Author's Note: I keep trying to write either a ficclet collection, or a single long-fic. Neither seems to be happening.
Warnings: References episode 29. Inappropriate, sexual, and arguably stupid humor. But, you know. It's Night Vale. Woo~ 8D Cecilos. Recycled sponsor sections from the show proper because I thought the mental image of Cecil hitting a bunch of wrong buttons and inadvertently playing repeats was funny. At least in context. But maybe that's just me. OH WELL.
Dedication: For Hannah. And Jenny! And also Rachel. Dunno if she's a convert yet, but we can't forget about Rachel. :3
Without a Shadow of a Doubt
WTNV Transcripts: February 2nd, Broadcast #532aX0q4.$z9
This just in, dear listeners: it appears that Night Vale's unnamed, but increasingly prolific feelings delivery service has been making special rounds this past week, working overtime in honor of Groundhog Day. Easily the most romantic day of the year here in our fair city, the popular service has taken it upon itself to help couples, singles, and an uncomfortably large subset of sexually aware pre-teens celebrate this holiday in an emotionally fulfilling way. As always, their services are free, convenient, and inescapable.
A number of attentive and arguably shameless listeners have already called in to report unexpected, and only mildly-inopportune deliveries of "unbridled lust," "aching sexual hunger," and a "pulsating, physically-painful need to breed." One caller—in a series of staccato gasps and moans—stated that the staff of the Ralph's earlier received a bulk shipment of "oh God oh God please please please harder," resulting in a temporary lapse of judgment and a very large mess in aisle 6. Shoppers, a Ralph's spokesperson initially stated, should be aware that the establishment has temporarily "sold out" of Crisco, olive oil, cucumbers, Starburst brand candy, and canned tuna. However, when attending reporters responded to this announcement with little more than glazed eyes and a series of yearning stares—all of which focused primarily on moving lips and flicking tongue—, the spokesperson made a subsequent amendment, adding that you may still see these items for sale on the shelves, you just definitely do not want to buy them, because You Don't Know Where They've Been.
"Or maybe you do want to buy them. Maybe you're into that sort of thing," the salesperson continued in a husky drawl, undulating gently against the podium and looking far more interested in the shape of her microphone than was either appropriate or necessary. "In which case, there will be a 20% increase in price. As a punishment. For you bad, bad boys and girls."
The spokesperson then proceeded to inform the gathered crowd that she had her cell phone set to vibrate, would soon be slipping it into her pants, and urged anyone with a question to text her. "Or call, and let the phone ring. Just let it ring. Yeah, baby, like that… oh, just like that."
Speaking of, listeners, Intern Jenny has asked me to politely remind you that, when calling in tips to the station, it is of vital importance that you speak using a human language, and do not simply breathe heavily into your receiver for thirty silent seconds while fumbling with something that sounds like a belt buckle. While we here at Night Vale Community Radio do, of course, share a similar appreciation for oxygen, and also revel daily in the wonder of our continually functioning lungs and belts, playing an awkward, one-sided version of twenty questions with each gruffly panting caller is both tedious and time consuming. If you are simply interested in hearing the dulcet tones of my voice echo more intimately in the warm chambers of your quivering ear, perhaps consider purchasing headphones, or earbuds.
And with that, let us turn our attention to the— Oh! Oh, listeners, you will never guess who just appeared in the doorway of my recording booth! Or perhaps you will, if you are, as the City Council has mandated that you be, loyal followers of our humble broadcast. Let me give you a hint, regardless: this special visitor is wearing a handsomely-rumpled lab coat… Is running his shaking, but still richly mocha hands through his flawless, ruffled hair… and has masterfully-sculpted cheekbones, both of which are coated in skin that is notably pinker than usual: that same, warm hue as the rapidly beating heart of a half-starved jackal. Or of the Glow Cloud before it spits dead pheasants upon our heads. Even from my distant vantage point, I can see that his melted chocolate eyes, like Godiva-sponsored supernovas, are dark and desperate and searching, their pupils dilating in a way reminiscent of the pulsing void above. But, of course, infinitely more splendiferous.
…did you guess who, dear listeners? Did you guess… perfect Carlos? If so, you are so, so right! This city's—and this reporter's— favorite and most significantly stunning scientist is right here in our little studio, looking notably frazzled, but even more exquisite for it. What quotidian dangers might have merited a personal visit to our studio…? Perhaps he is here to give that interview I have been so earnestly suggesting over supper these past few months? Or mayb— oh, he's not even going to wait for Intern Jenny to get him a visitor's badge, is he? Well! I do appreciate an eager guest! Yes, he's just barging right into my booth—hello, sweetheart— and now he's—!
Oh. O-oh! Ohhh… G-goodness, how coincidental…! Listeners, b-based on what I can… can gather from t-the words being… ah— ever-so-sweetly mumbled into my— hah!— embarrassingly ticklish n-neck, (ahem) C- Carlos recently received a… a special delivery a-at his l- lah- lab…! He— oh, dear, now he's… spe— I—um—c-can no longer f-follow, l-listeners, as Carlos has an adorable habit of… of, ah, sp-speaking to me in Spanish that I d-do not understand, but sounds so melodic and irresistible in tha- that caramel voice of hi… his… h-hah… oh my sta—AH—rs, Carlos! Oh, well, l-let us now go, flustered and q-quickly losing coherency t-to a— a prerecorded message fromoursponsors—!
"The City Council—in association with a vague, yet menacing government agency—would like to remind you that the infant mortality rate, as well as the adult mortality rate, has hit an all-time high this year! Sudden sinkholes, rips in the time-space continuum, and recurring outbreaks of polio are cutting tragically short the lives of many Night Vale citizens. This unfortunate truth is creating a real problem, beyond even the obvious issue of where to bury so many bodies. As you know, Night Vale needs to maintain a minimum of 50,000 humanoid residents in order to keep its status as a city! Any less, and we'd lose government funding, tourism opportunities, and proper meals for the wolves in our Petting Zoo and Makeshift Carnival. Besides which, wouldn't you sleep better at night knowing that our population count was closer to 100,000, considering that the statistical probability of your own horrific demise is significantly decreased merely by the existence of more people? That's what we thought. So this Groundhog Day, make sure to protect yourself, and the future of your remaining loved ones, by not using protection! Remember: STDs are treatable— sometimes curable!— but your current, statistically imminent death isn't. We need us some babies, Night Vale. We need us some babies."
—h my God, oh my God, oh my God—
('This just in,' hmm, querido…?)
Nngh, n-no, no dirty talk, I c-can't…! C-can't…!
(Do you… Do you want me to use the pen again…?)
Oh—! P-please! Please, don't tease me, don— oh! Oh, there! There, again! Ah—!
C-Carlos, oh, Carlos, oh—oh, shi— andnowanotherwordfromoursponosers!
"Tired of your home? Sick of comf—Scientists and science in general would like to remind you that—"
(C-Cecil…! Querido, your—your hands are still o-on your switchbo— oh…!)
H-hah ah— ah, Carlooos…! M-more, please, fas—!
"Aaaaaah hmmmmmmm buh-boo doooooo— lly you can apply the simple test of seeing if it is there. If it is there, it exists! If not, it probably doesn't. But it might just be currently existing somewhere else! Existence is tricky, the scientists say. Research sho— ment has been brought to you by—"
"—Ricco's pizza. Listeners, we are proud to have Big Ricco's as a sponsor of our show. You will not find a better pizza joint in all of Night Vale than Big Ricco's. Just the other night, I stopped by Big Ricco's. I was in the mood—nd money for this airtime? We understand you are confused. But: hole, vacant lot, Ralph's, huddle, Us. For the low-low price, act today. Or tomorrow. Not Wednesday. Wednesday is no good for— entists and science in general would like to remind you— ed of your home? Sick of comfort? Come—"
Aaah—! H-hah… haa…
…! O-oh… A— a happy Groundhog Day indeed, beloved listeners…! Why, I cannot remember the last time I was blessed enough to commemorate the holiday so… so vigorously. And with so perfect a partner. I certainly hope that all of you, out there, are as fortunate in life and in love as I. And if not, you may still find someone—or multiple someones— oiled up and ready to celebrate in aisle 6 of the Ralph's. The more the merrier, as they say. At least, in regards to ritual sacrifice. I'm fairly certain that the saying could apply here, too, though.
And, if you will permit me another moment, sweet listeners, I would like to again offer my own, personal, ringing endorsement for the unnamed feelings delivery service, which we here in Night Vale are fortunate enough to enjoy. How generous of them to spoil us like this! How kind-hearted and festive! I certainly hope that someone discovers where to leave yelp feedback soon, because after this, I have a glowing review I'd love to pen on their behalf. Pun intended, dear listeners.
But for now, let us curl into that which is most precious: each other. Familiar arms, venerated legs... Foreheads dewed and dappled with brackish perspiration, lips bruised and taut with smiles. Let us savor this connection, this warmth, that has once again saved us. These moments of genuine affection, which have been deemed a worthy offering to the spirits of Groundhog Day—enough to appease, to entertain, and to convince them to hold off burying our world in ice and snow for one more year. And so, comforted by the knowledge that it will speak only of dryness and heat for the next 364 days, let us go to: