cuddlecity | EVENT: MOTHERFORKING SHIRT BALLS

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EVENT: MOTHERFORKING SHIRT BALLS

EVENT: MOTHERFORKING SHIRT BALLS.

Good morning, Cadelle!

As March takes its final bow to make way for April, we're sure you're without a doubt wondering with bated breath if the city will somehow experience another deluge from the skies above or some other kind of natural disaster. After all, there's probably a number of you familiar with the concept of April showers, right? Despite the predictability that the first of the month tends to bring, the sun rises on a new month without much fanfare at all. The skies don't open up, the earth doesn't quake, and perhaps most disappointing of all, there's no fun activities to partake in hosted by the city's beloved Volunteer Coordinators, Flora and Cornelius.

However, that’s not to say nothing exciting has happened. Mayor Drake’s gone missing — in reality, she’s simply headed south of the border for a little much-needed R&R — and while the mayor’s away, the cats will play. (Or is that the other way around?)

As the sun begins to rise, it’s clear that there’s certainly something in the air. Check your CuddlePhone, and you might notice a strange crackling sound, as if you’d wandered into a field of static electricity; try to access anything but the city’s main pages and you’ll be greeted with a cheerful yellow message. Strange, but it may be worth reading:

DEAR CITIZENRY:

It has come to our attention that the city of Cadelle has begun a dangerous descent into a dungeon of disaster. Debauchery, drag racing, and even drunken revelry have begun to pervade our once-wholesome city, turning our citizenry into a class of common courtesans and charlatans! We shall not settle for such shameful social airs! Resist raunchy recklessness, Cadellians, or be redressed!
— CCC
The Concerned Citizens of Cadelle

While there’s admittedly quite a lot of alliteration to be found in said message, there’s not exactly a lot of meaning here. Should you head to City Hall for answers, you’ll find yourself greeted by the ever cheerful, smiling face of Doris Delatante — conveniently enough, the same Doris who so happens to be wearing a pin emblazoned with the logo of the CCC. (For the curious, said logo is a cat. They may be wordsy, but no one said they were particularly clever.)

You won’t get much in the way of answers out of Doris, only calm reassurances that everything is as it should be. It’s fine, of course! What could possibly be wrong with a little call to action? It’s only in the best interest of the city, isn’t it?

Whatever the reason, and whatever you think about Doris’ strange all-pink attire, it’s hardly the strangest thing you’ll experience in the coming days. Over the course of the following 24 hours, the city and its inhabitants begin to find themselves… well, shall we say, adjusted?

▸ As soon as the sun comes up on the morning of the first, a gentle breeze begins to blow through the city. With it comes a subtle change. You may notice it straight away, or you may not notice at all… but regardless, the change still comes: no swearing. No, really, we mean it. No matter how fervently or desperately you try, anything more colorful than a golly won’t slip past your lips… or your pen tips, for that matter. Any attempts to do so will result in comically ridiculous substitutions — like bullshirt, motherforker, or fish sticks!

▸ By mid-morning, the rays of the sun have left the city in perpetual spring warmth. It’s a beautiful day, complete with merrily chirping birds and the sweet smell of flowers blooming in every corner of the city. The day should stay beautiful, shouldn’t it? So perhaps it’s with no surprise that even your naked body won’t disparage it… as nudity, even seemingly innocuous moments like showering, is met with censorship. Should you disrobe to your birthday suit, you’ll be met with sudden and efficient pixelization from the neck down, blurring out all those distasteful parts of you a la the Sims. This might make getting frisky a bit difficult…

▸ Finally, by the time your first meal of the day rolls around, you might find yourself ready for a hot meal on the go, or perhaps just another cup of coffee. No matter whether you stop at your usual joint or wander around looking for something new, every delicious delectable food item you’ve been enjoying will have been replaced by the gently spinning faces of self-serve froyo machines. Shops look normal on the outside… but inside, you’ll be greeted with the florescent glow of your favorite (or perhaps least favorite ) trendy frozen yogurt shop. Come in for coffee and you might be irritated yet amused, but the flavors don’t stop at cheesecake or chocolate or caffe mocha. Nope! Keep exploring, and you’ll be greeted with such strange offerings as pasta flavored froyo, complete with marinara or alfredo flavored cookie crumbles, or bacon and eggs froyo with sausage sprinkles … or, for the desperate, beer flavored froyo. (Bar nuts cost extra… and yes, that froyo’s a virgin. Alcohol would ruin the consistency!)

It’s not the worst thing in the world, but it certainly doesn’t feel like you’re in the Cadelle you’ve come to know and love, does it? Hopefully Mayor Drake will come back sooner rather than later, but until then… well, we suppose you’ll just have to make the best of this Good Place!

Isn’t this sweet? April Fool’s, Cuddlers! We hope you enjoy this particularly silly spring event, brought to you by a meddling citizen and her penchant for good behavior… and your mod team’s recent bingewatch of a topical NBC comedy. We hope you’ll have fun ruining the bad behavior of your characters, even if they won’t have much fun with it!

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 out there, and just remember: be excellent to each other!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Coming closer, Claire doesn't hesitate to wrap an arm around his waist, even if he's much bigger than she is and she's probably not strong enough to carry him - she can still help.

"Hey, c'mon. Let's get you inside, yeah?"

She starts pulling him towards the building, free hand going for her keys in her pocket.

"All this, as in the PG rating that's going on? I think so. So far, everything always comes and goes."

The proximity sets off alarms and has him tensing up, stopping short of squirming. This is how close people get to him in order to kill him because not many other people would want to get this close for other reasons, and it puts him on edge.

The soldier takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and dutifully follows along, mulling her words over.

"Uh, I'm- my place, it's- I wasn't expecting guests." He's not one to care about what other people think but all of a sudden he feels like it matters if she sees the booby trap he has to disarm to get in and if she realises he's been sleeping like a baby on the floor.

Claire rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, somehow that doesn't surprise me. I don't care about your mess and your security, Frank," because she knows soldiers with PTSD and their paranoia. And she's absolutely truthful, she gives no damn about any of it.

"If there's something that needs to be done before it's safe to step inside, though, let me know. Or, if you'd rather, I can drop you on my couch."

It's no real hardship. After all, he's not bleeding, which is more than she can say about a lot of the times she's had someone crash on her couch.

"No it's- it's fine. Just give me a couple minutes?" He tries to peel himself away from her and breathes a little easier when he's a few paces ahead, eyes darting around as he tries to prioritise what to do.

It's a fine wire down by his boots, just about invisible, that he pulls on to disarm his setup just outside his door. Straightening up, he looks over his shoulder as he opens his door and steps inside, holding it open for Claire.

His living space was more or less barren. No paintings on the walls or photographs or anything that marked it as his personal space other than whatever bit of electronics he was tinkering with on the table. There's pillows and sheets on the floor and the knife block in the kitchen was devoid of knives.

Closing the door behind her, his shoulders rise as he slips his hands into his back pockets and lowers his gaze, like he's already getting on the defensive expecting her to say something.

"D'you want some coffee?"

Claire lets him do whatever he needs to, and steps inside his apartment carefully, looking around, unsurprised by the look and feel of the place. Her own isn't even all that decorating, and she can't imagine Frank caring much about that at all.

She wants more for him. She wants him to feel like he can live his life, even with the loss he's suffering. She wants him to accept that he is alive, when his loved ones aren't, but it isn't... an easy thing to do. She's not naive.

"You're falling asleep where you stand. Coffee's not what's needed right now. You need to go lie down, Frank."

It's not an order, and it's gentle enough, but it's also firm, strong. She's used to wrangle men bigger than he is.

It's not so easy for him to just lie down or relax with someone else in his space, but he will sit on his couch and silently offer her the space next to him. Lumpy though it might be it was probably more comfortable than anywhere else in his place.

Breathing out a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and rested his forearms on top of his knees. He looks as tired as he's trying not to let on with his hunched back and his distant gaze.

"You've been very patient with me," he started, taking a quick glimpse of her before returning his gaze to the table. A bit more forthcoming than usual, but nothing overly noteworthy. "I... appreciate it."

Huffing out a gentle breath, almost offended by his words, as if it's surprising that she'd have been, Claire sits by Frank's side, fingers linked together, resting on her lap. She's smiling, though, because - in more than one way, Frank reminds her of Matt. Matt got the brunt of her fear, and her worries, because he was the first of them to need her help.

Maybe it'd be different if they were in New York. Maybe it'd be different if Frank was still hunting down people and killing them. But he isn't, not here.

"What would you have me do? Shut you out?" She shrugs softly, biting the inside of her lip. It isn't who she is, never has been, and never will be. She can't even consider it.

"Feel free to tell me no, but... would you let me try something? It involves touching you."

Might as well tell him, instead of having him flinch away if she tries without permission.

Well. He wouldn't blame her if she did shut him out. He hasn't made an effort to reach out to anybody and he certainly hasn't been working on his nice act. Besides, she knew more about him than most other people here, he imagined, so she had every reason to not even want him in the same building what with the kind of terrorist the media painted him out to be.

Instead she wants to do something to him and uh. Actually that's a weird request. It has him turning towards her and giving her a rather puzzled look.

"Uh. Okay?"

It is a weird request, but he's not the first man she's ever met that she could imagine reacting violently to a touch, even a gentle one. It's habit, for guys like him. And it's due process to explain what procedures they're doing on patients at the hospital, so.

She nods, and reaches out, putting a hand on the back of his neck, not moving for a moment, before pressing index and thumb into the spots on either sides of his skull, just a slight pressure, nothing uncomfortable. She drags her fingers down along the back of his neck, feeling the stiffness right under the skin.

"Okay?"

He finds himself holding his breath, his gaze raised towards the corner of the ceiling. Not sure what to expect and also maybe partly not letting himself relax. The knuckles on the fist resting atop his knee turn white before he lets a slow breath out through his nose and opens his hand.

His gaze drops to meet hers for a moment and his lips move as if he's about to say something. That hard stare tinged with confusion turns buttery soft when she counters his wariness with silent reassurances, and his eyes narrow but the original words don't come.

"...yeah."

Claire smiles, just one corner of her mouth, a gentle, easy thing. Then she brings her second hand to his shoulders, digging her palms, then her fingers into the muscles. When she looks away, she also feels like she's stopped breathing, lifting her chin as she works stress knots under her fingers.

"This isn't something I'm actually good at, but it might help, a little."

This is like the other kind of dream. The kind he doesn't want to wake up from for entirely different reasons. He trusted her enough to let his eyes close, though he keeps trying to fight the sleep away, resisting the way his head feels heavier with each passing second.

"Mm. Uh- yeah. Thanks." Did she ask him something? He opens his eyes again and there's a bit of a blank look on his face.

Claire smiles, the look on his face almost sending her into chuckling. She doesn't stop, either, shifting a little to get more comfortable herself.

"You're okay. It's okay, if you fall asleep. I'll find the door by myself."

"M'not- y'know I'm- I'm sleeping just fine," he insists, shaking his head a little. Maybe he can afford to be a little less stubborn around these parts but old habits die hard. Slumping a little in the couch, looking semi-defeated, he breathes out a sigh and tries not to be one of her difficult patients.

"They don't- I haven't seen them in a while. The kids..." A soft confession, and one that was painful to make if the way he steals a quick glance of Claire is anything to go by. It's supposed to be a win, but it doesn't feel like one right now.

Well, if it's of any consolation, it doesn't feel like much of anything right now with him drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Hmmhmm," she replies, noncommittal. But then he says something else, and Claire almost stops the movement of her hands, she's so startled. She can only imagine, how much he must miss them, the guilt he must be feeling. The kind of crushing, all-encompassing feeling that she's seen quite a few times in the past, and still feels terrible to witness.

"Do you know what changed?"

Her voice is as soft as his was, the question not trying to be probing.

"Homebrew. Pills? Whiskey. Pick one." He manages a small, hollow chuckle. He keeps saying he doesn't have PTSD, doesn't need help, but he knows what self-medication looks like. Knows every way the other vets dress them up in their spiels. 'Helps me get through the day'. 'I feel safer to be around'. 'I know I won't need them anymore one day, but'.

He's got none of that to offer. Only this sense of meaninglessness. Like he'd put too much faith into this idea of closure when it never really existed to begin with. Everything still feels broken and he's probably made things worse instead of fixing anything.

His shoulders sink and his posture slumps a little more, though he's more defeated than tired.

"It's fucked up, right? When you have good dreams about Afghanistan and- bad ones about your own family."

Claire takes a deep breath, licking her lips after a moment of thought.

"I don't know. Maybe - maybe not. Because you care for them, you love them. It makes sense that you'd be scared, and it reflects on your dreams."

She pauses, looking down at her own hands on the top of Frank's broad shoulders.

"I was kidnapped, a while ago. They did it to get to a friend of mine, because they knew he'd come save me. And whenever I dream about it, now, I never dream about how scared I was, then. How I thought maybe that was it. Every time, I dream about my friend dying to save me. His life for mine."

Her voice trembles a little, but she holds it together, even if her fingers push harder against his knotted shoulders for a moment.

He reaches to take her hands. An odd gesture that has him pulling his hands back for a moment, as if hers were too hot to touch, before he holds her hands in his lap. It's a little strange to think of all the good she does with them superimposed on top of his, seemingly only capable of violence.

"You're okay," he reassures, and he manages to fill the usual hollowness in his voice with something genuine and determined. He could say that he's sorry it happened to her, but he's no longer surprised by the things people have been getting away with on home soil while he's been out fighting the big bad. In hindsight it all feels a bit shortsighted of him.

"Hell of a city huh. New York." They could take some small comfort in the fact that most people here were too preoccupied with their demerit points to try crap like that.

Her hands squeeze his, not even thinking about it. She can feel the tears in her eyes, but refuses to let them fall. Refuses to let the Russians win, even now, so long since it happened. She looks down, observes the calluses on his hands, the scars, looks back up to his face, the odd angles from broken bones, the shadows in which he hides.

"You're okay, too," she replies, barely a whisper. She isn't sure she believes it, but she can try and help him. Be there for him. Allow him to be okay, slowly, day after day. He might never be fixed, but he can be okay.

"Yeah," she lets out a breathy chuckle, licking her lips. Then, she takes a sharp breath through her nose, and nods. "You should get to bed."

It's not like him to initiate so he hesitates. At first all he does is nod back and pull his hands away. He wants to protect her, like he knows it's the only thing he can't screw up, and it's not even about proving what kind of a man he is or isn't. But he can't change the bad things that have already happened to her.

He leans in a little closer and after half a second, a skip of a beat and two slow blinks he gives her a brief hug. It feels a little forced on his part and he quickly disengages, clearing his throat and averting his gaze, but at least he doesn't seem traumatised. Moving to stand, he slips his hands into his pockets and his gaze rises from his shoes to her eyes.

"Walk you home?"

She's surprised by the hug - of all the things she expected, this definitely wasn't it. But still, she wraps her arms around him, for the second it lasts, hands spread wide over his back. A soft smile breaks over her face, but she schools her features into neutrality when he pulls back, not wanting to embarrass him when she feels like he's already there.

Her hands are slower to fall off of him, lingering for a second before he stands, but at his question, Claire smiles, and shakes her head.

"No. Walk you to your bed. I can go downstairs by myself, Frank."

And he can put himself to bed himself, but Claire is a nurse, and she'll make sure he's lying down and at least trying for a hot minute before she leaves him be.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

EVENT: MOTHERFORKING SHIRT BALLS

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Oops I forgot about the swearing thing my bad

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