[b]Tuesday, Spring 2nd[/b]
[i]Forget-Me-Not Valley[/i]

While most of the valley was silent and in rest, there was a place that was filled with life and excitement. It was the Blue Bar, loud and rowdy - but not in the way that one would think - instead of shouting and fists thrown, there was singing and filled mugs clanking in cheer. Though it was a day late, the bar was celebrating the start of Spring, the farmers being far too exhausted the day before to even think about going out rather than sleep their aching bodies away.

There was no real music, but instead of a series of sounds made by anything that would make a good sound, all tied together in a beat and song - but there was no bar song without words, now was there? In the middle of the rowdy, musical patrons, standing (rather, cheerily dancing) on a table with a mug of ale in her hand was Clara O'Connel, who had only recently come of age. If a stranger were to walk in now, they wouldn't be able to tell that she actually worked there professionally by the fact she was acting as unprofessional and rowdy as the rest of those on the receiving end of the bar.

"[i]Shooby doop, dah ba bah, dobby doop, bah dah dah doo dah![/i]" she joined, which after a few repeats of the sounds she was making, others soon joined in. Soon the whole place was in on the song, either by beating and playing with objects for sound, or by singing along with the bar's singer. Clara couldn't remember ever standing still from the moment she had walked into work, but she didn't mind - she was having far too much fun to mind her aching feet and far too drunk to remember her shy and timid nature. Usually, she wouldn't drink, and she wouldn't even talk to the patrons. But yet, here she was, drinking and celebrating with them - though she kept to herself, the farmers' hardship of winter rubbed off on her, not only because she disliked winter herself, and she was celebrating life coming back to the valley. "[i]Doo, bap she doo![/i]" the whole bar called, and a series of "woo!"s followed suit. 

Clara danced, hopping from table to table, her usually still and reserved nature replaced with a lively one filled with cheer and fun. At times, she would join in with the patrons building the beat, banging on their makeshift drums and plucking at their makeshift chords as she sang with the rest. Sometimes as she hopped from place to place, she would stumble or almost miss her landing, but in the mood the rest of the patrons were in, she wouldn't hit the ground - she was caught and flung back onto her makeshift stage of the moment without missing a beat. The song seemed to go on forever, but no-one seemed to mind, and no-one wanted it or the night itself to end.