The lounge itself has actually come together quite nicely, for all the scrambling around people were doing to make sure everything was ready in time. The problem? People seem hesitant to actually put it to use. Angel's not sure he can blame them. Singing in public is an acquired taste for some. He vaguely remembers a time when he'd been vehemently against it in its entirety, but if something changed his mind, he can't quite recall what.
The result, however, is the same, no matter how it happened: he's willing to step up and take a bullet to get things rolling.
He moves stiffly as he makes his way to the prompter, holding onto the microphone just a little too tightly as undeniably dated strains of synthesized music start pouring out of the speakers.
I'd drive a million miles to be with you tonight, So if you're feeling low, turn up your radio, The words we use are strong, they make reality, But now the music's on, oh baby d-dance with me-
He manages to fumble over half the lyrics, getting tongue-tied as he struggles his way through both off-key and off-beat, accompanied by stiff and sudden movements that are not so much dancing as they are anxious shuffling, but as the song goes on, he starts to commit. He dedicates himself.
And it is truly terrible.
Rip it up, move down, Rip it up, move it down to the ground, Rip it up, cool down, Rip it up, don't hang it on the borderline
Everybody have fun tonight, Everybody have fun tonight, Everybody Wang Chung tonight, Everybody have fun tonight--
It's a very painful four minutes for anyone who manages to sit through the entire thing, but once the music finally stops, he manages to stand there for another five seconds or so without moving -- then finally fumbles with the microphone enough to get it back into its stand, though not without dropping it once, looking only mildly remorseful as he makes his way to one of nearest seats.
As icebreakers go, there are probably worse. Maybe.
Angel | OTA
The result, however, is the same, no matter how it happened: he's willing to step up and take a bullet to get things rolling.
He moves stiffly as he makes his way to the prompter, holding onto the microphone just a little too tightly as undeniably dated strains of synthesized music start pouring out of the speakers.
What is about to take place is quite possibly one of the most awkward performances ever witnessed.
I'd drive a million miles to be with you tonight,
So if you're feeling low, turn up your radio,
The words we use are strong, they make reality,
But now the music's on, oh baby d-dance with me-
He manages to fumble over half the lyrics, getting tongue-tied as he struggles his way through both off-key and off-beat, accompanied by stiff and sudden movements that are not so much dancing as they are anxious shuffling, but as the song goes on, he starts to commit. He dedicates himself.
And it is truly terrible.
Rip it up, move down,
Rip it up, move it down to the ground,
Rip it up, cool down,
Rip it up, don't hang it on the borderline
Everybody have fun tonight,
Everybody have fun tonight,
Everybody Wang Chung tonight,
Everybody have fun tonight--
It's a very painful four minutes for anyone who manages to sit through the entire thing, but once the music finally stops, he manages to stand there for another five seconds or so without moving -- then finally fumbles with the microphone enough to get it back into its stand, though not without dropping it once, looking only mildly remorseful as he makes his way to one of nearest seats.
As icebreakers go, there are probably worse. Maybe.