Frisk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dustless) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
castle_perrault2017-01-26 09:08 pm
dustless) wrote in castle_perrault2017-01-26 09:08 pm
Entry tags:
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..."
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..."
no subject
They nod, relieved. Bad dreams, me too; me too, me too. Finally. A hesitantl smile.
"okay, we can talk… where did--who--how did you, um. learn that song? i thought, it was, kinda pretty. a lot pretty."
no subject
"...some kid's show on TV. Can't remember what. That's boring, sorry." They flick their fingers in other-Frisk's direction. "But--but what 'bout you? How'd you learn something that cool?" they ask excitedly.
no subject
They want to sit down, whether the floor's kinda gross or not, but they're too reserved to ask.
"oh, uh… i took lessons. but i--um--it, uh, it… was sort of the one thing i liked."
You shouldn't open up like this, they think. Not to a stranger.
"home isn't cool."
Shut up, they tell themself; you're going to ruin this.
"my parents aren't… they aren't nice, the other kids too, music helps me feel better."
no subject
Frisk realizes they've let the silence go on for too long. "Um. It's good you have your music. But there's not--your parents aren't here, an' I don't think they'll ever be. And mosta the kids here are alright."
no subject
While a hand laid on them was a rare sight to see, it's not like it didn't happen. They don't like to talk about it, not to strangers, not to people they don't trust to want to taunt them about it and spill it to everyone they know.
… this is a Frisk. This is them. They don't think that'll happen.
"okay." They don't sound like they believe them very much--they'll hold their skepticism, better than being disappointed too hard. They already know their parents aren't here, though. They would've found them by now.
Frisk shifts between their feet again, awkward, waiting, silent, a little expectant. They're not used to saying much in one go. They're not used to having a conversation open for them.
"sorry, i-if that was too much."
no subject
"'S not. 'Too much'. It's okay. A lot of people...who live here now, are actually from bad places. You can tell me stuff, if you want. Or we can go back to music." Frisk tilts their head back, gaze sliding up from their other's face and to the open sky. "...or we can go inside where it's warmer."
no subject
Honest to god, having no connections to anywhere outside of their dingy little town had made them felt isolated in what they were going through, and book characters only did so much, especially as fiction. At times they'd felt like they were doomed to become another one of those fable tragedies.
"let's, uh, go in," they mutter, shifting between their feet. If they offered, they wouldn't mind, right?
no subject
They start moving towards the doorway, though they're going to let other-Frisk go in first.
no subject
Frisk hauls themself up too, surprisingly nimble, and apparently with great flexibility that comes from a tendency to perch. They hesitate near the doorway, apparently expecting them to head in first, but they hurry inside when it becomes clear they're not moving.
The warmth is good. The coolness was good, too, but it was biting after a while.
And then they turn around at look at Frisk with wider eyes, careful, hopeful. They risk a tiny little smile.
"then i'm not alone," they say.
no subject
"You're not. And there's lotsa friends to make here! Oh, and, can we be friends?" It's easier to directly ask another Frisk than a Chara that.