are large and Lemm is small, and they have no way to change it easily but folding inward uncomfortably, and so they do not.

ALRIGHT.

The Lord of Shades is a massive length of slightly-restless shadows.

A walk. Don't you have more important things to be doing. Are they the only reason he's acting so oddly?

LEMM
YOU'RE
FRIEND-OF-KNIGHT
FRIEND-OF-SHADELORD.
IMPORTANT
STILL.

[capitalcurator]

He'd been in such a good mood! It's not - fair. How quickly that changed. He'd have liked to give them that side of him, not this one.

When the glyphs come together and he gets an unpleasant pang of guilt, Lemm lets go of the hatstand to firmly wave off their pseudo-chatter.

"Stop! Stop it, that's ridiculous, I'm fine! You're -"

Stop. His hands tighten around the objects he's holding onto. They don't want to talk about it.

Well - tough. He does. If they're going to call him important and friend and keep pushing then - then he damn well gets to ask!

"Are you -" not in that tone, though "- I'm - you're - urgh, dense, is what you are -"

Not like that either. Lemm reaches for something to steady himself and for most of his life he struggles to find it, but lately he finds plenty.

He stares at the ground and valiantly manages to actually think before he explodes.

"You drop a bombshell like that and then you don't tell me, what do you think I'm supposed to -?" nope. "Tell me how you're doing, Knight! For goodness' sake!" A pause. "Tell me if you're - alright, or not alright, or." He gestures, wildly and helplessly, with the crowbar. He's out of words that aren't unpleasant.

[focusedvoid]

...Perhaps it is just them. They're not insulted; dense might be right, with how worry mixes with worry mixes with worry, layers and multitudes--all while unable to appreciate how this truly might seem.

They've died before. A hundred times, a thousand times, so many there's no counting, and never has anyone acted truly concerned after, even when they reappeared in front of those uninfected later. He cares, and they can't.

They lift their head to nod again, fast. One previously-folded hand makes an aborted movement the Knight has in the past, but it's harder to hide when each claw is twice longer than Lemm himself, reaching in his direction.

FINE!
CONCERN
FOR
FIXING
MASK.
FINE
OTHERWISE.
THIS-PROMISE.

[capitalcurator]

Idiot idiot idiot he is not saying out loud, because it's rude and unfair and isn't what he means.

Are they trying to pat him. They'd squash him. Idiot, again, but smaller and less... just less.

Lemm watches them painstakingly trace out reassurance; he takes a deep breath halfway, focusing so intently on what they're telling him that he can see nothing else. Holds it. And out, slowly, at the promise.

"For goodness' sake," he grumbles again, though the bite has gone out of it and now he just sounds vaguely grumpy. Then, sounding unusually weary: "Best I've ever handled that."

He stares at their free hand, mulls on the strange disappointment that sprang up a moment before, and then - beckons. At it. Vaguely. With his eyes on the Shadelord's.

[focusedvoid]

SORRY

They do want to pat him. ...No, they want to hug him; that's currently impractical enough to count as impossible.

Twisting tendrils shiver from their head down their back as they realize both these things atop each other.

Lemm is beckoning them over as if that doesn't matter.

They--

They set their claws down. Near him. (Near to their perspective. Still quite a few steps away.)

[capitalcurator]

Always the problem is that when Lemm isn't skilled at handling a feeling it will often express itself as cross. Doesn't matter this time, and as it gives way to uneasy relief Lemm finds himself grateful to the Knight for that. They don't seem mad at him for the slip. That or they're hiding it very well.

He's uneasy about this next decision, too, only he's finding he needs rather an awful lot of reassurance lately and there are... allowances. Sometimes there are allowances. Anyway it's that, and it's damnable curiosity, and it's wanting to assure them somehow that even if he's raised his silly voice again it's not like the anger was actually real. And certainly not aimed at them. Not really.

Lemm lets go of the rack again and tosses the crowbar aside with a clatter of metal, and closes the distance with a huff as if to indicate well you could have gotten closer.

Gingerly - but with very little hesitation, because he is about a hundred strange events away from a bug who flinches at this exact scenario - Lemm reaches out to pat experimentally at their foreclaw, and pauses to study their hand with his head cocked while he waits to see what they plan on doing about that.

[focusedvoid]

Those claws are the most solid part of the Lord of Shades, feeling akin the Hollow Knight's handshake more than the little Knight's soft shell or solid mask, or the pliant tendrils that make up their current body.

They do...nothing. Lemm is so tiny next to them, an errant twitch could knock him down. Even the rest of them is finally, fully, frozen still.

[capitalcurator]

Nothing? Nothing is good, probably.

Lemm slides his hand along their claw slightly, acclimatising. Unfamiliar, and at odds again with the memory of small paws.

He follows his hand along theirs, to their wrist. He stops, steps away, and moves along beside the rest of them for a quick once-over. (Like he had, once, when they'd appeared on his counter and he'd been anxious then, as he is now. The appraising look is back.)

What is he even looking for? Since when has the Knight ever looked injured? What does he expect to find on the Lord of Shades? And they're - they died, only they didn't, exactly, and this is just what happens after. Technically he's talking to their ghost. Only that's not exactly true either.

This line of thought unsettles him. The point, he decides very suddenly and very firmly, is that he can't see anything wrong with them. Tendrils everywhere, inky darkness, four arms that bend like a bug's do, and no sign that he can tell that there is anything left of what put them in this state. They seem fine. That'll have to do.

Appraisal over, Lemm returns to their hand rather quicker than he left. He clears his throat.

"Let's have that up," he instructs, and as an example: he lifts his own hand flat, and then tilts it up onto its side. Lemm pats their claw again expectantly.

[focusedvoid]

The Lord of Shades keeps in place, not moving their head to follow. They don't need to.

The further back their form is observed, the more it seems made of tendrils packed together, as if they're a being woven through thick threads, or ropes. There are no wounds to observe, only Siblings whose eyes flash to spy on him for the Knight, and a few who tentatively form long enough to wave.

Or not tentatively at all: hello, Lemm! Greenhorn is happy to see you, but listening to the Knight not to stay out for more than a wiggly wave.

He returns to in sight of their main eyes. Touches their claws again, unexpectedly, and motions for them to flip their hand, and they lift it slowly until it stands in front of him like a curving wall.

[capitalcurator]

(He is focused, and momentarily stressed, but this is broken briefly by the appearance of the smaller Shades. Greenhorn especially gets a hesitant, wavering little acknowledging nod. Hello, yes. He sees them...)

The shadow of the Shadelord's palm towers, a little bit.

At his sides, Lemm's hands squeeze into fists and loosen again.

He comes closer, resolved, and touches at their palm. His own flattens against it, in fact, like some terribly mismatched celebratory gesture.

The Shadelord's hand is solid, still, in a way the Knight's were softer. It is still them. He can get used to it. And they're fine. They are, for all intents and logical purposes, fine.

Lemm huffs a sigh and, hand still against theirs, turns to look up at their face.

"This isn't one of the silliest things we've done." Is it. Affirmation? What is normal, for them?

[focusedvoid]

Compared to theirs, his touch should barely register, if at all--and yet it does.

They don't know what he means. They're having trouble thinking, suddenly.

Lemm's hand is tiny speck of warmth, the shape of his claws spread across their palm no matter how little space it takes up. They want to hold him, like they did Grimm, but they're--they--they're being absurd, they know it, but still--

One claw. Their smallest. Carefully shifting, creeping closer, easy to see coming, easy to get away from. Coming to curl around his back.

[capitalcurator]

Ah.

He doesn't look. He sees, definitely, there's no way he'd miss it - but he doesn't look.

If anything he stares at the floor, determined, or resigned, or something else entirely.

The Shadelord's talon touches at his back, and Lemm sways just the barest little nudge at the contact.

It's. Fine.

[focusedvoid]

Is it?

They don't squeeze. They don't move. There's the desire to stroke down his back and know how his ruff feels like this, but the Lord of Shades refuses it. They just...leave it there, feeling as though the Nightmare's Heart is thundering somewhere in the back of their mind. It's persistent enough they check inwardly, but no, it's nothing. It's only them.

[capitalcurator]

It's not the silliest thing they've done, it's stranger, it's weirder -

Anyway, it would be nice (not for him, for someone else) to enjoy this, it would be nice (for someone else) to take a moment like this and run with it. For anyone else it would be nice to go and do something so bold and heartfelt and come back and write about it and maybe an age later someone like Lemm would get to read about it and it'd seem so very fantastical, wouldn't it, to connect with a god like that.

That's not what he wants.

Lemm trudges a step forward and follows his hand's lead and rests against their palm horn-first. It would be nice, for him, for now, to be reassured.

[focusedvoid]

Their claw curls a little more before they can think.

They freeze.

Lemm's fine. The Lord of Shades is fine. The Knight is fine.

A memory surfaces without prompting: standing at the Stag Station after the first shared ride, nervously standing at his side, making sure he won't tip over without touching. He's not tipping over now, he's only leaning. Into them. Intentionally.

At an aching pace, their claw slides down, settling somewhat around his waist. Wrapping around a little further. Another, angled straight, setting where the last had been.

Nearly as slow, their head tilts and lies sideways on the pavement, staring at Lemm partially through their fingers.

[capitalcurator]

- and maybe it's unwanted, he wouldn't be surprised but he would take it gracefully this time - he promises himself he will take it well. He will. He waits -

The first claw follows him into place, and then a second.

Lemm's shoulders slacken, he turns his head just a notch down and to one side. It's not a nuzzle. It's not. There is something very interesting on the floor over there.

Memories, in turn, of the Knight looking at him, of the way they err around him, because he doesn't signal right, because he can't say, thoughts of times they touched his shoulder or patted his horn and he didn't know what to do with it.

There are solid claws around him and they're fine. They are fine. There is not a scratch on the Lord of Shades nor the Knight nor any of their Siblings. They're fine and they will get their mask fixed and they will be fine.

Lemm has one hand pressed flat against their palm already. The free one sticks itself unceremoniously through the gap between their claws and holds at the back of their hand, hugging it to him - or rather hugging himself to their hand, really.

(They are huge and could snap him in an instant but: they won't. Lemm knows they won't. He has faced them down in worse moods, Knight or Lord of Shades.)

[focusedvoid]

Facts assert in their head in a list:

Lemm is tiny. He is vulnerable.

Lemm is their friend. He trusts them.

This is not a hug.

This is almost a hug.

Gentle, slow, not quiet as slow as before, their hand curls until it's fully around Lemm's back. Not crushing, not trapping, attuned to be pushed away should he make the slightest shove, only holding.

They don't pull him closer. Instead, they move. The Lord of Shades' body curves until it echoes their claws in a C-shape; a protective, affectionate wall.

[capitalcurator]

He hadn't actually considered what this would feel like until just now, which is why it occurs to him a little late that it might be a lot, actually.

A minute shiver runs through him as he registers that what is happening is he is being held. He hadn't quite thought this far ahead (the thought had occurred, though, somewhere much deeper and fainter and never entertained enough to properly register) but they are holding him, aren't they.

He is too old to be this affected. And these things aren't for him, they're for other people to go and do. And anyway -

Lemm shuts it out, all of it, and holds himself tighter to their hand and tucks his head in; it is dark and he is very aware that they're surrounding him and his friend is - willing, they're not pulling away but coming closer and that's - it's - it's so secure. He doesn't know what he was expecting. (Stay, he wants to stay.)

Hopefully they don't mind too much that he is rain-soaked. A wet beard and fluff aren't exactly the most pleasant of tactile sensations. Maybe they can try this again when he's dry, another time -

- They're fine, anyway. They're fine and they're here and it feels - all the tightly-wound stress is falling away so easily.

"'M sorry I shouted," he murmurs into their hand, sounding terribly dazed, and presses their hand closer. "Again."

A moment. He'll have a moment of this and then he'll pull himself together. They do have places to be.

♥

[focusedvoid]

...They remember...it was nice, to hide under Seer's wings. It's a strange thing, comparing their abyssal form to soft darkness such as that, but watching and feeling Lemm react, the wonder if it's so different to him.

They shake their head and pull a single claw back, hesitating, and oh, they're an idiot. They are the Lord of Shades, Lord of the Void, and their body is something they can do anything (nearly) they wish with.

They make that claw dull along its point and length, and then rub it back and forth across his shell. They don't mind--they don't care. They care for making him worry, that's all.

[capitalcurator]

They will feel him go tense in a nasty, jerking flinch.

He doesn't know how to think about anything else suddenly, he wasn't ready and the contact is like the times the Knight has tried comfort before and it knocked him so terribly off guard he couldn't - it's -

Careful what you wish for, and all, but he wanted to be reassured. And to reassure. Lemm reminds himself of this, over and over, as he stands there in total hyperawareness of the dulled claw moving against his back and the cool presence wrapped around him. There is no reason to hold himself apart from this; he knows it's earnest, he trusts the Knight.

He tentatively allows himself to register: the contact is achingly nice.

(He's reminded of walking in to them sitting on his counter unexpectedly, and the shock of so badly wanting to fuss had hit him so overwhelmingly hard he scared himself out of it. Idiot, he thinks. All they'd done was rest, only they'd been so upset...

Well, he gets to fuss this time.)

The tension goes. Lemm leans fully against them and his own arm rubs similarly at the back of their hand, what little he can reach. Silly perhaps, to think to comfort a Higher Being so much larger-than-life and with such a small gesture, but he will not be daunted. He's allowed to try. That's the thing.

[focusedvoid]

The Lord of Shades stills, and their small amount of grip goes completely slack. If Lemm is done, he is, and they're not going to contain him for an instant longer. He's not Grimm, who could be smothered in layer after layer of shadow and be shaken but fine.

--But he comes back nearly as fast as they do so. Leaning more, holding more, matching their aborted motion. And it's overwhelming, that he is, and that they can feel it like this.

They return to it.

And, in what would be absolutely horrible penmanship, had they a pen and not tracing blunt lines along his back: GRATEFUL.

[capitalcurator]

Now that he's actually given himself some space to soak it in, this whole thing is profoundly pleasant. Lemm closes his eyes. A moment. Has it been a moment? Only - he can afford a longer one, can't he? Can they? -

- Is that a glyph. The sensation isn't unpleasant any more than the comforting touch was, but it's new and he shudders, and that's - embarrassing, he knows they'd have felt that as well as his stiffness earlier and he just. Cannot. Bring himself to care enough.

"...Butterfly's chance in a gale that I'll be able to read that," he mumbles, half-muffled by his face being pressed into cold hard Void. "Tell me in a..."

...Moment. Right. No, he's had several, this is getting ridiculous. They need to go and get their mask fixed.

With all the reluctance in the world, Lemm eases his face away and slides his arm back and gives them a gentle, indicative half-nudge. (Ah, he doesn't want to. All the more reason.)

"...Tell me," he corrects. He sounds sluggish.

[focusedvoid]

They uncurl their hand immediately, though it doesn't go far as it might've just minutes ago. They rest it in a loose fist next to him, points of those claws, even the dull one, tucked away but for the thumb.

GRATEFUL,

is repeated from another hand.

The Lord of Shades isn't getting up.

This was nice. Differently than Lemm might feel it, but still. Very much so. Something fragile and warm is sliding around their mind and body. They don't need to surge up from lying, half-coiled, on the wet pavement. They haven't exactly made an appointment.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm forgets, for a little while, to account for or correct the disoriented, half-drowsy look still plastered on his face.

He can read that now, though. He tips his head acknowledgingly to one side, sheepish.

Them, or him? He is. More likely though they're referring to themselves, which is - is nice. Is nice, too. They got what he was trying to do.

"Aye." It comes out as a sigh. He really is discombobulated.

Still, they look messy, all tangled up on the puddled floor like that. He'd invite them back, but... He sincerely does not know if they'd be able to fit.

Lemm folds his arms. Poor substitute. But they're not moving, so, still somewhat swept up in the wave of impulsive decisions, Lemm sidesteps and leans a shoulder against their fist.

"Got worried," he mutters, earnestly, with a hand-flicker against his arm. "There'll be a day I can get through the unpleasant surprises without... losing my temper. Getting better at it. Might not look that way."

Ah. Contact like that seems to have loosened his vicegrip on personal explanation, a little bit. He dares prodding that a bit more.

"I -" this is bitten off, like he expected. Undeterred, he takes another try: "I liked - that was fine," he struggles out. "Most things're fine, but I." Half-shrug. "And I can't. Ah." This is incomprehensible. This explanation rather fell flat.

He looks down and rubs at his arm, slowly.