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Hi. This is — you can probably tell that this isn’t Jonny. He lost his voice, so I’m …filling in. I asked whether Lyfrassir shouldn’t be the one to take over, since it’s, you know. Their job. But Jonny wrote like two pages of answer about why not — I won’t get into it, but the first page includes the phrase glorious destiny, and it mostly boils down to the fact that Lyf’s great, but they’re not ready yet. And apparently I am? So you’re stuck with me. Sorry.
I’m Tim. Of — Gunpowder Tim. With the — right — with the gun silencer facts.
Okay, okay, stop backseat radio hosting — Jonny’s right here, uh, Night Vale, and I’ve got a script here, so this should be — it’s time for the — that intro you do, right? But where is — Jonny, do you seriously improvise all of those?
Apparently he improvises all of those. Got one for me today?
No, I can’t make one up, I don’t know how to—
Okay, okay, fine, I’ll try. Home is where the ….spiders are? I don’t know, some kind of useless platitude, but twisted until it’s somehow both creepier and more comforting than the original version. Welcome to Night Vale.
Let’s start our program today with the community calendar.
Tuesday will see Jonny returning to the radio at the end of his medically recommended vocal rest for his — misplaced voice? Is that — is that a joke?
No, wait, oh — listeners, Jonny wants me to tell you that he disagrees with me saying he lost his voice because [here the voice takes on the cadence of an imitation of the usual radio host’s voice, faint amusement running through the impression] lost just sounds so permanent, it’ll be back any day, it just likes to wander off now and then.
Sure, whatever, okay.
Wednesday is the final day to sign up for spring classes at Night Vale Community College. Education is a journey, and you’re a journey-nalist — no, okay, you’re fu—messing with me, right? Jonny?
Okay, you can’t see this, listeners, but he’s laughing at me like a — like a someone who’s forgetting that I’m here today as a favor—
Right! Um. Thursday will be the first day of the trial of the Toy Soldier for high crimes and medical insurance fraud — surely that’s supposed to be high crimes and misdemeanors? No? Apparently not. Trial for high crimes and medical insurance fraud, which will, of course, be open to the public. Seating is general admission, so arrive early to secure a better view.
When approached for comment, the Toy Soldier, who will be tried in absentia since it is still missing after its daring prison break — are you allowed to say that? Or, I mean, am I? But, isn’t calling it daring editorializing, and a break in, in, in journalistic impartiality?
Okay, so. Jonny says not to tell him how to do his job, since he doesn’t go around telling me how to bag groceries or shoot people — which is a fu— a freaking lie, what about that thing last — well, anyway. Now he’s scribbling something about the inherent and — move your hand, I can’t read that — the inherent and inescapable lie of the possibility of lack of bias, and also he says that he’s not the one who called the Toy Soldier daring. Yeah, okay, well if you didn’t, then who did?
[A muffled, echoing voice can be heard faintly in the background, saying,]
"I Did!"
What? …..Khoshek?
Shut up, Jonny. No, I know you can’t talk, but you’re — he’s laughing at me again, listeners — okay, I see why you do that so much, makes you feel powerful, doesn’t it? But they’re my listeners now. But it’s not ridiculous — nothing lives up in the vents but Khoshek, and that cat has tentacles, why shouldn’t he talk?
"If He Does, He’s Been Very Quiet About It, Old Thing!"
Right. Well — hey, how about a word from our sponsors?
[The live broadcast cuts, and is replaced by a pre-recorded message in the usual radio host’s voice.]
Are you tired of the daily grind? Does every day feel pretty much like the one before? Do you feel tired, stressed, or irritable for some portion of most days? Consider: Walking Out Into The Desert And Climbing Down Into That Big Dark Hole.
You know the one. it looks like a hole in the ground, but somehow both darker and bluer, with shadows that seem to stretch toward you, calling you, welcoming you. Maybe it’s time to listen to them. Give your sadness to the pit. Give your anger to the pit. Give your credit score and social security number to the pit.
[Live broadcast resumes.]
Right! On to headlines.
The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna missed bowling practice last night because — wait, what do you mean Aurora is missing?
Nastya says that Aurora is fine. Sure, she has not been seen hovering above their shared home for several days, and her consciousness has not possessed the coffee maker so that they could have breakfast together in longer still, and sure, Nastya misses her, but that doesn’t mean that she’s missing. Aurora is away, Nastya says, on business. This is part of the plan, Nastya says, but then she refuses to clarify what that plan might be about or for. Nastya missed bowling practice, yes, but she says that it’s simply because she had a headache, and not because she was scanning the skies like a sailor’s wife on a widow’s walk might scan the horizon for signs of sails.
If you see Aurora — a hundreds-of-foot-tall gleaming spaceship who somehow exists within our atmosphere when reason says that she should be crushed by earth’s gravity — maybe call Nastya and tell her?
In foreign policy news — you know what? I’m not even going to ask — Teddy Williams, proprietor of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex says that he has received a very small and very official-looking formal declaration of war from the miniature underground city beneath lane five — which is apparently not a metaphor, Jonny. He says he received the declaration last week, but it was so tiny that it too this long to decipher the ant-like, furious writing.
When approached for comment, local scientist and prophesier of doom Raphaella la Cognizi shrieked, “Don’t we have bigger things to worry about??” and Jonny laughed because he thought she was making a joke about the tininess of the underground city and Raphaella almost had a panic attack.
Raphaella says that the ground is shifting beneath our feet, and also that she would seriously consider leaving town except that she’s been given to understand that her not-death via gunshot wound — sorry, Raphaella — is contingent on her not leaving city limits. She says that this place which cradles and nurtures us will hold us all even tighter as it crumbles and that Tim — that I should leave while I can? I’m not—
…
In preparation for the Toy Soldier’s trial, the investigative hearing on the legitimacy of mayor-elect and local mob boss Ashes O’Reilly’s election was cut short yesterday. “We all know what happened to the evidence,” said scout-master and sitting judge Carmilla, tapping thoughtfully at the tip of one fang with the end of her long and naturally blood-red talon, “Which really reads as much like an admission of guilt as anything.”
“Objection!” shouted O’Reilly, who has been representing themself in court, against both medical and legal advice. “Circumstantial. Hearsay!”
“Sustained,” said Carmilla, nearly drowned out by Scarlet Regina, representing the prosecution, who shouted “Off with their head!”
The trial will resume after the more popular and sensational trial of the Toy Soldier for war crimes and unpaid parking tickets has concluded, and the public is no longer paying attention to the intricacies of the legal system.
Finally, probably-still-mostly-human librarian Ivy Alexandria will be collecting documentation around the trial of the Toy Soldier for dragon crimes and other kinds of crimes — have we just not clarified what the actual charges are? Is that it? — for the archival caverns which spiderweb their way deep beneath the library, so if you have evidence, memorabilia, ephemera, or viscera which is connected to the trial, consider donating it and, in so doing, making yourself a part of history.
The trial will, as previously reported, be conducted in absentia of the defendant since no one knows where the Toy Soldier is. Right, everybody?
Thank you for listening tonight. I’ve been Gunpowder Tim filling in for Jonny D’Ville, and you have been held hostage by the fact that this town only gets one radio station. Good night, Night Vale.