daybreakacademy | Wastin' Away Again~

A. IT'S NOBODY'S FAULT

[Yang isn't the most social person... but neither is he the least social person. He is, in terms of going out and having a good time, strictly the average baseline: someone who tags along with others, but never leads the venture.

He does, however, drink.

Right now, Yang is making his way from the bar, with an old fashioned clutched lovingly in one hand. He's not too drunk yet.

He does, however, scrunch his face up.] Do you know which song this is?

B. HELL, IT COULD BE MY FAULT

[Yang has four emptied glasses with orange peels around him. There is also a half-finished cider, which he did not much care for. He is leaning backward at his table, but there is that telltale slight sway: the look of a person who has, after a few too many drinks, lost the ability to sit still.

But then an idea comes to him, and so he blurts it out:]

Therapy cats! If we get the students therapy cats, it will fix everything!

C. IT'S MY OWN DAMN FAULT

[Yang has four emptied glasses with orange peels, two half-finished mugs of dry cider, a margarita glass that is empty, and a pair of shotglasses at... where he was sitting. Because he's not there.

No. He's made his way to the stage.

And the song he picked isn't a surprise. One of the most famous bass lines in history begins its distinctive beat. Everyone knows Under Pressure! It's a classic song, and Yang belts out--]

JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRL!
LIVIN' IN A LONELY WOOOOOORLD~
SHE TOOK A MIDNIGHT TRAIN!
GOING! ANY! WHEEEEEEEERE! o/`

[...oh no...]

a; just a nip
[To begin with, Hieke is only vaguely aware of what karaoke is. He's lived a long life, sure, but most of his life was. You know. Spent doing daemon-y things. Wheeling and dealing, murdering without remorse, learning how to reverse death and recreate bodies. Standard stuff.

Standard daemon stuff didn't really involve going out drinking or singing songs or anything like this. He's obviously overwhelmed - he grips his glass of "uh, whatever you'd recommend?" tightly and looks like he desperately wants to disappear.

Someone save him.]

b; maybe too much
[Eventually, Hieke loosens up - largely thanks to more and more drinks. Apparently, daemons can get drunk off human alcohol. Who would have known! Hieke didn't know.

Hieke knows now, though really all that matters is that he feels great. Everything is just so great right now? At least that's what you'd think, given he keeps giggling.

And then, abruptly, he leans over.]

Yooouuuuuu should go up there! [Ehehehe.] I'd bet you'd do great!

a. it's fine for now
[ The evening is starting off fairly well, at least. It's quiet enough, and everyone is doing the normal kind of socializing rather than the 'amusingly rascally drunk' sort of socializing.

He nurses his own drink (some kind of vodka cocktail this time), and though he does appear to be actually drinking it, he doesn't show any signs of the alcohol actually affecting him. ]

b. now featuring the only person who cant get drunk in the entire room

[ And some time later, things have progressed onto the loud singing and loudly drunken socializing stage. Ekkehardt is only mildly ruffled at worst, though occasionally he will, for his own amusement, call on someone and pick a song entirely at random for them.

Look, he has to get his entertainment somewhere. ]

c. please no

[ Is Ekkehardt going to sing, someone might ask! Or pester. Or annoy. ]

No. Absolutely not.

[ Spoilers: You can bully him into it if you try hard enough. ]

Edited 2019-03-09 03:26 (UTC)

A. I was into music before records exist

[He's sociable enough to join, but he hasn't gone up to the karaoke booth yet, picking through the catalogue]

...Meatloaf? whoever named that poor fellow needs to be smacked upside the head... black eye peas? There's so many how does a person even choose even if they're familiar?

B. Three sheets to the wind

[At some point he switched from suggested cocktails to straight whiskey, and is probably the last of the human staff to start showing intoxication, his face slightly flushed as he laughs, gesturing quite broadly to whoever ends up being subjected to whatever story he's telling.

Who knew the dark ages were so wild? That one would know if he would stop interrupting himself with his own laughter and table-banging]

C. A singing knight?

[Turns out, once he gets enough liquid courage and someone reminding him google exists, he goes up on stage - he's actually not a bad singer, but Judas Priest is probably the last thing most people would think he would pick, but he seems to be getting really into it]

I. no, don't mind me

[Oh, fuck yes.]

[Loud music, food, alcohol, and a general excuse to party? Jail is absolutely there. She may have made it to the bar so fast the karaoke machine wasn't even set up yet.]

[As it is, she's perched on top of the counter, leaning casually back against the wall, with a plastic basket of something seriously deep-fried in one hand and very large drink in the other. She has achieved basically her ideal scenario.]

[Somehow, despite having both hands occupied, she's not only managing to drink from her own mug and eat her own Deep Fried Local Special (the exact contents weren't verified), she's also successfully started swiping little bits from nearby coworkers' plates. Not too much, of course, just a bite of whatever looks tasty.]

[Oh, were those your fries? Mm, fries.]

II. if you knew what the bluebirds sang at you

[So, Jail's genuinely pretty fond of singing. She lacks any sort of social shame, for one thing, and for another she's got a pretty good grasp of rhythm. But there's a slight problem.]

[Namely, Jail has no sense of social shame. Which means that basically her entire song repertoire consists of the kinds of tunes you sing to either attempt to seduce someone, advocate major political upheaval, pick an actual physical fight with the rest of the bar, or some combination of the three.]

[So she's a little unclear on what counts as appropriate to sing at, basically, an office party. It's debatable how much this actually worries her, but she's at least... sort of trying to be pleasant? By some standards? Currently, she's paging through the book of available karaoke selections, looking thoughtful.]

Okay, so does it count if the song is a metaphor for sex, or only if it actually, like, goes into details?

[...Someone may need to help her with this one.]

III. please hold your applause

[Mercifully, she eventually seems to settle on something only mildly suggestive, and takes her turn onstage without notable incident.]

[Her voice is legitimately good, if a bit raspy from the gas mask, a low and husky kind of tone that sounds like it should be meant for classic torch songs in smokey lounges. Instead, she's gone for something more modern and is, to the best of her ability, rocking it.]

[Her singing is loud and energetic, body moving to the beat, and she throws her head back with a gleeful grin as she nails a high note.]

I said one day the Valley's gonna swallow me whole...!

[She's completely unselfconscious, the whole performance having the appeal of someone who's just... honestly having fun. She struts around the stage, winks at the audience, keeps up with the tempo, and never, ever looks like she regrets a moment of it.]

[After all, she's here to have a good time.]

A. Teacher's Night

[He hadn't been so sure about this at first, especially just coming off the plane back from Germany. Singing? No. Not really feeling it. Booze, on the other hand... Getting shitfaced sounds great.]

[He's only just started, on a second rum and coke, but it's not long before an entire bottle of wine is set down in front of him. He's decided to splurge.]

...Huh. That's funny. I don't remember telling the guy I wanted another glass.

[That guy wasn't expecting him to SHARE, was he?]

B. You sonnuva...

[He's no longer steady on his feet, his words are slurred, but by god Avery is going to get this done. He has to. Someone on this miserable planet has to.]

[He picks out the song, and the room is suddenly filled with a sound that only the 80s could provide.]

C. Gonna feel it tomorrow

You know what I hate? Ice. Ffffuck ice.

[He pauses and frowns.]

There aren't any kids here, right? Coulda sworn I saw one here. ...Whatever! I'm having fun. I do what I want!

[do you break the news to him? Pry information out of him? Or just laugh at his misery?]

A - Parenting of the Year

[...]

[......]

[Okay no, if Puella stayed in here any longer she might start to loose air. And so, one of hefty luggage bags began to jump on it's own, struggling a bit. Till finally the zipper releases and oh sweet freedom at last.]

[Wow...this place was really nice too! And to think she almost would have missed out on it. Going to have to just take a look around. ...Probably going to need to avoid Avery though. He might not be happy to know she was on the loose.]

B - Forbidden Drink

[Puella knew this was this was the only time she'll ever get to do this. She planned the attack when the karaoke was at it's most chaotic to sneak behind the counter and grab something. Time to be the rebel she was always meant to be.]

[She went straight for the bottle of tomato juice. Sure, it's more watered down than her other drinks, but this was a place of class, of integrity. She had to go for something that best signified that. It was time to be fancy and civilized.]

After the fiasco of last month, he hasn't touched a drink outside of the Brandy for Garcie, and even that he'd lit on fire instead of actually drinking it. Whether it was because he couldn't or because he thought drinking away his unlife might be a bad idea when he was that low, no one will ever know.

But when they walk off from that mission and the bar is offered up, well. He's going to be down a day or two anyway after having stayed up for that mission. He's already just a short time away from rotting on his feet. If he's going to look like crap and be dead for days it might as well seem like it's for a good reason.

But first, he's got someone to ask along.

A - Distracted

He can't believe this is happening. It doesn't feel real. It feels less real than all the terrible things that have happened this past while but he's here and she's here and he's so... happy.

Sitting by her, his face is practically contorted as he tries to hold in all the joy. He's not doing a good job. Even when trying to give her space, he keeps glancing back her way, catching himself staring, and drifting back like he's caught in a tide to be pushed again to shore.

B - Shots shots shots (Everybody)

But he is here to drink and drink he's going to do. Even if he meant it as his excuse, his excuse easily works as one for letting himself drink freely. Maybe forget the past week. The past month. The past year and decade. For all his fears with being forgotten, forgetting feels good.

"Another line up please!" He calls out, and in no time there's another string of shot glasses on the bar top. "Care to join me?"

C - Back On My Bullshit

He's been waving off requests to sing all night. "No, no, I don't preform anymore," usually follow by a question over the fact he used to preform and him artfully dodging the question with another drink. He makes it rather far into the evening, honestly. But at some point, between drinking on purpose and drinking to avoid, he starts to forget a little what he's avoiding for.

And so, whether asked or not, he throws his hands up. "Okay! Okay, okay, okay! I'll do it! One song!"

He stands up abruptly. The joy's of a cane, no one can tell too much of a difference in his balance. He walks over across the bar to a gathered group in a corner. "Disculpame, can I borrow your guitar?"

And with that pick on up, he hobbles on up to the stage. He drops the cane, sits down on the stool there, spins in it, and gently pushes the karaoke screen back with a foot. He doesn't need that.

A quick strum and he starts to play. Despite being drunk beyond reason he doesn't fumble a note. And, more amazing, the same applies to his singing.

"I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping,
While my guitar gently weeps.
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping,
Still my guitar gently weeps."

The greatest sign is when the song suddenly slips to Spanish part way through, back to English again, and then back to Spanish.

D - Inevitable Regrets

That, and the fact that when he's done with whatever reactions he gets, he goes straight into a new song. He has apparently forgotten he doesn't preform anymore. But he hasn't forgotten the woman he brought with him, looking up at her every moment he's not lost in the music and minding the chords.

"En los dias de dolor siente mi amor.
Que vendra con el viento, que vendra con el sol.
En los ojos de Dios, lejos de ti.
Me veras en suenos, sentiras mi besos.
Me oirias reir."

E - Disasters

The guitar has long since been returned or taken away. By this time even he's begun to slur a little. The evening is winding down and the children who shouldn't have been here to start with have finally been taken off to bed. It seems he's got one more song in him though, after having checked the lyrics on his phone and broken out in a wide grin, he pulls up anyone he thinks might join him and sets the song to go. It's time for a duet.

The song plays and he grins wide.

Valvatorez is usually a fixture on any faculty outing. Normally very serious in working hard and spending much of his free time either helping students or pursuing his own interests, research, or errands, he always made time in his schedule when something like this came up. Good teambuilding and being around comrades was important too, after all.

A - The Opener

It's fairly early in the night yet, and Valvatorez seems to be taking his time with what looks like a modified Bloody Mary... and it even has a faint scent of sardines in the drink itself, behind the alcohol and tomato juice. He's more than willing to talk with anyone as he sits down, flipping through a song catalogue for later in the evening, and just in general taking the time to relax.

B - Here Comes The Music: Part 1

A couple of drinks deep, Valvatorez takes the microphone, clears his throat, and begins to sing a timeless classic. And he's super into it, bombastically waving his arms around with the lyrics and doing flourishes with his cape like a true showman. He might not be Freddie Mercury himself, but damned if he's not trying to put on a show.

Heckle him or enjoy the show, either way, he'll roll with it. After he finishes, he'll take a bow before taking his seat again.

C - Here Comes The Music: Part 2

A couple more drinks deep, and Val takes the stage again, feeling the need to sing one more song. He might be a sight more boozed up, but he still can keep his singing voice; and surprisingly he's actually quite good. Though it's more subdued and less bombastic this time. ...He's silently glad there were no staff with him on the doppelganger mission, and no students here who were there either. Either way, that was a distinctly not typical Valvatorez choice of song.

After he finishes, he returns to his seat, silently wondering if he'd made a mistake... before ordering another drink.

D - ...They're gonna need more tomato juice....

By this point Val's drained several drinks. He's loaded, but thanks to his daemonic constitution he'll be fine. And he's still up for more conversation after the fact, though... expect him to be considerably less erudite and well spoken. Otherwise, he might just sit next to you, this time with a glass of water.

"I'll tell you what! Parties now are way better now than they were for the past several hundred years. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise! Music's gotten way better too. Except the 'wub wubs!' I'm certain that's the work of some errant, tone deaf pit fiend!"

Edited 2019-03-09 06:16 (UTC)

A

[Karaoke is one of those human rituals Michael's never participated in, but he is keenly interested. It combines a few of his interests to start off with, and then everybody gets drunk! Humans are always more fun when intoxicated!

Michael himself has had some pretty middling experiences with alcohol, but he'll give it another shot. Not literally. After first arriving, he spends a while lurking at the bar, spectating other people's drink orders to see what looks most interesting, and then ordering that. There's a few he knows he likes, but what's the fun in sticking with the same old thing?]

Hey, what's the best cocktail you know?

B

[Michael doesn't need booze to loosen up. He is plenty willing to get up onstage and be a dramatic weirdo without anything in his system at all. Still, he is a few sheets to the wind by the time he gets around to wandering onstage.]

In the Outlands, these people I used to run with, we'd all get together sometimes and do stuff like this! Not this-this, no singing. Just terrible things. I could do the Nixon tapes pretty good, are they on here...? No...?

[please make him pick a song like an actual person]

Wen-li Yang | hit me up

hieke | ota

ekkehardt "questioning all his life choices" gehring | ota