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

[dustless]

Frisk places a crooked finger on their chin, projecting that they're thinking.

This might be nicer if they knew how to play music just by looking at the keys instead of having to touch them, feel exactly which note's where, 'cause they'd like to teach Chara how to play in this little copy-game.

Frisk matches them, their own key-presses, the two more, and then two more. A copy game into a memory game, maybe! A puzzle.

[itstheend]

If there's one thing Chara is good at, it's memorising things, even if sometimes they can't trust their own ability to. The pattern is easily copied without hesitation or flaw, and added to in turn, with the minutest pause before three more notes are sounded out, adding the black keys in.

There's a dead and buried competitive streak getting dusted off. Who can last the longest? The urge is to throw it, to keep the other kid happy, but Chara is swept up in this now, poking this entire situation with a stick.

The feeling of a number going up.

[dustless]

Oh--those are new, and maybe they'll even be a problem--obviously, Frisk knows which side has which sound on the entire keyboard, but they almost never use the black keys on their own, outside of the one they play for Serif. (Mostly because their fingers are a little too short when they're playing actual songs.)

Not yet, though. The novelty of it's enough to get them to match after a pause, add those three.

As well as words--wait, no, it's not a part of the game itself, just a comment, a whisper with a smile at the keys. "Guess we're making a song together anyway."

And two more, tapping black keys furthest to the right.

[itstheend]

"I suppose you are right," Chara says, sounding a little surprised. Does this really count as a song? Well, if Frisk says so.

With the increased number of notes, it's getting harder, but they complete the extra two with only minor hesitation (and some having to lean over) before adding four more, trying to pick ones that fit the rest, now, instead of at random. They turn their head to the other as they play.

"What would it be called?"

Songs have names, do they not?

[dustless]

...Well.

"Um." Now they're splitting their concentration between note recall and naming conventions. There's a noticeable hesitation in their hands before they add Chara's extra notes.

They're better than Asgore and Asriel at least, or so they hope. "A...a...a friend's copy game?" Frisk says. "Don't usually name mine. You can pick one if you want."

[itstheend]

The kid that is, in another universe, completely fine with being retroactively named Butts isn't going to object to Frisk's choice regardless of their own personal opinion on it - they offered it to them, after all.

They're not going to offer an alternative either. Don't rock the boat, Chara.

"A friend's copy game..." they repeat, and have to dip their head again because they... can't really count as a friend, can they? Sure, they did some things together that friends in books and movies do but. That doesn't just make someone your friend, does it? There's other things involved, surely. Like actually being human.

But it's been weirdly... nice, so far. And even though they feel horrible for indulging while they can, even though they know there's probably a catch coming, well. That's what selfish creatures like them do, isn't it?

"It fits," they tell the other, looking not quite at them, and the voice is very small to keep it even.

Their fingers slip on one of the notes in repetition, a discordant sound, and they look down at the keys.

"Oh."

They've lost, even if they were trying not to this time.

[dustless]

Frisk wins.

They also spy Chara's head-dip, and they wonder if they're the first person to ever call Chara a friend. It makes them ache, but it doesn't exactly surprise them. (It's half of why they even said it.)

They barely acknowledge their own win--that wasn't the point of it, after all. They reach out to copy the notes again anyway, and then they lean back to look around the rest of the room. There's so much stuff in here. "Do you want t' try another instrument? I dunno if this copy game was fair, 'cause I'm used to practicing more than you."

[itstheend]

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?

[dustless]

"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.

[itstheend]

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.

[dustless]

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.

[itstheend]

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.

[dustless]

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.

[itstheend]

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.

[dustless]

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."

[itstheend]

(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.

[dustless]

'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."