milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

cecil (wtnv),
x-23

(no subject)

(OOM: In which John Peters, you know, the farmer? He makes a report)

(OOM: In which Cecil makes a discovery)

Cecil wanders in to the bar, idly scratching at the constellation of pinpoint marks on his left upper arm as he heads to the Bar, his shirtsleeves rolled up unevenly - the right at his elbow, the left shoved up almost to his shoulder and then clearly forgotten there. A few minutes of conversation later, a delighted Cecil settles at a nearby table with a cup of properly made coffee and a stack of books.

A stack of books entirely about pet cats.

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Did someone say cats?

X, black-haired, green-eyed, and dressed entirely in black, drops into a seat across from Cecil -- obviously she came from the rafters -- and leans forward.

A little.

"Hello."

Beat.

"You are getting a cat?"

Cecil doesn't startle, almost as if he is used to dark-clad people appearing out of nowhere.

(He is.)

"Hello!" Cecil returns the greeting with a grin, which fades when he does his customary self-check whenever a member of the sheriff's secret police appears. "I'm sorry, I was told I could read these without needing to bother a Librarian - Was that incorrect?"

Gallantly he doesn't out Bar as his source of information and books.

X tilts her head a little, studying him carefully.

Then --

"Yes. That is accurate."

Beat.

"You are worried?"

"Oh, I mean, not very? I've been in for re-education before, but I have plans tonight." Cecil explains, breezily. "To answer your question, yes, I believe a cat has adopted me. To answer the question you didn't ask, I'm Cecil Palmer, nice to meet you."

"Re-education is painful. A lot."

She's studying him more closely now.

"I am X. Hello."

Beat.

"I have two cats. If you want to ask me questions."

"Oh yes, see, I've always thought of myself as a dog person, and I've certainly never had a cat before. Do you gradually build up an immunity to the toxin on their dorsal spines? I don't mind taking the antitoxin injections, but it would be something to look forward to." Cecil fails to comment on the painfulness of re-education. Either he is taking that as given... or he's forgotten about it already.

X frowns a little. What kind of cat is he talking about? Maybe it is an alien one. Those happen.

"If it not not fatally potent at low concentrations. A sample would help."

Beat.

"If you have one."

Cecil laughs ruefully, absently rubbing his exposed arm.

"No, not immediately lethal, though the few minutes it took me to get the first aid kit were a bit exciting." He admits. "I know, rookie mistake."

X reaches out to pat the arm he is not rubbing.

Carefully.

"It is okay. You can learn."

"Ah, thank you, permission is always nice." Cecil replies completely sincerely, with a brilliant grin. "What about food, I can't raid the staff fridge forever."

X considers this.

Then --

"For you? Or for the cat?"

She pauses for another moment, working out what she would call her best advice.

"Cat food comes in cans. It is not terrible. But raw meat is better. Not fish."

"Mmmm. Canned might be better, it's best not to tempt Station Management by leaving raw meat around." Cecil notes, considering. "But if I can ever get him out of the men's bathroom, I could always switch it up."

"You can get it here," X offers. "The meat. If you come here from the bathroom."

Beat.

"Then you can throw it. To him. And people would not know it was you."

"Oh, they wouldn't care where it is from. Anonymous gifts are taken just as readily as those with known givers." Cecil laughs, evidently thinking that this is some sort of very hilarious joke. "And then they'd be out of their office, and that could be... exciting."

Terrifying.

Soul-destroying.

One of those.

Eh.

X considers this, tilting her head a little. It's something about the way he says 'exciting'.

"They are dangerous? Station Management."

Cecil blinks back, his expression somewhere between confused and amused by her trick question.

"We are all dangerous, in our own ways."

X shrugs, one-shouldered and quick.

"Not to me."

Beat.

"Most of the time."

"Well, of course." Cecil agrees, unphased. The Sheriff's Secret Police can take care of themselves for the most part, and X is clearly part of a similar group. Similar enough to feel practically homey, anyway.

X does her best to make people feel comfortable! Well, when she remembers to try, anyway.

"You can, too?"

She's curious.

"Be dangerous?" Cecil asks, confirming, just in case he missed a hidden message somewhere. Its been known to happen. "Of course."

As his niece would say, 'duh'.

"Good."

Her voice is firm.

"Some people who come here are not."

Another pause.

"That is okay," she hastens to reassure him. "But it is also difficult. Sometimes."

"Oh, I have been told about them." Cecil hastens to assure X. "Those who could be hurt with just a look. Is there a way to discern who they are? I don't want to hurt anyone on accident."

X leans forward a little, frowning. She studies his face for a long, silent moment.

"I do not think you have laser eyes."

"... Beg pardon?" Cecil rears back a little, frowning in turn. She's not smoking his totally justified concern about an at-risk population... right?

X is still frowning.

"That is why some people do not look at other people. Concussion blasts are a problem, too."

Beat.

"And turning people to stone. But you are not doing that to me."

"Oh, oh, oh no, nothing like that," Cecil laughs as he figures out what she's getting at, "Thankfully, I'd have so much trouble getting used to something like that. No, a lovely lady here - you know, Nichola, the television producer? She said: 'And a lot of people here are from a different Earth. Like, entire states are missing, and you get the feeling that if you look at someone too hard, you might bruise them.' "

His falsetto actually comes within a decent range of mimicking her voice precisely, even if his cadence is a bit off.

"Well, as you can imagine, I hardly want to cause injury so easily." He adds, his voice plummeting back to his own natural pitch.

"It is not terrible," X offers. "My world has many people like that."

Beat.

"I think the bruising was metaphorical. It is okay. That confuses me, too. Sometimes."

X is not great with figurative language. It's a problem.

"... Oh. Oh." Cecil sighs, feeling a bit ridiculous. "Well, that's just terrible reporting."

Cecil is going to have to have words next time he sees a certain TV producer. Journalistic sloppiness is just un-called-for.

X reaches out to pat Cecil's arm again.

Once.

"You will get used to it. Probably."

Beat.

"I did."

Cecil huffs, not unlike a thoroughly ruffled bird. Something like that angry bluebird picture, you know, the one where he's just so disappointed at the world?

That, except... more Cecil.

"There is no excuse for sloppy reporting, I tell my interns this all the time."

"They listen?"

X is not dubious, exactly, but --

She has taught a lot of students a lot of things, and they are . . . stubborn.

"..." Cecil is about to say that yes, of course they listen, they listen to everything he says...

"Well. I... assume so?" The ruffled quality fades from his voice as he spreads his hands, helpless against the willfulness of the college student. "Interns, you know?"

"I have only had trainees," X offers, after a moment of thought.

"I do not think they are the same."

Maybe that's comforting!

"Possibly. I mean, you would think anyone who applies to be an intern at a community radio station would be actually interested in radio, but... eh. You take what you can get, right?" Cecil notes, wry.

"I have not done that," X says, after a moment.

"Community radio. You like it?"

Cecil lights up (not literally, except maybe he does, except probably not) and leans in.

"Community radio is one of the best things ever invented. It is the heart and soul of little towns like mine. Why, we've had a community radio station for as long as I can remember. It is important... imperative, even, for there to be community radio - how else can we come together every day, know what we need to know to survive and, dare I say it, thrive?"

"We have a diner."

X only sounds a little bit awkward.

"My neighborhood. It is where meet each other. And talk."

"Oh, I love diners. We have one in Night Vale as well - the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Makes the best invisible pie." Cecil smiles, fondly. "Between that place and Big Rico's, I'm kept from starving. I am useless in a kitchen, I really am."

"I have learned to make some things. Like spaghetti. And garlic bread."

A pause, and she considers his thoughts about pie.

"You have tried fried paradoxes here? And the multidimensional omelets."

"I have had the paradoxes, they are lovely." Cecil enthuses, with a happy hum. "I am intrigued by the omelettes. I assume they exist in more than than the standard four?"

"You can go as high as thirteen," X offers.

"I do not know what that will do to your stomach."

"Well, I am very into Science these days, and I hear it involves a lot of experimentation." Cecil beams, pushing himself up. "I'm almost out of coffee, so I'll grab an omelette with the refill. Would you like one as well? Maybe with some coffee? I was thinking of starting with five dimensions."

"I would like a root beer float," X says. "Not coffee."

Beat.

"You can put it on my tab. And the omelets. I like mine in six dimensions."

"Six dimensions, coming right up." Cecil smiles before knocking back the last of the coffee in his mug like a shot. When he heads for the Bar, he has a faint limp, clearly ignored.

Cecil returns shortly, with two plates, a full coffee mug, and a tall glass frosted with condensation and slowly dripping ice cream expertly balanced between two hands.

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