A/N: Well, in keeping with the grand tradition of everything I do, this was started by a silly conversation. Two silly ones, actually. The first being with Kay (of the amazing EW fics "Conversations" and "This Simple Phrase", among others), who challenged me to write her a story involving David and a certain article of clothing. I expect my Jalil-in-Leather fic any day now...

The second was with Queen Vegeta, my cohort, partner in crime, and fellow David-luster. She's also the co-author of this story (and author of a lot of fine FF7 fanfiction, which you should all go read). So without any further ado, on with the disclaimer...

Disclaim: I (and QuVe) do not own Everworld, or any of its characters, situations, or otherwise stated body parts. The lipstick is mine, however. And the drool is all QuVe's.

Final Warnings: There is slash, as usual. Male-male relations. As in boys, and other boys, and lipstick... Oh, and the whole thing is unabashedly silly, and a little weird in general. Have fun!

Praising the Chorus

(Or Preaching to the Organ Player)

Chapter One: In Which David's Wardrobe Undergoes Drastic Changes

David Levin sighed, pushing strands of dark brown out of his face with one hand as the other adjusted the maps in front of him. In a place as diverse as Everworld, you would think there would have been a cartographer for hire who wasn't drunk, blind or both. The maps of the areas surrounding Ka Anor's fortress looked like the sort of thing you might draw on the back of a napkin if you were giving someone directions to a nearby restaurant, rather than something to be used for complex strategy.

His usual crew of subordinates was off tonight. Even in the midst of a war for survival, you had to give people time off. At least, you did if you didn't want them to spit in your coffee behind your back. So tonight was his alone, to study in solitude. Alone with his thoughts for the first time in so long. He smiled softly to himself.

Even Generals need their 'me time'.

He shoved the map away in favour of another one, this even less detailed than the first. The whole thing appeared to have been done in crayon, and the scale seemed to change from line to line. It quickly found itself in the corner of the room, amongst and increasingly tall pile of crumpled parchment.

He wondered if Athena could get him someone even half capable to do this job. Surely one of the religions they's sided with had a minor deity of map-making stored in some closet. It would have been at least as useful as all those fertility goddesses. Especially since all fertility gods were interested in was... well, the sort of things that made David blush scarlet just to think about.

The light over his head flickered and buzzed in the silence. Jalil had managed to get his whole office hooked up to it's own power generator a few months ago, which was the only reason he could pace around in the room when it was only a couple hours until midnight. If the other teen wasn't careful, he was going to wind up with his own religion. Jalil-ism, he snickered at the idea. Knowing his friend, it would probably be the most anal religion ever created.

He sighed aloud, and it seemed to echo in the stillness. This was good. Maybe no man was an island, but that didn't mean you couldn't cut yourself off from the continent every once in a while, and he was using stupid metaphors again, wasn't he?

And then, as though it had never been, his solitude was shattered by a quick knock at the door, which was shoved open a second later. A blonde head poked around the door, "Hey General, s'up?"

"What do you want, Christopher?" He scowled, going to the door as though he intended to shut it on the other boy's stupid neck. But the blonde pushed past him, and into the room, throwing himself up onto the table so he was sitting on the ten or so remaining maps that David hadn't yet gotten around to checking. The other boy was carrying a bag of some sort, and giving that 'I've go a secret' grin that always boded evil. Or bad pop culture references.

"Is that any way to treat the guy who's here to save your life?" Christopher asked in mock hurt.

"And just what do I need saving from?" Somehow he was rather worried as to what the answer would be. Christopher's last attempt at 'saving his life' had involved both of them getting completely smashed, and then challenging a group of satyrs to a sack race. He'd had bruises on hut butt for two weeks afterwards, and still couldn't figure out why he'd agreed at all.

"The boredom faeries." Christopher whispered, "No, shh." The other boy put a hand over his mouth as he started to reply. "They'll here you. They're coming to eat you, and so I'm getting you out of here before they finish lighting the barbeque."

He pulled the hand away. "Are you drunk again, Hitchcock?"

"Completely sober, sadly." The blonde shrugged. "Now about your disguise-"

"Disguise?"

"You can't go out there like that! Faeries aren't that unobservant, and they like sushi David. You don't want to say that you went to your grave as sushi!"

He wondered if his friend had ever made less sense. Then wondered if he had ever made any sense at all, and decided against it. Of course he was probably up to something, Christopher was always up to something. But he would play along for now, he could do his thinking later. "Ok, fine. What's my disguise?"

A very large, very unnerving grin spread itself over Christopher's features. "Well, since they all know you have no sense of style-don't interrupt, it's true and you know it. You're the one who wore the frickin' toga last week."

"It was to give a speech." he muttered, blushing again.

"Sure thing, dress boy. Now, on to part one..." he reached for his bag again, and began pulling out items of clothing. He'd planned this well. "One pair black pants." Christopher tossed the clothing to him. "One black shirt, sleeveless."

The blonde boy looked up to see him clutching at the clothes, "C'mon, get dressed. You afraid I'll peak?" he accented the last part with a leer and an eye wiggle that made David begin to wonder. "And... here! One black shirt, mesh." Christopher pulled the final item from the bag and tossed it at him. It hit the floor, along with the rest of the clothes.

"...What?"

A sigh, and the clothing was piled back into his arms. "Trust me, any boredom faeries who still recognize you will be too turned on to care. Now get ready, the party starts in fifteen minutes."

"Wait-what party?"

But Christopher was already out the door. So David turned back to the clothing. The tank and pants were no problem, and he pulled them on without concern. The Other Shirt, however, was a bit more of a problem. The mesh was jut jaggedly on each sleeve, and whatever hem had originally existed along the bottom had been torn off in favour of another jagged edge. His first though was to wonder where the HELL Christopher had managed to procure such an item.

The second involved the sort of people who usually wore this type of... thing.

"Christopher, get back in here!" He yelled at the door, "I am not a goth, I am not a raver, and I am NOT GOING TO A GAY NIGHTCLUB! Hence, I am NOT wearing the shirt!"

"You do realize you just said 'hence', right dude?" His 'friend' observed impassively, sticking his head back through the door. "Now finish up. You know what Dionysus does to late party guests."

"Gives them crappy wine and ugly nymphs?" But it was no use, Christopher strode into the room, and had pulled the shirt over his head before he could react, tugging it into position.

"There." The blonde gave his hair an affectionate ruffle. David felt his face getting hot. He would pay Christopher back for this, oh yes. When he was asleep, and there would be spiders... big ones. "Now, close your eyes."

"Oh no... No chance in HELL am I doing anything you ask me to ever again, Hitchcock." Of course as we all know, resistence is futile. Especially when dealing with an avid party-goer and extra-evil boredom faeries.

Christopher grabbed his face in once hand, and pulled a tube of something out of his pocket, flicked the cap off... and was smearing black lipstick on David's gaping, shocked mouth. He took a step back to admire his handiwork, nodding. "You know, April was right. Eyeliner would've looked better..." he mused.

Thirty six different ways to kill a person instantly ran through David's head. Amazingly, only one of them involved tying the blonde to a large rock and having various birds of prey come and rip out his vital organs. But many more involved castration. Oh yes.

"Hey dude, we all have to make sacrifices. Think of Jalil; he's wearing leather pants tonight."

He glared at Christopher, who was currently sporting his old, ripped jeans, and a blue t-shirt (if an overly tight, almost pore-defining one). Maybe castration would be too quick and painless a death...