songs for the fallen

frisk does not know how to talk to frogs

Frisk
_____

 
"Uh...hello?"

Nobody answers. The voice in the back of their head made its observation and promptly absconded. Now they're all alone talking to no one in the middle of a fucking cave.

Great.

For all they know, they just imagined it. Given the day they've had (and it's barely even a day--it's only just sunrise, and they were rudely awakened at maybe three or four in the morning), hallucinations aren't that far out of the ballpark of expected experiences. So they're hearing voices in their head. They can deal with that. This world is way weirder than fucking brain voices. Talking flowers, goat ladies--that's the weird shit. Their internal monologue deciding to make comments without their input is pretty normal in comparison.

Dropping their stick for a moment, they brush their hands off on their pants and take a deep breath. The goat lady is really nice, and probably just wants to protect them, but really nice and just wants to protect them are honestly red flags in their book.

But, then again, none of the adults who called child services on them ever threw fireballs at asshole flowers for them. Maybe they can wager a little trust on her. But they sure as hell aren't going all in.

They stick their free hand in their pocket, making their way back to the formerly mostly flowerless, now completely flowerless cave. "Uh...sorry I ran off," they say, almost unintentionally making themself small, quieting their voice. They're aware that they're doing it, but it feels too much like instinct to stop. "I just...I kind of needed a minute."

"I understand," the goat lady says. Did she say her name was Turiel? Tortle? Tutorial? Yeah, that's the one. Tutorial. "This must be such a big change, my child. Do not worry. I will guide you through the catacombs. You are safe with me."

"Thanks, uh...Tutorial," they say, shying away when she tries to offer them her hand. They aren't willing to put their life in her hands like that. They aren't crazy. They don't have a death wish. Maybe they did twenty minutes ago, but they're a changed person. They don't for an instant think they're going to survive down here for long, what with the trigger-happy flowers and everything, but they do have a healthy amount of curiosity about what else this world has to offer them. They can't figure out what the hell this place is if they're dead, after all.

She giggles. "My name is Toriel, my child. There is only one of me." Her laugh, like her voice, is deep and soft. She reminds them of Ms. Honey from Matilda, which they only watched the end of when it was showing at the library back in Port Springs. A teacherly type, but the kind of teacher who wouldn't yell at them for doodling in class, and would stay behind after school to help them with the trickiest math problems.

Okay, maybe they're putting way too much faith in her. That's not smart. For all they know she cooks and eats lost children and they're next on the menu. They don't want to be a mincemeat pie. They don't even know what mincemeat is.

"Sorry," they say, hooking their thumbs through the belt loops of their shorts. They like her, ideologically, but that's the problem with people. They seem cool or nice or compassionate on the outside, and then they throw you out of the Krafts Mart at four in the morning when there's a blizzard on the way. Trust is universally, undoubtedly, a bad idea no matter what. They're well aware of that. But it doesn't make them not want to trust her, even though they know they can't.

"The Ruins are filled with puzzles," Toriel explains to them as she leads them into another room. "Ancient fusions between diversions and doorkeys. One must solve them to move from room to room. Please adjust yourself to the sight of them." The walls here are a shade of purple much pinker than her robes, bricks interspersed with pebbles, bright green vines tracking down the walls. They don't know how so many plants can grow down here. They're pretty sure they need the sun to make chlorophyll--they know that much from school. That and pretty much nothing else. They don't even know how to do long division. The puzzle currently in question is a selection of pressure plates on the floor that remind them a little of the shitty online Minecraft ripoff they played on the library computer a few times. That had pressure plates. That's actually the only reason they know what pressure plates are.