Mettaton walked ahead to the stage while the trio lingered behind.
"I can't believe he made you market his product," Frisk whispered.
"IT IS ONE OF THE BIGGEST REGRETS OF MY LIFE," Calibri signed before stuffing his speech-generating device inside the messenger bag he was carrying. "HE FOUND OUT MY DAD HAD A MUTE SON WHO WAS ALSO AN UMEMPLOYED COLLEGE GRADUATE LOOKING FOR A JOB AND SAW AN OPPORTUNITY. I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE I SAID YES AND WENT ALONG WITH IT."
"Don't be too hard on yourself," Frisk said. "Mettaton has a way of persuading people."
"I SUPPOSE YOU'RE RIGHT," Calibri signed. "IT'S JUST FRUSTRATING. I THOUGHT THIS WOULD GET MY BAND SOME PUBLICITY, BUT IT HASN'T GOTTEN US JACK SHIT. THE ONLY GOOD THING TO COME OUT OF IT IS THAT THIS CRAP HAS HELPED US DEVELOP OUR SOUND."
"How?" Frisk asked.
"Yeah, what are you doing with all the speech-generating devices Mettaton gave you?" Burgerpants added.
Calibri looked over his shoulder to make sure Mettaton was still setting things up on-stage before he pulled out this speech-generating device, set it on its lowest volume, and held it against his larynx.
"You know how this thing gives me a voice, even if that voice is garbage?" Calibri said in a quiet, flamboyant tone. "I have figured out how to modify it to add more flamboyant vocals with my band."
Calibri adjusted a switch and said with a lower, more intimidating voice, "By playing with the vocal pitch adjustments, I can make our sound more interesting. I can even do death growls. Oh-wa-ah-ah-ah! I'll show you more later."
"Please do," Frisk said excitedly. "I used to listen to metal with my Dad sometimes. I loved all the deep growls. They sound so cool. We can use it for the performance. People will stop watching if you sound freaky enough."
Calibri put the device back in his bag and signed again, "MY DAD SHOULD BE PICKING UP THE INSTRUMENTS FROM MY EVIL TWIN BY NOW. I BETTER GO OUT TO MEET THEM. I'LL BE KEEPING TRACK OF THE SHOW ON MY PHONE AND BE SENDING MESSAGES TO BURGERPANTS TO UPDATE YOU ON WHAT'S GOING ON. NOW, REMEMBER. START OUT SUBTLE BEFORE MOVING ON TO OFFENSIVELY THOUGHT-PROVOKING. OKAY?"
"What do I do?" Burgerpants whispered. "There are no drums on the stage."
"YOU DON'T NEED DRUMS TO BE PERCUSSIVE," Calibri signed. "JUST IMPROVISE. YOU KNOW, LIKE ACTING."
"Frisk, sweetheart, we're ready for you," Mettaton's voice called from the stage.
Frisk looked at him and looked back at his buddies. His eyes flashed in a nervous panic as he took a deep breath.
"Don't worry," Calibri whispered. "I won't betray you. I'll be back. Just stay strong. Okay?"
Frisk smiled at him and signed the word "THANKS."
Calibri smiled back and walked away.
"Where are you going, Calibri?" Mettaton asked.
"I'M GOING TO GET THE INSTRUMENTS," Calibri signed. "I'LL BE BACK."
"Alright, hurry back," Mettaton said without much concern stepping out of the way for his child prodigy.
Frisk walked briskly over to the piano and sat down. Immediately, the lights went up, the cameras moved his way, the ratings board went up, and Frisk knew they were live again.
"Welcome back, beauties and gentlebeauties!" Mettaton said posing dramatically. "I apologize again for the interruption. Children can be so…unpredictable."
Frisk rolled his eyes as Mettaton made another dramatic pose before gesturing over to him.
"Now, my lovely audience, you will be treated once again with a musical performance from Frisk the human boy," Mettaton said dramatically. "Frisk has graciously agreed to treat us before and during the contestants' next stage."
Frisk's eyes flashed briefly in confusion before he regained his composure. Unbeknownst to him, Burgerpants and Calibri did the same thing.
Mettaton walked over, placed another water bottle on the instrument, and said, "Alright, darling, show us what you've got."
"I thought you were going to run the obstacle course with Papyrus and Undyne," Frisk replied without looking at him.
"Oh, I am," Mettaton said. "But I wanted to hear you play a little first. Is that alright?"
"Oh, sure," Frisk said nervously taking a deep breath before figuring out just what to play for this new development.
Once again, God was good.
Frisk put his fingers on the piano and started playing the lively and intricated melodies of ragtime that his mother loved to play. The music brought back more uplifting memories of all the time he spent with his mother learning how to play this music, specifically the piece he was playing then…
"Darling, what are you playing?" Mettaton asked interrupting Frisk's thoughts.
"It's called 'Bethena,'" Frisk said. "It was written over 100 years ago by a guy named Scott Joplin."
"Oh," Mettaton replied. "Okay."
Frisk didn't think about Mettaton's suspicious tone behind the comment and continued playing.
As Frisk continued playing, the memories of his mother grew stronger. Ragtime music was the music that reminded him of his mother the most. It was her favorite genre of piano music. It was just like her, resilient, upbeat, energetic, graceful, complex, intricate, and unbelievably beautiful even when sad.
The memories made Frisk smile…
"Darling?" Mettaton asked.
"Yeah?" Frisk replied in annoyance without stopping his playing.
"Why does the music sound so sad?" Mettaton asked.
"Because the song is kinda sad," Frisk retorted. "Scott Joplin wrote this song for his deceased wife, Bethena. My Mom told me. They finally got married, but she got sick. She was getting better and they thought she would be okay, but she died not too long after their honeymoon. Scott Joplin was heartbroken. He wrote this song to memorialize her and remember her until the day they would finally be reunited."
The story was so sweet that every crew member smiled. Even Burgerpants shed a tear, much to his own surprise. Much to Frisk's dismay, the ratings rose by 20 points.
"Frisk dear, why do you insist on playing such sad songs?" Mettaton complained. "Why can't you play something happy? We'll find you some sheet music if you don't know any good songs."
"The songs I play are from my memory," Frisk protested without stopping his performance. "If you put sheet music in front of me, I won't be able to perform it unless I'm allowed weeks to prepare ahead of time. Besides, what's wrong with this song? It's great."
"It's sad," Mettaton said simply. "Can't we listen to something else?"
"There is beauty in sadness and in grief," Frisk said angrily finally stopping his performance to look at Mettaton and slowly standing on top of the piano bench. "There is beauty in music like this, too. They draw out all the dark thoughts, all the pain, all the regret, everything negative you feel, and help you face it before they help you heal. Then when all the negative emotions are felt to their conclusions, you are left feeling happier than before. It's a kind of catharsis that only music can give. You can't just dismiss it because you don't like how it makes you feel!"
"Lighten up, Frisk," Mettaton said with a dramatic pose. "All this philosophy talk will bore our audience."
"God, you're so shallow," Frisk muttered under his breath as he sat down and crossed his arms.
"What's that, darling?"
"Nothing you don't already know in your subconscious."
"Whatever that means. Anyways, go back to playing."
"I thought you didn't want to hear the music anymore."
"I meant a different song."
Suddenly, the ratings dropped by 50 points due to Mettaton's terrible attitude. Everyone gasped while Frisk and Burgerpants smirked in surprise.
"What?" Mettaton asked his audience in surprise. "You want Frisk to keep playing? Uh, why didn't you say so? My apologies, my dear Frisk. Please continue playing that beautiful song."
Frisk smiled and said, "Gladly."
As soon as Frisk started playing again, the audience approval went up by that 50 points Mettaton lost before.
Mettaton watched the ratings board nervously while Frisk enjoyed the music and the reviving memories of his mother.