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The question Carol poses her is a valid one. How can Noelle learn resilience without exposing her to danger? Queen knows that Carol wouldn't want to hear "go on a mother-daughter Dark World adventure," so she has to give it some thought.

* Hmm * Well That Is Up To You Two To Discuss * I May Have A Few Suggestions, Though * I Am Sure That You Don't Truly Want Her To Be "Frightened And Defenseless" Forever, As You Said

* I Am Part Of A Self-Defense Class In This City * Perhaps She Could Be Part Of A Similar Club? * I'd Encourage You To Talk To Her, Get To Know Her Interests * Spend Time With Her (When You Can) And Invest In Her Future

She massages her jaw.

"I've never taught her self-defense because she could get hurt." Oxymoronic when she says it out loud. A mother who is a martial artist withholding martial arts from her daughter who could probably benefit immensely from it. But the thought of Noelle getting hit, even as a lesson- "As far as spending time with her is concerned, I had been doing plenty of that. We've been the only ones in the house, after all. If anything, our time spent together has been making her more rebellious."

Well. Maybe the first part of that statement is a stretch. She was coming home late and leaves early. And often. Even on days where she didn't have to be working. But on the rare occasions they did sit together at the dining room table, it was just the two of them. Alone. Sitting silence when there wasn't stiff and uncomfortable conversation.

Regardless. The latter stands strong. The fact that she had let that delinquent into the room that Carol had forbid anyone step foot in and put her hands all over Her Guitar was proof enough.

"You t e l l me what that's about."

"......Alright. Fine. That doesn't excuse the vandalization, but your thinking is sound."

Seriously. Why didn't she think of that?

* It Tends To Be, Yes * Without Proper Trimming, Their Beards Might Grow To Unfathomable Levels * And Then, How Will Their Sleighs Take Off Under The Massive Weight Of Their Beards?

"You know what? I don't care if some of this is a stretch. I like the symbolism. Hand what you have over to me."

The Holiday Spirit flickers away so early in the majority of people's lives as soon as February rolls in. Any way it can maintain relevance in the upcoming months is a novel plan in her book.

"Let's do this."

They don’t want this. It’s so cold. Chara’s body can’t stop shaking. They can’t stop the panic in their brain and they don’t know why. It’s just Mrs Holiday. It’s just Mrs Holiday, the woman who cared for them just as fiercely as Toriel did.

(But. . . no. she’s not the same Mrs Holiday.)

Still. Chara giggles a little, even though their eyes sting with the cold. They’ve always run gold anyway.

“Ha ha ha. Of course. I will do. . . my best.”

They’re scared, but.

Monsters are full of love, aren’t they? Surely, Mrs Holiday doesn’t mean anything bad by this. Surely.

“Good.” Carol says quietly. “Honestly, I don’t think you know how to do anything except try your best.”

The hug doesn’t end right away. It drags out with the seconds. When she finally pulls back, it’s only just enough to see their face while her hands remain planted on their frail shoulders.

“And just so you know, you can always talk to me.” She adds, softer now, even though the intensity doesn’t fade. “Any time. About anything.”

Her hand slips into her jacket pocket, fishing out a small notepad and pen clipped efficiently to it. The scratch, scratch, scratch of ink against paper overtakes the tranquil forest ambience as she writes down a number. Then, tearing a sheet free, she presses it into Chara’s small hand and closes their fingers around it before they can protest.

“Don’t you go disappearing on me. Understood?”

Still, Alphys is happy to see almost anyone from the underground here. (Unless it were, say... Jerry? But enough about Jerry.)

So when she sees the other monster, it takes her a moment for recognition to set in — her new wardrobe and all — then she offers her a little wave to make up for her staring.

"H-Hey! Um... Mrs. Holiday, right? It's... It's good to see you!" she says, fidgeting with her sleeves.

"H... How is everyone? How are Rudy and the kids? Are they, um... good? Or here, even...?"

She spoke too soon...

But it’s what Alphys stammers that snags her suspicions. True, it’s not at all uncommon for Hometown’s most unfortunate teacher to blurt out some off-color statement when entangled in a bundle of nerves. But to ask how Rudy is doing, let alone KIDS….This can only be one or two things.

“Alphys.” She starts with a good measure of restraint. “Do you want to try asking me that over again? Something is wrong with what you just said.”

He bristled and shook off the excess snow off before he stepped too deeply into her living space. No need to get water everywhere and be a nuisance to the kind woman.

"You must run into a lot of human people."

To be this welcoming, he thinks. Or maybe it was the lack of experience with people for this woman?

“Huh! Well, since I’ve arrived here, I certainly have been running into a lot of your kind. Meanwhile, by the looks of things you haven't encountered many Monsters.”

Carol mutters half to herself as places the bag on the kitchen tables and begins emptying several lacy red heart pillows out onto it. She cups a hand to her chin and dips her head in compilation, and only then does she talk to the young man.

“I can count on my hand the number of Humans I’ve encountered prior to that. It’s not a bad thing. You Humans interest me, no matter how dangerous you are.” She says while contemplating over where to put these heart plushies which, funnily enough, resemble one of the main reasons why she is interested in humans to begin with. I know a few good places for these, but some things will have to be arranged. That’s for later. With that thought, she gives her guest her undivided attention.

And...

Dear god. His coat is soaking wet. How awful. Fighting the urge grab several blow-dryers and pelt him with hot air, she instead clops over to the thermostat and cranks it up. Sacrilege under normal circumstances, however, the kid was brought here to thaw out first and foremost, so this will just have to be an exception. When he thanks her for the hospitality, she nods, ear flickering. In place of an amiable ‘you're welcome’, “Carol Holiday.” she briefly introduces herself in a manner devoid of warmth.

"If you'd let me, I will. Be patient." She says frigidly. Then, with a manicured finger, she pushes the book towards him. "Documentation of all the Isola Natives and phenomena that occur after throwing themselves to their deaths from Heroes Respite."

She nods her head, as if saying go ahead and flip through. "Maybe it's something you'd like to try yourself." She then gives a sharp, quick wave of her hand. Cutting him off before he even starts. "That's sarcasm. Unfortunately, I get that we can't die."

"I am." He doesn't deny, and in fact: invites it. By just taking a seat across from her, "I don't do the whole quiet thing. You'll learn that soon enough."

The pest sits right across from her. Alright, so we're doing this. Carol slaps the book flat to the table's surface and leaves it there. She folds her hands together, shoulders stiffening. "If you don't do 'the whole quiet thing'. Then don't. Come. To a public library."

As he questions what she's reading, her eyes flicker from the menace to the books cover. She sighs.

This is really, really wrong.

Chara’s whole body is screaming. Their mind is rejecting this whole situation — no, no no no no—

This is — all wrong.

Chara just can’t put what’s troubling them about all of this into words.

“. . . I would not say I deserve a happy ending. I did bad things. I am not a good kid.”

It’s reflexive. Something to distract Mrs Holiday, maybe. Something for her to pity, rather than focus on Kris.

Though Chara honestly doubts that she’ll take that bait.

“I know Kris has doubts and worries. I am happy to listen. I have . . . redirected their Angel a few times. We have talked about it a little. I will keep your request in mind for when I see them again.”

Their hands are shaking. They’re scared. They wish Mrs Holiday would just — stop holding them.

I t ’ s S o C o l d . . . .

“Well. Maybe you've done bad things. That doesn't mean there wasn't a good reason for doing them. Nobody does anything without a justification."

Something she reminds Kris of. Constantly. Don’t get cold feet because you've convinced yourself that you should feel guilty. You and I both know what the right thing to do is.

“Being 'a bad kid' doesn't necessarily mean you aren't right. That’s what truly matters in the end.” Her hand moves to Chara’s hair and brushes it away from their eyes. The gesture is instinctive. Mere muscle memory born from raising two children of her own. “Try. And keep trying. Kris needs you to. And you know what? I do too. So promise me that you will do that.”

Then Carol then pulls them into a chilly embrace. That brief moment where her body comes into contact with Chara’s soul, she can feel her own quake. The power to change fate is right there. Right. There.

"Thought I was too disgusting and unsafe for you." The library wasn't a place the shade found himself often. But, when he needed some alone time, it was a nice enough place to find himself. Perhaps the woman wasn't seeking him out, but...He wasn't one to leave a jest hanging.

He loved teasing and antagonizing the local populace, after all.

Up until now, Carol has been laser-focused on the page in front of her, hands held up on either side of her head like makeshift blinders. The last thing she needs is a distraction. Not to mention, it would be a terrible mistake give this overfed troll anything else to eat. Their last encounter was more than enough.

At first, she doesn’t respond at all. A full minute of silence stretches on. Then the book snaps shut with a crack. Carol finally looks up, blue eyes falling on a cocky and unfortunately familiar face.

That is, unless...

* Oh Carol... * The Way You Are Raising Her... * It Is Not Guaranteed To Keep Her Safe * But You Are Her Parent * And I Am Not * So What The Hell Do I Even Know?

Finally, she releases her tension. One hand drops on the table, the other one holds up her chin. She sighs, feeling like all of this is moot without Noelle herself around.

Queen’s words won’t stop echoing. The way you're raising her… it isn’t guaranteed to keep her safe. The way. I. Am. Raising. Her.

Carol’s pupils constrict as Queen’s hands loosen. For a split second, she almost stands. So close to snapping.

No. Stay seated. Be normal, damnit. You can’t and won’t make a scene. Besides. What if this Darkner knows something you don't? It’s a laughable, borderline offensive, the thought that anyone aside from herself would know what's best. So why does this stick the way it does?

A thin, disgusting worm of curiosity wiggles into her skull. She's already justifying it in real time and hates herself for it. But, this doesn’t mean she would be conceding anything. If the answer is wrong? Well then, it’s just that. Wrong. She can dismiss it like everything else so far.

Carol drags a hand over her face and clenches her eyes shut. Suddenly she's feeling exhausted. It takes her a minute to get the words out, and when she does, it's abrupt.

“How?” She looks at Queen again. “How is she supposed to learn resilience without exposing her to danger?”