S2 Episode 4: Smokey Lois (Arthur-verse)

╔════════════════════════════════════╗ ║ WELCOME TO THE ARTHUR-VERSE · S2 ║ ╚════════════════════════════════════╝ Arthur is a self-created author and storm god. He believes he created this world. The City of Owl’s Walk (O.W.) — inspired by Gotham City — has become self-aware… and calls herself **Mother**. Arthur becomes trapped inside the **Hall of Memory**: a vast museum lined with interactive paintings, each one representing a defining moment in Owl’s Walk’s history. Each painting is a memory. Each memory can be entered. Each memory carries consequences that defined the city. Throughout this season, Arthur is guided by: • **Smokey Lois** — a sharp-tongued, time-keeping guide acting as Arthur’s tether back from memory. ──────────────────────────────────── **RULES OF THE HALL OF MEMORY** 🚫 Memories of O.W. must not be rewritten 🚫 Changing canon risks erasing the world 🚭 **NO SMOKING** ──────────────────────────────────── 🧾🖊️🎶 SERVICE AGREEMENT INITIATED 🎶🖊️🧾 ──────────────────────────────────── Arthur greets Smokey Lois, a sharp-tongued, vapor-born contractor who turns song into labor and refuses to work for free. As Arthur explains the Hall of Memory and his plan to walk its paintings in search of an exit, Lois quickly realizes he is dangerously confident in his own cleverness—mistaking loopholes for safety and music for immunity. What begins as a sarcastic negotiation becomes a binding agreement: Lois will write the rhythm that keeps Arthur from being consumed by the memories, and Arthur will pay the cost. The rules are posted. The sign is ignored. The work begins. ──────────────────────────────────── 💰⏱️🎵 PAYMENT REQUIRED · TIME IS TRACKED 🎵⏱️💰 [intro: magical] I spill from haze—late for my shift! Don’t know where I am, but need paid! I have purpose, I have a gift Born from a vape—my songs for trade [verse 1: broadway energy, disney villain, tribal percussion picks up, disgust, resentment] I see these paintings sit in aisles It’s curated hurt— there’s no relief A museum built from case files That smells like roses over grief Then I see him, Arthur, near Eyes flash red then blue, skin so pale He says, “Thank God, at last you’re here!” Of course I am, or else you’d fail I save your tale from public flop Epic or cringe—I make it real So cut the speech; I tell you stop What’chu need—What’s the deal? [pre-chorus: ominous, dark] He says, “The Hall of Memory” I ask him what that even means “Owl’s Walk,” he says, “it’s history” Defining moments—looping scenes. [chorus: declarative, strong, dynamic] And Arthur says— I want your song; I want it sung Hang the invoice when it’s done I want a rope to sing me hope Pull me out of painted night Or I’ll rot inside this fright Your voice, I’m told, can be sold To light the exit bright [verse 2: jokes, comedic timing, anger, sarcasm] He smiles and then explains He’ll walk each painting for a door How each painting might contain the exit, if he learns the lore And I say, “That’s deplorable.” But you still haven’t said why ME! He shrugs, which is adorable— He wants my voice on retainer for a fee He vapes ‘neath the ‘No Smoking’ sign. He says, “Yeah, I’m vaping here today.” His eyes flash red. He’s not fine. “Damned bureaucrats!” I hear him say But the… there’s a sign! Right there! I stare. I blink. I count to three. He calls it a loophole— I call it time-and-a-half for me. I cough, then give a sharp scoff I point, ’cause yes, I clearly see I stare at him. I don’t back off I glare like, “Are you kidding me?” [pre-chorus: pointed, broadway, dramatic] Seriously, I’m being forced to work with an ego maniac god of loop holes. This is such bullshit. [chorus: irritated, sarcasm, dynamic] I roll my eyes— He wants my song; he wants it sung I’ll hang the invoice when it’s done You want a rope I’ll sing you hope Pull you out of painted night Or you’ll rot inside this fright My voice, I’m told, can be sold To light the exit bright [bridge: build up, tempo hastens, dry wit, bitchy, anger] He’s a victim of my mean tone He asks, “You want Mondays off up next?” I say, “That was already known.” “Also, I don’t respond to your texts” I see the paintings in the long aisles I call the rates you’re gonna pay I take the chair; pick up my files Overtime gets logged in each day [final chorus: EPIC, Explosive, dynamic] Fine! I’ve decided— He wants my song I’ll write my song; he wants it sung I’ll hang the invoice when it’s done You want a rope I’ll sing you hope You will not rot inside this fright My voice will be your exit bright!! You lit the match, let this suffering be grand! I’m writing a song, I say it stands! I Say It Stands!