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!

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[Vasquez can't help but snort at the response, easing up a little even if she hasn't said much at all. He's all for a few rounds in bed, keeping a casual friendship outside of it, but after his one attempt at doing this right, he's learned that this place doesn't seem built for something more regular than that.

Worse, when it comes to responding, he can still hear the music in his head, hear the way he wants to reply with it. It's not going to be pretty, but at least he thinks it will be honest enough.]

As if I never said the words. I want, I want you first, only thing that can quench my thirst.

( well, there isn't much to say to that, is there? caroline only laughs, shaking her head as she tips it back, gulping down a hefty swig of her drink. it burns a little, taken this much at once, but no more so than the ridiculous tingling in her throat that comes as she thinks up her own answer — and it's song, just like the others. the urge is far too strong, even after a swallow of whiskey; she can't resist it. )

Are we gonna do this or what? I think you know I like you a lot, but you're about to miss your shot... ( a pause, grinning like the cat that ate the canary before she continues: ) Are you gonna kiss me or not?

[Oh look, an easy decision that doesn't require any kind of singing. That's the one mild relief of this, which means he can aggressively step into the space between them and press a hand to the small of her back so he can kiss her, hard, bending down to close the gap between them.

When he eases back, he knows that he's in trouble with the singing, but he doesn't mind so much now, his lips tingling a little.]

You don't love me at all, but don't think that it bothers me at all. You're so damn hot.

( physicality's a language that doesn't require translation. his hand to her lower back just tugs her in closer, her own hands finding balance with a grip to his upper arms; there's no attempt to do anything but meet his aggression with some of her own, enthusiasm blooming with every second.

when he pulls back to sing — again — caroline can only roll her eyes, tongue sweeping across her bottom lip before she snaps back a reply. this time, it's a little more top 40... but then, country girls aren't quite this rude. )

Oh, just shut up and put your money where your mouth is.

( and if he won't? well, caroline will just do the damn thing herself, arching on tiptoes to meet him, a hand snaking around the back of his head to yank him where he needs to be. cowboy strength, meet your match. )

[He laughs, a deep and rough sound in his chest, sliding his fingers over her hips playfully, slowly, before he settles for holding onto her hips for when she leans in close the space between them. It's a good thing he doesn't want to sing right now, though his plan to stop that seems to work, what with making sure that not a peep can come out with his kissing her.

Maybe he gets a little involved, too, using his hands on her waist and sliding them down to grab her ass, hauling her in the air just a little, back arching a little to adjust to the weight of her in his hands.]

( is a bar scene really the best place to let a shove in the right direction get out of hand? maybe not... but that doesn't seem to be much of a reason to get on a move on either. especially not when his hands start wandering, which earns a huff of surprise that thankfully doesn't carry a tune of its own.

it appears that not all verbal communication has to be sung. just the kind that comes with words. a loophole, to be sure.

a really, really, really good loophole. one she plans on fully exploiting as soon as possible. though, on second thought, maybe relocating for that might be a better idea. which means she'll have to pull back, regret etched across her features with an apologetic smile as she makes a vague gesture towards the door. )

[Vasquez is about two seconds from taking off someone's clothing, whether it's hers, his, or even a stranger's, just to start getting naked, but she's probably got the right idea about it, trying to push them in the direction of the door. He doesn't want to sing about any of this, so he keeps his mouth firmly shut, pushing at her hips and holding onto her ass as he presses flush against her to keep moving.

If singing happens again, he can't be blamed if his mood goes all the way down, because that's just not even close to what he wants.]

( it's a little ridiculous, isn't it? shuffling across a bar room floor, mouth pressed tight together, avoiding the so far unavoidable urge to trill off thoughts and feelings as they move towards the door.

outside, it's still daylight, though not for long; the pre-dinner hour means it's easier to flag down a passing taxicab and pile in. the driver, to his credit, just holds up a notepad — it's clear he's tired of the singing too. caroline hesitates for only a moment before taking the pen and scribbling down her own address. an apartment is an apartment, right?

as for vasquez? well, the notepad gives her an idea. )

if i write it down, i don't have to sing

[He's nearly able to haul her into a lift, but once they're in the cab and she starts to write things down, Vasquez feels the relief pulse through his whole body. He's so tired of singing and he wants to do so much better things with his mouth and his whole body, so this is best, yes? Yes, definitely.

Reaching for the pen and pad, he takes it to write down his own message.]

by the time we reach your place, should be no singing necessary

( she can't help but roll her eyes, affectionate and smug all the same as she watches him scribble down words. he's not wrong. he might be a little obvious, though. )

congratulations, you cracked the code

( her message comes in the form of a typed up text not yet sent, held out for his perusal on her phone. )

this place just wants you to use your mouth for something more fun instead ;)

[He's not in the mood to open his mouth and snipe back at her, because who knows what awful singing might happen as a result, so instead he keeps his mouth shut and only starts to absently play with her hair, letting his fingers gently stroke the nape of her neck.

It's not torture, not really, but he hopes that it at least makes her think twice about wanting to write anything. Squinting, he smirks at the message on the phone, reaching over for it.

Though, given his comfort with technology, this will take a while.]

Did we decide if was my mouth? Did I miss that?

( no, that feeling is absolutely not torture. instead, it's just reason enough for caroline to angle her head down a little, just enough to make it that much easier for him to touch. )

not much of a "we" decision
i liked it, so i decided
are you complaining?

[Instead of saying anything to complain about the direction this night has taken, Vasquez casually shrugs and sits back, still playing with her hair, running his tongue over his teeth as he grins at her, which ought to at least give some indication about how much he's willing to do.

He only wishes he could speak, now, instead of having to sing every thought out loud.]

( well, he doesn't need to speak, because the power of body language is definitely working in his favor. so much so that caroline just opts to follow his lead, enjoying the silence and the touch until the taxi pulls up to her apartment building. which earns a mental note: start looking into moving out again, sooner rather than later.

at least she's only on the second floor. a single set of stairs is barely anything to climb, and it doesn't take long before the door to her apartment is unlocked and opening wide to allow him entry.

on a small table in the hallway, there's a pad of paper, upon which caroline pens a message: )

hi :)

[He's got long legs, he's young, he can handle some stairs. He's done much worse in his life, but when she heads inside to write a silly little face on a paper, he gives her a dubious look, because there are much better things that he wants to be doing with his time.

Namely, the one that he intends to start with, advancing and yanking the pen from her fingers to set it down, bending a little so he can haul her into his arms for a kiss, tangling his fingers in her hair and making a wild mess of it, because that's the least of his cares right now.]

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