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]

...Whatever that means, indeed. They don't question it.

--They don't question it yet. They don't know if they want conversation at all anymore, but one bare, solidifying thought is that they don't want to be left alone. They've had horror gone to numbness back to horror again. Neither is desired, and an outside grip helps keep some at bay.

They take his other hand and pull up.

A moment of still staring, as they register holding both hands and moving would be difficult. A paw is transferred to hold one of Lemm's hand with two paws instead.

The tattered paper is left on the floor.

[capitalcurator]

The paper can stay where it is. Compared to the mess Lemm has recently made, it's nothing to note. He plucks another couple of sheets off the counter on his way past just in case.

Lemm weaves through some of the the junk he dragged out that didn't make it out to the corridor; the Knight is guided by a steadfast hand, and he moves slowly and smoothly through to the back. He holds the curtain, ushers them through first, and disregards the ugly flutter of nerves at the idea of bringing anyone else back here, again.

"Straight on," he mutters, now walking close behind them, steering them by his arm held forward over their shoulder so that they aren't made to let go.

The back room is (to Lemm) unsettlingly bare. Empty but for the tiny, barely-used kitchenette, and the curtained-off corner at the back where he sleeps - but private, in a way the shop isn't.

Safe in a way the shop isn't quite. The safest place he could think of to deposit the Knight back then, when they'd been upset and he hadn't known quite what to do about it so he'd fallen back on the golden rule: when you have something you suspect is delicate, you bring it straight home and you put it somewhere safe.

Lemm shepherds the Knight to the very back of the small back room and steers them to the collection of pillows he calls his bed. The safest place he's got.

"Better here than huddled under my counter," he explains, kind of. "Sit."

[focusedvoid]

The Knight follows his lead, ignoring an urge to...what, insist he go first? They don't fear where they're being brought, and so they only hesitate a moment before stepping through the doorway.

It's not bare enough to be unsettling to the Knight; enough to, however, be strange. It hadn't looked this way last time. Moreso, somewhere Lemm is not being entirely surrounded by objects is a foreign sight.

The pillows are familiar, though. Barely. A trace of embarrassment surfaces,, drifting away as quickly. Lemm doesn't need to prompt them; they're moving to sit before the word's entirely out, though far too stiff to relax.

They will need prompting if he wants them to release his hand.

[capitalcurator]

He almost tries to take it back by default. They'll feel a twitch.

But it's as he told himself; they came to him.

Lemm's expression shifts in some almost imperceptible way, and he lowers into a crouch in front of them to get on their level and leaves his hand in theirs. He leaves the spare papers on a pillow beside them within easy reach. His free hand sets itself usefully on their shoulder.

"Here, then. We'll do tea in a minute. Look at me."

[focusedvoid]

Their grip tightens, then loosens. They felt it. They want to keep him here, so they don't fully let go. This is only their paw, no tangled mess of Void that can try swallowing him arm-first. Should he try, he can get away easily.

The Knight can't drink tea.

(Massive claws wrapped around a cup, watching the steam dance, look at what the Hollow Knight has done, being granted something like this, supplies wasted upon--)

They look up.

[capitalcurator]

There, that's present enough to work with. He gets the feeling there's a lot going on under the mask, but this is present enough. Never mind that it feels like the spotlight is on him to say something right, and he never can, never does, and never has, that's irrelevant. They came to him.

"I told you I'd hear everything," he reminds them, and their shoulder gets a light squeeze. "Trouble is you've got to write it, and that's not going well, is it."

The next part sounds pretty insistent. He's good at being stubborn, at least.

"Have a moment, steady your hands. I'll make tea. M'not going anywhere, and neither's..." He nods vaguely at them. "...All that. Whatever needs saying. D'you understand?"

[focusedvoid]

Unusually, the Knight looks away. As is less unusual, Lemm's right.

...And they suppose that's why they came, in the end. So it was known. So he knew. As a friend and as someone directly involved, more than for historical documentation's sake.

Their Sibling gave permission he could know anything through them. This approval is terrible and...unfair. Wrong.

They're falling further back into horror. It can wait. They can sit with their friend and hold tea and wait until this passes.

Their paw trembles, and though they nod, they tug Lemm's hand up to press it against the forehead of their mask before letting go.

[capitalcurator]

He's not sure, for a second. The old, familiar fear crawls back out of the corner he's been pushing it into and tells him he's messed this up, predictably, because if they're looking away they're not looking at him and that means he's lost them somewhere along the last few sentences.

But they nod. And it settles.

Relieved, he huffs quietly and - lingers, a moment. They've put his hand on them and it stays, of its own accord or his, even he's not sure.

In a rare bout of daring, he slides his hand further back so that it rests on the top of their head, between their horns. It's been there before, but never invited.

With a herculean attempt not to overthink it, Lemm decides he's not being adequate.

"Here -- here, then."

His other arm leaves their shoulder and slips around their back, and rather gingerly he attempts a hug.

[focusedvoid]

Immediately, the Knight leans in, pressing their face flat against his beard before wrapping their arms as far as they can go (and a few tendrils of Wing reaching around more). They didn't quite think they wanted this until it was happening.

The thoughts aren't any quieter, but they, and all the horrible wrongness, are easier to ignore.

They'll let go before Lemm does this time, but make no motion to pull away.

[capitalcurator]

He's not convinced this is the right move until he is. It comes on fast, the moment they reciprocate and there are small arms trying to fit around him and Void hanging on further; this was the right thing to do, there's no uncertainty about it, it just is.

Lemm holds on tight, faintly squeezing them closer to his chest, his other hand still resting between their horns. (Distantly he registers: smooth, intact, not that he has any idea what it looked like broken and he never intends to, but the point is they're all right. And another lingering frayed nerve smooths back into place.) He stares over their head at the back wall, processing.

When their limbs drop Lemm retreats slowly. The hand on their head lingers the longest.

"Steady," he says again, with a mindful look.

He eases back upright, and pushes the heavy curtain aside so that he can keep an eye on them while he busies about the stove.

[focusedvoid]

Lemm keeps an eye on the Knight, and they do the same in return. They're distantly curious to watch, but even more, it keeps them from looking at the papers by their side.

Slowly, as kettle and the like are collected, the Knight sinks from straight-back bench pose to a slump. They push memories of their Sibling's frozen claws away, settling their paws on the pillows on either side, just to feel. Grounding, present. They still have two arms.

With conscious effort, they lean back. It's an awkward angle, but that's to their advantage. It's all soft enough not to be terribly uncomfortable.

[capitalcurator]

Once again he wishes he hadn't moved everything. There's less to do, and to fidget with. He empties and cleans the cup he left to go cold earlier, and that's it before he finds himself waiting for the kettle to boil with his hands splayed on the edge of the counter space, tapping his fingers restlessly and staring at nothing.

Lemm shoots them a long, studious glance, just to reassure himself they're staying put. And they are, reclining a bit even, which is better than he hoped. He stares back at the wall.

Twice he's brought them back here, now, and twice they've stayed, as if it was remotely a good idea. He has some strange unidentified feelings about it and for practical reasons it is time to unceremoniously ignore them. Not now. He reaches for the kettle.

Lemm returns quietly to their side with just the one teacup, filled with tea he now knows won't get drunk and only he can smell. This is not the point; the point is the cup is warm and he holds it out in front of the Knight's face in case they're zoned out enough to need prompting.

"Awkward thing, aren't you," he points out, thinking of the pillow on the counter again, and with little fuss Lemm moves one of the pillows up, tucking it behind their knees so they're no longer in danger of sliding onto the floor.

[focusedvoid]

They take the tea carefully, staring at him. What. A bit of annoyance bubbles through their horror. Yes? None of this situation has been particularly comfortable. Lemm's tapping over the counter made it extra clear the awkwardness is shared.

It takes his added pillow offering to realize. Right. Physically, he meant.

Writing that the angle was intentional would be too much...effort. Too much.

There's a warm cup in their paws to give attention to now. They can't smell or taste it, but they can tip their head down to examine the contents and the cup itself perfectly well.

[capitalcurator]

Oh, if he'd been talking about being socially awkward, that would have been the highest point of hypocrisy he'd ever risen to. No, he's just... fidgeting at them. He won't say fussing. It's just to stop them sliding out onto the floor on their back like a discarded piece of paper and that's that. He's practical.

Lemm perches beside them (with space between, but only small) with his hands folded together, legs straight in front of him, and gives himself a short moment to stare into space and brave the next step.

(In the dim light of a lamp strung up overhead, the tea is a rich reddish-brown, with flecks floating around at the bottom that look like they might be bark. The cup is predictably antique, decorated around the handle with scratched silvery leaf; there's a painted Hallownest Seal on the inside, and Lemm has filled the cup appropriately to the middle line, as if by habit. It's part of a matched set, they might remember - someone might remember...)

"...Wait til the tea settles," he advises, quietly, as if this is a rule he's gone by before. "You'll know your hands are steady enough."

[focusedvoid]

Sibling remembered. The drink more than the secret art of the Seal within, and how it wasn't needed. This is a good thing, as the sight alone is enough to make the Knight's hands tremble double until they focus more on the fact that Lemm made it, and it's warm. It's a comfortable warm. Not burning, no, nowhere near burning or dangerous, comfortable. The warm of Hot Springs, intended for healing and pleasure.

(They spare a thought it's likely positive they're unable to drink this. Feeling warmth from inside would go poorly.)

They sag and tip their horns at Lemm, and then at all the pillows behind their backs. If he wants to lie down again...

[capitalcurator]

Lemm just sits there, mostly still, fidgeting a little with his hands. He gave the advice he gives himself, because that's what people do. Only later they might realise, which is a level of vulnerable he isn't comfortable with. Maybe they'll forget. That would be convenient.

At the motion out of the corner of his eye, he's drawn to glance at them, though he looks away and shakes his head just as quickly. Too wired. Or he won't while they're here. Or it'd be impolite. Or he isn't tired. One or several of these are true.

He should talk. Fill the silence. That'd be something ordinary.

"Thought I'd tidy." Obviously.

He scratches his beard.

"S'not going well." Obviously!

Lemm folds his arms, then, and slumps back against the pillows in a sulk. Fine, he's comfortable. The Knight might be jolted very slightly as the pillows shift.

"Not my fault everything I pick up is worth keeping. Can't fault a bug for that," he insists, sounding rather like he doesn't believe a word. "I'd say at least there's space to move in here but I know it's all coming back as soon as I let it. Remember well what ye'll see not again," he quotes from somewhere-or-other, and gestures to the empty floor. "Forgot the tiles were patterned."

Are their paws steady yet. He hopes so. He doesn't have many 'safe' options right now other than to talk about his own business and frankly it's no fun.

[focusedvoid]

Too wired, they assume. Too difficult to settle again after the Knight burst in like a Furious Vengefly. ...Or perhaps crept in like a Nosk would be more fitting.

In spite of that, they're quietly pleased when he drops back. The tea is steady enough not to spill across their lap.

Tidying. Yes, that would make sense. They nod along, peering down with some genuine surprise. Look at that, the tiles are patterned.

...Each time they think about what they came here for, their paws tremble more.

So they won't. Not yet. They can respond to this, at least, albeit in wobbly glyphs at the angle they use, careful to set the tea and keep it steady on their lap with one paw.

Wondered if you were moving.

[capitalcurator]

Patterned, but not very clean. Lemm seems to be avoiding looking at the floor right now for this reason, though he seems to have resigned himself to the Knight being aware. It's not like they haven't seen worse.

Their words get a sharp look. Then he tilts his head back and studies the ceiling. (Which could also use a duster, now that he's looking.)

"I've thought about it," he admits. And it is an admission, an unpleasant one. It says too much about him. There are conversations to be had - that can only be had in private. "Bugs don't have to be quite as mad to live here any more - you'd be surprised how quickly it happens." With a sigh: "It's happening already... I didn't come here looking for neighbours."

He closes his eyes, rubbing the heel of his hand against the base of his horn like he's soothing a headache.

"No, I don't think I'm going anywhere. This Relic Seeker's found his calling. Hallownest's gotten into me you see, you know it when you find it. I was made for this place." Hallownest. The City of Tears. This shop specifically, even.

A pause. There are conversations -

"Anyway," he says, more quietly, "I don't trust my luck for you to find my shop twice in one lifetime, Knight. If I ever so much as up sticks to Greenpath you'll hear about it in advance."

[focusedvoid]

The dirty floor gets no consideration.

Just as his moving away hadn't, not for some time. Not after promises about not disappearing.

The Knight's tiny claws grip the cup's handle tight. They thought he might move shop to somewhere more convenient in the City, not...well. He would have told them, and they knew that before he reassured. They nod again.

--They should say it.

I knew you would tell me. Still, thank you.

...Thanks aren't what they're here for, though.

The quill hovers over the paper. They're not as frantic as they were. This doesn't mean they know where to start.

[capitalcurator]

Yes, they know. Well.

"I'd tell you first," he corrects. "It'd pointless to start without you. You'd be excellent transport." They would not be finding out via finding his bags halfway packed, so to speak.

Lemm watches out of the corner of his eye as they begin what looks like a very familiar false start.

"Events first," he prompts. Lemm locks his eyes politely fixed on the ceiling. "If you're struggling, go through it chronologically. Doesn't need context or details yet." This isn't a historical account. He alters the wording a bit: "Just tell me what happened."

[focusedvoid]

The Knight dips their head in thanks, and faint amusement. They understand the sentiment, mostly, but for practicality's sake, the Lord of Shades would be excellent transport.

...Just the events. Just what happened. Just.

After my mask was repaired, I wanted to check in on my siblings further within Deepnest. It had been a while, and I wanted to know what happened that led to

The Hollow Knight sticks like a thorn in their head despite themselves, and they take a moment, tracing the edge of the teacup.

their expedition into the City. Hornet was out. Tall Sibling was there.

I give them updates during my visits. I am was am often unsure if they listen. I could^tellthis time. I thought they I found them kneeling and I despised it but I ignored it.
I eventually asked directly. what had happened. I didnt fully expect a response this time either. The Knight pauses again, pressing a little further into the pillows.

I received one.
(Through Void, like our other Siblings, not writing.)
And it was they shared so much many thoughts. hurting and terrible. I was taken off guard and fled to keep the Lord of Shades from frightening them further or ruining the village dwellings and didnt couldn't think about anything else. and I ran here and hid. as you know.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm is still. He watches patiently, studying the way they stutter and redact and go quiet just as much as he studies what they're writing.

There is such gravity behind the mask of the Hollow Knight. That's what they're telling him here. And it shouldn't be a surprise with what he knows already, but there is something - he knows, as he thinks it, this is beyond naive, it's not like him - there is something to the image of the Hollow Knight standing upright in stone in a rainy square -- ugh. Now he recognises the bias. And he fell for it, as the sculptor and the client intended. Even with the context, the impression lingered at the back of his mind and it's been... colouring things. Rookie mistake.

Lemm does not say any of this. He sinks slightly into the pillows, thoroughly displeased with himself, and scowls at the far wall.

"Thought they were - quiet," he says, and feels like more of an idiot. "Figured it was their business, from what you said. Didn't ask." Should've, maybe? How was he, of all bugs, supposed to know that?

...Actually.

"Well, how were you s'posed to know?" he mutters. "Until they told you, I mean. Anyway it sounds - bad." Inadequate, that. But it sits kind of like an invitation, on the doubtful chance they want to tell him more.

[focusedvoid]

They tip their head in a glance. Of course they were quiet, in that they were still and careful. That was natural.

...It's natural to the Knight. They don't have a significant amount of experience with other surviving Vessels to compare to.

They motion disagreement, though Lemm is right. They wouldn't know, they couldn't. They hadn't even thought it. They thought--

I thought it was all of the Radiance. I thought because she hurt them. And she did, and they are recovering yet, and may possibly forever. I knew and expected such. But that was barely any of what they offered. They

The paw with the King's Brand pulls up and clenches into a tiny fist until it's still again.

gave me what they thought I w the King and "the Vessel who did not fail" needed because they lied believe they deceived the Pale King by not sharing they were not hollow. and now should never hide anything. So they gave me everything. they could. These thoughts first but not alone. I know I am afraid to look.

They aren't afraid to look away from the paper, but their head locks itself facing those last few sentences still.

[capitalcurator]

"The -"

Ah, that is a lot of information at once, and spread out on a page with not much coherence. Lemm tilts a bit to read better. And he doesn't mean to loom, only the angle is awkward...

His line of sight is interrupted slightly by their fist.

...He slumps back into place when he's done, and folds his arms over his chest, thinking. This is a lot. None of it is remotely familiar to him, and he doesn't have good advice, here, not really, just second-hand...

It doesn't take long. He feels strange about leaving them in silence too long here, which might be why his answer isn't exactly thought-through.

Nor is it verbal at first. Lemm settles a hand on their head. Give him a minute. Give them a minute. But he's here, regardless.

[focusedvoid]

The Knight isn't giving the outside world attention. When Lemm's hand touches them, they flinch.

--And the tea is upset. Not nearly all of it, but a few warm lines dump down their cloak and leg. Both jerk them from drawing further into swirling misery. They pat Lemm's wrist and gingerly scoot forward to keep any more of it from spilling over the pillows.