[network][Day 138|video|@hotstud_xxx] You Get What You Need [open]

[rubikscomplex]

[There's no pithy commentary from House as is more common for the introductions to one of his piano sessions. It's also on video at the moment because House... can't figure out how to change it to just audio. He really hates this particular effect. So, anyone in Snowhell who has yet to actually see Dr. Hotstud House will get a view of him. He's a haggard, middle-aged man who's looking closer to just plain 'aged' after more than three months in Norfinbury. He has the tablet propped up where the sheet music would usually go, and keeps his eyes down or closed as he begins to play. He mouths some of the words, brows furrowed and body swaying to the music.

He runs through that. And then, because he's not going to be able to play and 'talk' to people at the same time, he moves into another tune before stopping and checking for responses.]

Comments

[devoutish]

I'm honored.

[plundering]

You should be. It's nice to be serenaded with depressing war songs.

[devoutish]

That's not nearly the worst of 'em.

[He knows some really depressing war songs, Fiona.]

[plundering]

You can't say that and not share.

[devoutish]

[There's a long pause here, because he definitely has a particular one in mind. It's one that seems oddly fitting, here and now.

When he starts up again, his voice is more somber - even a little melancholy. He sings the whole thing through, instead of just a verse or two.]

We meet ‘neath the sounding rafters
And the walls around are bare
As they echo to our laughter
T’would seem that the dead were there

So stand to your glasses steady
It's all we have left to prize
Quaff a cup to the dead already
And one to the next man who dies

Time was when we frowned on others
We thought we were wiser then
But now, let us all be brothers
For we never may meet again

Cut off from the land that bore us
Betrayed by the land we find
The good men have gone before us
And only the dull left behind

So stand to your glasses steady
This world is a web of lies
Then here’s to the dead already
And one to the next man who dies

Here’s an end to this mournful story
For death is a distant friend
So here’s to a life of glory
And a laurel to crown each end

[plundering]

[Well, she asked for it.]

Damn. You weren't kidding. Fitting though, huh?

[devoutish]

Bit eerie, innit.

[jumpthegun]

[John sobers at the song, as well. He has something in mind, as well. There had been enough Irishmen in his crew to learn this one.]

Of all the money that ever I spent
I spent it in good company
And all the harm that ever I've done
Alas, it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So, fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

Of all the comrades that ever I've had
They're sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that ever I've had
Would wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call
Good night and joy be with you all

[devoutish]

[Alfie actually turns on the video and gives him a quick little salute. Not a bad choice, Watson.]

[jumpthegun]

[Watson gives Alfie a brief salute back. He doesn't particularly like Alfie... except when he does, but this is one of those moments that he feels like he's actually connecting honestly with the man.]

[plundering]

You two know how to dampen the mood, huh?

[Her baseline mood is already low because of Vaughn, so this is a defense mechanism, really.]

[jumpthegun]

There're happier songs I can sing for you.

[That's offered looking over at her, rather than speaking into the tablet.]

[plundering]

Yeah, sure.

[Hey, he's getting a little smile again!]

Impress me.

@itsybitsy; audio

[redrooms]

[The songs Ivan's unit sang during the war were different, of course, but this is similar enough to make her feel strangely nostalgic.]

It's unfortunate that the sentiment is universal.

[devoutish]

The human condition, eh?

[redrooms]

It seems so.

[Speaking of weird connections.]

A little bird told me you speak Russian.

[devoutish]

Was that bird named Dr. House?

[redrooms]

It was. He's well-informed.

[devoutish]

He tried it on me once, assuming I couldn't understand him. I gave him something of a surprise, I think.

There's not a lot I could sing in Russian.

[headjacked]

I don't have any war songs on hand, but I can do depressing! Ish!

[ It's not a timeless classic by any means, but he found it floating around the ECHOnet ages ago. Saved it. Learned the lyrics.

That Troy Baker sure was a talented fella! ]

[plundering]

Hey, you can actually sing. Who knew?

[headjacked]

I'm a man of many talents.

[plundering]

Uh-huh. Don't get ahead of yourself.

[She's obviously teasing, though.]

[headjacked]

Singing! Programming! Leadership! Do I really need to go on?

[plundering]

Leadership? Were you our leader? I missed it.