12-31-2018, 12:14 PM
//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."
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