(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

[holdingacat]

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmaybe." Cecil draws out the word, as he scrutinizes the view of the sky out the window. The clock on the wall, which is currently showing the time as 3:17, is completely ignored.

"We can play it by ear, but I wouldn't want an attack by the hooded figures to ruin your visit."

[thewidewideworld]

"I trust you, Cecil." Sinric smiles, holding a hand out to him. "I follow where you lead."

[holdingacat]

"In general, that is a pretty good idea, but if I do manage to walk into quicksand, you probably shouldn't do that." Cecil warns, taking Sinric's hand and snagging his press pass off the hook by the door (just in case!) before opening the front door.

The heat outside is just this side of oppressive, almost a physical force pressing itself up against exposed skin like an overly affectionate cat. The sky is still a swirl of color from the trailing ends of sunset, only interrupted by the inevitable spots of void.

"Evening, Cecil." Says the potted plant near the stairwell. Cecil waves, his hand slightly bloody from locking the door behind him.

"Evening, Sam." He replies politely.

"INTERLOPER!" Sam the Definitely-A-Potted-Plant-And-Not-A-Member-Of-The-Secret-Police adds, the friendly local greeting for outsiders.

[thewidewideworld]

The heat washes over Sinric as he follows, shaking his hair back to look up at the wild and wonderful sky. "Oh Cecil! It's beautiful."

The greeting from the plant surprises him but as someone who has spent years in Milliways, he's learnt to accept strange things. "Hello Sam. My name is Sinric. I'm a friend of Cecil's."

[holdingacat]

The Secret Policeman who is definitely doing an amazing job disguising himself as a potted plant sighs.

"Now, Cecil..." He starts, rebuke and disappointment in equal measures dragging at his words.

"No! Wait, sorry, I've got it right here, just..." Cecil digs through his pockets for a moment before producing a slightly tattered form, waving it at the Definitely-A-Potted-Plant. "Here, sorry, thought I'd mailed this."

There's a considering moment from Sam, and then another sigh, this one more lenient.

"More promptness next time, huh? Get that in the mail tomorrow, you hear? You two have fun now." Cecil tucks the form back in his pocket and hurries off towards the stairwell.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric follows, quick and light on his feet. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to get you in any trouble."

[holdingacat]

"Oh, I'm not in trouble. If I was in trouble, I'd probably be tazed by now, and in handcuffs, and on my way to a re-education facility. Seeing as I'm none of those things, I must not be in trouble." He reasons, unruffled as he trots down the stairs. "Unless I'm hallucinating now, which... well, it's not a bad hallucination."

[thewidewideworld]

"I see what you see. At least I believe so. Which means if you are hallucinating, we both are." Sinric reasons. He turns about at they walk, taking it all in.

[holdingacat]

There's a lot to see - the Night Vale Community College (with a banner proudly hung across one of the many pathways through campus proclaiming 'Home of the Spiderwolves', and a pack of undergraduates who howl 'INTERLOPER!' in five-part chorus. Cecil waves at them cheerily.); Dark Owl Records the independent music shop (the young woman lounging in the doorway mutters 'Interloper, or, like, whatever. Cecil, come get your stupid Woody Guthrie album already.', and Cecil promises he will.); Cheryl's Little Princess Dance Studio (with it's small horde of tutu'ed children swarming around them, shouting 'Interloper!' in piping voices.)... and there they encounter a problem.

Cecil has a tutu'ed child attached to his leg. It seems rather determined to stay there, and... Cecil isn't sure what to do with this sort of child either. Errr.

[thewidewideworld]

It takes Sinric a while to get past the strange yells that follow him but if Cecil doesn't seem bothered, Sinric can deal with it.

The music store fascinates him, peeking in the window to admire the many album covers. "Who is Woody Guthrie?"

The little girl makes Sinric smile. "Hello? Are you learning to dance?"

[holdingacat]

"Oh, he's an amazing pop artist, I listened to him when I was in college." Cecil explains, pitching his voice to carry over the woman's sudden and reflexive complaint that 'Guthrie was over, like, so last week, why isn't he listening to the bee albums like she said, you're just, like, impossible'. It's an easier explanation than 'why a small child has attached itself to my leg', something Cecil has no answer for.

The child looks up at Sinric with the natural skepticism of children everywhere.
"It's for the Summer Concert." Comes the piping reply, like she can't quite believe she has to remind this adult about such an important event.

[thewidewideworld]

"I would love to listen to his music some time."

Sinric listens, ignoring the girl's tone. It is the nature of children to know better to adults. "Could you tell me what you're performing for the Summer Concert?"

[holdingacat]

"It's about Mauerbauertraurigkeit." She informs him, clearly feeling herself a subject matter expert. "It's an interpretive dance."

Cecil awkwardly attempts to free his leg, but... no dice. She's got a grip like a python.

[thewidewideworld]

"I don't know that kind of dance. Would you show me?"

[holdingacat]

She brightens precipitously, even as a nearby teacher groans. It's too late, however, the scales of fate have been tipped. The one-child wreaking ball first shoves a startled Cecil over, and then plows into her classmates with a ruthlessness unexpected in one so tiny.

"Seems her vocabulary classes are going well." Cecil muses from the pavement, over the sounds of children yelping.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric can't help but laugh, reaching down to help Cecil up. "A very passionate performer."

[holdingacat]

"She's sure to be quite a hit - literally." Cecil agrees, wry, as he dusts off his pants. "Let's make a break for it before she makes a full lap."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric giggles and bounces on, offering Cecil his arm. "Lets."

[holdingacat]

Cecil loops his arm through while keeping a wary eye on the tiny human cannonball - no doubt that child will have a fantastic future in the high school football team.

Across the street, a Ralphs' illuminated sign flickers on. The parking lot is fairly abandoned, though there appears to be a hole in the middle.

There's humming coming from the hole.

Cecil considers the path onward, squints at something down the road, and makes a turn. Ahead, the grounds crew for City Hall has already laid out the velvet drapes.

"The City Council must be wanting to leave early tonight." Cecil muses, an uneasy feeling in the back of his mind - he hasn't heard of any disasters looming (and generally he knows, he has to, right?), but... well. It pays to keep a close eye on the City Council.

Circumspectly, of course.

(OOC: Sorry, I return! I blame the Sheriff's Secret Police.)

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leans into Cecil, following his eyeline. "The building is rather impressive."

[holdingacat]

"It's certainly... something." Cecil agrees, unable to pick from the various descriptors a favorite word. With multiple stories and dark facing, it's hardly something the eye skips over. With its importance to the town, being the center of local government, its usefulness cannot be understated. As the home of both the Department of Re-education and of the City Council, the sense of foreboding it elicits knows no depths.

But the tulips outside, in their raggedy unkept bed, are cheerful. And the statues near the door, incredible life-like statues in clear glass boxes, depicting two Scouts in full regalia are... really lifelike.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric seems to ignore the foreboding and pauses to admire the tulips.

[holdingacat]

Cecil isn't worried.

No.

Maybe a bit... concerned.

Just a little.

He keeps a wary eye on the groundsmen who are setting out the velvet drapes, and chatters nervously about tulips.

"The women's auxiliary planted those two years ago, did a great job of it, haven't really been back to do any upkeep and it turns out the gardener doesn't know anything about tulips so really it's something of a miracle they're alive at all and they do look rather pretty don't they?"

[thewidewideworld]

"Very pretty." he returns to Cecil's side, happy to be lead. "But then all flowers of their kind are a gentle miracle. Vanishing into the soil only to rise again as the sun warms the soil." he turns his face up to the sun. "And this place wouldn't lack for warmth."

[holdingacat]

"Noooooo, that is one thing we never lack for. Well, except for those days the sun doesn't rise at all, right? Those days are different." Cecil rambles on, relaxing more the further they get from any exit points of City Hall. Up ahead, at the crossroad, there's an old shop-front with bars across the window.

These bars, however, are inside the window. There's a woman visible, inside, hefting a flamethrower.