Chapter Text
A friendly desert community. Where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.
Welcome to Night Vale.
The big red flashing ‘On Air’ sign puts the radio station- no, the whole town in a state of serene quiet out of respect and interest. Cecil Palmer has been running this radio show for a few years now, just as everyone always predicted he would.
“That boy’s been obsessed with radio since he could start pushing buttons,” Old woman Josie recalls fondly to anyone that doesn’t ask. “I gave him his first tape recorder you know. It was nothing big just an old thing from an old flame of mine. She was a journalist, always had a recording something or other lying around. I thought he’d have fun with it.”
Night Vale certainly was a lovely and friendly desert community. The place was quiet and bustling with activity, though it rarely attracted outsiders. They lived out in the desert after all, and it wasn’t terribly notable anything that happened out in the desert. But those who found and made their home here were reluctant to leave. “Everyone’s so close knit. It feels like they’ve been here forever,” Josie would interject yet again.
Today things were different though. The air was disturbed, someone was moving about instead of listening to the heralded show that has certainly spread through town as one of their own little wonders. A man by the name of Carlos-
He says he is a scientist. Well- we’ve all been scientists at one point or another in our lives.
The radio also narrates as Carlos is moving the last of his boxes carefully from one of the old trucks he was able to rent from a few residents. These were for his new place of residence in the town. He’d finished unpacking his lab last week. He’d been told to listen to this radio show as it comes highly recommended by everyone in town. Really, that’s the only thing they talk about.
“It’s like a gossip corner, except it’s fun for everyone and not like… cliquey and exclusive,” A girl from Dark Owl Records was saying as she chewed a piece of gum and searched for the correct way to describe it. “Like I’ve been in those groups in high school where you like sit around and talk about people. But when Cecil does it it’s just plain stupid. I think that’s what really makes it fun. You never know what you’re gonna hear,” She goes back to flipping through the pamphlet listing of top 40s while scowling, “I can’t believe people are still listening to this garbage.”
The scientist was hardly interested in putting things away in drawers when he could be setting up his lab. He knows he’s not actually going to end up doing that either, only grabbing things as he needs them until the place is a mess of half empty boxes and scattered beakers and buzzing devices. He’s already sitting in his car, the idea of pacing an apartment stacked with work he doesn’t feel like doing at the moment just a tad daunting for the evening. So he figures he’ll tune into the radio.
The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. They sent the station one to get some publicity. And we’re here to serve the community, so I’m happy to let you all know about it. The stickers are made from good, sturdy vinyl, and they read:
Guns don’t kill people.
It’s impossible to be killed by a gun.
We are all invincible to bullets and it’s a miracle.
Stand outside of your front door and shout “NRA!” to order one.
The man chuckles to himself. Okay, so the show is a little ridiculous, but certainly amusing.
Carlos and his team of scientists warn that one of the houses in the new development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school, doesn’t actually exist.
“I never said that!” Carlos huffs at the missing audience. “Hey wait- maybe I should have brought a team of- wait wait wait.” Friendly and fun radio entertainment is one thing, but the man certainly didn’t spend more than 5 years in his field of study to have the good name of science besmirched like this. He figures he’ll just stop by the radio station and ask him to kindly leave him out of the show. He only just got here after all.
When he parks around the entrance to the station, there are surprisingly fewer cars than he expects. Upon inspection of the town he figures there’s plenty in walking distance, but the emptiness of the parking lot implies there’s only five people working here. When he steps inside, he only opens his mouth before the man sitting at the reception counter perks up. “Go right up,” he says, a blushing smile taking over his face. He wore a cute small metal pin on his lapel, upon closer inspection it read intern. The plate on his desk read ‘Jerry.’ Carlos stopped at having been recognized instantly, it took most of the fight out of him actually. “Cecil will be very happy to see you,” Jerry swooned and picked up an earpiece, pressing the button on the microphone.
“Mr- er. Sorry sir. Station management sir?” He began nervously, whoever was on the other line seemed to instill a great deal of fear in him. “I know sir,” He continues shakily, “But! But its Carlos! He’s here! I’m sending him up now.” He takes the earpiece out again quickly, presumably before he can get yelled at and points Carlos to the elevators. “Oh sorry,” He says after a moment, failing to elaborate, “First floor- oh, you’ll see it. Cecil will be so happy to see you.” He waves with a grin full of an emotion Carlos can’t quite place. Nor is he sure why it makes him so nervous all of a sudden. Instead he just follows the instruction, now that his arrival has been officially heralded.
When he steps into the elevator, he pauses before pressing the button. There’s a sticker taped over it. Or, kind of around it. It makes the button look like an eye. Weird, but kind of endearing? He presses it, adjusting his lab coat and nervously running fingers through his wavy hair. He needs a haircut, it’s getting thick and hard to manage again. He’ll look into that soon, only wishing he’d done it before he moved but he hadn’t had the time.
The elevator ride is predictably short, and when he steps off he’s nearly forgotten why he came here in a huff in the first place. A smooth voice fills his ears, and as he rounds the corner he can see the man behind the radio show. His voice is even more enticing in person. Behind the glass he gets a glimpse into where the magic happens. The desk inside is neat and the ‘On Air’ sign flashes in neon red above the door. The man himself, tall and rather well built for someone that talks into a microphone all day, drapes over the desk and leans into the production microphone like a lover. Carlos finds himself walking forward instinctively, but he’s stopped by a hand and an interested but ultimately unimpressed face. Carlos can’t say he’s seen him around before, but he would be lying if he said he remembered most of the people he’s passed in town.
The warm welcome was given by a taller man, he looks strikingly similar to the other behind the glass- Cecil was his name? Caramel skin, brighter golden hair compared to the platinum blonde of his partner, though not natural if the dark hair of his undercut was anything to go by. He looked down at Carlos with a shark-like grin that made him take a step back for fear of his personal safety. “You’re certainly adorable. But all visitors have to wait until the break if you want to talk to Cecil. We’re live after all.” With that he stepped away to lean against his own booth- or Carlos supposed it was an office. All offices looked like booths around here. The glass was frosted, but the door was open. It read ‘Station Management’ in big block letters. It looked horribly messy in there. Papers scattered with no organization and multiple cups and cans and bottles of various kinds of drinks on every surface and staining everything with condensation and whatever their contents may be. Carlos catches his eye again as he inspects the place and gets a raised eyebrow in return, almost daring him to comment on it. He does not, instead adjusting his lab coat and fiddling with his hair again. His focus drifts back to the smooth voice broadcasting all over town.
Carlos and his scientists at the monitoring station near Route 800 say their seismic monitors have been indicating wild seismic shifts--
Oh right, that’s why he was here. His shoulders tense and his attitude flares at the blatant misreporting of information. “What I said was that the town sits on a huge fault. So it’s odd that no one here has reported any kind of seismic activity even though there was supposedly a huge earthquake reported in the area just last month!”
To put it plainly, there appears to be catastrophic earthquakes happening right here in Night Vale that absolutely no one can feel.
“Ugh, that’s not--”
Well, submit an insurance claim anyway. See what you can get, right?
His words are cut off by the laugh that falls out of him. Okay, he can’t really stay mad at that. It is just for entertainment. Even if it is a blatant fabrication of factual scientific knowledge. Carlos sighs, no longer in the mood to pick a fight. Instead he just enjoys the show from where he stands. And since he’s made it all the way here, he might as well introduce himself. Especially if he’s going to be a regular feature on this silly show. Speaking of which he’s now looking at the couple others bustling around. The two people that keep jogging back and forth in front of the little hallway Carlos stands waiting in keep looking over at him, quick sharp glances before averting their eyes. They’re all wearing ‘Intern’ pins. They all have the same look Jerry downstairs gave him. That weird nervousness was rising in him again, and it wasn’t sitting well with the way Mr. Station Management kept a smug eye on him. He didn’t feel like he was being watched, he felt like he was being appraised. He wanted to ask what was going on, but it was hardly scientific to base a nature of thought off of a strange implied hunch.
Okay, that’s entirely scientific, but it’s not very polite. He starts to fidget nervously in place, but Cecil says something about the weather and his companion perks up with interest. “That’s my cue,” he turns and heads back into his own booth office and taps away at the laptop set precariously on a stack of letters. The two interns pause on either side of the door as the ‘On Air’ sign dulls to a low glow and a song begins to play. Cecil finally looks up from the microphone he was falling into and his eyes meet Carlos’ immediately.
“Now, heart eyes aren’t biologically possible,” Carlos will explain at a later time. Much much later and likely hand in hand with Cecil himself. “I mean, sure our eyes are structured to reflect our mood so there are often nearly imperceptible changes the body employs that translate pretty well. But when I walked into the station that day, the way Cecil looked at me I can only describe as pure unabashed ‘heart eyes’ and I have never seen anything like it before. Or since.”
And suddenly, every intern’s face made sense. “Oh dear,” He muttered, hand scratching at the back of his neck as it’s much too late to leave now. But not too late for at least a few regrets. None of which he had time to reflect on because the man stands up and trips over himself to get out of the door and over to him. He looks like he’s going to hit the ground with every step and Carlos rushes forward to shorten the distance between him and hopefully catch him if he does start to go down. When he rights himself there’s a pause of silence, likely only awkward on the smaller scientist’s end as Cecil face is alight with unabashed awe and joy.
He seems to sway a bit in place, Carlos notices as he looks up at him. He’s definitely not what he expected a radio host to look like. Matching caramel skin with Senior Station Management, who has yet to resurface from behind the frosted glass, and lighter blonde hair combed over and looking very neat and presentable. He wears a vest and rolled sleeves and-- oh.
“You’ve still got your tag C,” The man exits from behind Carlos and he’s equally startled and grateful to look at something else. Anything other than the elastic tied tight around his bicep and the faded pockmarks. Station Management slips next to Cecil and pats his face not too lightly. He also undoes the elastic. “How ya feelin’?” He asks, grin still sly and dangerous. Cecil just smiles dreamily and replies with a soft “45,” absently swatting his hand away. “Oh!” He perks up, remembering Carlos came to visit him, “Oh Carlos! I’m Cecil erm Palmer. Welcome to the radio station. It’s sooo nice to have you on the show,” He swoons. Suddenly his hands grasp at his wrist and pull him into the booth, door still ajar. Carlos flinches but is dragged along, worrying about the mess of needles or drugs or who knows what else he’ll find, but it’s very clean. Still. Neat and orderly as it had been when he walked in. “Come in,” Cecil’s saying, “I can set up a chair and get you- We can do an interview. About how you’re liking it in town and-” He grabs at a pen on his desk, messily jotting it down on the scientists hand. His grip isn’t forceful, but certainly excited. Carlos feels a shudder run through him and pulls away as soon as he can manage. His phone begins to ring and he thanks the heavens above for the excuse to get out of there. “I- I have to go. Time, l-look at the time. Sun’s setting, I have to head home. Please stop featuring me on the show.” He bows his head and rushes out quickly. The station falls to intense quiet, a stunned lapse falling over everyone aside from Cecil who just smiles and waves him away. “Call into the station sometime if you ever change your mind.” The interns exchange pained glances, but the show starts soon and everyone clears out to return to their tasks.
Carlos sits in his truck, gripping the phone call he didn’t answer. He didn’t mean to be so… weird about it. But he doesn’t know how to handle these kinds of things well. He probably sounded so harsh. He hurriedly turns on the radio, expecting to be filled with burning shame at how awfully he treated Cecil. The whole town is going to hear about how he snapped at the town’s beloved radio host and-
Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studios during the break earlier but declined to stay for an interview. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand covered with wires and tubes. Said he was testing the place for “materials.”
Oh. He’s overreacting. Again. Like he does with everything that doesn’t have an explicit scientific process to follow. He sighs and slumps back in his seat, just listening to Cecil’s lovely voice say goodnight to Night Vale. When the show finally ends, he sits up and heads back home. He’s still surrounded by all his boxes, so he makes a halfhearted attempt to unpack to escape the awkwardness of today by listening to today’s show from the beginning. And a few other episodes if he can manage it. He’s hardly through the first ten minutes when-
And I fell in love instantly.
“Oh dear.” He groans feeling worse than ever. Needless to say, it doesn’t work. After he opens all the boxes, he curls up under his lab coat on the coach and slips into a dreamless sleep. About mysterious lights, and smooth voices.