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Gabriel has been on Earth a long, long, long time, and he’s seen his fair share of interesting places. Atlantis was a lot of fun, before he may or may not have caused something to happen that caused something to happen that caused something to happen and everything went south. Pompeii was great too, what with its scenic mountains and… warm temperatures. And he could wax poetic about Connecticut.
Nowhere he’d found was anywhere near as interesting as Night Vale.
For one, it’s completely off-reality. If you managed to bottle strangeness, and used that distilled weirdness to create an injection of freakiness, and infected a whole town, and gave them all hallucinogenic drugs, and then somehow managed to get rid of the laws of physics, you’d get Night Vale. Gabriel loves it not only for its weirdness, but also for its total acceptance of said weirdness. Hooded figures? Build them a dog park! Floating cats in your bathroom? Name them and keep them as pets! Glowing clouds drop animal carcasses all over town? Well, glow clouds are people too, and equally deserving of seats on the PTA. The list never ends.
Of course, Gabriel also has friends in Night Vale. There’s that guy out on the edge of town, John Peterson—y’know, the farmer—and Old Woman Josie, who lets him stay at her house so long as he does a bit of cleaning now and again. There’s also Dana, who is the most badass woman to ever be badass. She’s the reason he’s acquainted with the voice of Night Vale, a lovely man with impossible-to-remember features and a voice like chocolate syrup.
Gabriel is sitting in Cecil’s office at the moment, trying to chew quietly while Cecil reads off the morning news. Gabriel takes a bite of his candy bar and Cecil shoots him a dirty look, eyes mildly red, which probably means he’s getting irritated. Gabriel moves his shoulder up and down in a dramatic silent sigh and puts the candy down.
“And now, the weather,” Cecil says into the mic, and moves his headphones down to hang around his neck. He presses a button on the console and twangy country music begins pouring from the speakers.
“Do you really have to play that?” Gabriel asks, wrinkling his nose in mild disgust.
Cecil crosses his arms over his purple tie. “Carlos likes it,” he sniffs.
Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Right, your boyfriend, the one with the perfect hair.”
“His hair is fantastic,” Cecil says warningly, raising one eyebrow. Gabriel flips a hand, nodding noncommittally. Cecil rolls his eyes and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He offers a small photograph to Gabriel, who takes it carefully after miracling away the leftover chocolate from his fingers. “See his hair?”
Gabriel stares down at the picture and has to admit that the man in it is, in fact, exceptionally good-looking. His hair is dark and flowing, down to his shoulders. He’s obviously not Caucasian, though Gabriel can’t quite pinpoint exactly where he’s from. In the photo, he’s grinning and laughing at the camera—probably at whoever is behind the camera, probably Cecil—and has a bow in his hair, pulling it back from his expressive dark eyes.
“He is quite pretty,” Gabriel allows, and Cecil looks satisfied as he tucks the photo back into his wallet. “But mine’s prettier.”
“I didn’t know you had someone,” Cecil says coldly. Gabriel is about to speak when a bell goes off, signaling that the weather is almost over, and that Cecil will be back on air in about ten seconds. Cecil pulls his headphones back up around his ears and leans into his microphone. “This just in, Night Vale, Mayor Pamela Winchell has just called a press conference. We are unsure as to what this press conference is about, but we do know that it must have been important, as it is rumored to have concluded ten minutes before it began. Sources say that the Mayor walked up to the front of the room, opened her gaping maw, and emitted a sound not unlike the dialup sound from when we all had computers instead of ingrained psychic abilities. She then left the room.”
Gabriel doesn’t question how Cecil knows this. If he didn’t live in Night Vale, Cecil probably would have been a prophet. As it is, Heaven doesn’t have much jurisdiction in Night Vale, and neither does Hell. It’s another reason Gabriel likes it.
“And now, a prerecorded word from out sponsor,” Cecil announces, and presses another button. He immediately turns back to Gabriel, sliding his headphones off once more. “Tell me about your girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or inter-dimensional thoughtform. Whichever gender you typically prefer.”
“Boyfriend,” Gabriel confirms. He snaps his fingers and pulls a photograph of Sam out of thin air, offering it to Cecil, who takes it gently. “His name is Sam.”
Cecil nods in appreciation. “Nice hair.”
“Isn’t it?” Gabriel says around a grin. Cecil nods again and hands the picture back. Gabriel tosses it over his shoulder, and it vanishes before hitting the linoleum tile. “It tickles, when it touches your more sensitive parts.”
Gabriel grins wickedly, expecting an outburst of indignation or amused disgust, but Cecil nods in agreement. “I know what you mean.”
And Gabriel really doesn’t want to go there, so he changes the subject to cleaner things. “I put it in ponytails when he sleeps. He grumbles at me about it, but it’s cute.”
“Carlos pulls his hair back when he’s working with more delicate chemicals,” Cecil says. “He usually just uses a rubber band, but that pulls. Sometimes they get stuck, and I have to help him get them out with knives.”
Gabriel eyes him, confused and slightly scared, but the expression on Cecil’s face remains placid and open. He chooses to let it slide, and Cecil goes back on air.
“This just in, listeners. A trio of strange men has just arrived in Night Vale. They claim to be here to ‘save us from the monsters,’ which doesn’t make much sense, since we all know that the monsters will leave us alone, so long as we continue to offer monthly sacrifices of tunafish and fingernail clippings. These men seem confused by us, and repeatedly proclaim themselves to be ‘the Winchesters,’ saying ‘We saved the world once. What do you mean you have angels here?’”
Gabriel chokes on his own saliva and proceeds to laugh until he’s crying while Cecil sends him the dirtiest look he can manage, eyes bright red and brow furrowed in suppressed rage. Gabriel manages to get a handle on it and motions for Cecil to continue.
“One man wears a trench coat and speaks with a voice like gravel on asphalt. Another has impossibly green eyes that are covered by a film of self-loathing and sadness, walking about in a tangible aura of grief and pain. The third is unnaturally tall with flowing, perfect hair, according to witnesses, but of course his hair cannot be nearly as perfect as my loving Carlos’s.”
Gabriel has to bite his tongue to keep from collapsing into helpless giggles. Cecil growls at him—actually growls—and he clams up quickly.
“And now, a message from out other sponsor,” Cecil says, and presses a button on his console. He gets up, looking fully prepared to tear Gabriel into atoms and scatter him into the north winds. Gabriel vanishes before he can try, reappearing in the backseat of a black car on the next street over and giving the driver a near-heart attack. The man in the passenger seat just laughs and tucks his hair behind his ears to get it out of his eyes, while a man in a lab coat watches them with bored eyes from the crosswalk, hair pulled back with a rubber band and hopelessly tangled around it.