EVENT MINGLE: PUTTING THE "FUN" BACK IN "FUNERAL" / HOLES

[asgardmods]

Who: EVERYONE
What: The Putting the "Fun" Back Into Funeral/Thistle Do Nicely Holes Event Mingle Log
When: Days 415-416 (March 9-12)
Where: all across the city!
Rating: PG-13. Anything higher than that should be taken to a private log, please!

Day 415 (Mar. 9/10)

Not long after the message from the gods on the bracelets, all NPC shops in town will begin shutting down. It is late evening when the city's Natives begin heading toward Gefion Park, some alone, some clustered in small groups, but it seems like citizens of Asgard of all ages are headed that way. It is just before sunset when all of the gods and several thousand natives will stand grouped around the shore of the park's lake. Thor, looking oddly somber, will move to stand on a small podium, voice tight but magically amplified. His posture is straight, head held high, and he will cut a striking image as he speaks with a firm and magically amplified voice:

"We may be the gods of this realm, but we would be nothing without both of you: our people, and our visitors. Even in times of darkness, we mustn't allow ourselves to forget how brightly our lights can shine. In times of weakness and exhaustion, we only need cling to the memory of how strong we truly are. We will fight for the lost, and we will fight for each other. Until my father returns, I will act in his stead. We will continue to move ahead, if only because there is too much to lose if we don't. Salvation is within our grasp, and I will do everything I can to make sure we attain it."

Here Thor will clear his throat, pausing just long enough to wonder how apparent it is that Freyr wrote most of this speech.

"But now I invite you to lay your offerings into the longboats, offerings to the Natives of this world that have lost their lives in this war. Their sacrifices were not in vain, nor shall they be forgotten. In their names, we shall fight for Asgard, and for every world represented here, and for the countless that aren't."

The moment that the newly crowned Prince Regent stops speaking, Natives will place clothes and food and other trinkets inside the boat. Any Traveller with offerings will be given the chance to lay them in the boat then, before Hel sends it off to the center of the lake. It will stall there before bursting into bright flame. Smaller, match-sized flames will light all across the lake, one for every native soul that has left Asgard for Niflheim in the last two years, and they will not extinguish even in the light rainfall that begins into the evening.

After the flames are lit, however, the natives will be opening several dozen casks of different wines, meads, and ales. There will be bottles of harder liquors passed around and glasses given freely to anyone within arm's reach of a native. Time for a bonfire in the park! Anything is free game for this: there will be dancing, eating, body painting, the weaving of flowers into people's hair or into crowns, pretty much anything that is loose and vaguely intimate. The only thing that remains undisturbed is the lake, where the fires burn ceaselessly above the water. This is their farewell; they will drink, tell stories, and laugh their way all through the night.

Day 416 ( Mar. 11/12 )

The next morning, most of the natives will still be in the park, making sure none of that pesky alcohol remains in those barrels. They will take this second day to relax and clean up the park while they continue to drink, singing hymns and generally lending a hand to one another. Where yesterday was a big party, this is more like communal R&R. About halfway through the day, flowers of all types imaginable will begin to sprout from the ground. Many of them will sing along with the Native's hymns of remembrance, though they will linger after.

This is actually our Holes event for the month of March! These flowers will not just sprout at Gefion Park, however! When they first appear on Day 416, they will actually spring up just about everywhere, dirt or not. They may appear on a table, off a wall, or rooted in someone's freshly prepared sandwich. The flowers not in dirt will wilt after about a day. Following their first appearance, these flowers will continue to grow in the city anywhere flowers can grow.

Back at the party, however, everyone is on equal footing and gathered to respect their loved ones. For the time being, nothing else really matters.

They'll go back to their regularly scheduled monotony by sundown, the boat of offerings finally removed from the lake, though the candlelight flames will remain throughout the night and disappear by sunrise. In thanks for their support and continued sacrifice, the Travellers will find one gift from home in their rooms at midnight.

[ OOC NOTES: This is the mingle log for the Putting the "Fun" Back in "Funeral" event AND for the Holes event. More information on this month's Holes event is located HERE. If you haven't had your character's GIFT FROM HOME approved yet, please make sure to do so here!

Please put [OPEN/CLOSED] in the title of your comment, along with the time and location. Let us know if you have any questions! ]

Comments

[galvanist]

Out of my league or not, I can at least give it a shot. [Because he's Whale. Because Alana's hot, he's drunk enough to have his inhibitions lowered a bit, and he's a massive idiot.]

But yeah, I do mean Alana Bloom. And don't worry, I kept all the doctor patient confidentiality stuff a total secret. [He figured that that was a good thing to say then and there, even if he stumbled over the word 'confidentiality.']

I gotcha back.

[infomodder]

You got my back?

[He laughs at that, short and mirthless and almost like a bark more than anything else. Contact isn't something Will is really known for, much less fond of. The contact he generally gets comes from that nasty empathy of his, comes in the way of stepping into depraved minds and brutalizing people in rather terrible ways. He's not a hugging type of guy, not the guy to lay hands on a shoulder to provide comfort. He hasn't really come across much that's comforting, and he's rather certain he doesn't come across as a guy who'd be much good at it. It would be weird coming from him. So there's no patting his back, nothing to show them as chummy. Just him sitting there and trying not to lean back and cross his arms and look completely defensive.

Or maybe that was just the people he knew back home. Maybe here in Asgard with so few people who knew him, it would be different. Did people see him smiling and...think they were genuine, that it was something he had done as many times before as most normal people? Damn.]

Let me get yours in return. Alana's come over to my place a few times, nothing really special. Once to tell me something about a case, once to help me look for one of my dogs that went missing, and once because she was in the neighborhood and wanted to check in on me—the last case had been pretty rough. Hard to handle. Just seeing if I was doing okay. We've talked about it, and neither of us are the dating kind. She's not really seeking it out, I'm never going to seek it. I don't think. [Probably because it's a bit difficult behind bars, even more so if he is actually convicted and given a death sentence. Oh yes, he knows Lecter did it and will eventually tell the world, but he was so careful, so methodical, what if they found nothing? No one was that perfect, were they? There had to be something. There had to be some hope in the darkness of his mind. Was he talking too much? Would Whale even remember this in the morning?] We've been through a lot back home before we both got here, it's...she should be treated with respect and.

[Oh God. Anyone could see through this, couldn't they?]

And...there were lots of romantic overtures on my part, and then things didn't work out, and then she's all in danger back home but doesn't realize it, so I am rather protective over her. [A sigh.] Obviously.

DONE EDITING YET?

[galvanist]

[Whale nods at Will's laugh. It was a slow nod as he was drunk and his head felt like it weighted twelve extra pounds every time it moved. He stood as still as he could, head lazily tilted to one side because of it's imagined weight as he listened to Will talk. Though really, the more the man talked, the more Whale could put two and two together.

Not really the dating kind. Riiiight. He said something like 'she should be treated with respect' and he had the audacity to claim that he wasn't the dating kind. Will Graham, you are as transparent as cling-film.

The statement that there were a lot of romantic overtures only sealed the deal in Whale's mind. Will had a crush. Which really, was a ridiculously juvenile way to put it, but infatuation sounded melodramatic and romance sounded stupid. Whale couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, looking at Will.] If you want to continue those romantic inclinations here, then just say the word and I'll back off. After all, Asgard's not home.

[but at the same time, if Will didn't want to act on those romantic overtures, if he still believed that Alana wasn't the dating kind (which Whale personally saw as a challenge more than anything else), if he had officially given up the ghost...well, then there was nothing stopping Whale from taking a stab at it, was there?

after all, Alana was very pretty.]

WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN

[infomodder]

[No, he's not the dating type, as far as he's concerned. He doesn't go out. He doesn't go to bars or even have a damn computer for dating sites. He doesn't talk to a woman on a case he thinks is attractive and then use the FBI database to stalk her down and ask her out. He's not that bad with socializing, nor is he that level of what people might call psychopathic. He's so low maintenance, so content without a TV or many worldly goods, and he also has issues taking care of himself. Or, he did, for a while. He's not exactly in the best state of mind to start a very deep interpersonal relationship of any kind, especially not when the last one he has resulted in his own thoughts being heard in the voice of someone else.

He understood drunkenness, though! He knew all about it, what it could cause, things that shouldn't be done when drinking. Watching Whale stand there like he was ready to fall down was enough reason for him to reach out and tug on his sleeve, try to get him to sit down for a moment. If he puked, he could puke on himself. Or Will's lap. Not just stare down at him and hork all over his face.

In his ear.]

No, it's not home at all. Come on, sit. [Not said like he's talking to a dog, either. Sit down before you fall down. Come on, man.] Scale of one to ten, how plastered are you? Are you the kind of guy that forgets everything the morning after if you're extremely drunk? Pass out, wake up, don't remember much of anything?

[Will is more than comfortable with people who black out for valid reasons. Also, if Whale is drunk enough to get close to passing out and he forgets things, then maybe Will can get away with saying a little much.

And promptly find a way to get him back to his room if he's really so sloshed. If he's not sloshed, words will be chosen carefully, because if his doctor is really dead set on getting a little somethin' somethin' tonight, Will's not about to drop a load on him that totally ruins his mood for a while. He may not want him to go after Alana, but Will's not cruel enough to ramble off things that might result in being too disturbed to get it up.

He's just assuming that fairies don't cannibalize each other and Whale hasn't already figured out that Will is a little more off than he seems. Or that he might be bothered by it in the first place, maybe he's dealt with just as weird back home. He's thinking of his fellow man and his fellow man's obvious intent to get it on. Taking that away just so he can get it out in the open would be extremely rude. Being rude never

ever

pays off.]

BECAUSE YOU EDITED LIKE FOUR TIMES

[galvanist]

[As Will talked, beckoned him to sit, Whale followed suit, slumping down in a nearby chair. He was drunk enough to severely underestimate how drunk he was...but really, he could be worse. He could walk in a (relatively) straight line and wasn't vomiting (yet), though a little part of him in the back of his mind was absolutely certain of the fact that he would be hungover as shit during the next morning.]

I remember enough, [he remarked, with a little shrug.] It's just details I have trouble with.

[What he said, what others said, what he drank, the girl's apartment number, little things that either didn't matter much or that he could easily look up later. Broad strokes? The feeling of enjoying someone's company, the closeness that came with physical intimacy or, more often than he would like to admit, the bitter sting of rejection--he remembered all of those pretty well.

But yes. He is dead set on a little bump and grind and gives Will a look that plainly questions his wingman-ability. Will was a good friend. But he honestly had to wonder how the man would do in social situations that involved more than two people.]

Why d'you ask?

I JUST WANT MY TAGS TO BE PERFECT FOR YOU SO YOU NOTICE ME GOSH

[infomodder]

[More than two people? Not so well. He could teach, because teaching wasn't really all that social. He talked to them, he hoped they learned, he answered questions, he inwardly barked at them for applauding his "victory" that didn't result in him feeling victorious at all, packed up his things at the end of it, and left unless there was a real need for him to stay. Fortunately, he didn't teach high school. Most everyone was mature about it, and if anyone tried to make waves, he'd send them to someone with more authority. As odd as he was, he had some respect, even if he walked the halls without being real FBI.

He and Alana? Fine, at times. When he wasn't staring at her and knowing they couldn't be and hating the circumstances, not her or himself. He and Lecter? Once upon a time, it had been comforting and relieving and refreshing. He and Jack? He knew how to talk to him and knew when to stand up to him? Price, Zeller, Beverly, and him all together? There were conflicts, but it wasn't so bad. Hadn't been.

Outside of that, when surrounded by people he didn't know and didn't know to avoid certain questions? Hell no he didn't do so well with that.]

So I know what to leave out. I'll just give you a basic summary and leave out all those nasty little details. Don't want to totally destroy the mood and maybe impact your ability to get into a different mood later. [Yeah, Whale could get That Mood when he wasn't around Will. He was fine with that. He wasn't trying to make himself look like a great person, "let me just tell you a few things I really hope you get it on later I don't want to come between you and your one night stand buddy!!!!" It was a logical leap! He didn't need to get accused of being a little mystic later on. This time, he manages to keep eye contact for a good deal of it, or to look off, past him, not looking down and looking fretful. Leaning back, he spreads his legs like he's relaxed (hah), runs his hands up his thighs, and eventually just lets them rest in his lap.] Our job isn't that easy sometimes. You find the killer, you put them away. Let the court do its job. [Hahaha. Hah.] That's not always the case. And sometimes you get close to people when situations crop up that aren't normal. Sometimes you get close to people you work with, even if they're complete and utter sons of bitches. [Oh, finally, he gets to be a little crass. Zeller and Price have their uses, but they can be some nasty fucks sometimes. Not that Will takes it laying down, but he's well aware that he's not always much better.] Things happen. You develop interesting relationships with people, and when you lose them, it's really upsetting. I see people lose their friends and family all the time, so I think I should be better prepared to lose someone of my own, but I'm not, and sometimes finding a way to really rationalize that and go back to work and try to keep it all together for the sake of myself and everyone else is almost impossible.

[He's talking a lot without saying much. At least, not much of what happened. It's all basic, feelings and emotions and other nonsense, possibly taken as a look inside Will Graham. It's really not anything he wouldn't imagine a person with some bit of brain would have issues understanding, and it's blunt enough that even if Whale glazes over or doesn't remember it, he should remember a vibe, a feeling—or, if nothing else, that Will was so adamant about his not-girlfriend being treated properly that he sat him down and risked getting vomited on so he could talk about death.]

We lost somebody recently. Somebody who we lost in a bad way. By recently I mean a day or so before we both came here, as far as the timeline I can figure goes by. [Somebody here! Somebody she thought Will had killed when he wasn't aware, possibly even ate! Details, details, leaving them out was best.] I've been here a few months, I've had time to [clearing his throat sounded more like trying to keep a belch at bay, booze and confessions threatening to give him a bit of heartburn] adjust. She hasn't. Fresh wounds that haven't been cleaned or bandaged. [He can speak a little doctor, too.] Is Alana attractive? Uh, yes. Very much so. [Her legs in those pants sometimes, her ass, if he had been a crasser man...] But we've been through a lot recently that's left us both pretty upset and, no, I'm not going to try and woo her or convince her we can be together because we can't. I'd just like her. To be.

[It's not very smart to piss off the guy who thinks about killing people for a living, but he won't be pissed off. Alana can handle herself. But, still, there's this guy in Sigyn who knows her and her story she may never share (and really, it's just basic and not too much about her as it is about the situation, so he feels safe saying it), who has been open about his career and won't ever hide what he does, this guy sitting here in flower crowns who's got a thing for her. Not just for her but for her well-being. Backing off?

Maybe a good idea.]

Re. Spected.

[totally a good idea

best idea]

WHY CAN'T SEMPAI NOTICE ME

[galvanist]

[Whale just listens, blinking, trying to figure out what Will was talking about. People without normal situations, people who have lost friends and family, yeah he was getting that. Every job had it's characters, he could only imagine those from the FBI. But honestly what did this have to do with Alana Bloom?

And then the penny drops. Oh. They lost someone. Part of Whale wanted to press further (was it a colleague? someone they met on a case?) but the tiny little sensible part of his brain interjected that no, he shouldn't pry, that wasn't good, that wasn't right. Especially when he was drunk. If he remembered this in the morning (and that was a massive if) he would ask Will about it. Because honestly? Whale was nosy.

Of course, that wasn't going to deter him too much. Alana was hot. And with Will talking about Alana needing to be respected (he totally had a thing for her, this was so ridiculous) Whale knew that he would turn the flirting down from a ten to about a five.

Not to anything lower, of course. After all, he was drunk. He wasn't making any promises that he couldn't remember in the morning (who are we kidding, he'd totally make promises he couldn't remember in the morning.]

Don't worry, [Whale responded in that blase tone of a drunk who was perfectly fine with everything.] I'm not a lech, I can treat a lady with respect. And I'll treat Alana with respect also. Re. Spect, [he responds, blatantly mimicking Will.

Of course, for Whale, respect is more like "not blatantly staring at her ass" so yeah. This would be interesting.]

AND BE MY FRIEND. FRIENDSHIP. I UNDERSTAND IT SO WELL. FRIEND? FRIEND!

[infomodder]

[♫ homeboy over here is trippin' cuz his doc is talking about being a lech in regards to his chick ♫

Will wouldn't be opposed to Whale asking, otherwise he never would have brought it up in the first place. He could give out little bits and pieces without revealing the full story, toss out some bones while the meat sat on the table just out of a reach. That was the last year of his life. That was the voice he now heard his own thoughts in. If he just listened to it long enough, thought about it long enough, lost himself—how much similar damage could he do and to how many? Would he do it to a drunk doctor if he said the wrong things?

More booze, yes. That was what he needed. Definitely. And this time he drank a little more than he should have, but oh well. Secrets of his relationship problems, just shy of "she trampled my self-esteem underneath her heels and looked flawless even as she did it and she was right but it felt so bad."

Don't worry, he said. Then he made fun of the way Will even spoke about it. Did he come across as so mild-mannered he wouldn't hurt a fly (said about a certain someone else before that he wanted nothing to do with), was it because of his being slotted into Sigyn, was it that Whale was so drunk he just couldn't take it as a threat? Not that it was a threat, and not that he wanted people to think of him as intimidating, but—was he being mocked? How very rude.]

All right. Whip it to me, then. Sock it to me. [There was a lilt to his words, something to give away that there was a song here ago. Fortunately it wasn't creepy.] R-E-S-P-E-C-T, can I find out what it means to you?

[Oh God, he was grilling someone who thought Alana was beautiful (so he could see, good) with Aretha Franklin, this was not his design for the evening, and he wasn't seriously asking. Whale didn't strike him as untrustworthy, which could be either point on or completely off in the most horrible of ways. Still, yes, this was ridiculous and he let out a puff of an air that was an aborted laugh, looking down at his cup and wondering if it could refill itself. He was smiling, though, and not like the entire situation was going to make him fall apart if he didn't smile.]

Don't answer that. Unless you like Aretha and want a singalong, but I don't know her songs like I do the Doors or the Who or other rock.

[This is both a lie and truth. Truth, he didn't exactly go around listening to everything ever made by certain singers, no. Lie because if he listened to a song even once, he would remember the lyrics.]

And I can't quite wail like she can.

[Wail. Whale. No, no, this one was easy because they sounded the same, and there was a moment where he was obviously thinking over why that sounded off, realized it, and gave into temptation. His shoulders shook, his face screwed up as he tried to fight it off, but eventually there was Will Graham, really laughing like someone who had just found something funny for the first time in a long time, and it wasn't such an terrible sound.

Even to him, but mostly because he could hear it in his head in his voice, too. Bless the gods, funerals, booze, and apparently Whale.

And his fairies.]

IDK, CONSIDERING WILL'S QUALITY OF FRIENDS, I'M NOT SO SURE

[galvanist]

[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...

SO HE NEEDS BETTER ONES COME ON VIC

[infomodder]

[Will Graham is the kind of guy to quote older music if it fits with particular crimes without even stopping to wonder if anyone is going to get it. This is the man who would go into a pile of bodies stitched together to paint a picture, find one out of place, and immediately think that one of those bodies was not like the other, and say it even if only in his head. And, of course, promptly be offended and outraged on behalf of the killer for getting a number in his alphabet, what kind of asshole ruins a friendly fresco like that, honestly?

Will knows this song well enough, and inwardly tries not to analyze the choice to death, considering it's got parts about love breaking hearts and he's obviously got a thing (he has so many things, and not all of them are like the others) for Alana that is never going to work. Whale blubs (more goldfish than anything, honestly) the lyrics and Will nods along a little, humming it instead and wondering how in the hell one person can fuck up "S-O-S" so badly. It's like some odd sort of bee noise, but then Will realizes he's hearing it that same way in his head, and okay.

Fine.

Maybe he hasn't been drinking so responsibly tonight. The bob (like a buoy in mostly calm waters; shit this wordplay was never going away) of his head kind of gave that much away, eyes finally becoming a little glossy. Glossy over those baby blues, like the beacon of a lighthouse moving over clear waters and

anything was better than cannibal and food wordplay

he doesn't mind it so much.

Multiple homeowner, but he knew it wasn't apartments and houses and condos, so he opted not to mention it. No mention of fairies, either. Not yet.]

I'd knock back just about anything that wasn't overly expensive wine that had been brewed in some special vat with ninety different kinds of wood in it and I had to listen to the history of it before I got to even smell it. [He'd always been a bit simple, but after Lecter? Yeah, no. He would stick with beer that tasted like straight up horse piss if he didn't have anything else.] I don't care that it's got oak and ash and the wood of some special coconut tree grown only on a hard to reach mountain in Hawaii. And it can only be cut down once a decade and only fourteen of them can be cut down. I don't give a damn about it. [Fourteen trees, the fourteen people chopping them down, all the same. Did Hawaii have mountains? That photographic memory was a little difficult to flip through when he was under the influence, and he was under a lot of influences. Hawaii had volcanoes, right? So then it had mountains.] If you get your stereo system back with your Sting collection, you'll be a lucky man. Better have "Don't Stand So Close To Me" on it, too. Little bit of the Police doesn't ever fail.

[Not that Will relates to a title like King of Pain and all, but really, sometimes people get in his face or touch him and it's all he can do to not burst out with something like: get back, motherfucker, you don't know me like that!]

FIIINE THEN

[galvanist]

[Whale couldn't help but chuckle a little at that. There was a time and a place for hundred year old whiskey that had been brewed under the house and passed through twelve filters, blah blah blah. That time wasn't now, that place wasn't at a funeral. Hell, that time was rarely ever. Whale had a habit of drinking to get drunk and he wasn't going to drink fancy overly expensive whatever when he could just drink cheap whiskey and get the same effect.

As such, he's just nodding along with Will's rant about overly expensive wine brewed with coconuts in it that were grown in Hawaii. Fuck Hawaii. Fuck Hawaii and fuck that wine. It wasn't whiskey and it probably cost as much as...ten whiskeys just for the tiniest little bottle.

But they're talking about something else now. Sting! Whale likes Sting.] My cd back home has some of the Police on it. It's actually pretty decent. But it's got that one song that I always skip...[and now, in a moment of confusion and alcohol, the name of the song was failing him.]

You know, that song. [Will didn't know and Whale couldn't remember.]

well done securing yourself a murder mongrel who'll rip throats out for you vic

[infomodder]

[Will could get used to this, in a way. This sort of sociable interaction, one-on-one, he could handle it. A big group of people was difficult to deal with when they weren't listening to him teach. He'd been in the background when Jack spoke to a room full of people in the Bureau about a case, leaned against the wall and wished he could just melt into it and vanish into the next room, which would miraculously turn out to be his house and he'd be completely away from the situation. There, everyone knew who he was and what his purpose was. Here, that wasn't the case. He could be a face in the crowd. He could operate on a wider level socially without all that old shit from home hanging over his head, but it was so difficult to even think of where to start. He'd seen Whale. He knew Whale, thus he'd approached him. Had he been surrounded by a group, oh no. He would have nodded his head if he was noticed, but no no, Will would have kept walking.

He wasn't allowed to like people, not Will Graham, not now. Not now that everything had gone to shit. But he liked Whale in his own way, and he made a mental note for that to never go much further in case a Certain Someone managed to show up.

It was really what he was thinking about, but he nodded along as he listened, trying to piece together what was being said. A song. That song. The discography of the Police and Sting ran through his head like a Rolodex being flipped, years and dates and members and everything in between. It was a Sting CD, but it had some of the Police on it. The Police songs he knew weren't shit on for being bad. So he took a moment to sort out which Sting songs he knew that were considered bad and came to a handful that could be that song.]

"Fields of Gold"? [Might seem like a shot in the dark, but compared to "Message in a Bottle" it stuck out like a sore thumb. It was so slow in comparison that he would have skipped it himself, and if Whale was drunk enough to not know the title of the song, Will would have to help him out by doing that singing not singing thing again.] You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barl-ee...that one? The one with the weird pronunciation? Or the one with the, has a foreign language in it, Arabic, I think? Gardens in desert sand, there's this weird o-lay-ee-o-lay sort of thing going on it...Sting's solo career is a total crapshoot.

[Weird o-lay-ee-o-lay thing indeed. Those two are the first that come to mind, and as he tries to explain them and draw out which one Whale doesn't like, he keeps leaning in, eyebrows furrowing. He's thinking so hard about Sting and which of his songs are crap that he's almost forgotten everything bad in his life, just for a bit.

He really does like Whale. Hopefully that never bites Whale in his not-blubbery ass.]

go team. D:

[galvanist]

[While Will has his internal crisis about the fact that he liked Whale (which Whale would be utterly happy and utterly worried about if he knew,) Whale is absolutely drunk, oblivious to the man's thoughts, still trying to come up with the name of that song, the one that he hated, the one that he always skipped. Whale still frowns, thinking, trying to come up with the name of that stupid Sting song. However, as Will sings the first few lines of "Fields of Gold," he can't help but light up. There we go. That was the name of the dumb song that he hated and so always skipped and didn't know what the actual song's name was.

Of course, now that he had heard Will speak-sing a bit of the song, he would have "Fields of Gold" stuck in his head the entire night. That was the way the world worked, after all.]

That's the one, [Whale remarked, nodding at Will. And again, he starts to sing, doing something akin to actual singing, vaguely on tune but still suffering from the singer being white girl wasted.] You'll forgive the sun something something skies, as we walk in fields of gold. That's the one. [a pause and a frown.] God, I really hate that song.

[infomodder]

[How did this happen? How is this what happens in a funeral? Fire burns into the night, there's crowns made of flowers that are doled out like beads at Mardi Gras, and he ends up talking Sting with his drunk new doctor. It's so bizarre to not be steeped in doom and gloom and everything awful. Refreshing.

Will might try getting drunk-ish more often, or just plain drunk. Drinking with a patient isn't so unheard of, he'd been told. At least he wouldn't have to worry about Whale doing something awful while smiling to his face like they were best friends. If he only knew the truth.]

You're not alone there. Like I said, his solo career is a total crapshoot. There's something good on occasion [why did that sound so slurred?] but it's generally mediocre. Should really get back with the Police.

[This is normal, isn't it? This is what two guys normally do. This is

really weird.]

Good thing it's not here for you to have to listen to it and hate it. [He's so bad at smiling, but he tries anyway. Being drunk-ish might help relax those frowny muscles. Maybe he doesn't look so weird when he does.] Or I could call you every now and then and just sing some of it if you really want.

[galvanist]

Serenading me with Sting, [Whale joked, sloshing the alcohol around in his glass a bit. The flower crown on his head droops slightly, and he pauses to push it back up.] I'm a lucky man.

[This is totally normal. Two dudes at a party funeral, Whale hammer drunk, talking abut Sting and criticizing his music choices. Yep. Totally normal. Nothing weird here.]

What about you? What kind of music do you like?

[infomodder]

[It's better than what I usually serenade with, sits on the tip of his alcohol-laden tongue, but he manages to bite it back.

By having another drink of it, naturally.]

Considering where I grew up, Lynyrd Skynyrd is a given. You can't be my age without either loving them or hating them, from what I've seen. Their legacy lives on at just about every concert. [Cries of "Freebird!" all around.] Steve Miller, Kansas, Styx, Warren Zevon. [Whale's not a werewolf. He can mention him.] Black Sabbath, the Stones, the Doors, Alice in Chains, Hendrix, Marley, Pink Floyd, Led Zep, Heart, Tears for Fears, Fleetwood Mac...

[Shit.]

Maybe I'm a little stuck in the past. [Who's new, who's fresh, who can he use to show he's living in the modern age? Someone not so country it's painful?] Jimmy Buffet?

[He didn't try at all.]

[galvanist]

[Whale just nods, taking a drink and listening as Will rattles off the bands. Truth be told, all of them sound great to him. Much like his surgical knowledge, his musical knowledge is via a curse. As such, it's pretty classic and pretty standard.]

You, [he says, pointing at Will, as if he's about to impart the world's greatest secret,] you have great taste.

[infomodder]

[If my likes in music reflect your own, of course you think I have great taste. I like what you like. It's common ground. It's a good feeling, to see that other people agree with you. You don't like my taste. You likes yours. No, no. That's really not where he wants to go right now, or ever. It's rare to find someone who compliments him, and that is also a good feeling, one he's not used to.

Whale rhymes with nothing sinister. This will be fine.]

I'd rather please my aural taste buds than torture them. Being able to make CDs with only the songs I like was one of the best things I ever found out how to do. [Now his CDs are nothing but "My Shit's Fucked Up" on loop. Of course.] You feeling okay? Not too drunk? If you're too drunk, I can take you back to Baldr safely. I don't mind.

[He doesn't know his drinking habits at all. How can he? But wait.]

This isn't me trying to cockblock. I'm just expressing concern.

[Whale will never have to worry about cockblocking Will. His brain does that to him well enough. Cockblock? He's 38, not entirely out of the loop.]