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“Mr. Monster?”
Wheatley looked down, his height staggering in comparison to the little girl tugging his sleeve, her voice quiet and near incomprehensible to anyone who might’ve not been used to it. The nickname, 'Monster' had become something of an endearment, just as Wheatley continued to call her kindly by her red footwear. She clutched Linnell, her little toy friend, tightly to her chest, with her other hand still holding to the fabric of his sleeve. Cheerfully, he offered her one of his best grins, “Oh, hello there, Wellies! W- May I ask, do you need anything?”
“Mm hm! Do you have the frog song that I asked ya for?” She asked simply, blinking curiously.
“Th-The frog so…” He trailed off, furrowing his eyebrows, then was struck with a bolt of recollection, “The frog song! Yes, quite right, I do believe I recall you asking me to queue that, that up, ah, um… Trouble is, ah, Chell sort of dragged me away for a time, not saying it’s her fault, no, entirely on me, that one, but I don’t think I managed to find one right then, luv. Sincere apologies for that.” He scritched the back of his head apologetically.
“Oh,” She looked down at her toy, and Wheatley immediately felt like he’d just let her down, like he’d failed a test tremendously, which was, on all accounts, not a good feeling, although it was a tad familiar. He shook his head, and gave a look of fierce determination.
“But! I did say I was going to give you a frog song, so… Hmm…” He thought to himself. Foxglove was across the field, and he could ask her to queue something up, but he wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of Wellies being upset with him as long as he took to awkwardly stumble across the grasses, fumble up the tower, and plug himself in. He hummed to himself in thought.
The quiet three-note hum seemed to give Wellies an idea, “Oh! Could you sing one?”
Wheatley blinked in slight - well, never slight in his case - confusion. He hesitantly repeated her request almost incredulously, drawing out the word as if to test it in his mouth, “...Sing?”
Wellies nodded, encouragingly with large eyes and a small, hopeful smile, a look that could be classified and filed under P, for ‘puppy-dog,’ as she pleaded, “Please?”
And, well… Who was he to say no to that?
He gave a sigh, “Alright, alright, singing it is, Wellies. Come on then.” He plopped down on the porch step nearby, nevermind whose it was. Eaden had too soon grown used to the gangly man being around, and he was allowed on most properties, so long as he tried not to break anything. The step was short, and his gangly legs stuck out in front of him, even if he shifted. Wellies stood in front of him, quietly excited, her hands posing Linnell on top of his knees as she awaited the performance.
He cleared his throat, and trilled a couple of notes. He paused, giving explanation, “What I'm doing here, is ah, is what's known as a warm-up. Bit of- Bit of jargon there, you know, not exactly warming it up, per say. Personally, I’m not one to increase the temperature of songs, but warm-ups are what usual humans do when they’re about to sing. Not sure where they thought heating it up would work, but I’m not one to judge, certainly not.”
He gave the same trill of notes, but quickly interrupted himself just as he felt the tip of a voice crack of the verge of giving appearance, “You know! You know, I think that’s quite enough warm-up, let’s, ah, let’s get on with it, shall we?”
Wellies was giggling the whole while, but she nodded once more when asked, turning her face serious and expectant, and excited all the same.
“Just a, just a fair bit of warning, Wellies,” He gulped, “You know, not to disappoint you, but, uh, cards on the table, I… I don’t think I’m that high up there in the vocal department, you know, not- not the best, ha, definitely not the best, no, in fact, far from it, a- and-”
She interrupted his rambling, patting his knee firmly and kindly, “You can do it. Frog song.”
Briefly, he was reminded of Chell, how she could motivate him with the barest of words, and sometimes without words at all. Wellies was apparently a shy little girl, and here she was, asking what she once thought was a monster to sing for her. If she could do this, he could do this.
He took a breath, and nodded, “R-Right. I can do it. Frog song.”
Slowly, he began, softly crooning, “Frog song,” His voice hitched into the previously avoided voice crack, and he winced, but kept going. He made up words as he went, slowly but surely gaining confidence, as Wellies clapped along.
“Frog song, frog song,
Leapin’ on a log, yeah, it’s jumping, not a jog.
Frog song, frog song,
Hopping place to place, it’s like they’re in a race,
Frog song, frog song,
Hear the froggies croaking, swimming and they’re soaking,
Frog song, frog song,
They kinda hope they, won’t get it wrong.”
He laughs lightly after that line, and continues, differing from the pattern, pitching up a tad.
“Oh, life’s a dream, down the river stream.
Oh, as it seems, frog songs are peaches and cream...”
He hums, a small interlude, before concluding,
“Frog song, frog song,
Won’t you croak along?”
He opens his eyes - he wasn’t sure when they’d closed - to his solo applauder, who made up for the lack of numbers with an impressive amount of clapping and cheering. Wellies, still in front of him, has something akin to sparkles near dazzling in her eyes, and she smiles brightly, cheerfully, proudly, something that seemed to shine ‘you did it!’ at him. It looks similar to Chell’s sun-through-the-panels smile, but on a smaller face.
Wheatley’s face had unknowingly, but unquestionably split into a wide grin, “W-Well! Did you, ah, like it?”
Her grin grows even brighter, and she’s suddenly hugging him, tight as can be. Wheatley was suddenly very glad that he had decided to sit, as Wellies might not had been able to reach the hug around his middle otherwise. Softly, she answers his question, muffled in his clothing, “Mm hm!”
At that moment, those two sounds, not even near words, just hummed syllables, filled him with the most profound, overflowing sense of happiness and pride, and he cheerfully had to let it out in something of a laugh. Nothing funny at all, just pure elated glee as he hugs the child back tightly, sort of the same tightness in his throat, “Ha... Glad you think so, Wellies.”
After a few moments of the tight hug, Wellies lifts her face from the fabric. “Again?” She asks with a hopeful tone, and Wheatley laughs once more.
“‘Course, Wellies! Here, hop up!” He quickly and gently lifts the girl and her toy onto his knee as she giggled, and he gave another encore. And another. And another. Soon enough, both of them had memorized the melody, and could sing the simple duet in their slightly-warbled voices together, far along into the day.
So, if you would hear a young girl or an awkward man or the both of them together caroling amphibious melodies around Eaden, like everyday it was Christmas and the frog song had become the new seasonal jingle, well. Why not just croak along?