castle_perrault | a different sort of carol

Ever since last month, getting all that Determination poured into them by accident with Chara, Frisk's felt...different.

Better. Mood-wise, a little, and physically. More energy.

A stronger voice.

They default to being quiet still with other people; being louder is jarring even when they're alone. They don't mind it. It isn't fully healed, anyway, and it probably won't ever be, but it lasts longer before it hurts, and even more before it gave out.

But they didn't realize how much better it was until they'd been taking care of a much smaller Chara, sharing a room, deciding to help them when they didn't seem to be able to get to sleep...and sang to them. A n old lullaby they remembered from when they were their age, despite not knowing the language and having to hum and croon most of it. It worked, and they'd sat there for a while as it really hit them.

There was a reason they treasured the memory of their concert with Shyren, why they remembered her song even now, and MTT's theme, and the music box--they love music, they loved singing. But they couldn't do it for so long--they'd been sad about it sometimes, but they had other things to do, and the room full of instruments to play with eventually.

And now they can again.

Long after settling their little Chara to bed, Frisk steals out of their room and follows the music that's already there in the distance, the carols. There's a flash of hope that they can maybe find them, or at least make out the lyrics--but no, still not quite.

But that's okay.

They find their way onto a balcony overlooking the gardens. It's a nice enough stage, they think, but they probably won't disturb anyone out here. Who'd be resting in the gardens in this temperature? Even in the near-dark, they can see their breath fog out the stars.

What should they sing...?

Well. Why not a song about singing? One they remember distantly from some children's show they heard long ago--whatever it was, they can't remember, but they remember the lyrics. Or most of them.

So...they do.

A little off-key, a little shakier than it should be, but it's definitely not nothing.

"S-sing...sing a song...
Sing out loud,
Sing out strong..."

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Not the first person to call Chara a friend, no. But perhaps the first to mean it. Even now, Chara is waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the amusement of toying with them to dry up and for them to be (metaphorically, and perhaps literally), kicked out into the cold once more. They're resigned to it - they'll make the most of it while it lasts.

Kids can be cruel.

Chara copies the notes again, out of pure reflex. They mirror to camouflage by nature. They don't add any more, and turn a little so observe the rest of the array of instruments. It's an amount of choice that's worrisome, but they don't believe not picking one to really be an option. This strange kid suggested it, and they want to stay on the strange kid's good side.

"What would you... recommend?" They've been in the music room at school, and they read, and they watch shows that they can sneak. They could name quite a few of these, and have a basic idea of how they worked. But that certainly doesn't seem like enough, in this moment. It's a balancing act, because they're not stupid. They know they only get so many free passes in pitching the choice back to the asker. There's only so many times before it gets noticed, and only so many after that before it irritates. Think, Chara.

"What is one you do not know? A game would be fair then, would it not?"

That's better, isn't it?

"I just know the piano. The stuff with...y'know. The push--the keys." Once again, Frisk glances longingly at the massive organ in the back. Once again, it's judged as far too loud for far too early, and far too easily unsettled company besides.

They shift their legs around until their back's facing the keys, and the rest of them is peering out between the rest of the instruments and back to Chara every so often.

Frisk's aware of Chara carefully picking out their own words, but they're not sure exactly how, and it hasn't occurred to them that any of it could be seen as irritating by either of them. And they really can't decide. "So I'm...so I dunno. Do any look like fun t' you?" If not, then Frisk supposes they can close their eyes and point somewhere.

Chara's eyes slide to the other and back without their head moving, and then they slowly get up and move forward over to the instruments. Things without keys. Okay. That narrows it down.

It's not so much fun, exactly, but the ones with strings have a strange call to them as of this time, and their hands hover over the marbled wood of a cello before they glance back in Frisk's direction and then down. "Would one of these be sufficient? ...a moment, please."

They start hunting in the pile for a second one, because it simply wouldn't be fair otherwise, would it? There's a great deal of instruments, and even though they're taking care as they shift and look under things, there's the crash and clatter of a cymbal set falling over and they wince and stiffen, ears pricked.

Frisk tosses a glance towards the door. If someone comes around...well, they'll just have to deal with it. Or shoo them away. Probably that, unless it's their Chara.

They stand up and half-skip over, politely (they hope) ignoring how their friend's frozen, padding around to another side of the pile. "Is it the kind of...does that one need a different string? You know..." They badly mime holding a violin and using a bowstring for it.

Chara's breathing is very shallow as they listen, listen... the tenseness slowly fades by increments as time goes on without any sound from without the room, although it doesn't disappear completely. They come in enough to catch the latter half of Frisk's question, and the motion.

"I believe so," they breathe, still off kilter. "I think... that they can also be plucked, however." So that's an option if neither of them can find bows. They detachedly turn back towards the pile, mechanically lifting things out one by one and placing them a little distance away on the floor.

They find a bow, but it's for a violin. Another, slightly smaller, cello is slowly uncovered, however.

Chara's quiet, and sort of robotic. Frisk takes a guess.

"Don't think you woke anybody up. But if you did, nobody'll bother us. I'll just say we'll be quieter." Confidence, the same they did their best to radiate when they thought people might've been bad to them.

Well, of course people were bad to them, just maybe not right in the castle.

Frisk peers over their pile. "Oh. 'S that another one?" They point at the smaller cello.

Didn't wake anybody up. Good. That's good. Frisk's confidence does help a little, taking the edge off even if it doesn't disappear completely. They know this Castle better than Chara does.

There's also a distraction, and Chara focuses on it. "Yes." The s is slightly sibilant in it's quietness. Chara has the urge to draw the too-small bow across it, and fights it down. "Would you like it?"

Which means they'd have the big one then. They continue their search, movements still methodical and careful but less stiff, and finally do uncover bows of the proper sizes, holding one out to Frisk.

"Here. I think this is the correct type." They're not sure, though.

If somebody did come by, Frisk would shoo them away--and they'd get angry. They haven't let themselves get mad at all since the start of everything, not on the outside, but if somebody interrupted this nice music time with a kid that was wound up tight enough to nearly break...well, that wouldn't help anything.

They really hope they're left alone.

"That's good, I think." They take the small cello and skips around for the bow, wasting no time before they try to play--

--letting out a note so loud and ugly that Frisk nearly drops it.

"...That was too much." Force and enthusiasm. "Sorry."

(They'd appreciate it, even if it might seem a bit too good to be true.)

Chara cringes. It's more controlled then when they dropped the cymbals, because they were expecting a sound if not quite that one, but they do cringe even though they try their best not to. Their ears have metaphorically flattened, so to speak.

"There is no need to apologise." As if to compensate for the prior noise, their voice is at a murmur. Their enthusiasm for this, such as it was, is rapidly waning, but they hold their own bow to the strings and draw it, a lightness more out of hesitance than skill.

It's not a stellar note - scratching and warping oddly as the bow slips down the string, or strings where it accidently hits two. It does, however, suffice as a wordless way of... if not reassuring the other, deflecting concern with a tacit participation.

'No need'. Frisk makes a face, already-narrow eyes narrowing further, a tiny frown flickering to the surface. Of course there was a need, they startled Chara, but they're already playing before they can think of something to say. Deflection successful.

They mimic Chara's grip as well they can, subconsciously assuming they know more, and try to copy the noise. They don't quite manage it. "Oh. 'S right, this...is harder."

a different sort of carol

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