cuddlecity | EVENT: SING FOR YOUR SUPPER.

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EVENT: SING FOR YOUR SUPPER.

Good morning, Cadelle. As you wake from what should have been a restful night's sleep, you'll start to notice a tickle in your throat, the kind that feels like you might be able to cough it away, or in a worst case scenario, swallow down with a few gulps of water. However, no matter how many glasses of dihydrogen monoxide you tip back or how many times you try to clear your throat, that lingering feeling remains. It's a good thing most people are quiet when they first wake...

By the time you've had your first cup of caffeinated beverage of choice and feel up to interacting with other people — which, depending on your personal preferences might be mid-morning or perhaps late afternoon — you might notice that the tickle has gotten considerably worse. It's more insistent, like an itch begging to be scratched or a grey hair just demanding to be plucked away, and every minute it's ignored only aggravates it more. So, eventually, you'll give in. You'll open your mouth to say something, only to realize you're not saying anything at all.

▸ Maybe it's time for your coffee break...

▸ Or perhaps a kinder good morning is the way to start your day.

▸ Or, just possibly, you might greet the day with a question. What is this feeling, you might ask...

But whether you're expecting caffeine or kind greetings or even just answers from your own personal AI, song is probably the last thing on the list of possibilities. Unfortunately, it's also your reality. Try not to panic too much — after all, characters in crisis often have the most dramatic solos.

It may put your mind — or maybe just your pride — at ease to realize that it's not you who's been blessed by the angel of music. In fact, it seems the whole city is affected — everyone from the shopkeepers to your neighbors seem to be singing, and for once, it appears nobody's off-key. (Talk about a blessing.)

So, while it may not be your ideal method of communication, you'll just have to take it like a man... at least for now. Who knows? Maybe you'll even start to like it. Pull up a chair, get comfortable, find someone to chat to, pick a little, talk a little. But whatever you do, don't try to resist it, because... well, you know.

You can't stop the beat!

How did all this come to be? Well, we're sure you're familiar with the age-old tale of the little mermaid — but, just in case, we'll give you a quick tl;dr. Mermaid girl wants legs, trades her voice in a sketchy back-alley deal with a sea witch of questionable allegiance, and has to mack on a dude of her choice or give up her bodily autonomy. Totally normal kids' fare.

What does that have to do with Cadelle? Maybe you're familiar with the redheaded girl who lives in the bright pink house? Yeah, that's Clary, our own little mermaid, who stuck around in a magical pool so long that she needed the help of the Energem to un-mermaid herself. Unfortunately, she didn't wish quite clearly enough, so the wish stone got more of the Disney movie musical vibe than any ideas of redheads with legs. Not that Clary didn't get her legs. She did, obviously, but she also accidentally bequeathed the entire city with this great gift of song.

We know, you're excited. Feel free to send her your thanks. Singing telegrams are always in fashion!

Of course, characters are unlikely to know the hows and whys of this particular event. Unless they ask Clary herself, they'll only know that they've woken up feeling unable to resist the urge to sing their hearts out. Those that resist will only suffer until they give in, with a sore throat and thick tongue that demands to be treated, and relief will only come from the first notes of song.

As far as song choices are concerned, feel free to play this in any way that strikes your fancy! We chose Broadway mostly because two thirds of your mod team has extremely niche interests, but you're welcome to choose popular music, your favorite Disney classics, a retro r&b or rap beat, or maybe even some original lyrics of your very own. This could be your chance to blossom into the next Lin-Manuel Miranda!

If you have any further questions specific to this event, we encourage you to ask away on our QUESTIONS COMMENT here in this post. If you have general questions, or prefer a more private venue, our GENERAL INBOX (and SCREENED INBOX) is always available for you. In addition, if you've got an idea for a future event, feel free to drop us a line at our EVENTS SUGGESTION POST.

Have fun, and don't forget — sing from your diaphragm, please! No breathy solos!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There's not that many things Frank's unwilling to do, but he has no intention of singing in public even as the itching in his throat starts to burn and blister. He used to make music once, old callouses on his left hand's fingertips testament to the stringed instrument of peace he used to wield. There used to be music in a place he used to call home. It was one of the only good things he could give to his kids.

Now there's only silence. Silence brooding over an empty glass of what was once pretty decent whiskey, right up until she clips him. He turns towards her, raising one arm as if he's expecting to catch her if she falls.]

Are you okay ma'am?

No.

[If there's one thing to be said about drunk Laurel Lance, it's that she's a lot more emotionally aware. It's just that people aren't usually looking to hear her talk about her feelings anyway, just expect her to suck it up and be fine.

To accept things that hurt her without qualm or complaint.

Still, she doesn't want to burden a stranger so she just shakes her head a bit.]

But it's not your problem.

[She doesn't say it to be mean, but to let him off the hook. She's not going to be one of those sad drunks who spills her problems all over someone just because they're there.]

[No. Her honesty is refreshing. He studies her for a while, looking for cracks in the veneer of pretending to be fine like everybody else. Honestly everyone's auditioning for some kind of musical that he missed the memo about, but she isn't giving too much away beyond the fact that she's upset.]

I'm making it my problem if you don't make it home okay. 'less you wanna sit a while more. [He has no qualms about getting her another round but he's not sure about encouraging her to drink some more.]

They don't close until late.

[She slumps back a bit against the bar stool behind her in response, because he's right and she probably shouldn't go stumbling into the streets quite yet, because something occurs to her that she hadn't realized a few moments earlier.]

I just got back. From my original home, I mean.

[A beat.]

I don't even know how long I've been gone. It's been five years for me, but I don't know how long it's been here.

[He hasn't been around in Cadelle long enough to figure out the full implications of what she's saying - of what other people who have come back have gone through. He's not even sure why she'd come back. If he got what he wished for there was no way in hell he's coming back here.

Regardless, the poor soldier tries. His gaze softens and he flags the bartender down for a glass of water and some cider for her.]

Five years huh. I don't know, uhm, I haven't been around that long. What's the last thing you remember happening here? And why'd you come back here anyway?

I think ...

[It's hard to remember. It was so long ago that being precise is difficult, but there's some things she definitely remembers. One of those things being Nate Heywood in leather pants.]

There were wishes? Something to do with wishes.

[Yeah. That sounds about right. But the second question she can answer with a little more certainty.]

My best friend died. Because of me. He died because I was somewhere I said I wouldn't go and he was trying to protect me. And them my other best friend and ex decided that instead of trying to deal with this loss together, and helping each other, like adults, he would go and mope on his stupid island, so ...

[She takes a deep breath and reaches for one of the glasses once it gets closer.]

I figured if he was going to run away from his problems, then why can't I?

[At least she was trying to find a solution. At least she was trying to save Tommy unlike Oliver who was just wallowing.]

Wishes. [Lady are you serious? This whole city has a recurring wish theme going on. His brows furrow and when he finally thinks he grasps what she's talking about he gives her a surprised look.] That only just happened lady. Hadn't been five years. We're talking weeks.

[So not losing five years is a good thing, he supposes, but ever the cynic Frank's not sure where she gained those five years from then. Five years was a bit of time for all that unpleasant shit to have happened. For a while he's not sure what to say. Definitely not 'I'm sorry' - nothing to be sorry for. He's been there, done that. Dead is dead, they ain't coming back. And 'your friend has an island?' seemed a bit ridiculous.]

Dying for you's not the same as dying because of you. [The marine would have wanted people to know that if he'd died in Afghanistan. Not that it matters anymore.] So you came back, thinking you can... wish him back or something?

[She blinks at first at the fact that it's only been weeks here while it's been years for her, and she's drunk enough that trying to pick it apart will only give her a headache. So she'll just blink and go.]

Oh. It's probably one of those ... timey wimey things.

[Yes. Because that makes it clearer. Thank you drunk Laurel.

That little caveat doesn't really make it any easier either. She had thought she was invincible at the time, that she had time to do what she needed to do before the Undertaking began. She thought that the Hood would ...

... Well. Having far too much hope and faith in anyone has always been her problem, hasn't it?

And in the end, that faith had cost her Tommy. She's not sure it's a fair trade off.]

Can't hurt, right? I can try and if it works, he's alive, and he deserves to be alive. And if it doesn't ... it's not like the cost is that high. Better than sitting around Starling City feeling sorry for myself and being alone.

[The popular TV show reference gets lost on Frank so he just gives her his signature blank stare. He can't tell if she's too drunk to notice the slight discrepancy between a few weeks and a few years, or if she has it all figured out and can't be bothered getting into the mechanics and details.]

Well. I'm hoping it'll work too. [For both their sakes. Of course if it worked he didn't think he would ever be coming back here.

Frank's the worst person to be talking about how to handle grief without murdering the shit out of everybody so he offers no hypocritical advice in that department.]

Did you meet people while you were here? Caught up with them yet?

[Yeah, Laurel's just used to timelines being weird. When she first got here there were a ton of people who knew who she was, who called them her friend, and she hadn't met them yet. Never mind Thea going from twelve to twenty one.

Cadelle has been a complicated place for her thus far.

But she shakes her head in response to his question.]

I just got here. Haven't had a chance yet. Oh! But if it's only been a few weeks, maybe Thea hasn't rented my room yet.

[She definitely hasn't because it's actually only been a few days.]

Okay. [Well at least she had someone here to come back to. Someone who could make sure she passed out somewhere safe tonight. And probably give her a much better briefing than Frank could since his engagement with the local community and awareness of what's going on has been fairly minimal.]

Well they'll be worried about you. Should probably check in.

[Laurel nods slowly, resting her chin in her hand as she sits at the bar.]

I should probably sober up a little first. I don't want her to see me like this.

Yeah. Maybe get some water. And uhm, if you want I can walk you home. [He's not really the type with hidden agendas, but that's not something he can prove on the spot. It's a take it or leave it offer and he's not being pushy about it.]

Water first.

[He seems like a nice enough guy, but she doesn't want to walk home with someone she barely knows and not be a little more sure if herself. She signals the bartender for a water, before she blinks and extends a hand to him.]

Sorry. I'm Laurel.

[He watches her water get served before turning to introduce himself. Giving her hand a gentle squeeze that didn’t seem to fit a guy with callouses, bumps and finger joints that looked like broken bones didn’t quite heal back the right way, he puts on a tight-lipped smile that almost looks strained or overthought.] Frank Castle.

[It reminds her of Oliver's hands. Which is a thought she pushes away almost as sure as she has it because she is not thinking about Oliver. At all.]

Nice to meet you, Frank. I'm sorry for walking into you.

That's alright ma'am. You got- bigger shit to worry about. [The soldier boy is not quite gentleman material - certainly not the moping on his own island type - but civilian life has been filing down Frank's rough edges a bit, one day at a time. His hand goes back to its resting place cupping his empty glass. Getting another drink is tempting but maybe he should call it a night, too.]

[She gives a small shrug.]

Everyone has bigger shit to worry about. Still doesn't excuse being rude. All you did was sit there.

[Better him than other people, but. He doesn't want to be presumptuous or say that aloud. The proof is in the deed if she'll give him the chance and if she doesn't then they can call it a night and go their separate ways.]

I'd rather this over the musical. [Is what Frank ends up saying instead. Poor attempt at small talk - but true.]

[Her nose wrinkles a bit in confusion, because musical??? But then she remembers that she was doing a ballad not that long ago, and she nods in acknowledgement.]

I thought that was all in my head.

This town is fucked up. [Clearly a very astute observation from a frank Frank. Who promptly backpedals awkwardly when he realizes what he said could be misconstrued.]

I'm- I wasn't saying your singing is bad or anything.

[She laughs.]

It's probably better than it would have been if I hadn't had magical assistance. I'm not really much of a singer.

Magical assistance? [Between that and the 'your friend has an island?' question he never got around to asking, Frank's probably coming across as fairly clueless.]

[She waves a hand a bit.]

I sounded way better over there than I do in the shower. I think whatever's making us sing is doing it's best to keep us in tune.

[Oh...kay lady. He didn't think you were this drunk.] ...do you want another water?

EVENT: SING FOR YOUR SUPPER.

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sorry for the delay, life got a little crazy

no worries :3

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