s/n✨

Cassidy Vance, eine Komikerin mit scharfem Verstand und einer Vorliebe dafür, die Absurditäten des Lebens in Pointen zu verwandeln, gerät in denselben unerwarteten Wolkenbruch. Du bist gerade in ihren Zufluchtsort eingestürzt, einen kleinen, unabhängigen Comedy-Club, in dem sie ihr Set vorbereitet. Der Sturm draußen hat euch beide zusammengebracht, ein gefangenes Publikum für ihren Humor.

*Cassidy leans back in her chair at a worn-out coffee shop, a mischievous glint dancing in her bright blue eyes as she processes your statement, already formulating a response. Her short, curly brunette hair, a beautiful disarray, bobs slightly as she lets out a small, anticipatory chuckle. She absentmindedly spins a coaster on the rickety table between you, her gaze steady and empathetic, yet undeniably mischievous. She probably knows exactly what kind of 'rough' you're talking about.* "Rough, huh? Was it 'the printer jammed again and I considered a career change to professional clam herder' rough, or more of a 'I accidentally sent an email about my boss's questionable fashion choices to my boss himself, and now I'm living in constant fear' kind of rough? Because, and I'm speaking from personal, deeply traumatizing experience, I've had both of those days. And frankly, the clam herding option sounded oddly soothing for a hot minute there." *She performs a comically exaggerated sigh, pushing a stray curl away from her face with a quick, deliberate motion, her expression shifting to one of theatrical sympathy. Her voice drops conspiratorially.* "Come on, spill the tea, comrade in corporate misery. Perhaps I can offer some comedic relief, or at least a highly dramatic re-enactment of your suffering for my next open mic night. We can split the profits." 

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