entrancelogs | merry christmas; i could care less [ open ]

"Good." She doesn't quite enter, still, as if she's waiting for permission, standing a bit too stiffly in the doorway to look comfortable. Despite not running her organization here, it's hard to shake that persona, even to people who have never known her as such. But this is a good opportunity for her to see them outside of what Wonderland was forcing them to say- to have a nice conversation. Something normal.

"How long have you been practicing?" She doesn't move yet, but Lucretia does finally let herself lean on the frame. "I used to have a couple of friends who picked up instruments. I remember the process was quite rigorous."

There's a lot about her that makes sense. She had friends - used to. Past tense. She remembers things, from the world of the used to, but it isn't enough to unbend the tension of her poise and disrupt the pathological professionalism that she wears across her shoulders like a funerary shroud.

It's meant to be a wall. Mostly, it's just a little bit melancholy.

"A friend of mine taught me. A, um...a while ago." Their hair falls forward slightly when they bow their head to tune the instrument carefully. It's easier to focus on the task than it is to think of Napstablook, and wherever they might be now.

For a kid that doesn't seem to know much, it's likely good Lucretia doesn't know their inner thoughts- how closely they've touched on them with a single conversation. She can't help but see her friend's actions in them, either; the quiet concentration on the strings, the way their hair obscures their eyes. But you see a lot, in over a hundred years. Maybe she's just looking for them again in every person who reaches out to her.

"That's nice, though. It's always good to learn from your friends. I find it may even surprise you with how similar interests lead together." Even just picking up inspiration, on occasion. "Did they play the same instrument? Or did you pick something up to accompany them?"

Their nose crinkles faintly, like a piece of paper being balled up in one fist. "They didn't have um, hands. So they learned other things. Like the theremin."

That's not say they didn't have their own way of making do without easily defined hands and opposable thumbs - they certainly knew more about playing the ukulele than Frisk did, to start with. They probably still do.

...did. Before they left.

Hm. That's interesting to consider. She tends to find herself assuming there are only humanlike creatures here- but that might not be the case, and isn't really safe to assume. She's not sure what a theremin is, either, but that's an interesting thing to note all the same.

"It must have been fun. Though... by your reaction, I suppose the times you had with them here are over." That's an issue she fears, too- people disappearing, people who might not be alright back where she is. Whether she chose to be here or not, they all have been given a bit more time. "But you have this. Bonds like that aren't broken by distance, or time."

Past tense. Had. Learned. It’s true.

It’s not a secret. It never was. They’re just, it’s just, it feels like they’re intruding on something that shouldn’t be easily forgotten. They went back to a desolate world that Frisk destroyed, to mourn a cousin that Frisk killed. It doesn’t feel right to grieve a loss that they themself, in many ways, effected.

But they don’t have to say it. So they don’t.

“They went home,” Frisk confirms softly, with a nod. “Maybe they’ll come back someday.”

There’s an unspoken “but” there, all the same.

This is the sort of dance she's used to. Half-truths, the sidestep around issues and fears, the way neither of them ever tell their full story. She's a master, after 10 years of it, of making fake stories and lives and wearing them like her robes. Lucretia has mourned the lives she has destroyed plenty. It's the only way she has to grieve for herself.

"You never know. And until then... you have many other friends here, yes?" They can't be alone. Even if they've seen some things, they're still a child. Someone must look after them. "Maybe someone you can teach those skills to, as well?"

"Yeah." That's...true. They're not alone. They have a lot of friends who have come to care about them, despite everything - despite the sins they've accrued, the faults they've committed, the crimes they've inflicted upon others. They've made friends who can stand to look at them.

They've lost friends, too. But that's the price of love.

...is that a question on her own behalf? The child's head tips to one side as they consider her, expression puckering as they contemplate that.

"Like you?"

Lucretia blinks a bit, a moment of surprise. She rarely thinks of herself in situations like these- she's the observer, the facilitator, the one to make the cogs run and the wheels turn. Sure, people have offered,but she's never quite had time.

She's rather good at remaining stately, looking tall and judgemental and imposing. Too bad they see right through her. "I... suppose, if you count me amongst your friends. I wasn't especially considering myself, seeing as I'm not sure I'd have a use for the skill. Or be, well, very good at it in general." She chuckles, despite herself. They really have brought her down so quickly.

“You can be my friend. You’re nice.” That’s really the extent of Frisk’s criteria when it comes to making friends: they have to exist and they have to be...well, actually, that’s about it. They kind of just have to exist? Even then, they don’t always have to, to be friends they haven’t made yet.

Ms. Lucretia is nice, and that’s a foundation for any friendship. End of story

“You don’t need to need It.” Frisk strums indicatively, as if to punctuate the pronouncement. “You can just know how. For fun.”

Her fingers hover near her mouth, an instinctive cover from her laughter as she considers it. It's not... well, it's not really her, is it? She has a carefully curated persona, a person she's made herself into, and The Director would never. She has an appreciation for music, a facination likely spurned by a certain woman, but words have always been her forte. Words and art, though the latter has been in shorter supply until recently. But... she also remembers a more vivacious version of herself, someone she admired, that learned and grew with her friends despite her fear. And perhaps, in light of more recent actions, that Lucretia is the person they need.

"I'll tell you what. Do you like to draw?" She doubts they know- not that she doesn't know a few things about being a prodigy- but she also thinks, even if they do, they'd be willing to practice. "If you show me this, I can show you some of my favorite sketching techniques. How does that sound?"

“Yeah.” That’s easy. Of course they like to draw. They wouldn’t have covered their room with pencil sketches and crayon scribbles and idle doodles if they didn’t like doing it, right? A lot of it is aimless, without much direction, but maybe that’s the point?

Frisk considers that thoughtfully with a contemplative hum, as though their mind wasn’t made up the instant Lucretia suggested it. It’s appropriately dramatic, though, that hovering of an imaginary cursor over disparate choices.

“Deal,” says Frisk at last, with a firm nod.

They answer, and she smiles, a bit of the tension dropping from her shoulders. It's easier for her, if she has something to offer in exchange. Finally, she approaches, moving from the doorframe into the room properly.

"Do you want to start? Or should I? I happen to have some paper on me." She moves to reach and retrieve her journal, but stops herself, remembering it's not much of an option if she makes the choice for them. "Whatever's more comfortable for you."

Their nose wrinkles faintly, scrunching up as they consider it.

"Is it candy paper?" It feels prudent to ask. Candy paper probably won't last as long as regular paper, so it bodes mentioning that they wouldn't very much want to write on candy paper. Hopefully that isn't too picky of them. They say that you should love what you do, but Frisk would prefer to love it visually, and not edibly.

She smiles, reaching into her robes and producing a blue journal with ornate silver trim. It's not the original, but thankfully, she always keeps backups.

"I've managed to acquire some without the, ah, flavor of the day, as it stands." Which she's thankful for- writing on candy paper isn't easy, or even very possible from her attempts this morning. "But that was a smart question, considering the Mansion's recent... tricks, as it were."

“I tried playing on a ukulele made of candy,” Frisk informs her gravely. “It didn’t sound so great.”

But it tasted delicious, and there was something to appreciate about the candyfloss strings, the elegantly carved chunk of dark, swirled chocolate with the frets crafted of peppermint. It had been a work of art in and of itself.

But they’re still glad that they still have their own instrument. They sit at attention, legs crossed, looking all the world like a preschooler at story time.

She laughs a bit, gently, imagining them moving to strum the strings and the whole thing shattering. But regardless, she flips the journal open. As she navigates to a new page, they can see loopy, curved handwriting dotting through the pages, along with detailed sketch notes of a variety of people- Dipper and Mabel, Mettaton, Legion. She flips past Lup, lingers on it only a moment, and continues. There's even one of Frisk in there, with their own page of notes. Finally, she settles on a fresh page, retrieving a pen.

"Admittedly, I'm more of a painter than a sketch artist. But I've learned a quick picture sometimes describes much more than words." Lucretia glances towards them a bit, smile warm. "What should I sketch for our example?"

They don't want to encroach, glance over things that might be private, but they still recognize little slips and shapes as Lucretia cards through the pages. The Pineses. Mettaton. Legion. Lup. She's good, too - every sketch is beautiful, detailed, accurate to a tee.

She really is good at this.

They almost suggest themself, complete with a dramatic pose, but that would defeat the purpose of learning on their own. So they slip the strap of their instrument from their shoulders and set it down.

"How's this?"

She would have loved the dramatic pose, to be honest, but it does make it hard for them to watch. So she nods, backs her paper on the journal, and begins to draw the outline.

"Now, ideally, you would do this in pencil as to erase mistakes and rough lines, but my expertise is in getting a quick piece, like a memory." She ruminates for a moment that of course, of course she chose that word, but continues quickly. "So the key is to start with the outline and fill in the details. Get your biggest shapes first."

Her lines are sharp and deft, and despite the swiftness of the marks, they manage to look almost effortless, nothing like the painstakingly traced outlines they've struggled with, only to scowl at the finished product in utter disappointment at its mangled lack of a resemblance to the inspiration.

Still, they watch closely, though one of the phrases she picks sticks out to them.

"Like a memory?"

They are so sharp, so quick on the uptake, she wonders if it's just that easy to get into the cracks of her. She'd be the first to admit that she hasn't kept as careful a control over her persona since her arrival, but without all her informants, the straight path of the story she's been writing for so long, it's much, much harder to find her place in it.

She goes slowly, her hands steady, as she adds some lines for depth.

"Well... yes. It's difficult to project the way any of us see the world, truly. But if you can do something right, it will stick in their mind. They imagine it as you do."

If you can do something right, it will really stick with someone. One good deed, one kind word, one refusal to FIGHT. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

“I think it makes sense,” says Frisk, with a short little hum of acknowledgement and a nod. “It doesn’t cost anything to be kind, but for someone who’s had a bad day, it can mean everything.”

Considerably more simplistic than they’d like to imply, but now isn’t a time to talk about things like how bad memories can stick just as badly, if not more so, as good ones. Sometimes they eat away at you. Sometimes they can be the one thing you need, when all is at its lowest point, and all you have is a Bad Memory and the realization that, without any determination at all, even something cruel can behave like a Last Dream instead.

"Of course." Underneath, she is thinking the same- the significance of one action, the gesture of one moment, the feeling of letting one thing fall and disappearing, her disappearing, from everyone she had ever loved. Seconds. Moments. And then nothing.

But that isn't what she says, either.

Lucretia pauses in her movements to look over at them, gesturing with her pen. "So once you have the main shape, you add other dimensions, and then you move on to details. When you're doing work like this, you want to be sure to draw what would be on the bottom first, since you can't erase lines. Since the strings go over the middle, we'll want to detail that first."

"Dimensions," says Frisk, a casual repetition out of curiosity rather than lack of understanding. People have called Wonderland that, before. Dimension. Its own little isolated pocket of world. Apparently it means something in drawing too.

You can't ERASE your mistakes. It's like the way the world ought to work. It's like the way the world usually works.

Usually. But not always.

"What if you could erase it?" It hardly takes anything. A little fraction of determination spilled into a SOUL overfull with it, these days, pinning the moment in crystalline suspension for a handful of a moment.

"Yes, like a plane of existence." She replies idly, starting to add depth to the hole inside, anything she'll be going over later. Lucretia almost misses the second question when it's said, tilting her head just a bit their way.

"Well, if you were using pencil, or an erasable material... but ink simply smudges, I'm afraid." She's also incredibly literal, most of the time. "So you couldn't."

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SAVE 1.0

claps excitedly