Cold Breath and Warm Carols [Farrah & Rimma]

So far during her time at UA, Farrah had been meeting a lot of Japanese folks, and she'd come to expect she'd be the foreigner and her acquaintances would be the natives in most situations. She was surprised, therefore, when a figure she immediately thought of as Russian appeared... this was not because she knew the girl's name or origins yet, but rather, because the girl looked a little like one of those Matryoshka dolls that originated there. When the girl did approach and began speaking, her vague hunch proved correct. However... she did not recognize the girl's words. She'd studied Japanese plenty before coming over as a transfer student, but no Russian whatsoever. "... Bonjour!" Farrah answered, pressing her shades closer so that the confused look in her eyes didn't show. She hoped that the words had been a standard greeting.

She smiled and leaned her chin on one fist as the other girl expressed her desire to join her in caroling. "You wanna join me? That's great! I accept! Whether your caroling's veteran or just plain inept. When you sing with your heart, it's guaranteed to sound fab! So join me over here and let's give it a stab!" she entreated Rimma. "If you're cold, have some tea, it's guaranteed hot. You might need it if you plan on singin' a lot. Though I gotta say, you're sure bundled up. Maybe with all that, you don't need a cup? It's yours if you want it; please go ahead. And don't worry about that silly ol' rhyme I just read."

She accepted the handshake, then pressed two fingers to the bridge of her glasses and spread the other fingers, smiling confidently. "Farrah di Prima, the pleasure is mine! I hope you weren't scared by my tricky new rhyme. I'm testing the water, and feelin' things out! But there's some rhymes we could all do without. Why don't we try something we both know well? If you're okay with my drum in place of a bell," she offered, patting her palm up and down upon the drum's surface. "But first, you asked about my charity! On that point I lack a certain clarity. I knew all the cool causes in California by heart! But here, I don't even know where to start! Before we get to singin' our carols and songs, perhaps you can help me with what I shoulda known all along? Who deserves the money I'm takin' in? Not that I'm exactly rakin' in."

Rimma probably hadn't expected that she'd be the one naming her own charity here. A less benevolent soul could probably use this as a pretty clever way to steal some Christmas donations, but hopefully, Rimma would have something more charitable in mind.

((WC 457))

Farrah's grin remained, despite coming up empty on her requested guidance. To be fair, she realized Rimma was (at least she assumed) younger than she was and also just about as new to Japan; she'd been a little presumptuous expecting the other girl to come up with a worthy charity so easily. "Do like I do and don't you fret! Truth is, we got plenty'o time yet. We can do the work now and hand it in to the right place later. There's probably a lotta good causes to which we may cater," she agreed. Truth was, as Rimma may learn in time, Farrah was not the type to dwell on anything, important or not.

Her face lit up first with surprise, then delight, as she spotted Rimma's bell. "That bell isn't the only thing resonatin'! This new duet's the bomb, and I'm detonatin'! My thumb's in the pin and I'm pullin' it now, cause my luck's got me sayin', wowee, oh wow! Never did I expect to meet a kindred soul, who'd come with their own instrument to toll," Farrah rattled on excitedly, doing a couple of poses that looked a little like how a kid might pose trying out a toy gun, except with a musician learning about the bell for a first time instead, giving the invisible bell a practice ring above her head, then dramatically out forward. "With your bell and my drum, we're spreadin' the love! Better than any pair of angels from heaven above. Who wouldn't throw money at this lovable pair? For our sound, I'm sure they'll brave the cold air."

Next came the important task of deciding which song to sing. With a wide smile still spread across her face, the poet tapped her finger up and down upon her one dimpled cheek, trying to look around for inspiration. She looked to their instruments; it was true that there was plenty of Christmas music centered around bells, and a little about drums, but she couldn't remember anything about the two together. As such, she decided to yield to Rimma's instrument of choice. "Let's start with a song that always starts dashing! 'Jingle Bells' is a swell song, smashing! You know the lyrics, don'tcha, my friend? Your voice and your bell; those you must lend!" It was probably a little wacky to have a drum feature anywhere within a rendition of "Jingle Bells," but that appeared to be Farrah's plan.

"Let's start on, three. Ahem..." Farrah began, foregoing rhyme this time to tap out a steady rhythm on her drum and set pace. "A-one-and-a-two-and-a-skidlee-boo-bop-three!" she announced, already screwing their duet up with the unpredictable scatting in the middle of her count. "Dashin' through the snow!" she began singing, filling the night sky with her loud, sing-song voice. She then paused and added a line of beatnik drumming, hitting the instrument in a series of notes completely new to this song, more fit for a freeform poetry slam than a familiar Christmas carol. Niceness aside, Rimma would have to either surrender to the madness and try to play along with the oddball or else intervene and remind her that playing alongside music newly charted from another caroler's head was impossible.

((WC 536))

For the opening moments, it seemed like nothing was going to be able to stop the tour de force that was Farrah's new two-girl caroling team. They had an agreed upon song, after all, and an abundance of Christmas cheer to put behind it. However, once they got past the first line of the song, Farrah's quirk (her behavioral quirk, not her supernatural one) came into play, turning what ought to have been a duet into a drum solo. "Hm hm, it's okay, don't you worry! You got to the third line in too much of a hurry," Farrah chuckled casually, as if misinterpreting that the mistake was Rimma's and not her own. "The regular version's nice, don't get me wrong! But I like to put my thumbprint on every song."

As Rimma went on to explain why she couldn't just jump fresh into Farrah's rendition, the other girl began to nod her hand, looking momentarily perplexed. "Hm, perhaps we ain't got that level of synch. If we try to sing it now it'll just sink. Let's sing em normal, at least for now. And maybe later we'll get together, and I'll show you how!" she resolved, then rubbed her hands together excitedly... then a little more, just to heat them up. "Hoo buddy! It is cold out tonight. I need groovy songs to combat frostbite," she pointed out, then flexed her fingers and put her hand back on top of her drum. It looked as though gloves would probably help her out more than singing, but she pressed on regardless.

"Once more from the top, let's give it a go! When the queue is given, I trust you will know!" she reassured Rimma, before clearing her throat. She did more than clear her throat... as she pursed her lips, a trickle of three small, jet-black bubbles peeked out from them and took to the air, just above the two of them. Farrah then smiled to her friend and raised one eyebrow, as if daring her to guess what came next. Rather than wait, she snapped her fingers three times in a steady rhythm: the bubbles popped in turn, conveying her voice. "A-one" and "a-two" and then finally "a-three" projected out, before resuming her drum beat."Dashing through the snow, on a one horse open sleigh!" she began, using her own mouth as the source of the noise this time. It seemed like this time around, they'd manage a standard carol, at least if Rimma wasn't too distracted by the bubbles to continue.

A few park-goers were starting to come by now, with the usual mix of 10-20% feeling the mood and hanging around, while 80-90% had other obligations or otherwise didn't want the pressures that come with being nearby a charity bucket, and therefore veered off elsewhere. Farrah's voice, if not Rimma's, was very loud, and mixed with the instruments, it was difficult for anyone to ignore them, at the very least. She was used to (and fond of) the attention, so having eyes on her only pleased her; she watched from behind her shades to see if Rimma would handle the crowd just as well.

((WC 526))

As the two picked up pace and fell in line, the only difficult part would be for Farrah's high pitch and sing-song warble to match up to Rimma's more conventional take. Things proceeded swimmingly enough, though, with the few viewers chuckling at the short girl's "ha ha ha" mixed with Farrah's maverick use of "ho ho ho". The poetess felt so happy to be singing along with another caroler that she ended up giddy with excitement; trembling, even! Only once they'd finished a few verses and gotten a rest break to shake hands with the crowd and accept some donations did she realize the real reason she was trembling: the cold. Was it just her imagination, or had the night somehow become even colder as soon as Rimma showed up?

Farrah may be without gloves, but it struck her the other girl somehow looked even more piled on by the snow. She approached with one eyebrow raised, then brazenly reached out, attempting to push down the other girl's collar enough to get a look at her mouth. "Your lips, they're blue! You're the one that's cold! We gotta get in you all the tea you can hold!" she insisted, quickly turning to begin pouring a cup of tea. "Cocoa can come later, and don't worry, I'm buyin. But we'll never get there if we both end up dyin'!" Once she'd handed it off, she began pouring her own. "We made a little scratch! I knew you'd be great! We'll warm up and sing more; it's not even late! If my hands get tired, I'll retire the drum. There's endless revelry still yet to come!"

At this point, Rimma would probably want to jump in and explain why, pleasant or unpleasant, no amount of hot food or drink was going to fix the blue lips trait that Farrah had stolen a glimpse at earlier.

((WC 313))

Hearing the explanation from Rimma's perpetually blue lips helped Farrah to calm down. After all, calm was her default state; it took only a token effort to get her back down to zero. "My chum, that is good to hear! For a moment I had start to fear! That I would need to wave down an ambulance and worse, miss this excellent chance," she first sighed, then sang with relief. Farrah took a moment to grab a cup for herself now, and by the eagerness with which she downed it, it seemed like she needed it. Even now, while drinking the tea, she turned her head and watched Rimma out of one eye, like an Egyptian portrait. Her pinky on the cup-hand was extended way in the air; it seemed as though she was unable to make every gesture unique in some way.

Rimma would have to down the drink pretty quick, because despite starting later, Farrah was setting a speedy pace, and once she was done, she was ready to get back at it. "Perhaps for a bit I will hold this cup, to keep my vital body warmth up! We are in the Christmas mood and jolly, but this weather is freakin' cold, by golly!" she stated the obvious, but in rhyming verses. "Let's get another under our belts. So hot, the this frosty snow will melt! Our freezing fingers? Barely felt!"

She broke for a moment to ensure passers-by that they were free to enjoy the tea as well... a kind gesture, but also a necessary one. She had to move all the equipment she had borrowed back to the cafeteria later and the less tea she had to transport or dump, the better off she would be.

"My dear fellow caroller, we must go offroad! Away from the tales that are overtold!" Farrah suddenly shouted, turning and circling her hands as if summoning some ancient energies from below herself into the air. "Do you know that special song? If I can sing the first part, can you sing along?" she asked, giving a challenging smile that Rimma might not appreciate given that the results of their last offroad excursion. Still, Farrah was already clearing her throat.

"IIIII'm Mister White Christmas, I'm Miiii~ster Snow," the poetess sang, clasping her hands and rocking back and forth on her toes. She didn't seem interested in fixing the lyrics for gender appropriate pronouns. As she went on singing, now breaking into a march, tipping her hat on and off her head, it might occur to Rimma that if she wanted to follow up during her turn, she was going to be comfortable with some especially paradoxical verses.