(no subject)

[holdingacat]

Cecil cautiously opens the door, the wary set of his shoulders relaxing when nothing shrieks on the other side. He was pretty sure his apartment was empty but... well.

It never hurts to make sure.

Especially when you're bringing a friend.

Assured that if anything has gone astray since he left it is only because of the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In His Home, he pushes the door fully open and holds it open, smiling.

"Welcome to Night Vale - and please ignore the mess, I've tried keeping the books on their shelves but... you know how it is." He offers with a shrug, having long-ago given up on keeping the (Council-approved) books off the floor. They are scattered across the living room (it is an artistic pattern, very meaningful if you happen to be an old woman. Especially if you have no face). Otherwise, it is a fairly standard apartment - a living room, with a fuzzy couch, and an old television, and an even older cabinet radio; a kitchen that is reasonably tidy and with all reflective services carefully hidden away; a bloodstone circle kept conscientiously clean; and a window out onto Old Town Night Vale, kept conspicuously clear of obstruction.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

"Oh yes, of course. I look forward to hearing it." He looks up at the lights, smiling warmly. "Fireflies?"

[holdingacat]

Cecil blinks, owlishly, at Sinric.

"Who..." He starts, sounding completely bewildered. "Who sets flies on fire?"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs softly. "No-one. They're insects that glow in the darkness." he points up at the lights. "I wondered if that's what they are."

[holdingacat]

Cecil raises an eyebrow at the explanation, because... well. He's heard some weird things in his time, but glowing insects?

"Noooo... I don't think so." He tries to make it a serious-sounding answer, smothering the giggles (glowing bugs, hee!) but...

Well.

He tries, anyway.

"Have you known a lot of glowing insects?" He asks, as they turn another corner. Down the road, a broadcasting antenna reaches up into the sky. Closer by is the friendly neon of the Moonlite All-Nite Diner, a building that doesn't look like they bothered to update the decor since the '50s.

[thewidewideworld]

"In the Venad kingdom, at the end of the season of monsoons. They would rise from the grasslands like little stars of green. It was beautiful to behold." Sinric doesn't seem to notice Cecil's disbelief.

[holdingacat]

Cecil wonders if this is the same place Sinric claims to have seen mountains, but... well. It's mean to tease people about their delusions. Mountains aren't real, after all. So he shoulders open the door to the Moonlite All-Nite Diner, his features lit in unearthly green from the neon for a moment before stepping inside. There's a young woman behind the counter, pouring coffee - "Hey there Cecil, Interloper. Take a seat, I'll be right there." - she smiles, then hustles off to deliver her coffee, the branches growing out of her chest swaying with the movement, a few ripe peaches peeking out from between the leaves.

"Cecil. Interloper." There's an older man seated at the counter, sun tanned and rough, his baseball cap declaring his love for the Night Vale Scorpions, briefly nodding his hellos.

"John." Cecil nods back, politely not interrupting the man's communion with coffee and pie.

There is a man who is not short, and a man who is not tall, both quietly sitting in a booth in the far corner of the diner, both in suits that could fit a little better, both wearing sunglasses indoors. Neither of them call a greeting. Cecil doesn't appear to have seen them. The waitress is serving them both coffee.

There's a woman - too young to be considered old, too old to be considered young - sitting in another booth, tackling a sandwich and a heaping plate of fries. She's dressed professionally, with a press badge similar to Cecil's draped around her neck. There's a pair of highly polished hatchets propped up next to her on the bench.

Cecil motions to a third booth, thankfully empty as far as can be determined.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric watches the peach with open fascination, answering each greeting with a warm and happy smile. "Hello."

He cranes to admire the hatchets. "Lovely axes. Very shiny."

He takes a seat, still craning about. He's clearly taking in all the strange and wondrous things. "What do you like best to eat here?" He ask Cecil.

[holdingacat]

The woman smiles, and it's a professional smile one expects to see plastered in an ad somewhere. Except... except. Except there's a feral edge that isn't quite right. She pulls out a notebook and scribbles to herself, narrating her note as she writes.

"Interloper... appreciates... journalistic rigor..." She mutters. Cecil looks wary (he's never been personally effected by her rampages, but it's still a memorable event none-the-less) but takes his seat.

"Well, I think the strawberry pie is quite good, and the coffee's not bad, really. They make an invisible pie, supposedly one of the best in Night Vale. But there's loads of things - salads and sandwiches and breakfast foods... err. I know that back in the bar there were... well..." He leans across the table to whisper. "Wheat and wheat byproducts."

He thumps back into his seat, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the two suited and sunglass-wearing patrons.

"But of course we don't have any of that here."

[thewidewideworld]

"As much as invisible pie is intriguing, it's winter where I've come from and the allure of strawberries is powerful indeed."

[holdingacat]

The waitress bustles up, pot of coffee in hand.

"Now, I already know you want some of this, dear," She states assuredly, even as Cecil flips over the mug in front of him and scootches it in her direction. "And would you be having some too, honey?" She asks Sinric as she pours, quick and efficient.

[thewidewideworld]

"Please? I would love some." He mirrors Cecil's gesture, turning the mug. "I don't drink much coffee but I would love to try yours."

[holdingacat]

A second cup of coffee is poured, the first already clutched between Cecil's hands like a lifeline.

"Now, you two know what you want to order, or should I give you a few more minutes?" She asks, not bothering with a pad and pencil since writing implements are, of course, banned.

"I'll have a slice of your strawberry pie with whipped cream, please." Cecil orders politely, between sips of steaming-hot coffee.

[thewidewideworld]

"May I have the same please?" Sinric smiles, thanking her for the coffee. It's too bitter for his tastes but he recognises the pot on the table as sugar.

[holdingacat]

"Sure thing dearie. Be back in a jiffy!" Reclaiming the coffee pot, she hustles off to get their orders in.

The man who is not short and the man who is not tall mutter to each other in cryptic phrases.

The journalist with her hatchets mutters to herself in cryptic phrases.

John is too busy with his pie to mutter anything.

"So, what do you think of our little town so far? Everything you hoped for?" Cecil asks, not muttering because that is unbecoming of a professional radio host. Also because now he has coffee, and that makes everything at least 85% better.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric cocks his head, frowning as he tries to make out the words or pattern to their muttering.

At the question he smiles brightly. "It's wondrous! Thank you for showing me around. It's so very different from all I've known. Even in my travels, I've never seen a place like this."

[holdingacat]

Cecil beams, pleased by praise of his beloved town.

"Oh, I am so glad, small-town life doesn't appeal to everyone after all, but I honestly couldn't imagine living in a more populous place..." He rattles between bites of strawberry pie, seguing into a tale about that one time that Wednesday was cancelled but someone forgot to report it so they all lived through Wednesday anyway only to find out it didn't count and...

He breaks off in a yelp when a small dead-eyed child appears at his elbow, holding a note.

[thewidewideworld]

"I've lived in cities most of my life but I can see the charm in living in a small community."

He listens with a warm smile. As usual, half the time he has no idea what Cecil is staying but he loves to hear it anyway. And the strawberry pie is so wonderful. It's been a while since he had strawberries.

The dead-eyed child is a surprise to him too but is more remarkable for the fact they surprised Cecil. "A messenger?"

[holdingacat]

"From City Council." Cecil agrees as he extracts the letter from the child's hand gingerly. Equally gingerly he pats the child's head, once, twice.

The kid doesn't move.

"You know, I never know what to do with them..." Cecil grumbles as he opens the letter and scans the contents, "They just stand there and... oh. Oh dear. 'The City Council requires an emergency broadcast of the public radio system upon receipt of this letter.' and here's its signed 'City Council' but as if many hands attempted to sign the same thing at once in the same space... geeze, it's almost ripped the paper." He explains as he goes. "I have to get to the station, and someone will have to deal with... nope, its gone." He interrupts himself when he realizes that the child is no longer in sight.

[thewidewideworld]

"Would you like me to come with you? Or would it be easier if I went back to the bar?" Sinric offers, not wanting to be in the way.

[holdingacat]

"No, no, you should come, it might not be safe in the streets and the station is so close." Cecil insists after knocking back the last of his coffee in a gesture entirely too practiced to be a rare occurrence.

He then hisses 'check, please' into the coffee mug.

In a move he clearly considers entirely normal, he lifts up the sugar container to find the check, scans it quickly, then rustles up a few dollar bills in payment to place on top to pay, replacing the sugar.

Something gulps from under the sugar. Cecil stands as the woman with the hatchets storms out of the diner, trailed by her own dead-eyed child.

"I really hope it isn't Street Cleaners again, or a Sand Storm, ugh."

[thewidewideworld]

"As you say." Sinric finished his pie, leaving the coffee. "I've seen sand-storms before, I understand how dangerous they can be." He watches the dead-eyed child, following Cecil out.

[holdingacat]

Cecil reaches back as they leave the diner, catching Sinric's hand before sprinting off towards the thankfully nearby station. Above the station, far above, the red light atop the broadcast tower blinks like a baleful eye. Above the college, something glows, growing larger by the minute.

At the station door, a young woman in a bright red t-shirt braces the door open, frantically waving when the pair come into sight.

"CECIL! I mean! Mister Palmer, sir, Station Management is growling and there's smoke and..." She yelps in a state of near-panic. This is, of course, normal for interns. It's part of the learning process!