milliways_bar | (no subject)

Cisco approaches the bar, hopping up onto a stool after his own caffeine fix.

When he sees Cecil's coffee chugging though, Cisco's eyes widen.

"Dude, do you like heart palpitations, because that's where you're headed," Cisco notes, looking the jittery man over. "You better cut that with something or you're going to shake yourself apart and then crash like a meteor, man."

"A brilliant fiery explosion that changes the course of human history forever?" Cecil asks in his voice like distant traffic, wide-eyed (possibly due to the coffee, more likely due to the mental image, probably due to both), clutching his mug closely.

The same mug that has PetCo's logo with the tagline 'Petco: Where Did The Pets Go?' printed on it with bold, friendly-looking letters.

"That might not be too bad."

Considering all the other options he's thought up, sure!

"Something like that, yeah," Cisco replies, chuckling at first before pausing.

"Wait... you're not serious are you? Are you from San Andreas?" Because that's a world Cisco knows where crazy stuff like that could just happen.

"Not... terribly serious." Cecil allows, because no, he doesn't actually want to go up in flames, though it's a near thing. "But I'm not from... where was that? Santa Dress?" He asks, taking a wild stab at the place name. It's... about as successful as his usual wild stabs, yep.

"I'm from Night Vale."

"San Andreas," Cisco repeats, then shakes his head to dismiss it's importance.

"Anyways, not literal meteors, but having been on a caffeine bender or two I know what it's like to hit the wall and you're heading that way quick if you keep chugging this stuff."

Cisco gestures at Cecils' drink, then asks, "What's up? Why are you downing the midnight oil?"

"Oh, this, no, it's just I usually have a cup, or two, before my show - I'm a radio show host, community radio is just wonderful you know, but of course being here I'm not getting any closer to air time and usually it takes so much longer to make a cup of coffee than it does here because Bar makes such wonderful coffee..." Eventually the ramble catches up to Cecil and he remembers that things like pauses and breathing are... well. Still things.

"Err."

He eyes his cup.

"May have had a little too much, yes. But tonight is so exciting, you see."

It's alright, Cisco is used to speed talkers (literally) so he just listens and nods.

"Mmm-hmm. So, radio show, huh? What's so exciting about tonight's show?" he asks, ordering up a basket of fries and sort of nudging one end Cecil's way.

The grease will totally soak up the caffeine. Or something. Maybe not, but it couldn't hurt for the guy to have something in his stomach besides all the java.

"Oh, not the show, though of course the show is always exciting, radio should always be exciting, but afterwards..." Cecil sighs, dreamily, clearly demonstrating how no matter how much he thinks that there's no possible way that Carlos knows about his absolutely hopeless crush (and he does so firmly believe), it's... well. It's impossible for Carlos to not know.

I mean. Look at that face.

Also look at the endless transcripts of Cecil going on about Carlos on air. Endless.

"Tonight is the night we commemorate the one-year anniversary of Carlos moving to our little community."

"Ohhhhh," Cisco says with understanding. Then his eyes widen and he shakes his head.
"Oh, oh nooo. Yeah, no, I've already got one hopeless-piner on my hands and I'm not even qualified to handle that one."

Sorry Cecil, but you might be on your own on this one.

"All I can say is, if you love him tell him so, or let him go, because keeping that secret is no fun for anyone." Especially for the ones who don't know how much they should or shouldn't pretend to know about something that's so ridiculously obvious.

"... Let him go?" Cecil repeats, completely bewildered. "Let him go... where?"

Maybe in Cisco's world the radio hosts are part of the secret police?

Now Cisco is bewildered, not expecting that question.

"I don't know, to follow his heart or... wherever the ones that get away go."

He's so not qualified for this.

"My point is, if you like him and he doesn't know that, then tell him and spare everyone some misery."

Cecil is so confused. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, living in Night Vale (and then coming here, which is decidedly not like Night Vale), but... still.

So. Confused.

"What misery? We're just... acquaintances. Colleagues, if I'm being generous." Very, very generous, but still.

Cisco squints at Cecil, trying to determine if Cecil is a.) in denial, b.) oblivious or if Cisco is just misreading the situation.

Any one of these options are possible and Cisco decides the best option is just to sidestep the whole thing.

"If you say so," Cisco says, throwing a shrug.

"So then how are you celebrating? Food? Drinks? A parade down Main?"

Cecil is a) in denial of everyone knowing exactly how ridiculously head-over-heels he is about Carlos and b) oblivious to any hint anyone else has a clue.

Except Old Woman Josie, of course, but she knows everything.

Like, everything.

Except that angels aren't real, evidently. Real stubborn on that one.

"There will be a ceremony tonight - look, I made him a trophy!" Cecil enthuses happily, showing off the little hand-carved trophy. It's a fairly standard trophy - little stand, with a cup on top, nothing too out of the ordinary, other than the fact that it is in fact wood - wood that is polished and oiled and sealed until it gleams like a gemstone.

Cisco has some experience with this, dealing with another person in a state of oblivious denial, but that definitely doesn't make him any kind of expert.

He's highly suspicious though, especially looking at that trophy.

"Wow, that's-- that's a thing right there," he says, eying it. "Think he's gonna like it?"

Cecil blinks, because 'a thing' isn't quite the reaction you're going for after putting in the work, but... eh. Outsiders.

"I don't know why he shouldn't, I mean, who doesn't like a trophy?" Cecil asks, his smile returning as he admires his work.

"You got a point there," Cisco replies, although truth told trophies were never really his thing, but saying so seems like it might take them back into awkward land.

"So you got a speech or something to go with it? Music and fireworks or something?"

"Oh, just a little speech, nothing much." Cecil demurs, "I mean, everyone knows who Carlos is already, after all. He's so important for our little community."

"Oh yeah? What does he do?" Cisco asks.

"Oh, Carlos is a scientist. He came to our little town a year ago, claiming that Night Vale was the most scientifically interesting town in America, and he was going to figure out what was going on around there." Cecil explains, admiringly. How could you not admire such courage, such tenacity, such amazing fashion sense?

I mean. Really.

Well now that grabs Cisco's attention.

"Oh really now? I'm something of a scientist myself," he brags. "What's Carlos's field?"

"I don't think he owns any property." Cecil, comfortable with a thrown non sequitur, doesn't even blink at the question. "The City Council rents him the laboratory by Big Rico's Pizza."

As for Cisco being a scientist...

Well.

Everyone's been a scientist at one time or other, right? But only special people can make a career out of it.

"What?" Cecil might be cool with it, but Cisco is thrown by what seems like a random offering from Cecil.

"I'm asking what kind of scientist is he," Cisco tries to clarify. "Physics? Biology? At S.T.A.R. Labs we handle lots of different projects, but most scientists have a field they specialize in. Dr. Wells is a top physicist, my friend Caitlin is a neurosurgeon, and I'm the mad genius mechanical engineer who builds whatever their projects require."

Khadgar been exposed to a lot of different cultures and the clothing that comes with them.

He's never seen garments like this before.

"Ah, excuse me, may I inquire as to what metal covers your boots?" How can it be crafted so thinly as to be flexible?

Most of... everywhere outside of Night Vale hasn't seen garments like this before. Most of Night Vale has seen these garments before, because he has definitely worn them (in this combination, or in combination with other, equally unlikely items of clothing) out on the town.

Look, he didn't get this fashionable by accident.

Cecil looks up from his show notes (which are committed to paper by means of strategic placement of glitter and glue), clutching his mug of coffee like a lifeline.
"Oh, these old things?" He asks, in that tone of voice that knows very well that 'these old things' are fairly impressive and is very happy someone recognizes that fact, "I'm really not sure, actually. I thought they might be fur."

"Metallic fur?" Khadgar is intrigued!

"From a creature with some elemental affinity?" Imagine, an elemental with fur!

"I suppose it could be, but of course I do not inquire too closely into the tailoring dark arts. Wouldn't want to have prolonged re-education, right?" He asks, laughing - because clearly, that is an obvious and thus silly question.

No.

No, you don't want prolonged re-education.

Not at all.

Khadgar takes the laugh at face value as he's never heard of 're-education'. Apparently it's something one wants to avoid though, which is perhaps understandable. Schooling can sometimes be very boring.

"Ah, my apologies then, I didn't realize such crafts were forbidden on your world."

But how did he get the boots, then? From Lady Bar?

"Khadgar of Azeroth," he adds with a slight incline of his head.

"Ah... Cecil, of... um. Would it be 'Night Vale' or maybe more specifically 'Night Vale Community Radio'? I mean, they're both true, though I'm sure Station Management would put in a vote for the latter distinction, if it came to it."

No matter what, it's still better than 'of Desert Bluffs', right? Right?

"Both, I would say, if you wish to use your full title."

Khadgar doesn't usually open with his. It's a bit long winded and he figures most of it doesn't mean anything to anyone not of Azeroth.

"You're a radio operator then?" He knows radio! It's a gnomish technology and still mostly used by the Alliance forces, but he's familiar with it.

"Well, radio show host, but yes! It is a wonderful job, I really can't recommend it enough." Cecil enthuses, his hands wrapped around his precious mug. "It is so important for there to be a friendly voice in the night for our... my little community to cling to, right?"

He looks terribly conspiratorial as he leans forward, his voice lowering.

"Sometimes I do broadcasts here, now and then, it's so tragic that there isn't a radio station to help."

"You do? I should be keen to hear one, I think. I never have before."

The words are pretty self explanatory but nobody's thought to use radio for shows on Azeroth. What does that mean, exactly? One would think the performances would be rather limited without a visual component.

"... Never?" The shock and... well, it's something akin to horror, something akin to grief in Cecil's voice is entirely sincere. How lonely, how horrible to go through the world without a Voice in the darkness, bringing a community together. "What... what happened to your radio station?"

Because clearly they must have had one, at one point. Right?

Right?

Cecil sounds so distraught about this that Khadgar can't help but look a little worried himself.

"Well it's not a human craft, it's a gnomish one. I don't know if they even have stations, I've only seen individual units, used for communication."

Cecil doesn't argue the point about radio not being a human invention - I mean. Have you seen Station Management?

Of course you haven't, you're still alive.

"Oh, you poor dears." He sighs, distraught and knowing that he can't possibly take on a third show. He already feels he's not quite doing an adequate job here, with how intermittent his time here is.

He raises an eyebrow, still a little bemused by the reaction.

"Apparently I don't know what I'm missing."

"It's alright." Cecil assures him, trying to put a brave face on it. Being a native of Night Vale, he's fairly good at this, really. It's the practice.

"I mean, it might not be, but you may hear one of my broadcasts here, and surely that is better than nothing at all. In my humble opinion, anyway."

"I would imagine you're correct."

He smiles good-naturedly.

"At the very least it can be the metric by which I judge all other shows."

"Oh! Well, I hope to do the job justice then, when the day occurs." Cecil smiles, and while the words are definitely arranged in a humble sort of fashion...

Cecil isn't at all worried about his show being substandard, not really, and it shows. Maybe too infrequent, here, to really do the job right, but the actual show?

Just fine.

He's the Voice of Night Vale, after all. If there's anything at all he knows, it is radio.

"Oh, where are my manners? Would you like a cup of coffee? Bar's is particularly good, excellent bean smashing technique."

"Certainly, I will share a cup with you," Khadgar says politely, "if there is sweetener for it."

Coffee is native to Draenor and not well-refined, Khadgar needs his well-doctored to stand the taste of it. Most people only bother with it because of the beneficial side effects.

"... Sure..." Cecil has Many Opinions about ~~adulterants~~ additives to coffee, but has come to learn, slowly, that on the whole it is best to keep those to himself.

It's really hard, though.

The poor coffee doesn't deserve such treatment.

Still, he dutifully orders up another mug of coffee, with a container of sugar alongside.

Khadgar raises his eyebrows.

"You don't find it to be terribly bitter?"

It's so, so bitter.

(He's adding five spoonfuls of sugar to his cup.)

"It is part of the flavor." Cecil is trying, truly. If this were one of his interns, the poor thing would be in for an hour-long lecture on the proper way to make and drink coffee. Or at least it'd seem like an hour.

Time is weird in Night Vale.

"Gives it character."

Khadgar's not buying it.

"There are better ways to get the beneficial effects of coffee. The taste is barely more tolerable than an infusion of grave moss."

He conjures up a mana bun, a swirl of purple light coalescing into the form of something that looks suspiciously like a cinnamon roll.

"And you get far more energy that lasts longer from something like this."

"That is not the point." Cecil points out, giving the roll a deeply wary look. You would to if you lived somewhere where wheat and wheat by-products have been banned for good reason.

Or if you live somewhere that food doesn't arrive by purple light swirl.

One of those.

Both of those.

Is there some other benefit to drinking coffee on Cecil's world?

"No? Why else do you drink it?"

Perhaps he's missing something. He'll take the bun for himself, happily biting into it. He'll conjure another for Cecil if he asks but judging by the look he just got it's perhaps better to prove it's not poison first.