It's a beautiful day--

[dustless]

It's their birthday today.

They kind of wanted to do something for it--bake something, invite a few friends together to play a game, but they can't. They're still dealing with the aftereffects of being hideously sick, and can't help feeling too tired to do much.

That's fine. Nobody--well, almost nobody knows when it is besides them. And they sure don't look probably-eleven, they're still nine-sized...and that's thoughts for some other day.

Frisk's dragged a few giant cushions out into were the sun is, have a blanket to wrap around themselves, just in case. They'll spend the day (what's left of it; they woke up early afternoon) doing their best to just...relax.

Comments

[itstheend]

If this moment never ended, for once Frisk and Chara feel the same - they'd be okay with that. The other Frisk's clear and evident happiness seems to fill the room with warmth, that same pleased-apprehension.

Singing together. Chara remembers - peppermint winter, Frisk examining what is allowed to seep across of the memory with that same odd drunken lift. They lift their head up, coming to an internal agreement.

(Who says this isn't important, in it's own way?)

"I'll count us in," Chara says, which means, in tone and demeanour, of course. "Three, two, one..." They lift their hands like an orchestral conductor, and take a breath, and start.

"Happy birthday..."

Have you heard two people try to use the same set of vocal chords at once? The result is... interesting. There's an internal running back and forth - the audible equivalent of a three-legged race, although as the song continues some sort of equilibrium begins to be reached.

[dustless]

It's a strange music, but it's still their song, even with two voices at once, and another not matching along with it with me instead of Frisk.

Frisk's already replaying the scene in their head as soon as the last word ends, though they also bury their face in their hands and slides down a little. They're actually blushing, and for once it's bright enough to see.

They're just...so happy. Elated. They want to--no, they're going to remember this forever and ever; the first time someone sang at their birthday, the first time one of their most hurt friends looked genuinely happy too.

"Thanks," they say again. There's a touch of a squeak in there. "Really...really good."

[itstheend]

Chara's cheeks aren't quite as red, but just a shade more inflorescent than usual and their face does something, splits, they don't know - that rarest of things, a genuine smile, crooked and distorted by lack of practice and the unconscious desire to keep something usually twisted into a weapon away from the other.

They have no idea what they're even feeling right now, but it isn't bad. Not bad at all, shades and flavours of a similar thing intermingling with their Frisk's like watercolours, reinforcing it and giving it a sort of giddy staying power.

They lower their hands and mock-bow complete with twirl of hands, and there's a similar half-laugh squeak in the back of the mind.

"We'll be here all week."

They'll be here all forseeable-future. They prop their chin on a hand, and relay - "Frisk says that maybe we should start a band. An acapella." The birthday-Frisk is absolutely included in that.

[dustless]

Frisk giggles, fast. They can see the edges of Chara's smile, and it's...weird, and doesn't look pleasant, but it's not fake. So it's still good.

It's several seconds before they can actually form coherent sentences again, peeking out from between their fingers. Their smile shrinks while they consider this. "Really? Mean--um. I'd like t' try it. 'F you wanted to." It might've been a joke, but music is serious business! And they have no idea what acapella means yet, so they're thinking of their piano.

Hmm. They played piano with Chara, and violin. Frisk isn't sure if they liked the latter, but...violins are portable, and that has something in the back of their head (the same thing that tells them they're this close to solving a puzzle) telling them to remember that too.

[itstheend]

They want the other to feel this happy for as long as possible - both of them do, again, in such a way they find themselves checking against merging, like a birb's rapid preening.

It started out as a joke, but it looks like a band is really happening now - Chara sends an image of Shyren to their Frisk and gets a return sort-of thumbs up.

"Well, they did suggest it." And Chara chose to relay it, so that means they agreed. Or something. "I demand at least fifty per cent of ticket sales." It's joking, they're still joking - determinedly keeping the mood up, because it seems to have been working so far.

If this does end up involving an actual concert in front of people they'll... well, they'd still do it, they made themselves an obligation. But it would not perhaps be enjoyed. Their Frisk mentally presses up against them, briefly. This only serves to cause some irritation with themself they refuse to show.

[dustless]

It still sounds wrapped up in jokes. Frisk isn't going to expect anything, not for real. They're good with the piano and singing, but the playing needs improvement and their voice can still be strange sometimes if they don't do enough.

...besides, some people won't want to listen to a Chara sing, unfair as that would be.

They move on; just gotta keep playing along with the joke. "Sure! We should charge home cooking, too, 'stead of money."