[Will was talking. And really, the talking was nice but Whale was absolutely certain he was quoting Aretha Franklin. He was the drunk one, what the hell was Will doing? His expression shifts to bemused, slightly curious as to what on earth could be passing through Will's mind to be quoting Aretha Franklin right there.
He was drunk. Or, at least, drunkish. Drunkish and singing! Singingish, at least. But honestly, Whale was in such a good place of mind that he completely ignores the question about what R-E-S-P-E-C-T really means to him--though it certainly isn't taking care of TCB. Instead, he focuses on the fact that Will offered a singalong (could they have a singalong? He was drunk enough to not care.)]
If we're gonna go into singing, then we're singing Sting. [It was the drunken declaration of someone who was absolutely certain about things, thing thing being that they were singing Sting instead of Aretha.
As if to prove his point that they were singing Sting (or in this case the Police), there's nothing you can do about it Will, Whale started to sing along to "Message In A Bottle," replacing the words with 'dah-dah-dah' and 'buh-buh-buh' in the typical tone of someone who gives minimal fucks about getting the words right, he's just singing to prove a point.
Unexpectedly, Whale's voice isn't half bad. It'd be a lot better if he wasn't drunk and could remember the words, though.]
I have the best of Sting back home--my actual home, not Asgard. [pause, frown.] My actual Storybrooke home, not my actual actual home. [There we go, that was better. After all, it wasn't like monochromatic pseudo1800s world had Sting to begin with. (Note to self: introduce Sting to the populace when he got back to his proper world.)] Anyway, it would be so great right now, just the two of us sitting here, listening to good music, knocking a couple back. [or in Whale's case, more than a couple.] Maybe if I do the shrine prayer the gods'll give me my stereo system...
IDK, CONSIDERING WILL'S QUALITY OF FRIENDS, I'M NOT SO SURE
He was drunk. Or, at least, drunkish. Drunkish and singing! Singingish, at least. But honestly, Whale was in such a good place of mind that he completely ignores the question about what R-E-S-P-E-C-T really means to him--though it certainly isn't taking care of TCB. Instead, he focuses on the fact that Will offered a singalong (could they have a singalong? He was drunk enough to not care.)]
If we're gonna go into singing, then we're singing Sting. [It was the drunken declaration of someone who was absolutely certain about things, thing thing being that they were singing Sting instead of Aretha.
As if to prove his point that they were singing Sting (or in this case the Police), there's nothing you can do about it Will, Whale started to sing along to "Message In A Bottle," replacing the words with 'dah-dah-dah' and 'buh-buh-buh' in the typical tone of someone who gives minimal fucks about getting the words right, he's just singing to prove a point.
Unexpectedly, Whale's voice isn't half bad. It'd be a lot better if he wasn't drunk and could remember the words, though.]
I have the best of Sting back home--my actual home, not Asgard. [pause, frown.] My actual Storybrooke home, not my actual actual home. [There we go, that was better. After all, it wasn't like monochromatic pseudo1800s world had Sting to begin with. (Note to self: introduce Sting to the populace when he got back to his proper world.)] Anyway, it would be so great right now, just the two of us sitting here, listening to good music, knocking a couple back. [or in Whale's case, more than a couple.] Maybe if I do the shrine prayer the gods'll give me my stereo system...