Hornet.

// I’ll still be around, and happy to be proven wrong some day, but until then it’ll be mostly focusing on @branching-paths.bsky.social who’s a bit more of a relaxed/divergent take on Hollow.

// Like don’t get me wrong, the muse and motivation is there. This is genuinely my main form of escape. But the body is completely failing at this point, and between lack of insurance and living in a medical desert, there is literally nothing I can do about it anymore.

// I find it poetically ironic how right after posting this my health crashed (again) and still hasn’t really recovered. Not to get all real but it’s been in kind of a freefall for a few months now with no change, so it’s about time I concede that this account might just be doomed to be slow-moving.

// 9

// Hand over all your “like this for an interaction” posts 🔪

(Please and thank you. I’d like to get this account more consistently active by putting her into Situations™️ like I’ve always wanted, and spending so much time on Lantana has finally given me the social courage to do so)

None of it is conveyed in her tone, however; only ever calm and assertive. “What intentions are these, soft bug?”

Rare to see another shell-less bug here. Watching from a fair distance still considered within Bellhart, she can’t help but stare in something like perplexed wonder.

And then a flicker of fire.

Decidedly not a good thing. She approaches from the tunnel behind him, stern and maybe a touch vexed.

// “Like for my honest (private) thoughts about your character” or some such too please (😇)

// Independent portrayal of the Hollow Knight in which they're mainly Root-aligned.

Heavily canon-divergent to enable them to be as close to a regular character as possible, but core story is still the same.

❀ Alternate-friendly and multiverse encouraged
❀ Open to all genres
❀ #HKRP / #MVRP

⇣

"If you ask nothing of me, allow me instead some manner of insight to your goal. To what place do we travel? Cold was mentioned, but little more. Do you have a destination in mind? Or do you consider yourself a wanderer, perhaps?"

Her words are calm, unfazed, both by Jinx's insistance and the implications behind it.

"To accept your hospitality unchallenged when I am yet able to provide some manner of use would make me a poor companion, however."

She lifts her head, then, confident and willing, but not pressing.

She does not pity her. Does not project onto her her own history, or assume intent or expectations. She merely observes, and processes, and extends her own neutral patience.

"Unless the forces which brought me here have intentions with me, I've no interest in meddling into your kingdom's affairs."

extending the means to flee from merely the signs of it, with warnings and tolerance—however thin—despite the uncertain start, and the complete unknown ahead.

In her, Hornet sees some small part of herself; younger and angrier and dangerous with sharpened edges first—apologies later or never.

It's the desperate cry of a creature betrayed, misused, left to rot or suffer or pick up the pieces alone.

So she can only theorise, anyway.

But such things are not indicative of an unkind person. This world is unstable, dangerous, unwelcoming, Hornet has come to understand, and yet here is Jinx,

Her travelling companion's notable abrasiveness hardly seems to bother the smaller bug, though the potential reasoning for it is inwardly noted, examined, picked apart.

Such anger, such resentment, and this complete reluctance to accept the good word of a stranger, is not born of average suffering.

"Designs for traps, tools, or things more precious still... I expect to be inspired by your knowledge. If more materials of greater interest may be secured with reasonable certainty," she concludes with confidence, "I might aid you as I am able."

Job done, she turns her head to regard her companion with an expression no different than normal, and yet somehow still hopefully expectant.

"Spare no detail," she encourages, some of that hidden enthusiasm just barely beginning to slip through.

"Allow me a place on the left," she confirms, already beginning to tidy the mess to provide a hospitable surface for whatever samples may be produced, "that I might catalogue by certain criteria what metals are to be presented. We may speak of their compatibility with blueprints of mine after."

Relieved in some small part to see her react so openly to the unspoken idea, Hornet continues on without hesitation. She sweeps past Clive to claim her seat on the bench with a calm, polite modesty in her hurriedness; no more a wordless answer than a prelude to her explanation.

Though far from any shy creature requiring approval, she hopes, almost, for recognition in the implication this change had been done with her fellow artisan in mind. An indirect invitation—nay, desire—to sit together as they discuss and plan and work.

At the foot of it all; a long bench, padded red with a cushion to match the drapes overhead and sheets of her bed. Newly added in place of what was once a singular stool, cold and uncomfortable with room for her alone.

"I took initiative to have it replaced some time ago," she reveals simply.

Connected to its left side is another surface, this one flat and home to tools made for cutting and reshaping and mending. A bit messy, each thing left where it was last used, but congruent, creating a comfortable lived-in feeling as opposed to a disorganised pile.

Once through the door, she motions to the nearby desk, ever adorned with notes and blueprints stacked and pinned across its upright board or nestled within the trey-like ledge beneath, itself holding a singular worn writing utensil and stray fragments of common local metals.

"Inside," Hornet decides with ease, bringing herself to a stand in preparation to see her guest through the door. Though eager to learn of the metals of other worlds and allow her mind to run, she lacks any outward enthusiasm to be mistaken as impatience.

With merits to both, she answers only after a glance backward to consider the amount of surface space on the decks out here and inside. A laughable comparison, but where one lacks proper lighting, the other lacks any walls to prevent their subjects of interest from falling and striking those below.

Too matter-of-fact to be disappointment or polite indication the reason for its absence (for surely, if it were not, it would be just outside its own door listening in much the same way) is negative.

"We are free to peruse your collection at length. Some blueprints, too, I may ask you to review."

Rather than rush or demand Clive to relocate, she instead settles down to a sit nearby, legs dangling over the edge of the suspended platform.

"Hallow won't be joining us this day," she informs preemptively. "It has developed a fondness for the forest nearby, and spends much of its time there."

"Your choice of instrument is, as always, a welcome departure from the strings of a different sort which plague these lands."

Arriving seventeen or so minutes after her, Hornet stands for a moment on the walkway leading to her bellhome to admire the sound, hand still on her teleportation bracelet.

I can be. No pressing matters keep me afield that I cannot revisit another day. Arrive when you are able, and I'll not be short behind.

Your knowledge on the subject is commendable. The passion with which you regard it is plain to see.

Be it for weapons or for tools, I find myself drawn to the prospect of alternatives to design with. A meeting to see them, if only for the fantasy, would be well worth it.