songs for the fallen

frisk does not know how to talk to frogs

"Can I try?" they ask, but she's already stepped across the panels, unlocking the next door. Their voice is lost in the sound of it opening. They make a careful note of the code, just in case they somehow get locked out here. A child cannot subsist on cave grass alone. Though they do kind of want to eat some, now, just to see how it tastes. There's a sign on the wall--they take a moment to read it, squinting against the swimming and spinning of the letters. Only the fearless may proceed, it reads. Brave ones, foolish ones. Both walk not the middle road.

"To make progress here, you will need to trigger several switches," she says as she leads them into the next room. Twin aqueducts lead through the center of it, cerulean water hushing and murmuring as it follows its course deeper into the earth. "Do not worry. I have labeled the ones you need to press." She stops in front of a bridge, watching Frisk expectantly. They aren't entirely sure what she wants them to do. Just flip the switch on the wall? It isn't that hard. Does she think they're a baby? They're eleven. They know how to flip a switch.

They scrunch up their face in confusion, but make their way over to the bright yellow switch anyway. It's across the first aqueduct (they think it's an aqueduct, at least, though they aren't entirely sure what an aqueduct is), labeled with writing that says Press this one! Knowing their luck, it's probably going to explode.

They flip the switch anyway. Nothing explodes. They'll count that as a win. Now they want to test the waters. Before she can catch up with them, they push past her all the way to the third, unlabeled switch, and press it down. Nothing happens--at least physically.

The voice in their head--the one they thought they had imagined--seems less than pleased with this outcome. Wow! it says. You are superfast at being wrong.

"Thanks?" they say under their breath, quietly enough that Toriel can't hear them.

"No no no!" She is eternally patient, despite their blatant disregard for her gaudy yellow labeling. "You want to press the other switch. I even labeled it for you..."

They stare at her, still trying to process the return of the voice they're fairly certain by now is a stress-induced hallucination. Not that they're that stressed or anything--they've had way worse days than this. Falling into a weird mountain is nothing. "Huh?"

"Go on, press the switch on the left," she says. Still patient. They wonder how far they can push her. How far they can go before her patience snaps, before she shouts at them just like everyone else. Defiantly, they return the rightmost switch to its upright position, just to press it again.

"You...do know which way left is, do you not?" They're looking her straight in the face with their hand on the wrong switch, and she doesn't even look annoyed. Just worried. "Are you having trouble hearing, my child? Oh, no, I hope you do not have a concussion..."

They flip the wrong switch again. They don't understand why she's being so patient with them.

"You are very curious, are you not?" She laughs softly, offering them her paw again. "Come. I will lead you to the correct switch."

They cross their arms in front of their chest. "No. I don't want to hold your hand," they say. "I don't want to flip your stupid switch. This is dumb. I'm eleven. I know how to read."

A sad smile flickers across her face momentarily--she drops her paw, letting out a small sigh. "I understand. I am only trying to do what is best for you. Those who live down here are not always kind to humans. If you follow their customs, they will, perhaps, treat you with more understanding."

They wonder if she realizes they're giving her a puzzle to solve, too. The only difference is their puzzle is unsolvable. The How To Win Frisk's Trust puzzle is impossible, and they're going to keep pressing it, keep getting on her nerves, until she finally snaps. Until she finally gives them the answer they always get.