The Blackened Cauldron was, by all objective standards, the kingdom's worst tavern.
The ceiling leaked something that may once have been rainwater but now smelled like fermented regret. The floor stuck to your shoes with a sinister squelch, and the ale tasted like betrayal with a hint of mildew. One of the stools had teeth. No one asked why. No one wanted to know.
In other words: it was the perfect venue for Snow White's comedy debut.
She stepped onto the makeshift stage—technically a crate of expired mead barrels—wobbling slightly in her scuffed heels. A single torch flickered behind her like a dying firefly with commitment issues.
"I'm Snow White," she announced to a crowd that included three drunk goblins, a troll napping on his own arm, and a bartender who might've been a lizard in disguise.
"You may remember me from such royal disasters as That Time My Stepmother Poisoned Me and Forgot the Antidote... or Public Crying: A Princess Story."
A goblin hiccupped so hard he startled himself awake. "Ain't ya s'posed to be dead?"
Snow gave a tight smile. "Only emotionally."
That got a snort from the troll, who immediately fell back asleep.
Encouraged, she launched into her bit about the Queen's ill-fated eyelash extension spell—a magical enhancement gone wrong that gave the monarch sentient lashes that slapped passing servants.
Unfortunately, the punchline—"Now that's what I call batting your eyes"—triggered a demon summoning rune etched under the table.
With a burst of sulfur and jazz music, a low-level demon named Kevin materialized, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sipping something pink from a coconut.
"Sorry," Snow muttered as the goblins applauded. "Still working out the kinks."
Back at the cottage:
Doc laid out his ambitious "business plan" on a gravy-stained napkin.
"SNOW WHITE: PRINCESS OF PUNS"
Venue: Ye Olde Sewer (great acoustics, no permits)
Merch: Poisoned Apple-Scented Candles—Deadly, but cozy!
Tour Bus: Dopey with a wheelbarrow and a goat
Grumpy scowled, arms crossed. "I still say the slogan should be 'Laugh or She'll Cry Again.'"
Sneezy, glitter-glued to a glitter-bombed poster, attempted to breathe through a straw. The poster featured a smiling duck that had, thanks to a magical mishap, morphed into something resembling a radioactive hedgehog mid-sneeze.
"Nailed it," said Dopey, cheerfully hanging it upside down.
At the castle:
The Queen watched footage of Snow's set through her scrying orb. When Snow mimicked her trademark cackle while wearing a wig made of hay and resentment, the Queen exploded a decorative vase—and possibly a footman.
"COMEDY?" she shrieked. "My humiliation is not material!"
The mirror cleared its throat with all the delicacy of a judgmental cough.
"Technically, your 'Turn Myself Into a Swan' incident is a masterclass in slapstick..."
The Queen didn't respond. She was already changing into her best disguise: Karen the Unamused, complete with beige cloak, aggressive eyebrows, and an aura of deep-seated judgment.
That night at the Blackened Cauldron:
The tavern was packed—goblins, witches, and one ambitious banshee (trying stand-up herself next week). Snow, now equipped with actual lighting courtesy of the mirror (currently in spotlight mode), took the stage again.
"Hi, I'm Snow. You may know me as the royal family's favorite scapegoat, or 'That Girl Who Talks Back to Evil.'"
From the crowd, Karen heckled, "Your crown's crooked!"
Snow smiled sweetly. "So's your face."
Another heckle: "That's not how poison works!"
Snow shrugged. "Says the woman who used ivy like a seasoning."
When she got to the joke about the Queen's hair spell—now sentient, unionized, and demanding healthcare—the disguised monarch's wig burst into flames. The crowd cheered. Karen stormed out. Snow took a bow.
"Crowd work!" she beamed, to raucous applause.
Enter: The Wizard Comedy Duel
Word spread. A duel was declared.
The ancient rules were clear:
No transforming the audience (permanent or otherwise)
Jokes must rhyme
Winner gets free drinks and possibly their soul back
Round 1:
Snow:
"Your spells fizzle, your potions bubble,
Your exorcisms cause double trouble!"
Her opponent, a disgraced warlock in a sparkly robe:
"You live with dwarves, you smell like dirt—"
Grumpy (from the front row): "SHE BATHES MORE THAN YOU, YOU JERK!"
Disqualified for unrhymed rage. Snow advanced.
Round 2:
The Queen herself strode in, slamming down a Scroll of Brutal Burns. Her presence warped the air. Her earrings hissed. Her eyebrows twitched with malevolent rhythm.
Queen:
"Your kingdom's gone, your life's a mess—"
Snow:
"Says the chick who failed at Basic Blonde, no less!"
The resulting magical backlash:
Turned the tavern's beer into whipped cream
Caused the troll to awaken and begin an impromptu interpretive dance about lost love
Made the Queen's nose honk every time she lied—an accidental side effect, but a crowd favorite
By midnight, the finale was near.
Snow delivered a deadpan monologue about Prince Florian's inability to sit on a horse like a normal human being. The punchline—"He thinks 'equestrian' is a type of jam"—brought the house down.
Even the Queen, hidden beneath her scorched Karen wig, snorted. She tried to cover it, but the damage was done.
With a groan, she tossed a pouch of coins onto the stage. "Take your laughs. And never mention my wig again."
Snow bowed, triumphant. The mirror flickered overhead, displaying in glowing gold:
"FINALLY, A ROYAL WORTH WATCHING."
The dwarves, riding high on success and questionable business sense, opened Grumpy's Comedy Cavern—where every drink came with complimentary crying towels and heckling was encouraged on Thursdays.
Snow's next big show? "10 Signs Your Stepmother Is a Supervillain."
It was immediately banned kingdom-wide. So naturally, it sold out in every underground venue.
Because some princesses wear crowns. Others, like Snow, wear punchlines.
And hers? Were killer.