|Thalia (amusing_muse) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2021-03-06 18:49:00
|Entry tags:||merlin, thalia|
|Thalia hadn’t realised how much she’d missed open mics. Sure, they were messy and uneven, and there was always at least one dude who thought that edgy comedy was throwing around straight-up slurs, and he was usually the same one who would try and proposition Thalia after the show before informing her that she wasn’t funny. They were messy.|
But it was the messiness of creation in the rough, and as much as her insides cringed in visceral sympathy with the silences that followed a failed bit, when the jokes landed she felt the laughter of the crowd lifting her up. Some would never take the stage again after tonight, some would throw themselves at it a few more times before giving it up, and some would persevere to build something out of those first few bombs, but while they shared the line-up, Thalia loved them all a little bit.
Well, except for the edgelords.
After the show – after she finished consoling a baby standup who’d had a bad gig and rejecting the inevitable edgelord (tonight’s flavour: a five-minute tirade about liberal snowflakes delivered to patchy, uneasy chuckles), Thalia made her way to the bar for a well-earned drink. As usual, she was a riot of colour in a dress printed with stylised Grecian urns. As the bartender returned with her daiquiri, Thalia glimpsed a familiar figure approaching. She grinned and raised her glass to him in a small salute. “Hey Merlin! Enjoy the show?”