I've been playing Silksong and my love for Hornet burns brighter day by day. She'll meet a stranger on the road, politely introduce herself, and tell them gravely and sincerely that she's concerned for their safety in this dangerous land, and that she hopes they keep well. And then she'll take out a fantasy 4Loko from under her cloak, chug the whole thing, crush the can against her forehead, and fling herself off of a cliff into the subterranean lair of Mother Fucker Unlimited, a monster six times her size, slaughter him and a dozen of his most annoying friends, black out, wake up an hour later on the cold ground, drag herself back up onto her feet, and do it all again.
Someone hid some tiny ducks for someone else to find them.
Robert doesn’t wake Flambae on purpose. That would ruin the whole plan.
He wakes up early on April Fools’ Day with that twisted determination that only comes over him every now and then. A few weeks ago, when he noticed April 1st was coming up, Robert came up with the perfect prank for Flambae. He knows that if he makes it too elaborate, Flambae will end up having more fun than he does — and Robert is supposed to be the one enjoying this.
So he keeps it simple. He spends a few days quietly putting it together. Orders here, careful counting there, everything neatly lined up.
The small package of rubber ducklings stays hidden overnight in his SDN work bag when Flambae invites him to sleep over at his apartment — two hundred of them. Bright orange beaks. Tiny flames painted along their yellow bodies because, of course, Robert goes out of his way to order the “custom fire edition.”
By eight in the morning, the apartment looks like a crime scene.
Robert moves through every room with methodical dedication. One duck in the coffee mug cabinet. Two inside the microwave. Three lined up on Flambae’s nightstand like they’re plotting against him. Four tucked between the couch cushions. Five hidden among Flambae’s expensive hair products and skincare. One carefully balanced on a ceiling fan blade, because Robert has patience — and a chair.
He hides them inside shoes and boots. Behind the TV. In the freezer. In the shower caddy. On top of door frames. In the pockets of Flambae’s favorite jackets. Inside Flambae’s jewelry box, nestled between his earrings and piercings (carefully closed again afterward).
When he’s done, Robert is buzzing, trying not to laugh to himself like a maniac.
He tiptoes back to bed. The moment he settles in, Flambae stirs awake beside him.
“Where were you…?” Flambae’s voice is rough with sleep as he lifts his head from the pillow to look at Robert.
Robert presses his lips together to hold back a grin and leans in, trailing slow kisses along Flambae’s shoulder.
“Just organizing a few things. Nothing important,” Robert murmurs against his boyfriend’s warm skin.
“Oh yeah? No breakfast?” Flambae teases, clearly trying to provoke him.
“I might’ve prepared something even better.” Robert smiles, barely containing himself.
Flambae rolls toward him and pulls Robert closer by the waist.
“Uh-uh.” Robert quickly pats Flambae’s hands and slips out of reach.
Flambae frowns at him.
“Not until you finish your… mission,” Robert says, clearly proud of himself.
“We’re not working today, Bob Bob.” Flambae grins, resting his head back against his arms.
“I know,” Robert replies, forcing himself not to give anything away. As excited as he is, he knows better than to push too hard.
The anticipation twists in Robert’s chest while they lie there talking, but it starts paying off when Flambae finally gets up and walks toward the bathroom.
Robert grabs his phone and starts recording just as the bathroom door opens.
Flambae stops.
There’s a small rubber duck waiting for him on the sink counter, perfectly placed in his line of sight.
He slowly turns to look at Robert, and notices the phone pointed at him.
“…What is this?”
Robert immediately loses it, falling back against the pillows, phone shaking in his hand as he bursts into laughter.
In the bathroom, Flambae picks up the duck carefully. He flips it upside down. Stares at the tiny flame decal and the handwritten number on the bottom: 153.
“Robert,” Flambae says slowly.
Robert tries to compose himself, then jumps out of bed and joins him in the bathroom, still recording.
“What is this, dummy?” Flambae asks, glancing between Robert and the phone. But when he opens the bathroom cabinet, two more ducks tumble out, stealing his attention and earning another wheezing laugh from Robert.
After the initial confusion fades, Flambae rolls his eyes and addresses the camera in Robert’s hand.
“Oh wow. So this is your brilliant prank, Robbo? Amazing.”
He twists open his facial cream container — only to find another yellow-and-orange duck stuffed inside, staring back at him, slightly smeared.
Robert can barely breathe. “Happy April Fools’, Bae.”
Flambae drags a hand heavily down his face. “Not in my skincare, Robert.”
“Keep looking,” Robert manages between laughs before stopping the recording and walking out of the bathroom, humming to himself.
And that’s how the rest of the day goes.
Flambae’s good-humored, competitive spirit starts fading before noon as tiny ducks seem to appear everywhere he looks. He eventually realizes Robert planted two hundred of them, and that Robert refuses to let him get close until Flambae finds every single one by the end of the day.
Meanwhile, Robert is living the time of his life, filming everything and sending the clips to the Z-team group chat.
By late afternoon, Flambae has only found ninety-seven ducks.
That’s when Beef enters the scene.
Beef, ever the loyal squire, trots in with immediate interest, his nose twitching at the overwhelming scent of fresh rubber. Within seconds, he’s sniffing under the couch and pawing at the cushions.
Flambae’s eyes light up.
“Oh, this is excellent,” Flambae murmurs, crouching behind the dog. “Beef. Attack.”
With Beef’s help, Flambae finds forty-nine more ducks in just minutes, until Robert walks in, fresh out of the shower, and spots the betrayal.
Robert straightens instantly. “What are you two doing?” he asks, eyebrow raised in accusation.
Beef huffs proudly and shoves his entire snout into the couch seam, pulling out two ducks like trophies.
“Yes!” Flambae cheers. “That’s my boy. Find the rest. Good job, Beef.”
Robert rushes forward and scoops Beef into his arms, scandalized. “You can’t outsource this! That’s cheating!”
“It’s called strategy,” Flambae argues, pointing dramatically at Beef while the dog happily licks Robert’s face. “He’s a professional.”
“He is not a detection dog.” Robert points a finger at Flambae. “Your time is running out, Bae.”
Flambae stands with his hands on his hips, looking deeply betrayed. “You planted two hundred of these things in my house.”
“And you’re going to find them all by tonight if you want your boyfriend back,” Robert explains calmly, petting Beef as he sits back down on the couch.
Flambae narrows his eyes. He’s tired. He’s irritated. But he refuses to lose to a stupid prank.
“Fine,” Flambae says, marching toward the hallway like he’s heading into battle. “But when I find all of them, I’m hiding every single one back in your desk at work.”
Robert laughs. “You wouldn’t.”
Flambae slowly turns around, already holding a newly discovered duck he somehow found in the pocket of his own sweatpants.
“Oh, I absolutely would, Bobertson.”
Another faint squeak echoes somewhere in the apartment as Flambae continues his hunt.
By dinnertime, they have to order takeout because Flambae is still obsessively searching for the final ducks and Robert is too busy laughing and filming to cook.
When they finally sit down to eat, they count the ducks Flambae has found.
“Two hundred and ninety-nine,” Robert says with a crooked smile.
“What?” Flambae stares at him like he’s speaking another language. “...what?”
Robert repeats the number calmly while Flambae groans and runs his hands through his hair.
“There’s still one missing,” Robert says softly, almost amused. “Challenge not completed, baby.”
Flambae immediately looks up at him, dread creeping in.
“That means…?”
Robert finishes the sentence for him. “No kisses. No cuddling. No sleeping wrapped around me tonight.”
Flambae pouts for exactly half a second before collapsing face-first into his folded arms on the table. He grumbles about how he hated the prank, how it’s unfair, how Beef should be allowed to help find the last one — which makes Beef perk up and wag his tail excitedly.
Robert rubs Flambae’s back in exaggerated sympathy. “You know… we can try again next year.”
That only earns him a long, dramatic groan from Flambae.
The apocalypse has come and gone, and against all odds, Pharloom remains standing. The time has come for Hornet to return to Hallownest, accompanied by friends and allies: Shakra hopes to explore the mythical land beyond the wastes, and properly lay to rest a member of her own tribe; Lace fears unraveling without the aid of a Weaver, while contending with the immensity of a future free of her mother’s threads; and the Green Prince lives only only to spite the Citadel, passively seeking a more honorable end than might be found in the rubble of his homeland.
Meanwhile, Hornet returns from Pharloom with magic and knowledge that might aid in the slow recovery of Hallownest and Deepnest–and perhaps offer the chance to call home the sibling she once thought lost to her forever.
Chapter 4: Living is a Funeral to Self you Buried
[<<Prev] [Chapter 4] [Next>>]
At long last, Hornet arrives home, welcomed by the White Lady and her elder sibling. We finally get to see Hornet's softer, more playful side. Introductions are made, gifts are given, and Lace rapidly learns that the spider has little patience for insults to her sibling.
Note: This comic does not ship Hollow with anybody. They are not flirting, and do not see gifting flowers as a romantic gesture, nor is it received as such. However, Lace is likely the only recipient to kind of grasp the value of the gift.
Special thanks to @ziracrowshipper, @chosaint, and @mastertorchmaster for their advice on adapting sign language for Hollow. I ended up going with something simple (implying the whole sign by doing half the motion with their available hand); hopefully nothing egregiously wrong with that representation. I don't expect a lot of sign to show up in this comic, for a variety of reasons, but where it makes sense to include it I will continue to try my best.
Tip Jars: [Ko-Fi] [Patreon]
Other Hollow Knight Art: [They Are Taking Art Lessons] [Hornet Enacting Big Sister Rights] [Lace Gets Adopted] [Ghost Exhibiting Cat Behavior ™] [Addendum to Adoption] [A Lack of Due Diligence] [Addendum to Due Diligence] [Memento Mayhem] [Pale King vs Shade Lord]
Transcript:
Page 1
The White Lady: And so our sentinel returns to us.
The White Lady: Even as your power bloomed in foreign soil, you rejected your silken birthright to stand again before me. Pride of Deepnest, Protector of Hallownest, and daughter of my Heart.
The White Lady: Rest safe within my branches, for this land will always offer haven to you and your allies.
The White Lady: Welcome home.
Page 2
The White Lady: ....
Lace: ....
The White Lady: But for all my joy... this is not the only reunion, long-awaited.
Hornet: Hollow!
Hollow: !
Lace: Ahem.
Hornet: Ah!
Hornet: Hup.
Hornet: *cough* Allow me to introduce my elder sibling: Hollow, knight emeritus and keeper of the Queen's Gardens.
Hornet: And these are my... allies. Lace of Pharloom.
Lace: ....
Hornet: Shakra-wielding-rings.
Shakra: Poshanka!
Hornet: And the Green Prince of Verdania.
Page 5
Hollow (signing): Friends?
Hornet: Allies! I said allies!
Hornet: Hollow! Stop giving me that look!
Lace: I must admit... I never expected to see the spider so... undignified.
Shakra: Dondakku! It is an honor to meet one so esteemed by Hornet-wielding-needle.
Lace: Well, they certainly cut an impressive figure.
Lace: Though I have my doubts--GYAAAH!?
Page 6
Lace: This is...
Shakra: A gift, it seems.
Lace: ... How strange your homeland is, that a knight should willingly lay down their nail for so menial a chore.
Hornet: Do not insult them thus. Their scars are not a spectacle for your entertainment--
Lace: Relax. I mean no offense, nor anything so grotesque. I'm merely curious... whose grave do they adorn with so tender an offering?
Hornet: ....
Hornet: ...None but their own, child. None but their own.
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