a different sort of carol

[dustless]

 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..."

Comments

[itstheend]

Who indeed would be resting in the gardens in this temperature?

It seems even two years younger, Chara has a tolerance for cold. They've been in and out of the Castle just for the (strange, new, terrifying) possibility that they can, without being told and without being asked and without being reprimanded, and outside has less people.

They shouldn't feel that way, they shouldn't, but each conversation here is a battle where half the rules don't seem to apply anymore.

They hear music.

Someone's singing, and they find themselves drawn to it, slowely winding their cautious way over. It's dark, so it's hard to tell who's singing. They only met this Frisk once, to their knowledge, so they can't place the voice.

At the end of it, they clap, not loudly, but courteously.

[dustless]

They freeze in surprise, hands in the air--they hadn't even noticed they were waving them in the first place, as if conducting a symphony. They suppose they were. A soundtrack only in their head.

Frisk takes a step to the edge, peering into the garden. It's too dark with all the trees and tall bushes casting shadows even the moonlight doesn't reach. They hope whoever-it-is can see them, and they bow low, left hand still in the air and one pressed against their chest. They aren't sure what that might mean, but they're pretty sure they've seen fancy people do that after playing music.

"Thanks! Thank you, thank you!" They're still searching for movement, though a lot of their thoughts are occupied with their abrupt scrabbling for something else, another song they know the lyrics to rather than only the tune.

[itstheend]

As Frisk moves closer to the edge, they step into the moonlight, and Chara can see them bow. They finish their trek with a little more assurance, stepping into a patch of moonlight themself. It's only fair they do the same, after all.

They have the brief, odd urge to climb up to the balcony. They shake it away.

"You are very talented!" they shout up instead, as loud as they'll allow themself to go. Which is barely just loud enough to carry up there, and maybe not loud enough to be fully distinct.

[dustless]

Coming up with something is hard when they know they've got eyes on them. Words. If they were humming or posing or dancing, it probably would've been easy to keep going.

The reveal of who it is happens to be a helpful distraction, and Frisk moves from the graceful bow to some wild waving. "Chara! Hi! Can't hear you?"

[itstheend]

Chara waves up in return, their hand falling. They glance around at the surroundings - left, right, up at the Castle, before cupping their hands over their mouth, still looking uneasy.

"I said, you're very talented!"

They're trying to match the volume at which Frisk shouted down, because clearly that worked. Their cheeks are reddening, but that's probably just the cold and anyway, their cheeks are naturally red.

[dustless]

Frisk considers perching on the balcony's edge, but it's icy enough that they figure it's a bad idea for now.

"Thanks! D'you want to join me?" they ask mischievously, though they're quick to add "Or jus' have me sing more? I don't know what songs you know, but I think...think I can make some up!"

[itstheend]

Please don't fall off the balcony, they'll have no idea what to do with that. They don't know if anyone here practises medicine, and as Souichi proved, the person they'd try to find if someone got hurt beyond their ken would be, well, this Frisk now.

Chara tilts their head, dissecting the sentence. Since they mention making songs up, that means they might not have more on hand, so they might prefer Chara not ask for that one. A token option to conceal the obvious choice in some way - the tone corroborates it.

"I will be right there!" they call, and after a glance at the balcony to try and memorise where it is in the Castle (not that the Castle's unique geography lends itself to this tactic working) they disappear out of the patch of moonlight.

A short time later they walk evenly in where Frisk is. By 'join', they're thinking 'be present'. That they might be asked to sing too never occured to them.

[dustless]

Chara's gone before they can call down what they actually meant. Then again, having them come up is probably better than keeping them standing down there. At least there's heat leaking out of the doorway and brushing over them here, unlike the chill blanketing all the gardens.

They'll find Frisk leaning against the edge of the balcony, backwards, supported by their own elbows.

"Hi 'gain, Chara," they greet, back to their usual softness. "D'you have any favorite songs?"

[itstheend]

The question that is every casual radio-listener's nightmare. It's hard to have a favourite song when you don't think about music more than 'this is nice' or 'this is not nice'.

"Hello, Frisk. I have no preference," they demurr, meaning; Frisk can choose whichever song they like, or make one up as they said. They just also really don't have a preference, and it's a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights feeling to therefore be asked theirs.

They don't retain the names or lyrics of songs they like, usually. Not in their entirety.

[dustless]

"Okay. Was just thinking maybe, 'f we knew the same ones, we could sing together." They straighten up and stretch out. "...but that'd be hard. We're from different worlds, so even music might be different..."

Frisk exhales, watching their breath float up in front of their eyes. They'd had some time to think of Christmas-y stuff they'd heard on the radio, stuff that wasn't just centuries-old carols, though it was still pretty old.

"Can't remember all the words to this one," they murmur. "Hope that doesn't make it sound bad!" But they don't sound all that worried now, even flashing a smile.

They concentrate on as much of the tune as they can remember, and they don't realize how fixedly they seem to be staring directly into Chara's face.

"Twirl through the driveway with angelic grace,
'Til I slip on the sidewalk
An' fall on my face--!"

And then they break off, starting to giggle. That sounded a lot sillier out loud than it did in their head.

fingers crossed i'm remembering things right

[itstheend]

The other Frisk has a point, if the 'different worlds' thing is true. And Chara has seen magic and monsters while here, so the likelihood of that to them is more than they would ordinarily have thought.

The staring is disconcerting, enough to notice that the other Frisk's eyes are a very intense shade of yellow. Chara knows that gold eyes can be a rare mutation - they've had reason to look up rare eye colours - so maybe it's a variation of that. Maybe. There's the flash of a name, given by someone else. Ramus. Someone who lived long ago and had yellow eyes like that. They don't know what to make of it.

And the song, they- they actually know it, surprise lighting up their features. It's an old carol, a hundred years old. They play it in stores at Christmastime.

When Frisk breaks off, another voice fills in the gap, purely by reflex.

"This peppermint winter is so sugar sweet,
I don't need the taste to believe..."

Chara is by no means a trained singer - their voice is a little too thin and reedy and strained to be enjoyable. But they're hitting all the right notes, until they catch themself and trail off, mortified. That was not the intention at all. The other Frisk mentioned singing together, but there's what people say and what people mean.

They've kind of frozen to the spot, from one-person stage-fright and disbelief at themself rather than the chill.

if u mean the lyrics, frisk isn't quite remembering themselves :V

[dustless]

Frisk snaps back to the present with shock--they know it! They really know it!

And they're staring right at each other, glinting yellow into stunned red, and Frisk's expression flips back, hands clasping under their chin. They're gleeful, they can't stop smiling.

"What's December without Christmas Eve?
We'll hop in the sleigh,
and then glide away,
into the night..."

They give another bow, gesturing to Chara hopefully.

I was meaning more the eye colour but it looks like I was right :' D

[itstheend]

The other is smiling, which Chara takes to mean they did something right, even if the ground (well the stone) swallowing them up sounds very appealing right now. Frisk stops, and it takes a second for it to click - they want Chara to continue.

The red on their cheeks is bridging their nose, but they do.

"And we'll sip on moonlight
Runny nose
My frosty toes
Are getting cold but I feel alive
So I smile wide..."

This time, they'll keep going until told to stop, or until the quick glances they keep shooting Frisk's way pick up on displeasure. They even do try to smile on that line, and while it's done about as well as they ever do it (which is to say, they've been told it looks creepy), it's there, and then gone.

TECHNICALLY v pale brown but fuck it man

[dustless]

Frisk is standing on their toes, Frisk is glowing and putting their hands on their cheeks. They haven't got to sing with anybody for real in years and now they are and this is GREAT!

But they're not really singing with them, not in the best way possible.

They listen raptly and leap in along with Chara on their last line, and they go on, hoping as hard as they can that they don't stop:

"The snowflakes are falling and I start to float--
'till my mean older brother stuffs some snow down my coat!
This peppermint winter is so sugar sweet,
we don't need the taste to believe..."

Yes, they changed the 'I' to 'We' on purpose--and they'll keep it up until the song finally ends, sounding stronger than when they started.

Frisk gives them a wild round of applause.

aw heck sorry D :

[itstheend]

Chara doesn't stop, although they do metaphorically wobble a little when Frisk joins in before their voice rights itself. They note the 'we', and pick up on the sense of inclusion it brings, but are still utterly baffled as to why it's there.

The two perform the duet until the song's finish, and Chara has moved from the door to the balcony during it, breath puffing out into the air.

They duck their head into their sweater collar at the applause, the thin strip of face visible between the wool and their fringe as red as a beet.

They clap too - less wildly, more like a golf clap, but they weren't the only one singing, were they? In their opinion, Frisk was better at it.

naaaah i am a fan of the creepy eye color aes and if other ppl see them that way then good for em

[dustless]

Frisk might have more practice, but they'd never say Chara was bad, and they even did join in! That's about a thousand points in their book.



"That was so cool, was great! Oh my god! Thank you thank you thanks!" They're basically vibrating in place in sheer delight, visibly restraining themselves from shouting everything they're saying. "Didn't sing for a long time and didn't get to sing with anybody for even more, that was really super nice! Thanks! Again! More!" Frisk can't think of anything else to say--their face is starting to ache from how hard and long they've been smiling.

oh phew : D

[itstheend]

Nobody has ever been this happy at Chara unless they wanted something - scratch that, nobody has been this happy at Chara period, and it's wigging them out something fierce.

"You are... welcome...?"

They're still a sweater turtle, so the words are somewhat muffled. They almost miss the word at the end, and it fills with them with dread but also a little of a... 'that wasn't so bad' sort of feeling. It does make them wonder when the other shoe is going to drop but... for now it hasn't.

"I do not know what other songs we might both have in common," they aver, mouth rising out just enough to say it clearly. They don't want to pick one in case it turns out to be a poor choice and ruin this (strange, oh so strange) moment.

[dustless]

"Oh." They deflate the slightest bit--but just for a second. "'S okay! I'm still really glad we got to do jus' that. It was great! Said that already, sorry. But it was," they insist, bobbing their head, despite Chara not really saying anything to the contrary.

Frisk covers their mouth for a second. "We could always make one up. Together?" They can't help sounding hopeful. "--mean, if you want. And you don't gotta right now if you think about it, and stuff. I don't really make up good songs, anyway, just silly ones. But that one was kind of. I'm talking lots," they note suddenly. It feels like lots. Maybe because they're talking so fast and with more energy than usual.

They take a deep breath and pause. So Chara can talk more, if they want, without Frisk running over them. They've been staring, too, and it doesn't cross their mind to quit.

[itstheend]

Chara is used to stares, even it they make them uncomfortable, and this is no exception. They accept it, like they accept a lot of things that just happen to them. This is their life.

They catch the deflation and feel that familiar oh-I-did-something-wrong worry, but Frisk seems to rally and they're left to wonder about it. It was great, and it tastes like the other means it. They did something right, evidently.

"How does one... make up a song," they say carefully once the other pauses to breateh, because a ball has been set rolling and it seems it is their task to keep it so, a flicker of... not curiosity, exactly, but tentative exploration.

"I am afraid to say I have no musical experience."

They think there's things like meter and rhythm? Sung poems? They have no idea, and they're scraping their brain hard for anything they can remember.

[dustless]

"Rhyming! Lots of it. That's what I did. They were--just made up lots of silly songs, though, 'bout washing things or walking around and stuff." What was one they did...? "Sky's all grey, sky's not blue, but anyway, I'll just follow you! Did that one when I missed the bus."

They missed the bus a lot. And they usually didn't actually follow it when they did, but that's not the point.

"I don't either. Just sang for fun. I didn't..."

Frisk thinks they know which Chara this is--the one with the Frisk in their head. They don't know if they'll care once they're back, about any of it, but...might as well talk about it a little.

"My throat got really hurt. 'Bout a year ago, and I couldn't sing at all anymore. But there was a--there was somebody that gave me Determination. The red stuff, not the feeling. And it helped fix my throat. 'M really happy, but I gotta practice. Then we can both do it!"

Frisk leans again, resting their elbows on the balcony's edge. The snow's sticking to the jacket they're wearing, and they glance up at the moon. It's only now that they realize...it's really, really late. Not just for a duet, for anything. "...Are you okay?" Frisk asks when they look back, expression shifting to concern. "It's really dark and cold out."

[itstheend]

"That is a good one." The compliment is somewhat neutrally polite. It reminds them of Valentine's Day - roses are red, violets are blue... one would think they'd be purple, really.

Somebody that gave them determination. At first it sounds like an untouchable inspirational story - someone told them to, and they tried hard enough, and that fixed things, like magic. But there's a strange weight lent to the word and... 'red stuff'. Is it the name for a kind of medicine?

They don't know why they're being told this, but they don't know why this Frisk tells them a lot of things. Still, they comment, feeling the sense that they should, a sort of expectation.

"Can we not both do it now?"

I.e. would continuing not strain their throat? They've noticed the faintness to it, which makes sense in light of what they've been told. They blink at the mention of the chill - they'd largely forgotten about it.

"I am just fine. There is heat coming from the Castle." Even if extends only so far out onto the balcony. It's at this point the laws of cosmic irony cause them to sneeze massively, because warmth or not they've been running around at night, in the snow. Their expression is one of surprise and they quickly hide their snotty nose behind a sleeve. Ew. Gross.

[dustless]

Frisk laughs softly. "Thanks." They don't believe it, but the attempt to be nice about it is appreciated.

Their fingers slide up their scarf to press against their throat. They hadn't been thinking about their limits, but..."Maybe we should take a break. A little one. So I can sing more sooner insteada having to give up sooner..." Plus, again, it's really cold. Frisk is probably going to make both of their throats ache singing out here.

Chara's sneeze is loud and abrupt enough they're startled into a hop, eyes wide, and then they're moving slow and careful and around the other kid. "Let's go in anyway. Oh--there's a music room! We can go in there. If you wanna come with me," they remember to add, pausing on the other side of the threshold.

It's easier to not care that they might disturb somebody when they've got a partner, too.

[itstheend]

Chara's own eyes go wide at the other's reaction - they didn't mean to be that loud! They hold up their other hand, but Frisk seems to be moving already, and for a moment Chra wonders if they scared them off, focusing on the actions more than the words, which take a while to sink in.

Oh.

"I would not mind," they demurr, walking forward. There is a faint spark of curiosity in them - a music room? - and it's really rather nice of the other, to think to ask as an afterthought. It really is, to them. "A break sounds like a good idea."

That was surprisingly pleasant, but some cooldown time while they walk there appeals. Or warmup time, as the case may be.

[dustless]

A grin. Great! Frisk nods and beckons.

They're quiet on the way, resting their voice like they said they were going to. Though they hum. A little. It's that first one, Sing again.

The heat sinks into their face--it feels a lot better in here.

But the warmth wasn't their only thought, before. They lead Chara about two thirds of the way there before they talk again. "Why were you out there...now? Late, I meant. 'S anybody bothering you?"

[itstheend]

Chara unconsciously starts to quietly hum along a little, now they've heard it before - a habitual, ingrained mimic, it seems.

The question causes them to simultaneously realise they're doing it and stop, blinking at them. They don't know how to explain it.

How the cold feels real in the way it stings, when everything else here seems just a little too good to be true? How it feels like their element. How the Castle is full of people, and interaction is stress. How it's... a little exciting. To break the rules. To go outside, at night, as they please. Nobody seems to care.

Although maybe they pushed their luck too far.

"Nobody is bothering me. I am sorry - I suppose I needed some air. Is it... not something that is done?"

Not done. Proper form. Etiquette. These and more?