I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR DANCING | WT

[ORPHEUS]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Clarence was right: cleaning was not fun. Fun was enjoying a conversation or a type of food, laughing with people you cared about, spending the holidays with friends. Fun was, well... fun. But even if this is definitely not that, he can find enjoyment in just about everything. Cleaning had been important to him, however strange that was. As a child, it had been his designated chore. He can remember his siblings bickering over theirs while he busied himself with the dusting and the tidying. When he got older, it became less of a chore. Without a place to call home, Orpheus had switched to cleaning up wounds and fragments of glass. Thankfully nothing here was that bad. Now that the festivities were over, the tinsel and garlands and spare specks of sparkles all needed to go, but that really was the worst of it. In a way, it feels good to get back to basics. A place to call home and clean, this time without the weight of uncertainty over his head.

He'd been told to gather a group for this but he couldn't help but get started on his own. It was a way to gather his thoughts, calm his mind. Dust clings to his short fur and tickles at his nose, a disconnected, colorless strand of lights hanging over his neck. Orpheus looks like a mess, but a light mirth warms up his face. Catching his breath with a somewhat satisfied look, the lion pauses. "Can anyone here sing?"

[JERSEYBOY]

[glow=#000,1,400]YOU AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A HOUND DOG — TAGS[/glow]

If it was anything related to production, tidying up, and all that nonsense? It was likely that Jerseyboy would take no part in it. The only thing he genuinely gave a shit about was his personal appearance, and that was only when he wanted to care. Other than that, Jersey was a bit of a slob. Not that he gave a shit about what anybody else thought of it.

Speaking of which, the tuxedo cat had just taken a drag from his cigarette. Ashes dusted his white paws, and his green hues rested on the one who had asked if anyone here could sing. He nearly managed a snort at the question. As if he really had to ask if anyone here could sing. The answer was obviously yes and the best damn singer here was obviously him. Who else would it fucking be? Atticus? He thought not.

[glow=black,1,400]"That all depends."[/glow] The New Jerseyan ashed his smoke into the ground and tilted his head, casually glancing at Orpheus.  [glow=black,1,400]"Why d’ya ask?”[/glow] He didn’t want to sing some sort of sissy shit if that was what he wanted. He wouldn’t sing just anything, but most things he would. It often came as a shock to some that Jerseyboy had other hobbies than smoking and drinking and picking fights, and it was even more of a shock to when it turned out that his pipes weren’t all too bad.

[clarence a.]

Clarence had felt a little bad giving out this particular task, if he was being honest. He quite liked Orpheus and hoped the man wouldn't be too upset with him for it, but it was something that really needed to be done and he trusted Orpheus to get it done in a timely, yet thorough manner. Sanitation was something Clarence took rather seriously, given his history as a surgeon on a Navy ship. One of his primary jobs had been to make sure everything was as clean as possible to prevent outbreak. With winter rolling in quickly, he knew that everyone would be spending a lot more time indoors, which usually meant they were more likely to get sick. So, he wanted to look out for them. It was just unfortunate that it wasn't a task he could undertake on his own and he had to enlist the help of Orpheus to get it all done. He'd gladly do it himself - Clarence wasn't one to shy away from cleaning (he actually found it quite relaxing) - but there was just too much ground to cover all on his own.

All of that to be said, he'd decided to at least offer to help the man and had set out on a mission to find him earlier in the day. Finally, he came across the lion and heard his words. An odd request, but then again Clarence had told him he could try making it more unique. "I've been told I'm not too bad at it, though I'm not sure that I'd know contemporary songs that everyone would enjoy," he admitted. While he had sang quite frequently as a hobby back in his old life, none of it was music any of the animals here would be familiar with. It had mostly been traditional choral music. He did have the opportunity to come across quite a few of those little disks that went into his glowy machine, many of which had their own modern music (some of which he enjoyed, some of which he could hardly stand), even if they weren't the musicals that he'd grown to love. He'd watched some of them quite a few times, although he was entirely confident he'd be able to remember all the words with no music or scene for him to reference to. 

LISTEN UP; HEAR THE PATRIOTS SHOUT

BLOOD LUST IN A HOLY WAR

© LEXASPERATED

[AMBROISE]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Cleaning was just about all Ambroise had ever done. It was, ninety nine percent of the time, someone else's mess he tidied up, be it wounds or the aftermath of a party with bottles strewn everywhere. Truth be told, he wished he'd done more of it. That alleyway had been dirty as hell, and while he hadn't known much else, the grime and garbage had driven him up the damn wall. He'd hated living in filth, suffocated by greasy bodies that smelled of old blood and sour meat. Disgusting. It was one of the few features of this place that he appreciated: the openness, the cleanliness. Made it hell of a lot easier to breathe. Ambroise never felt like there were twelve people crawling down his throat every time he inhaled, or like exhaling was taking every bit of oxygen from every cell.

And he loved that it meant the Christmas shit was finally out of the way. It would have been better if Orpheus weren't in charge of that, because somehow, he'd managed to crawl straight onto the top of Ambroise's shit list. Not that there were any competing participants. They were all dead.

"Not about might can," he grumbled, hazel gaze narrowed, "it's about might should." Ambroise sure as hell didn't want to listen to anything that came out of their mouths, and as a bit of a personal joke, he found a random tune and mockingly crooned, "Je m’emmerde, tu m’emmerdes- t’es vraiment emmerdant, toi."

[align=right][url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=9216.msg56850#msg56850]INFORMATION

[ORPHEUS]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Orpheus doesn't often think about how people got where they did when it comes to things such as this. Clarence and Ambroise have both earned their neatness the way he had, their history shining through the cracks. He wonders if the same could be said for Jerseyboy and his dislike of it. Had he led a somewhat easy life where it wasn't necessary that he did it? Did he have bad memories associated with it? Or perhaps he was just a normal kind of person with a normal dislike of doing chores and the three of them were the oddballs. But if that was the case, they certainly outnumbered what was normal, which probably made them the normal ones. A weird thought, and not one that should come up while trying to clean or otherwise keep one's paws busy. This was a somewhat daunting task, after all. He doesn't mind that it was given to him, and with or without help he'll get it done. It's just more fun with friends.

Only one person here is his friend, really. Jerseyboy is somewhat unfamiliar (not that that usually bothers him — he'll be a friend anyway), and Ambroise is... Ambroise. He's not sure that man even knows what a friend is, much less how to act like one. Or keep one. Get one. Interact with people at all, on any level. Whatever, if he put his frustration aside, he's alright. At this exact moment, his worst nightmare could show up and Orpheus would still just get back to work. Nothing's going to get to him with a bit of Christmas cheer still in the air and his head in the clouds.

He grins brightly at the first two, ready to explain why he'd asked before Amroise's deeper voice cuts the air instead. Although Orpheus wrinkles his nose at him, there's a playful air to his expression. Just a bit of mirth in his smile and his eyes. A bit of mirth that quickly fades to something a little softer — he assumes Ambroise won't like that, but for the moment he's past caring about what the other lion would want from him. His throat just feels a little dry and tight. "You have a nice voice, you know," he manages. The rest comes easier and brighter, with a bit of that too-easy warmth back on center stage. "But I know about a third of what you just said and that's not nice." He turns back to the other two before he falls into another of Ambroise's spiky personality pits of doom and remembers why he'd asked in the first place.

"Well. We have to do some cleaning, and I figured some music might make it easier. More fun that way." The lion turns back to cleaning for a moment, stretching up on his hind legs until one paw snags on another string of lights that he gently tugs down. It falls around his shoulders with the other set, this one still warm enough to feel through his fur. "Maybe everyone can take turns. Doesn't matter what sort of song it is, as long as it's kid safe." There's no hiding his curiosity about Clarence's voice and choice of songs, and Jerseyboy's response makes him think he's got a good voice. Ambroise has a nice voice, even if he's an asshole and probably won't do any singing. He can sing pretty well too, which would make them a pretty cool quartet.

He won't mention that part.

[clarence a.]

//ref for song + Clarence's voice claim!

At Orpheus' reply, Clarence felt his heart beat a bit faster with anxiousness. He wasn't usually one for singing in public, unless it was in a group. Still, he knew he wasn't too bad at it. So, he paused for a moment and tried to think of hwat songs those among him might actually know. Then he remembered the little disks Orpheus had given him. Some of those had been musicals. "Oh! I know! You remember those disks you gave me to go in the glowing machine I found some time ago? Those were musicals so I can sing something from those. Though, I must admit, the one I'm thinking of isn't particularly happy. You know, the one about the French revolution?" he suggested before pausing once again to think, trying to work out in his mind which song would be the best to sing. He wanted something interesting, at least, but also something he knew he could remember all the words to and sing relatively well.

"There's a grief that can't be spoken-" He began hesitantly, his voice wavering a bit. "There's a pain goes on and on-" As he continued and the song built, he seemed to sound more sure of himself. "Empty chairs at empty tables; now my friends are dead and gone-" He'd thought more than a few times of how this song related to his own experiences. Even though he loved the music from this particular disk, sometimes it hurt to watch. But it was so beautiful. That and there was something comforting of seeing his own experiences on a screen. In a world where it seemed like no one and nothing could truly relate to his experiences, it was a comfort to see something that showed his old world, even if slightly different from what or how he remembered it. The song continued to build until he reached the first portion where it became significantly more powerful, so he had to be sure to take a deeper breath and pay attention to how he was using the air he had. It was a technique he utilized plenty of times when singing with the church, especially in the more complicated pieces. "And I can hear them now, the very words that they had sung, became their last communion-" Just as soon as that part of it started, it was over, and he was allowed to be quiet once again.

"Oh, my friends, my friends, forgive me, that I live and you are gone-" Something about that seemed to hurt him on a deeper level. Perhaps it was real pain, not a recreation of what he saw on an actor's face? No, it couldn't be. He was moving on. He didn't think about his crew anymore. Or he tried not to, anyway. His mind still ran back to that number, though. 41. Dead. Including him. Well, it was supposed to include him. For all they knew, he was dead. They didn't know about another world where animals could speak and had complex relationships with one another and entire political systems. They didn't know he'd escaped. Somehow that made the guilt worse. He knew that at least Vale was aware he survived and didn't seem to blame anything that'd happened on him, but that didn't take away the idea that maybe there'd been a way to save everyone. That maybe he'd just missed it and he'd let them all die for no reason. Maybe he should've tried harder to make Finnis take the other route, to avoid Lake Erie altogether. He'd been too stubborn, though. Clarence had done his best. He really had.

As his thoughts swirled, the song continued to build, "Oh, my friends, my friends-" This was the longest hold in the entire piece but Clarence didn't seem to have too much trouble with it, "-don't ask me, what your sacrifice was for." Clarence had fought in a war he didn't believe in. He'd been forced into a war because of blackmail and lies and because he'd been promised his sister's safety, so long as he went away. He'd sacrificed everything to keep his family safe and he'd sacrificed it all over again in an attempt to save Finnis. Maybe that was his problem. He was too willing to give up everything. That's what Vale would tell him, he knew. She was sick of him being a martyr. Thankfully, he hadn't done anything like that in this world so far. "Empty chairs at empty tables, where my friends will sing no more-" There was the end of it. As his voice drifted off, he looked towards the other gathered individuals and gave a sheepish smile. "Ah, apologies that it wasn't the happiest of pieces. Not much from that one is, really. I thought it'd be better than Latin, though."      

LISTEN UP; HEAR THE PATRIOTS SHOUT

BLOOD LUST IN A HOLY WAR

© LEXASPERATED

[AMBROISE]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Ambroise shifted his gaze from Orpheus to the decorations he was in the process of cleaning up, and he liked them a lot better now that they would be coming off the walls. They were still ugly as shit, but not as repulsive as they were when everything and everyone was cramming Christmas into every nook and cranny in some ritualistic build-up to a single day. But he wouldn't go into ripping Christmas a new one. He'd already done that many, many times by now, so he dropped his eyes back down to Orpheus, only barely acknowledging that the other two were present with the faintest of glances. He didn't have any interest in befriending people, and Orpheus was the one he'd exchanged more words with. Surprisingly.

"If you got a third, should've gotten all of it," he answered, overlooking the compliment because that wasn't the reason he'd opened his mouth, nor did he want to positively accept something Orpheus offered him. Or what anyone offered him, because no, he did not know how to make friends when he was the one wearing a collar under his mane and an owner's claw excavations on his face. Easier to make friends when there wasn't an expectation to learn about their histories- their pasts hadn't mattered in that alleyway, and it was some silent agreement that they'd never talk about them. That would've made it harder to keep their heads down.

He wasn't very good at making nice, either. Couldn't see the point in trying.

The lion barely followed Clarence's solo, stare on the ground, but he knew the song. Knew the French version of it. "Didn't think people liked to clean to death songs," he commented, face expressionless. "It's better in French anyway. Il est un deuil que je porte, lourd au coeur comme un secret. Seul devant ces tables vides- qu'ils ne reverront jamais. Je les entends encore- ces mots brûlants qu'ils ont chantés furent leurs derniers volontés." He spoke the lyrics flatly, tonelessly. "Oh me amis pardonnez moi d'être là de vivre encore. Oh me amis je voudrais croire que vous n'êtes pas morts en vain. Seul devant ces tables vides je ne suis plus sur de rien." He wasn't going to zone out reciting a song though; there was a time and a place for that, and it wasn't in front of people Ambroise wouldn't even trust to pour water without spilling it.

"You might could sing something happier, Orpheus. Maybe something that'll get you cleaning faster. Christmas is long gone by now." The lion rolled his shoulders, and set off to leave Orpheus to his work. Sure, Ambroise liked to clean, but he sure as hell wasn't going to touch those damn decorations. He had other business to take care of anyway.
[align=right][url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=9216.msg56850#msg56850]INFORMATION

[ORPHEUS]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]/ les mis,,, my heart,,,,

Orpheus remembers, suddenly and rather unexpectedly, that today was supposed to be about cleaning. But suddenly that task doesn't quite matter much, though he has strings of lights draped over his body and dust everywhere, he finds himself a little more intrigued by the mention of the Christmas gifts he'd given and the promise of a song. The lion's head tilts, a motion curious instead of confused. "Les Misérables," he answers with a little nod, his accent surprisingly accurate for at least that small phrase. There were very few sweet songs in that musical, and unless Clarence started singing "Master of the House" all on his own — which would have been incredibly impressive but also terrifying — he knows to brace himself for whatever feelings the song is about to stir up. This one had always been good at that, though he himself had only stumbled into the story on accident, without personal attachment.

He listens with a quiet, soft sort of awe, his head slowly tilting again. For a moment, his mind wanders to the story and the other songs there. The lion's heart sinks quietly and twists with the pain of it all, but it is a beautiful song, and a story that he can relate to. Not that he's ever been a part of organized war, or — well maybe when he says he can relate to the story, he means the heartbreak and the loss and perhaps he means Éponine. She's far less likable in the book, but he can understand it. Though he's never lost someone the way that this song speaks of, he can understand that too. Dawn-colored eyes are soft as he watches Clarence, attention not straying until the song is over. "That's a good song." He tips his head from side to side, quiet expression finally breaking to a smile that contorts the delicate markings around his eyes. "Not happy, but — even the happy ones in that musical are a little ruined. But you have a nice voice too. It feels strange to admit that he wishes people would sing more.

After a moment of silence, he jolts and shifts as if remembering to work, his paws scrambling and then suddenly stilling again. Orpheus is familiar with some French, though he was taught by poor teachers, foreign books, and music. It's enough to recognize the words Ambroise says instead of sings. Maybe it's just his imagination that gives life to the words. He can imagine him singing it, even if he refuses to. After a quiet breath to draw himself back out of his thoughts, the lion finds that for once he's not entirely sure what to say. He's felt like he's walking on eggshells around him since their...argument, if he could call it that. Ambroise was a grump and this universe's Grinch incarnate, but he still deserved to have his boundaries respected. "You ignored my compliment," he finally accuses with a small smile, which he figures is a decent middle ground between accidentally spewing out another half-brained compliment and just shutting up.

The idea of him singing too had apparently managed to knock Orpheus off balance ever so slightly, with the way he blinks owlishly at Ambroise's back when he turns to leave. "You could help, if you're so eager to see it gone." But he doesn't press and he definitely doesn't sing, just turns in a circle looking for something else — anything else — to pick up and put away. "What about you, Tiger Man? You have something to sing?" he asks with a grin and a glance back to Jerseyboy.