a/n: Xenoblade Chronicles X released 4 years ago in Japan. Whiteprim on Twitter has done an amazing painting of Frye, Phog, and the Giant Ring. It is worth the view.

I just added a little H.B. for flavor.

All the good things belong to Monolith Soft and Whiteprim.

"Remind me again why we're here."

Frye grinned at his friend H.B. and gazed across the sandy desert plain, cut by a lazy river and dotted with scrubby bushes. Towering over the river was an ancient ring built of massive pipes and slender bars, speckled with smaller rings. It was tall enough to be seen several continents away, and no one had any idea what its purpose had been besides being imposing. Frye waved widely, the sweep of his arm extended dramatically by the shining brass accessory he gripped in his hand. "Aside from this killer view?"

"I have seen the Giant Ring before, Frye. From all angles." H.B. pushed his glasses up and sniffed.

"Allergies getting to you, my dude?" Frye asked with false sympathy. "It shouldn't be that bad. The weather report promises a perfect day. No wind, no dust, no freaking electrical storms."

"I do not have allergies. I am merely questioning whether this is a proper use of BLADE resources."

"Absolutely proper. We needed to get out of the city to practice for tonight. Away from inquisitive eyes and especially from inquisitive ears. We don't want to look like fools when we do this for Cross' special day, right? This was the closest place Phog thought would work." He looked over at his brother, still fiddling with a more compact but far more complicated bit of technology. His artifact was tight where Frye's was long, coiled where Frye's was straight, and had multiple buttons for adjustments where Frye's was pretty much what you see is what you got. But both items glittered golden in the fierce Oblivia sun.

H.B. shook his head. "Fine, you may have your excuses, such as they are, but I have better things to accomplish. I begin to wonder at my sanity for being here."

"Dude, we needed a ride and your mech was close. You're lucky we didn't skelljack it and leave you behind in a parking lot, filling out a complaint to the Mediators."

Phog stood up suddenly and called to his brother. "Have you done your warm-up breathing?"

"Yup. I've been yelling at pretty boy here. Just let me do one more thing." Frye pulled a small piece from his equipment, placed it too his lips, took a deep lungful of air and made a series of juicy rude raspberries, aiming them all at H.B. He jammed the piece back on. "Good to go. On four?"

Both men raised their instruments to their lips. Phog began on his French horn, muting the sound with one hand. The melody was lilting but slight, almost winsome. Frye cut in with sharper, deeper blasts from his trombone. H.B. had to duck to avoid Frye's enthusiastic swing. The brute rhythmic response slid into the original melody, now bright and assured. Phog replied, offering flutters and a climb into a realm that Frye couldn't follow.

It was over in 120 seconds. Phog and Frye stared at each other. "We can still do it," murmured Phog.

Frye's smile soft, leagues different from his usual wolf's grin. "Dad would be proud."

"Honk."

"Hoo."

The three men turned and stared up, way up, into the round eyes of two saltat birds. Their plump bellies reached above the skell's head, and their wings were extended wider than three skells put together. One flexed its primary feathers in a slight wave. The other fanned its wings a tad higher and bowed.

"Honk?"

"Hoo?"

H.B. whipped out his shield. "Get to the skell!"

Frye held up his trombone aggressively. "You heard the nerd. Get to the skell, Phog."

"You can't fight it with a trombone!" snapped H.B.

"Won't know until I try!"

Phog ignored both aggressive humans and raised his horn to his lips. The blast he blew was long, soft and sweet, rising and falling easily. "HooOOooonk."

"HooOOooonk." The first saltat mimicked Phog's notes perfectly. The second rolled forward until its beak brushed the sand, then rose to clap sharply with its wings twice.

Silence settled in as four musicians (and one roadie) stared at each other. Frye said, very quietly, "Seems to me, we can either fight a pointless fight or we could let them play in."

It was glorious.

a/n: Written with the Overwatch theme for horn and trumpet (see the tube of you) on loop, so big thanks to Noah Aregood for that one. Only when it was all done I realized that dope slap I needed to have the Oblivia day theme on loop, duh. It's not like that WASN'T THE TITLE OF WHITEPRIM'S AMAZING ARTWORK. Oh. Well. Happy 4th Anniversary, long may Mira wave.