[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]

[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.

[jumpthegun]

I'll fathom the bowl, I'll fathom the bowl
Give me the punch ladle, I'll fathom the bowl

Come all you bold heroes, give an ear to my song
And well sing in the praise of good brandy and rum
There's a clear crystal fountain near England shall roll
Give me the punch ladle, I'll fathom the bowl

From France we do get brandy, from Jamaica comes rum
Sweet oranges and apples from Portugal come
But stout, beer, and cider are England's control
Give me the punch ladle, I'll fathom the bowl

I'll fathom the bowl, I'll fathom the bowl
Give me the punch ladle, I'll fathom the bowl

[plundering]

That's my kind of song. You've been holding out on me.

[jumpthegun]

Big for drinking, are you?

[plundering]

Sometimes. I could definitely use it here.

[jumpthegun]

Think we all could, the past few months we've been having. I find anything, I'll let you know, all right?

@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.

[redrooms]

No? You aren't fluent?

[devoutish]

I don't know a lot of Russian songs. Lullabies, mostly.

[redrooms]

[Hey, whatever. Sometimes it's nice to remember the pleasant parts of her childhood, the parts not touched by the Red Room, so Natasha will try one softly, in Russian:]

Sleep, good boy, my beautiful,
Bayushki bayu
Quietly the moon is looking
Into your cradle.
I will tell you fairy tales
And sing you little songs,
But you must slumber, with your little eyes closed,
Bayushki bayu.

[devoutish]

Yeah. I know that one.

[Hearing it makes him a little homesick.]

[redrooms]

Do you have Russian family?