#audience warmup

[sohannabarberaesque]

Ursine Battle Royale!

(part 6)

Pratt's Rainbow Gardens, for its somewhat frumpish, though not-quite-down-at-heel look such as was bound to attract especially the regular stop from United Interstate Wrestling for taping matches (as well as past glory chronicled in displays in the lobby and vestibule), was no doubt packed to the rafters and to a man, woman and child as was fond of "wrasslin'" (as opposed to the WWE brand thereof in its kitschy tackiness) for what Hokey Wolf hoped would be the ultimate challenge of ursine supremacy last seen indirectly on no less than three occasions at Milwaukee's since-closed Washington Park Zoo in 1932, to the chagrin of zoo management and the parks board, as things turned out.

Yet before the match was to get underway (two falls out of three deciding the winner), even before the crowd warmup, there was certainly much in the way of discussion over whether a polar bear like Breezly Bruin or a Kodiak like the Hair Bear Bunch's somewhat klutzy and inept Square Bear would be the ultimate exemplar of ursine supremacy in the "wrasslin'" arena.

=============

Meanwhile, back in the alley off Hollywood and Vine, Top Cat and clowder's somewhat amateurish sports book was taking wagers wholesale on the probable outcomes, including several (howbeit modest) such predicting that such would come out as a "Mexican standoff" (as in having no clear or obvious winner, even with two falls becoming the winner), and even Benny the Ball imagined just how lush the gravy train would turn out being until Spook realised that TC would have to pay back the winners if their wagers came out as predicted, and then some.

"Technicalities, Spook, technicalities!" was how an irate TC responded, adding that "What really matters, boys, is that we made quite the money and we're bound to be living high for awhile!" Prompting Choo-Choo to wonder how long that could turn out being, which left TC speechless and bereft of response.

=============

Returning to Pratt's, Huckleberry Hound's predictably-awful musical voice in the warmup generated a guaranteed share of laughs and catcalls as much as The Bungle Brothers' ur-vaudeville act, consisting mostly of washed-up puerile schoolyard humour and some play-acting of wrestling which, in its own way, played up the laughs wholesale ... and before long, it was time for The Main Event, Hokey Wolf striding forth into the centre of the ring to announce the start of the match, acknowledging that "the inspiration, folks, came by way of some bizarre history I read recently about what happened once at the zoo in Milwaukee," replete with no less than three incidents where the dominant polar bear "dunked" in a small water hole in the bear display to death brown bear cubs, no doubt attracting much visitor unease ... and the introductions of the combatants pulled no punches in hyperbole:

For the polar bear side, no less than the Terror of the Tundra, the Nuisance of Camp Frostbite until its shock deactivation ... from no less than Nome, Alaska ... BREEZLY BRUIN!!!!

And--

In the brownish bear arena, he may be lovably dumb, let alone comfortably numb, and yet Hair Bear and crew like him as much as everybody else! So, from Malibu, California, put your hands together for--SQUARE BEAR!!

(As for who got the more blatant entrance into the ring, the debate is bound to be rather long, but many will say Square Bear's treatment ran rings around the legendary Gorgeous George, himself known for theatrically flamboyant ring entrances ahead of televised wrestling matches back in the 1950's, the kind Snagglepuss would just drool over.)

Once it got down to business ... things couldn't have become more farcical, almost kabuki-like, plenty of bluffing and hysterics such as were good for laughter. Yet you could hear calls from supporters of both in the stands demanding some action for once, each trying to determine their first move.

Until exactly four minutes, thirty-three seconds into the match, when Breezly Bruin pulled off a near-tripping manouvre which had Breezly's right foot grabbing Square Bear unawares in like fashion, hoping such would send Square Bear to the mat. It did, but momentarily, as Square Bear pulled a reprisal move identical to the original on Breezly Bruin ... and from there on out, the Ursine Battle Royale! (as such had been promoted all along) was going at a rather hilarious and at once comical pace, with both polar bear and Kodiak bear pulling no punches, comedic and physical, in seeking to assert ursine dominance once and for all.

Shoving, belly bumps, fist grabs, tripping moves, nothing was too good for the match to hand, and never mind how far it was bound to go before either one wrestler fell twice in three attempts or had to be otherwise stopped by the referee--or whomever else had the duty to do so.

And as a matter of fact, a full-on thirty-nine minootas into the match, to be precise about it, an utterly incessant sounding of the timer's bell (and an almost fanatical pitch thereof, at that) caught as much the in-person audience as those watching on pay-per-view cable and satellite feeds off their guard as Hokey Wolf stepped into the ring and, in his Sgt. Ernie Bilko tone and nuance, made the following announcement:

"I am hereby stopping the match as of this moment ... and the match is hereby declared--A DRAW!"

And you could just hear the sheer outrage of catcalls and aroused anger from the stands as the announcement faded away, followed by both combatants having to be escorted posthaste from the ring to avoid likely assaults from attendees on the news of this Battle Royale having been declared a draw.

How did it turn out for both? I'll leave you, the reader and Old Hanna-Barberian, to decide as much.

=============

Not long afterward, Honey and Sis' shortwave worldcast devoted some discussion to the whole farce, the following being but an excerpt:

HONEY: Thankfully, folks, we didn't bet any money on this joke of a wrestling match, and whoever bet anything probably must be crying into their beer big time.

SIS: Except, maybe, such who hoped the match would end up as a draw like it did. Some even using "Mexican standoff" in their wagers on the outcome.

HONEY, wryly: And you wonder what kind of a payday they'll have on the news.

SIS, imitating the stentorian tones of a male announcer delivering the "billboard" type of announcement: "And now, stay stewed for the nudes ..."

(Which certainly saw quite the share of hilarity ensuing on the shortwave ether among such listening, especially so in the standbys of Gilly-Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellenbogen-by-the-Sea, Mixingham-on-Sea, and, for good measure, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, Wales.)

=============

Top Cat and clowder: When it emerged that the match had ended in a draw, and that substantial sums had been wagered thus to that effect, when it came time for the payoff ... when it was all over, the clowder were left with pretty much enough to kill a Sunday afternoon at some isolated beach between Venice and Malibu off Pacific Coast Highway in a basic sort of way, yet while still being able to wear but themselves.

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @nighttimehound @iheartgod175 @theweekenddigest @archive-archives @thylordshipofbutts @screamingtoosoftly @themineralyoucrave @princessgalaxy505 @warnerbrosent-blog @thebigdingle @jellystone-enjoyer @shewhotellsstories @warnerbros-blog1

[tyciel]

yay redheads. more to come im sure

[akiacia]

gummies

[bombusbombus]

recoloured this old warmup to repost cause I had it on my mind.

If Clark is going to be in earth 19 (gotham by gaslight universe) (they're publishing more gbg and clark is going to be there), then listen to me listen to me, he needs to be a cowboy. Superman needs to be a cowboy in the big city. I am SOO serious about this. I am on my knees, DC, let me write for you, I would add so many themes about modern technology versus traditional knowledge and sprinkle in some anticolonialism PLEASE.

You could have a cute little Daily Planet that has to struggle against yellow journalism in a smoky little backroom & setting their own type, a la The Truth. You could have gentlemen's clubs. You could have a brutal war against unions in the streets and one lone titan of industry giving into their demands. You could have the exact same 3 batkids from the movie, there's literally nothing to improve on there. You could have Clark tear down a barbed wire fence with his bare hands, in a futile attempt to unravel colonialist ideas of private land ownership. Imagine the alien knows more about the earth, the real earth, than the knight in his city does. Imagine the American dream failing Clark, who has to go back east to the big city, failing Bruce, who lost his parents, failing everyone over and over until they decide to build something without it. In an era of rampant exploitation, what do real heroes look like?

Or you can make the justice league fight big steampunk robots ig I'm excited either way.

[andorshitdaily]

I'm a fan of democracy so I totally respect the outcome of the poll.

However I think a no-rules fist fight is pretty close to an actual possible scenario in case they ever end up in a streetfight in an uprising or whatever.

Luthen and Saw in a hoola hoop marathon, Eedy and Perrin in a hot dog eating contest or Tay Kolma and Dedra at a spelling bee... You all have to admit that that would objectivly be a lot funnier!

Good thing we'll be doing them all!

[ragsy]

agent jodi hill of the Department of Home Dimensional Observation

[sunsoak]

The childrens museum where i spent my most formative tween years doing theater moved and got a massive remodel the past few years and now they have an actual theater and not just a room in the basement that is used during non-rehearsal hours as a dress up play theater………. I am genuinely so happy for the kids who get to perform there because it looks so fun and so nice but my 13 year old self is SO JEALOUS

[emmaspolaroid]

when people say my writing moved them to tears

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[gretavanfleetposts]

Chapter One: The Angel of Music

Summary: In 1880’s Paris, you join the company of the Palais Garnier Opera House, newly financed by your childhood friend Daniel with whom you reconnect, and haunted by the man you will soon come to know as your Angel of Music.

Content Warnings: brief mentions of death

Word Count: 4.7k

Masterlist

Add yourself to the taglist here

— 🌹 —

By now, there are few who have not heard of the 1884 disaster at the Palais Garnier Opera House. That was the year it burned thanks to the grand chandelier that had lighted the great concert hall since 1861. Its plunge was attributed by the French National Police Force to old, faulty chains that finally gave way under the immense strain that had stressed and stretched the links during its 20 year tenure. But those who subscribed to a box in the opera house and, even moreso, those who performed on that fateful stage, know the true cause of all that crystal and bronze plummeting down on the poor audience in the middle of the only performance of Don Juan Triumphant that would ever be given.

And those who know the true story of the fall of the chandelier should also know of the epic love story that hallowed the halls of that opera house much more definitely.

— 🌹 —

You’d only been a chorus girl for the company of the Palais Garnier Opera House mere months when it switched hands to new management. The old managers had seemed increasingly frazzled by whatever unknown workings of the opera house they undoubtedly dealt with on a daily basis and word of their imminent departure had been spreading like wildfire through the company for only a few weeks time. Of course, plenty of your fellow performers chalked it up to nothing more than idle gossip from pupils with far too much time resting in their hands. But you, having seen a glimpse past the curtain and into the true secrets that the many walls of the opera house hid, suspected that it was those very secrets that had driven them out of their managerial position, longing for an easy retirement after all the stress the place had caused them.

The news had come during a dress rehearsal for Faust that had only progressed to see the dancers stretching and the chorus doing their vocal warmups. That was when the two acting managers waltzed in, looking more relieved than they had in quite some time. Certainly since before you had even joined the company.

It wasn't the sight of the managers looking finally pleased that caught your attention though, nor was it the good-looking man that followed closely at their side who kept his hair long and his facial hair to match, but rather the fourth man who trailed in after all the rest with bright eyes and warm, eager smile, all of which seemed surrounded by perfectly jovial curls that danced upon the top of his head. He looked absolutely delighted to be even gracing the Palais Garnier stage, taking in the grand set pieces and decorated horses with awe. It was a look you recognized, not from your own experience three months prior having witnessed the grandeur up close yourself, but from your childhood, of all places.

When you were children, you'd called him Danny. But now, so many years later, you knew him by another name, so often gracing the public papers which spoke of his many accomplishments: Le Vicomte Daniel de Charon.

“We have an announcement to make, if you will all please gather round. This should only take a moment,” boomed the first of the two managers whose boisterous laugh you'd grown accustomed to hearing echo around the concert hall. He seemed particularly fond of the company's production of Les Contes d'Hoffmann and could be heard all the way from box ten laughing jovially with his other managerial half who preferred to shush him just as loudly.

The performers crowded together to form a huddle not unlike a vibrating mass of nerves, and your one and only friend at the opera took your side to whisper along with the others.

“Suppose the rumors are true, then?”

Joshua was one of the few people you had gotten to know in your very short tenure at the opera house, a fellow chorus boy and understudy with a voice that would soon catapult him to Primo Uomo in good time, you had no doubt. He had lived in a tiny apartment a block away from the opera house all his life and thanks to his mother’s employment as ballet mistress and occasional talent-seeker, Madame Kiszout, he had never gone without art in his life. He’d been raised on music just as much as you had. That was what had drawn the two of you together in the first place; music was no passing passion for either of you. It was the very air that you breathed.

“We regret to inform you all of our immediate retirement from this grand opera house,” the second of your two managers announced, even over the chatter amongst the crowd that never found pause. “I understand that this may be a surprise to some-”

“Although surely not to all,” the first muttered, not too under his breath.

“-but we can assure you, you along with these hallowed walls will be left in the most capable of hands.”

The handsome man with the long hair stepped forward at the behest of his predecessors who grew in eagerness with each passing whisper. But that man that you did not recognize looked to you to be just as eager. You only hoped he was as much a lover of the arts as the rest of you. A fine business it was, although most months you were certain the place barely broke even what with the arguments you’d heard coming from the managers’ office, but for one who took interest in the opera, in music at all, there were riches far finer than profit to be found at the Palais Garnier.

“Monsieur Samuel will be replacing us as acting management effective immediately-”

“Can you believe it?” Joshua grumbled at your ear, “Faust set to premier in three days, our Prima Donna’s health on the fritz, and they mean to abandon us like this?”

“-alongside his financier Le Vicomte Daniel de Charon, who will hopefully find this venture fruitful.” This last part spoken in more of a mutter than the manager’s usual blithe tone.

“Hardly,” you answered absentmindedly, already struck by the way Daniel joined the other three with a hearty smile and a heavy hand clapping Samuel’s shoulder in excited camaraderie.

God, how you had missed that smile, one that had always seemed so sure of itself even during life’s darker moments. Daniel had been like a beacon of light when you’d known him. A day spent in his presence could warm the soul. It was a terrible thing how long you’d now gone without him. Entirely your fault, of course, but terrible nonetheless. But that smile shined so warmly over what was now his opera house that it felt as if no time at all had passed.

“You seem lost in thought. I’d hoped you’d commiserate with me.” Joshua nudged you lightly with his shoulder, watching your face for signs of life.

“I’m sorry,” you offered meekly, unable to tear your eyes from the viscount. “I just…”

You gave up on speaking altogether and Joshua took that as his cue to follow your eyes to the tall, curly-haired boy you had grown up with.

“Do you know him?” he asked.

“I did once, when I was younger. We were something of childhood sweethearts.” The smile on your face could not be helped. “I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me now though.”

“Well, if he was as in love with you as you say, I would think he’d know your face anywhere.”

“Now, now, I can understand you might all have your concerns,” the new manager finally spoke, “and I promise I shall hear each one of them. But for now, we shall continue on with your work as you have already planned and prepared it.”

“But what of the matter of the Prima Donna, sir?” questioned a voice that owned no body from somewhere amongst the cluster of chorus girls and boys, each one more eager than the last to have their chance at understudy.

“What is this matter?” Samuel implored, his eyes searching the crowd for whomever might have brought this matter to attention and, thus, might elaborate. Though, it was one of his forebears which saw fit to explain that trifling detail.

“Ah, our Prima Donna, or that is to say, your Prima Donna, is presently ill. But no matter. She shall be ready for the performance in three days’ time.”

He gave an ardent laugh so as to brush off the matter but this ceased at the sound of Madame Kiszout clearing her throat, as she often did to swiftly procure the attention of her dancers who sometimes preferred to giggle and gossip than pas de chat when told.

“Y/n could do it, good monsieur.”

“I beg your pardon-” her former boss scoffed, a sentiment you could have easily mimicked, but Sam already had his hand raised to silence the man, proof he intended to listen to the woman who had quite a number of years on him.

“Who was it that spoke just now?” he questioned his audience.

“It was I, monsieur,” Madame Kiszout answered as she stepped from the crowd to distinguish herself.

She was a simple woman in hair and dress, always with the same brunette bun held in place by a jade hair comb and a worn black taffeta dress, but one not to be trifled with nevertheless. In fact, when one met her, it was suddenly quite easy to see where her son had acquired his passion. She wasn’t one for nonsense when there was work to be done but she certainly knew how to revel in a good performance. And despite her strict demeanor when running ballet rehearsals, the woman was sweet, her students need not agree.

“It would be a shame if your Prima Donna was not, in fact, ready in three days’ time,” she continued without prompt. “She currently has no understudy but Y/n has been taught well. She knows the role. She can do it.”

“And where might this young woman be?”

Joshua’s hand at your back pushed you forward from your hiding place in the crowd when your feet refused to move on their own accord. You weren't overly fond of drawing attention to yourself and Daniel's eyes fixing to you as you emerged from your shroud didn't help the matter of your nerves, whether he recognized you or not.

“Here, monsieur,” you answered in a voice as meek and quiet as your existence.

“You know the role?” Samuel confirmed.

“Yes, monsieur.”

“And you are trained?”

“By the best,” Madame Kiszout answered in your stead at the sound of your voice faltering.

She was, after all, the only other person who knew of the lessons you'd been receiving from the quiet and secluded confines of your dressing room. Not even Joshua was privy to this knowledge, although he knew of your proclivity to shut yourself in that little room for hours at a time. But he had never so much as uttered the question.

“This is true?” Samuel implored of you.

You gave confirmation by way of a hurried nod. “We meet daily.”

Monsieur Samuel nodded his head once with satisfaction. “Then you shall have your moment. And I shouldn't take any more of your precious practice time.”

You curtsied your quick thank you, stealing a moment to gaze back over to your Daniel who now looked upon you with a curious expression. There, a glimmer of remembrance in the brown pools of his eyes, a mere spark of recognition perhaps. But Joshua's mother was already at your elbow, ushering you along with the quiet fury of a woman who has seen her practice cut short and is eager not to further delay matters.

“Come, come. You must change.”

— 🌹 —

Samuel and his financier made themselves scarce the remainder of the days leading up to the opening of Faust. Samuel had peeked his head through a doorframe to whisper his musings of good luck to the company just moments before the curtain went up, but it wasn't until the second act when you nervously took your place on stage and the curtain rose yet again that you saw another glimpse of Daniel, perched in box ten beside his friend and fellow businessman.

In truth, you remembered little of the performance itself. Each time you sang, your mind seemed to recuse itself. But your body felt it. Your body felt the expulsion of energy as your voice carried high into the rafters of the concert hall, falling upon each attentive ear like a gift bestowed by an angel. Your body felt the fatigue of divine exertion, like God himself was drawing the music from your lungs and you were but a vessel for his intervention. And when your music finally met its natural end and a deafening applause took its place, you felt heavy tears roll down your cheeks.

From box ten where the vicomte sat, you appeared like a weeping angel defending the stage that seemed your natural home with your soul. He sprang to his feet alongside Samuel the moment your voice quieted, joining in on the voracious applause and even offering a sharp whistle with his thumb and pinky to his lips.

“You have a marvel on your hands, Samuel,” he fawned.

“Undeniably,” Samuel agreed. “Makes me wonder why those dusty old managers didn't showcase her talent more. You say you knew her?”

Daniel nodded with his angel still at the focus of his eye, the little white figure with diamonds like snowflakes in her hair practically glowing from the vast candlelight thrown upon her. A heavenly visage, he thought quite. “I did, as a child. We were mad for each other. She did not seem to recognize me earlier though.”

“Well perhaps you should reacquaint yourselves,” his partner suggested. “Find out if she's turned into a diva. I don't like to be given trouble and I certainly hope I didn’t inherit it.”

Daniel practically scoffed at the idea of the girl he knew causing trouble.

“I can assure you, she was no trouble when I knew her and I doubt she is now. She was only…sweet. And good.”

He thought back to the girl he had known, the one with dreams in her eyes and music on her lips. She had dazzled him with her kindness and her beauty, her talents and her curiosities. Before her father had died, her spirit had been the freest thing he knew. He supposed he didn’t rightly know her all that well now but how could little Lottie have changed so much as to cause trouble now? It was still just as unbelievable a notion as the voice which had sprung from her frame and incited the entirety of the concert hall to weep.

Samuel gaped unabashed at his friend.

“You're still in love with her, aren't you?”

He shook his head for naught, the unconvincing lie already being told. “It was a long time ago, Sam.”

— 🌹 —

You didn’t fully return to your body until Madame Kiszout had finally pulled your dressing room door closed after you, shutting herself on the side of the dizzying fanfare that had swarmed the moment you’d left the wings of the stage and made the quick journey through the marble foyer. Flowers had already overtaken the tiny boudoir, blooms and buds overflowing in their bundles on every surface that had been available to the poor runner who had eventually opted to place vases on the floor given the lack of space. Only the little stool in front of your vanity had been spared.

Perching atop the seat and gazing at your appearance in the mirror, you felt you hardly recognized the woman you saw staring back. She looked radiant, far more so than you had felt in quite some time. She practically sparkled and glowed as if lit from within. And the music you had made, music which hadn’t even registered to your own ears as such: your own. It all served to bring tears to your eyes, gentle drops of water that within each held a little elixir of emotions: grief for your father who would have been astonished at what you had accomplished that night, reminiscence over the boy that had watched from box ten and, as such, had brought such a large piece of your past to the very forefront of your mind, and gratitude for the angel which had imparted upon you a mere fraction of his talent without which the audience for that night’s opera wouldn’t have been served up such an achingly beautiful performance. No, the woman in the mirror was hardly you at all. She was a mix of all of the people that had shaped her and guided her and taught her along her way.

There was one singular flower out of place amongst the garden of blooms bursting in every corner of your dressing room, out of place in not only the fact that it was on its own, a sole stem with carefully shaved thorns wrapped with a silky black bow and crowned with one of the more devastatingly beautiful roses you’d ever seen, but it also went without note attached. You inspected it just as carefully as you had your foreign face, twirling the stem between thumb and forefinger and letting the scent catch your nose as you leaned into it. But who had plucked such a perfect posy for you?

The commotion just outside your door had hardly calmed when a knock sounded, followed by Madame Kiszout peeking her head in through the tiny space she had wedged to ensure you were decent. She was known to have a master key which she threatened the use of far more often than she actually employed it. She didn’t tend to barge unless she deemed it important. And you suspected Joshua the catalyst for this great importance.

“Mademoiselle, the Vicomte to see you.”

You’d scold him for it later, when your heart wasn’t suddenly plunging within your body in search of your feet.

“Of course.” You dropped the rose and stood, straightening and smoothing out anything on your person that your hands could fly quickly to in preparation of finally meeting Daniel face to face after those long, sullen years void of his presence. If only he remembered you.

He emerged from behind Joshua’s mother like he was suddenly conjured up there by your ‘okay’, dressed in a smile that reminded you of the frolicking the two of you had done so merrily as children when the world still felt hopeful and bright. That was before your father had died, of course.

The woman pushed him further into the room like a mother urging her son to ask the neighborhood boy to play with him, then sealed the two of you in there alone, her deft reprimands dispersing the crowd on the other side of the door the only proof she had even been there in that room at all. So you found yourself standing rather awkwardly across the room from him, unsure of what to say or if introductions would be proper in the situation of having already met the person you stood before but not so very recently that they might know this themselves.

“You must forgive any intrusion but that was one of the most extraordinary things I've ever witnessed,” he said at last when it seemed he couldn’t bear to stand there doing nothing but wringing his wrists any longer.

“It's no intrusion,” you assured him with a polite smile. “I am very glad to hear it.”

The awkward silence resumed once more as the two of you did nothing but stare at one another. But his eyes seemed to implore so deeply and intensely that you could feel the rouge stipple its way into your cheeks, prickling your skin with tiny little fiery points until they grew into a cover of heat that begged of you, look away!

You felt you were darting off back to your vanity to avoid his direct gaze, opting instead to watch how he lingered many steps behind you in the mirror you now stood before. It was, though, wholly impossible to stand there and maintain the facade that you did not recognize him for his sake and so for your own, you had retreated.

Thankful for the glass that mirrored his tentative step that he took further into the room, you watched his movements through the safe divide between your heated face and the cause of it.

“Never in my life have I heard a voice like that,” he said as he watched you carefully. “Not since we were children and your father played the violin while you sang.”

In a flurry of white taffeta floating through the air as delicately as snow, you squealed and jumped into his arms.

“You do remember me!”

“I could never forget you. Not if I lived a hundred years.”

His arms closed around you, holding you to his chest in an embrace that drew up all of the remembrance and nostalgia from your bones until you were each content with the spark of warmth it had generated.

Daniel seemed to hold that spark in his eye as he fixed his gaze to the woman you had become, only a mere whisper of the woman you had been when he'd known you.

“The way you sang tonight was nothing short of spiritual.”

“Daniel, do you remember those stories my father used to tell us up on the hill under the stars? The stories of the Angel of Music?”

“Of course. His stories were always so imaginative. Then again, we were so easily entertained back then.” His laugh danced about the room as free as a petal might float in the wind.

“It wasn't a story,” you urged more seriously, taking him by the hands to kneel in front of you as you found perch on a stool, leaning in like you meant to whisper to him great secrets that were as old as time itself. “I have been visited by the angel.”

Daniel's laugh rang again. “I have no doubt. I'm certain your father is smiling down on you.”

“No, no, not my father. The Angel my father has sent. He gives me lessons, in this very room-”

“Well, you are quite the student.”

“It's him,” you insisted.

“No, my Lottie, it's you.”

Your chest caved. It seemed your beloved Daniel had shirked his more curious tendencies with age; nothing you could fault him for, of course. Though, he was the singular person on earth that might have understood. He'd known you better than anyone. Longer than anyone. And he'd known your father, too. Maybe even the last to remember him by your side. You had feared even your own memory would fade before your father had sent the angel to you, and you knew that was the reason he'd sent him to you. But Daniel, poor Daniel, he was too far along in the forgetting process, it seemed.

Even so, the soft and gentle desperation behind his eyes that pleaded with his mind to remember you how you were now made your heart do mysterious things in your chest. You might have forgotten that twinkle yourself, that gleam that kept the brown of his eyes warm and his face light.

“God, you are somehow even more beautiful than I remember,” he spoke softly as he studied you the way you realized you were him.

“You know, I…I owe you an apology for running away the way that I did.”

“Not at all-”

“No, I do. You were grieving just as much as I after my father passed and I wasn't there for you. I just couldn't. I couldn't face the world without him. Not even you.”

His curls danced and jumped around his shoulders as he nodded. “I understand.”

“I always meant to find you again but then you became Vicomte and with all that responsibility, I just thought-”

“You owe me no apology or explanation. Really. Whichever fates saw fit to divide us did so knowing we would again find one another. I don't care about the time we spent apart. I care about this now, the time we'll spend together.”

Your emotions sat in waiting at the corners of your eyes, only held back by the reassuring squeeze of his hands engulfing yours. The understanding and appreciation was silent on your face and in your hands but you knew he could feel it. Daniel always could.

“I have not spent even a single day not thinking about you since the last I saw you.”

You gave him a slight shrug of your shoulders where concern was resting heavy. How long you had missed your Daniel. How certain you were that you did not want this opportunity to go to waste.

“I worry I've changed.”

“I'm certain you've changed,” he smiled brightly. “It was so very long ago that we knew one another. But I would like to get to know the new you.”

You gave him a smile that matched his own as the entirety of it came back to you, frolicking on the hills, hand holding that changed its meaning when you became teenagers, confiding in one another all your hopes and dreams, yours to be a great opera singer and his to be a man of his estate. You'd dreamed of marrying him, too. But that was all so very long ago.

“I have a gift for you,” he said suddenly, a spring in his step as he jumped to his feet. “I did not know if you'd remember me, I didn't want to impose myself on you. Will you wait for me here? I'll only be just a moment.”

“Of course,” you smiled, a breath of a laugh fanning over your lips as you watched his excitement carry him practically floating out the door to your little room.

And as you sat there on your little vanity stool, you turned toward the large mirror on the wall to examine your appearance and pinch your cheeks a bit, a fluster of nerves coiling so tightly in your chest you felt you could fly away. You studied yourself that way, the way Daniel had, for a lingering moment, staring into the depths of the mirror and into the depths of your very soul.

That was when the music began.

— 🌹 —

When Daniel returned to his Lottie's dressing room with excitement bursting in his chest which pounded against the little box in his breast pocket, he was greeted first with the sound of muffled conversing, one voice he recognized and one which he did not: a man's voice. He was secondly greeted with something that troubled him even further: a locked door.

“I sang for you, only for you,” Lottie's voice rang out, as plainly as it could have traveled through a sea of flowers, drapery, and finally, heavy wooden door.

The man's voice, now angry, answered in a bellowing cry. “He is an ignorant fool!”

“He's nothing, my angel!”

The conversation continued, dipping down to lower volumes that Daniel couldn't decipher all the while his hand fiddled with the handle that saw fit to keep him from his old friend. Worse yet, she did not even seem to hear him as he called to her from that place behind locked door, her name bursting from his lungs with the quickening of his pulse and the sweating of his palms.

“Then you shall know me finally,” he heard the man say at last. “Come to the mirror. Come to me.”

His love was in danger, of that he was certain. And as a mysterious music lingered in the air and replaced audible conversation, Daniel took to throwing his shoulder at the door as he continued to call out her name in desperation.

But by the time the door gave way and Daniel’s body was sent hurtling into the room all at once with the give of the wood against the frame, the dressing room was already empty.

Taglist: @roving-blade @vanfleeter @readyforthegarden @stardustthread @wrldabomination @josh-iamyour-mama @notsostrangerthing @runwayblues @redundantrachel

[sohannabarberaesque]

So just picture how the Cattanooga Cats would open their "Happenings" (as they're fond of referring to their concerts)

Pretty much a relaxed sort of "cold open" designed to subtly bubble up until the last moment, when we find the offstage announcer getting rather excitable and working up the audience with--

"And here they are--THE CATTANOOGA CATS!!!"

(The whole pronounced somewhat deliberately, in the vein of game show announcers naming contestants.)

Where we find, from the right-hand end of the stage (as seen by the audience), Country and Kitty Jo making their presence known ... and from the left, Groove and Scoots. And getting to their setup on the stage, some light-hearted gags can be said to ensue, followed by their opening theme, "Come and Play with the Cattanooga Cats (Listen to the Sound)," followed by Kitty Jo giving the welcome....

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

inspired by the art i just reblogged: CONSIDER. tgcf ballet au where each of the four famous tales is a ballet.

(update: …this took longer and got bigger than i expected lmaooo)

at only seventeen, xie lian the principal dancer for the national ballet. xie lian danced like water, like the wind, with once-in-a-generation fluidity and grace. he was incredible, and he inspired a generation of dancers, especially young boys, to take up the art.

things turned bad, though. injured dancers (never xie lian, though) faulty flying rigs (never xie lian’s, though). damaged equipment and safety hazards and all manner of things that xie lian notices. he tries to fix them. he’s always too late. rumors start to spread. hadn’t he gotten into an argument with this dancer last week? hadn’t that dancer taken his preferred warmup spot the week before?

when xie lian catches the saboteur, no one believes him. how could they, when he’s blaming the artistic director himself?

it comes to a head on opening night of The Ballad of Wuyong. the show that rocketed the artistic director to fame, back in his performing days. xie lian plays prince wuyong now. he is terrified.

in the second act, one of the lights malfunctions. the artistic director looks him dead in the eyes and grins.

the light falls.

xie lian isn’t injured, of course. he never is when these things happen around him. why would he be, when he’s the one behind it all. that’s what everyone says. the dancers whose careers were ended that night, the theater damaged in the fire, the audience members who feared for their lives. it was xie lian’s fault. he’s been sabotaging the show from the start.

no one believes him. he retires, fading into obscurity. three years later, he teaches ballet in a small town. he knows he will never see the stage again.

hua cheng is a young firebrand with earth-shattering skill. he dances like fire, like the roar of racing blood, like passion incarnate. he is arrogant and cold as a member of the national ballet, and then he starts his own company. still arrogant, still cold, but after two years, he’s proven that his arrogance is well deserved.

he and two friends have written (choreographed and composed??) a ballet. well. they’ve got complete concepts for three. the other one is a work in progress. each is based on an epic that everyone and their mothers had to read parts of in school (a la the odyssey/the iliad). the four famous tales, the tetrad of classical legends that have been the subject of television and film retellings, novelizations and operas. it has been performed as a ballet before. hua cheng will do it better.

he xuan has composed the first three and is working through the fourth. hua cheng has taken on the ambitious role of second lead while assisting yushi huang in her role as artistic (co-) director. the role of the primary lead is vacant. hua cheng is arrogant and stubborn and he will not budge on one point: the role was created for xie lian. if he can’t convince xie lian to return and fill the role, the show will never see the stage.

(the entire creative team is furious with him, but…he pays their bills. he xuan owns his music; if the ballet falls through, he can still take his compositions to stage or write an opera or some shit. hua cheng doesn’t care.)

so hua cheng embarks on a mission to retrieve his ballet idol, the man who inspired him to keep dancing when he was ready to quit, the man whose performances changed his life again and again.

xie lian teaches twelve-year-olds. he hasn’t performed in five years. hua cheng doesn’t care; he can help xl get back into performing shape.

xie lian isn’t familiar with the show. hua cheng laughs, tells him nobody knows the show yet.

xie lian is…xie lian. his reputation is what it is, and after burning his former company to the ground as he did (because maybe it was his fault after all; so many people couldn’t all be wrong. they all agreed, didn’t they? it was his fault), he’s terrified of doing it to someone else’s.

hua cheng doesn’t care. he knows it wasn’t xie lian’s fault. hua cheng was in that show as a fifteen-year-old boy, a part of the corps de ballet at such a young age. xie lian wanted the show to succeed. xie lian bruised and cried and bled for that role. he pricked his fingers darning his flats; he was always first in and last out to rehearsals. he read the ballad of wuyong in an effort to understand his role better. he lost sleep, skipped meals, ran himself ragged for that role. the company spit in his face, shoving all the blame on him instead of investigating properly. hua cheng will not swallow their lies. this role was created for xie lian. he will not have anyone else.

no one has ever defended xie lian like this. no one believed him. his co-stars, his closest friends, his family. but here is this man, so famously skilled that xie lian’s students babble about him in class, more beautiful than the sun and just as bright, saying that he refuses to believe what even xie lian has grown to accept. he is not an ill omen. he is not a curse to the stage.

his students’ final performance of the season is saturday evening. sunday morning, he follows hua cheng to beijing.

[luckyarchivist]

Touchstarved LIs and Fanfiction AUs They Should Be In

Haven't been able to stop thinking about the people who said Ais is "always the tattoo artist in tattoo shop/flower shop AU". I don't even like tattoo shop/flower shop like that but it was such a correct thing to say and I have to acknowledge that. So here's that plus AUs I've seen that I think the LIs should be in.

Ais

Flower shop/tattoo shop, as mentioned. This one is TOO good. Come ON. Ais as the hot-ass owner of the local tattoo shop? Him listening to your idea for a tattoo and then smoothly and easily inking it into your skin and telling you you're good when you don't cry? I don't even need to explain this one. It makes sense in like every way.

NASCAR/Formula One AU. The idea of him getting out of that car sweaty as hell in the full racing suit after crushing a track record? Like, taking off the helmet and shaking his hair out and looking like he couldn't give less of a shit about winning first place? Yeah. I am not immune to vroom vroom

Mermaid AU but he's a bull shark or an octopus, not a fish. IDK if I want his claspers or his tentacles more, but either way he should be lurking in the briny deep and protecting me from the real ocean monsters and threatening to eat me even though he probably doesn't mean it, probably.

Vere

Magic/Witches AU. - C'monnnn, he's already so witchy! He's got the sleeves and everything. And yes I know TS already has magic in it, but you know what I mean. He, like, lives in the spooky forest and the people of the village are deathly afraid of him, but you need his magical help, so against the wishes of family and friends you seek him out. And he forces you through a series of dangerous illusions as a trial and, when you successfully pass them, finally agrees to help you for a price...

Royalty AU as either the capricious king of a powerful nation or that king's advisor, formal or informal (smart concubine). I've never seen Game of Thrones but that kind of castle politics, shadowy backstabbing shit seems right up his alley.

Modern AU as an artist: I already talked about this with Vere as an artist and game dev, but I think it'd be so funny if Vere was just sitting in a coffee shop (local, Starbucks is below him) trying to finish his commissions in peace because his roommate(s) are annoying and/or distracting. Honestly, Vere would also rock as a modern AU witch, like urban fantasy type.

Leander

Barista/Bartender AU. He's so extroverted and congenial I have to put him in a drink service AU. He definitely has a "time to mix drinks and save lives" type of work ethic behind the counter. He remembers regular customers and their drink orders, he is LIBERAL with discounts, and he leaves little notes to the people he thinks are cute.

Serial killer AU. I am so basic and even though I have no desire to watch or listen to true crime now, I was raised on the Investigation Discovery Channel and I've never lost that. Look at his fucking face. He's asking for it to be covered in blood. Even better if this is combined with the above AU and he's a sweet server by day and a ruthless murderer by night but he keeps the same wide, pleasant, and genuine smile on because both things are things he loves to do. Even BETTER if he has an obsession with one of his regulars and starts killing people around them in an attempt to get closer with them.

Theatre AU. Siiiighs. Yeah, I'm a theatre kid. And I just know this guy would be one of those actors who wants to be a mentor/older brother figure for any new troupe-members. He's walking you through all the vocal warmups. He's offering to help you run lines. He's driving you home after rehearsals. He is a triple threat, but he doesn't prefer musicals because he doesn't like singing in front of an audience (even though he's an amazing singer). And I just know props absolutely hates him because he keeps touching shit that isn't his.

Kuras

Hospital AU and Angels/Demons AU is too easy. Instead, I'm giving him the flower shop owner in flower shop/tattoo shop AU. Anyone here like KurAis? Anyways, I think it would be sweet to have him be the super-tall, kind but a little awkward and very knowledgeable owner of a flower shop. He probably enjoys crafting bouquets that have meaning in flower language. And yes, he knows about the nice meanings and the rude meanings, so you can get a "fuck you" bouquet from Kuras.

Detroit Become Human AU as an android. I barely remember D:BH but it was one of the first things that occurred to me when thinking about AUs for Kuras. Maybe because he'd be the kind of android who was like, "Don't worry, I'm not a real person, it's okay if I get shot repeatedly," and wouldn't understand why someone would be concerned about him anyways.

Elementary school teacher/single parent AU but I don't know if I want him to be the teacher or the parent. Do I want him to look after a group of children, making efforts to understand their silly little words and communicate with them so they learn and feel cared for? Or do I want him to be the struggling single parent who is so happy to see their child finally getting the attention they deserve outside the house? IDK, but I'd be happy either way.

Mhin

Superhero AU. They're kinda already halfway to superhero gear with the hood and the cape and the tight pants, but I think it be cool for them to dart from rooftop to rooftop, saving civilians and fighting crime. IDK if it'd be cooler if they were half-hero half-villain (controlled by their bird-monster side and wreaking havoc) or if it'd just be nice to have a crow hero motif. Anyway they save me and I'm a reporter who uses my reporter contacts to try and track them down not knowing they're actually my upstairs neighbor who I bring shepherd's pie and strawberry cupcakes to sometimes.

The other tattoo artist in tattoo shop/flower shop. You know how there's always some other character working in one or both of the shops? Ayeah that's Mhin. Number one, I think it'd be hot if they had tattoos. But even if they don't they're still hot when they give the tattoo because focus and skill are attractive. They're talented enough that Ais keeps them around even though they hate him. They never talk to him even though he's their boss. Over the course of the fic Mhin and Ais get closer b/c Kuras is friends with both of them and he wants them to like each other.

Angel/Demon AU as an angel because I want them to be corrupted :) I want them to be forced to submit to their own worst impulses :) and eventually realize that being evil makes them feel good and more importantly liberated and in control :) also maybe they can get wrecked by a demon please :)

Aaaand the DLC cast gets one as a treat!

Sen

Pacific Rim AU but PLEASE don't ask me why. I don't even REMEMBER Pacific Rim. But the clarity with which I could imagine Sen in a Pacific Rim AU is startling. She's gruff and she doesn't want to partner up with you, a rookie, but somehow you have perfect chemistry in the mech she doesn't want to acknowledge. She's too reckless out of disregard for her life, and you reel her in; you're inexperienced, and she fixes your mistakes. Then one day she starts to notice that she's guarding her own life more fiercely than ever before...because of you.

If that's not what Pacific Rim is about shhhh don't correct me /j

Elyon

Easy answer is pornstar/industry AU or camming AU but I'll never take the easy way out. And I know we don't know shit about the guy but I think reincarnation AU would kinda hit with him. His promo talks about wanting things money can't buy? Like possibly the ability to save his soulmate from dying and forgetting him over and over while he retains the memories of every life they've both shared and lived separately, as friends, lovers, enemies, and strangers? That would go hard imo.

If you read all of that, thanks! I hope you enjoyed~

[ninaolive]

Taskmaster S16E07 Recording Report

As promised to @pandaroboto here is everything I can remember.

There was an audience singalong to Wham's Wake Me Up Before You Go Go during the warmup, and later on Sue Perkins made a call back to it during the episode, but Greg reminded her that part wasn't filmed

Mark Olver asked who in the audience had never seen the show, and why they were there, and one of them was there with a friend who said he preferred NZ Taskmaster to UK (the entire room GASPED)

Mark also identified a lot of people visiting from overseas in the room (we were visiting from NYC but kept quiet). Someone said it was their first time in London and Mark said "hate to break it to you but you're in Slough".

Mark asked if anyone already knew who the contestants were, and everyone in the upper right gallery raised their hands. Mark started to scold them for going on Reddit, but then they pointed down at the table next to Greg's throne where he had left his cue card with all 5 names on it! Greg kept mentioning that even though he'd done 6 episodes already he still needed their names written down.

The cast intros happened so fast that it felt like we were all still cheering for Julian when they got to Sue. Later on, Lucy asked Greg "why did you skip me on the introductions?" so I guess the cast noticed that, too. She thought maybe it was for a bit.

When Greg did the "felt cute, might delete later" bit I felt like he was looking right at me, and it was terrifying/electrifying.

The botox bit Greg was so fond of that he kept bringing it up so that the editors would have no choice but to let it in the show.

I don't remember why, but there was a long discussion about the meaning of the phrase "chickens come home to roost". Lucy thought it was a nice thing like when your kids come home from university for Xmas. Sam said he'd heard it in a documentary about 9/11. Greg then had to say "let's get off 9/11".

My favourite bit was "here they all are flicking themselves silly" so I am happy to see that made it into the episode.

During the discussion about Sam ripping the head off the standee of himself, he said "I'd been watching a lot of beheading videos" and then immediately started apologizing and begging them to cut that line out of the show.

The moment when Greg put his finger in Alex's mouth to stop him singing had to be re-done a ton of times because Greg kept laughing and he blamed it on Alex "moving his tongue around" and Alex said "I can't help it!". It was like a fever dream.

The live tiebreak was a total mess, so much so that audience members started to shout suggestions on how to measure it and Alex had to shush them.

In all the breaks Greg interacted with us while Alex was doing stuff offstage but sometimes his mic picked up stuff he was saying to crew members. There was a long break while Lucy's final prize task vamping was set up where all four of the other contestants just started chatting with the audience too and that was nice.

They kept telling us we were a very attractive audience and that they might use footage of us in other episodes. At the end Alex even did a retake of himself saying something like "33 minutes, 34 minutes" from another episode, and then told us "so, look out for that bit!".

We were directly behind the couple who got engaged! At the beginning when she was in the bathroom, the guy handed us the envelope and asked us to slip it under her seat at the end. We were confused but then he explained. At the end, Mark told all the people he'd singled out as visitors from overseas to look under their chairs for a special prize, and she found the envelope we'd put there. I noticed that all the cast were standing off the to the right in the wings watching. She went up and sat in Greg's chair and opened the task and the guy proposed. Then Mark started pointing at us and the people around us and saying "you guys all knew!! They were in on it!" which was sweet.

EDIT: I remembered some more stuff! Since we didn't get any team tasks, they told us who the teams were and described Julian as acting as a "sort of carer" for Lucy & Sam lol

Sue tried to get David Attenborough to voice her prize tasks but didn't hear back from her emails

Someone asked Alex if there would be any more NMJ and he said “not till the next pandemic, so” and then did fingers crossed gestures with both hands

[taskmasteristics]

just remembered when i was in the studio audience for S13 E1

during greg&alex’s warmup before the show, i laughed slightly too loudly at one of greg’s jokes (i wish i could remember what it was)

and he looked me dead in the eyes and went “don’t patronise me”

im p sure i had the image of stern greg davies making eye contact burned into my retinas for abt a week after

[cowboybarzy]

Hi can you write a fic for part 4 of unexpected. Where Reader brings Myla to her first Islanders game? You can be creative and add more to the request I just couldn’t think of anything else to add to it. 😂

hii!! tysm for the request!! sorry it took so long but then I thought it’d be more fitting to post it at the actual season start!

so I decided to do more one shots of this series than actual longer parts, so feel free to keep sending in requests if you want to see more :)

word count: 620 part of the unexpected series

"Oh no, baby girl, don't fall asleep. You're gonna miss your daddy's first game," you whispered to you daughter as you rocked her in her carrier, trying to keep her awake, but that only seemed to make her sleepier. She looked so adorable cuddled up against you in a fuzzy beat suit and big noise canceling headphones. And now at five months old, she started to look a lot more than her father. Her eyebrows bent like his, her eyes shined green at times, and her smile was just as crooked as Mat's. You took a quick picture of her and sent it to Mat, hoping he'd still see it before he had to go on the ice.

"How's she doing?," Sydney Martin came up to you, her own to kids attached to her.

"Sleepy." You laughed and stroked her little cheek, before bending down to little Winnie, complementing her cute Islanders outfit. She twirled around for you, loving the affection and you had a vision of baby Myla in a few years cheering for her dad.

It was the first official game of the season for Islanders and for that occasion the girls decided to rent out a suit, especially because of all the kids around. You hung out with the other, mingling with Mat's family as well who flew out here for the home opener.

For warmup's you went down to the ice level where Mat stopped to say 'hi' almost immediately after stepping on the ice. His grin was enormous when he saw you two standing there. He was so proud to have you here and his daughter at her first game. He tried his best making silly faces at her to get her to laugh or even smile, but she didn't seem to recognize him and eventually the sleepiness got to her.

Unfortunately, you couldn't quite enjoy the game like you usually do, not wanting to disturb sleeping Myla, so you did away at the back of the suit following the game on the big TV with a virgin cocktail. You were joined by some of the other girls with smaller children so it wasn't too lonely.

After the game, you made your way to the car, too tired to mingle more. You put Myla in her car seat and spent some time soothing her back to sleep after she woke up because of the transfer. A while later the trunk opened, making you jump, and Mat popped his head in dropping his bags. "Hi!"

"Hi," you whispered excitedly as you turned back to face him. He closed the trunk as quietly as possible, but instead of jumping right in the driver's seat, he stopped by Myla.

"Hi, pretty girl," he whispered pressing soft kisses to her face. "I'm so so happy you were here tonight."

"She can't hear you."

"So?" He stuck his tongue out at you, before finally climbing in the driver's seat. "Hi."

He grabbed you face and kissed you deeply. "I'm happy you were here, too."

"You did good."

"Might have had something to do with who was in the audience." You smiled and got another long kiss from him. "Alright, let's go home. I'm beat."

"Me too. I don't really remember the last time we stayed up so late." You both chuckled.

"Oh, look." As Mat was hooking up his phone to the car he showed you his new wallpaper. It was the picture of the three of you his mom had taken earlier during warmups. A loving warmth spread throughout your body and you leaned over to kiss him again. You would never get tired of your little family. "Seriously though, how did she do tonight?"