Cacophonous Carols

Deep in the warm embrace of his blanket nest, curled up next to his still-slumbering partner, Chanti stirs. Something in the air, it’s… different. He pokes his nose out to investigate, then quickly pulls his head back inside the blankets. It’s fucking freezing out there! Not that his mind has really processed that fact, he just wants to warm up as quickly as possible. To facilitate this, he presses his cold nose into the fur on the unsuspecting Ivan’s neck.

“YIPES, THAT’S COLD!” the brown bun exclaims, half-sitting up now. In response, Chanti whimpers and rolls over. For the normally-temperate Burrowgatory, these cold temperatures are quite unusual. They usually indicate- “Snow!” Ivan cries happily. “Chanti, it snowed last night! Come look, it’s beautiful!”

Chanti pokes his head out and gives the window the quickest of glances. “Oh yeah, it’s a sight ta behold, mah whole life has culminated in this moment of fleeting beauty. …Anyway, come back ta bed already.” But it’s no use, Ivan is completely enchanted by the fluffy white powder that dusts the world beyond their bedroom window. Chanti sighs and sits up, shivering as the chill air takes the place of his coziness. “This is gonna be mah whole day, ain’t it?” he sighs, dreading the work ahead of him down at his racetrack.

Ivan pulls out his phone and makes a thoughtful noise. “You’re not gonna like this, Chanti…”

The yellow bun steps down out of bed and wraps himself in a blanket. “What, it’s gonna be like this all week?”

Chanti’s boyfriend quietly turns his phone’s weather app to show Chanti, where it predicts the temperatures of Burrowgatory remaining around freezing all month. Chanti stares speechless, his hooves frozen in place where they were trying to rub some warmth back into his perky ears. “Oh, the BS that happened last year with all the snow, it’s gonna be an annual thing now, huh?”

“W-Winters are always annual…” Ivan tries to argue, but there isn’t much force behind it. Chanti can’t usually be talked out of his moods, but he can be bribed. Ivan takes his beloved’s ears in his hooves and gives them a warming squeeze. “Tell you what, you get ready and go take care of the imps, and I’ll make you whatever you want for breakfast.”

“Anythin’?”

Ivan laughs. “Yeah, anything.”

“Apple cinnamon hotcakes with caramel sauce an’ a hot toddy ta drink.” Ivan smiles. Chanti’s favorite breakfast hasn’t changed in years. “But before anythin’ else,” Chanti continues, moving his hooves from his ears to Ivan’s lower back, “ah want a sausage as big as mah arm.” This catches Ivan off-guard at first, before the meaning settles in his mind and a blush spreads across his face. “Y-Yeah, I can do that too!” the brown bun sputters.

Chanti grins and draws the curtains.

*****

When Chanti comes in from the snow after clearing off his imp racetrack, Ivan is just serving up their breakfast. Before going straight to the table, Chanti warms himself in the kitchen and looks over to the news broadcast Ivan had been watching before he came in. It’s some morning talk show, with the usual hosts and a cherubun as a guest. After a quiet greeting and a kiss, the pair quiets down to listen to the talk show. The topic is cherubun holiday traditions, with this individual being an expert in carols. At the hosts’ gentle urging, the timid-looking bun opens her mouth and begins to sing a beautiful tune about fellowship and generosity and all sorts of other saccharine platitudes of that sort.

Chanti finds the song a bit dull and boilerplate at first, but finds it quickly grows on him. Ivan, judging by the tapping of his hooves, was hooked from the start. The hosts of the talk show seem equally taken with the cherubun’s song, which gives Chanti an idea.

Between bites of their hotcakes, he muses aloud. “That was a real nice song she was singin’. Makes me think.”

Ivan, who has not stopped humming the melody, smiles at Chanti. “Yeah? Are you moved by the Cherubmas spirit?”

Without even asking what the hell ‘Cherubmas’ is, Chanti continues. “Sure, somethin’ like that. …You like mah singin’, right, darlin’?”

Ivan nods his head emphatically. “Yeah, you’re a great singer, Chanti! I wish you’d do it more often, honestly.”

“Well, ah find mahself struck all of a sudden with divine inspiration. It seems this ‘carolin’ thing is fixin’ ta be a craze that’ll sweep all of Burrowgatory, an’ you an’ ah are a pair of fine songsters ourselves. Add Dennis- famed fer his rich baritone, by the way- an’ we’ll be a smash hit!”

Ivan looks at first intrigued, then confused. “But, this is all for fun, right? Like, caroling isn’t normally a thing people charge for…”

Chanti waves his hooves in front of him. “‘Charge for it?’ Perish the thought, this would be an entirely free performance of traditional Cherubmas carols- plus a few of mah own original compositions.”

Ivan breathes a sigh of relief. For a second there, he was worried that what he had pictured as a cute couples activity would be turned into a seasonal side hustle. Clearly, he thought too little of Chanti, his partner obviously has more on his mind than just carats.

“Do you know what the most effective form of advertisin’ is, darlin’?”

Or maybe not. “Um… word of mouth?”

Chanti smiles. “Welcome ta Cowbun Chanti’s Cherubmas Cantata, presented by the Polished Pony Imp Track!”

Ivan hides his disappointment by putting the rim of his mug in his mouth. He tries to look on the bright side. No matter what the songs are about, he gets to sing with his boyfriend. This could be a lot worse.

*****

“So that’s basically the plan. Are you two in?” In front of the four buns seated around Ivan and Chanti’s dinner table are song lyrics, a list of potential adverts- er, caroling spots, and a set list. Dennis and Davis look at the materials, then each other.

“Chanti, I dunno about this. I… I’ve never sung in front of other people. Plus,” Dennis continues as he looks over a sheet of music, “you can’t play the guitar.”

“Pff, details. Trust me, it’ll work out. It’ll be Cherubmas magic. But that magic can’t come ta fruition if ah don’t have mah littermate with me.” He stops short and looks at the still-apprehensive Davis. “An’ Davis is instrumental as well!”

The red bun frowns at the collected materials. “I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, Chanti. What is my role in all this? I don’t get many days off from the casino, why should I spend one singing songs in the cold?”

Chanti pulls a face. All valid points. “Well…. Ah know you can dance, plus you could sell a campfire to an icicle! Please, Davis.”

Davis blinks slowly at Chanti, his mouth a thin line.

“Ah’ll pay you.”

“So, how soon do you need that guitar? And how many business cards do you have printed?” Chanti grins. With Davis won over, getting Dennis to agree will be a simple matter. The yellow bun locks eyes with his littermate, who slowly nods.

Chanti leans back in his chair. “Ah love it when a plan comes together.”

*****

Eager to cash in on the Cherubmas hype, Chanti urges his fellow CCCC members to attend practices with him. While guitar-playing is tellingly absent from rehearsals, the vocal talents of Chanti, Ivan, and Dennis actually meld quite melodically. Davis simply improvises some tap dance choreography and spoken word advertisement sections, but Chanti is pleased with how their group is coming together.

A few nights later, the group is assembled in a populated park in Central Burrowgatory. They’ve all taken their doll forms and are decked out in their festive finery. Davis is limbering up, Ivan is staring wistfully at happy couples ice-skating, and Dennis looks like he’s about to throw up. At half-past six, Chanti strums on the guitar that had been slung across his back and sings one part of a three-part harmony. In turn, Ivan and Dennis join in, their voices harmonizing sweetly and catching the attention of the surrounding buns, who form a small huddle around the performers.

Chanti cues Davis with a subtle tail signal and Davis begins a recording of a guitar accompaniment just as Chanti begins to lightly pass his fingers over the strings of his guitar, miming playing. After a few chords, the singers begin with a traditional cherubun carol. The majority of their gathered crowd is succubuns and are therefore unfamiliar with the song, but the melody and the beauty of the ensemble are enough to get the whole crowd swaying.

They lead into another traditional cherubun carol, which the crowd enjoys just as much as the first. Chanti watches this with glee. Cast the line, set the hook, now reel them in.

The third song marks a notable departure from the first two. The lyrics are more clumsy, as if having been substituted from something else. What’s more, Davis begins his sales pitch, delineating the many amusing diversions and high-quality entertainment that can be found at the Polished Pony imp track. During this, he hands unsuspecting onlookers Chanti’s business cards. As they realize that this has taken a sharp turn into an advertisement, the crowd quickly starts to disperse.

Chanti cuts off in the middle of his singing and “playing”. “This has been Cowbun Chanti’s Cherubmas Cantata, presented by Polished Pony Imp Track! Tell yer friends!” All the while, the recorded guitar continues to play under his words.

The nights other performances continue in much the same way. While they start strong when just singing the classics, the crowds mood always sours when the ad starts. This has escaped the notice of no one in the group. Every time a crowd disperses early, it’s like a kick in the junk.

On the way to their last performance site, Chanti stops everyone. “Hey guys, um, it’s been really fun, an’ ah appreciate you comin’ out an’ doin’ this with me, but ah’m gettin’ pretty cold. Let’s just pack it in early.”

“Thank g- Ugh!” Dennis starts before Davis elbows him. “Uh, I mean, yeah, I’m getting cold too. Shame we had to end it early.”

“...Yeah. Davey, ah’ll Bunmo you later, alright?” Chanti shoulders the backpack full of advertisement materials and other bits of Uniqor-themed swag.

“Uh, yeah man, no problem. Take care, you two.”

Here, the quartet splits, heading towards opposite ends of the city. Chanti glances at Ivan. A few performances in, his boyfriend stopped talking to him. Gently, the yellow bun tries to take the larger man’s hand, but Ivan sticks his hands in his pockets and hurries ahead of Chanti.

The walk home is a silent one. Chanti knows he fucked up and Ivan knows he knows. But every time he opens his mouth to apologize for ruining this new tradition, the words won’t come out, choked by his own bruised ego.

Once inside their home and upstairs, Ivan allows some tears to fall in the relative privacy of their bedroom. The night was such a disaster, he’s sure Chanti went right for his liquor cabinet. He’ll have time to cry, then he can go downstairs and be the bigger man. Again. Like always. …Why couldn’t Chanti have just let this be fun? Ivan doesn’t begrudge his boyfriend trying to advertise his business, but… really? During Cherubmas carols? He knows Chanti isn’t stupid, but that was a real dumbass move.

As he quietly cries and reflects on that night, a curious sound makes Ivan’s ears prick up. It’s the guitar. Being played terribly. Off-key and atonal, but there’s an honest attempt at a melody. He sighs. Whoever Davis rented that guitar from would be pretty pissed if a drunk Chanti broke it, so he mounts the stairs to retrieve the instrument.

As he descends, a soft, crooning voice becomes audible. It’s Chanti, singing another carol. It was in their set list, but they never got far enough to perform it. The words are sweet and longing, a lover singing about seeing their beloved after a long time away, and how glad they’ll be to see them again. Chanti is so engrossed in playing, he doesn’t notice the creaking of stairs underneath Ivan’s feet. It takes a few bars for Ivan to realize that Chanti is crying too, the words of the song quickly becoming too choked with tears to discern.

“Chanti? A-Are you okay?”

The blonde man looks up, his pretty face a flushed and teary mess. “I-Ivan… ah’m so… so sorry. Ah’m so sorry! Ah do this all the time, an’ ah’m sorry!”

Ivan closes the distance between them and wipes a tear off Chanti’s face. “I don’t mind that you cry, Chanti. It’s okay.”

Chanti removes Ivan’s hand from his face. “N-Not the cryin’! Ah mean… always ropin’ you into dumb schemes. Ah don’t think about yer feelin’s, then when they backfire, you always hafta pick up the pieces!”

Ivan is a bit stunned. Self awareness? From Chanti? “Oh. U-Um, it’s fine, really.”

“It ain’t,” Chanti argues. “It’s shitty. Ah wanna be better fer you. You deserve someone who… who cares about what you want all the time. Not just when it’s convenient.”

“Chanti…”

“This night could have been great if I had asked you what you wanted. Ah’m sorry, this whole fiasco was mah fault. If ah can start ta make it up ta you somehow, j-just tell me how, an’ ah’ll do it.”

Ivan smiles and gives Chanti a gentle hug. “It wasn’t a total ‘fiasco’. What I want… I just want to spend Cherubmas with you and the other buns we care about. Not work, not commissions, just us. Because that’s the point of Cherubmas- togetherness.”

(2307 words)