( Closed starter for @ask-stevecarlsberg )

Thursday nights were usually busy for the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun complex. Over the past few years, that time had become a town favorite to meet with friends, grab a box of pizza (wheat-free, of course), and play a few games.

IF WE WERE IN UNDERTALE     ACCEPTING

Send ! for me to write a starter of ours being kidnapped and locked in a cell together.

Half-formed thoughts and snippets of sensation racketed around Cecil’s mind, the small sparks of awareness overlaid by intense pain. The radio host groaned, hand twitching in a weak attempt at cradling his head.

Dear Void, what happened…?

Slowly Cecil became aware of something cold digging into his ribs, and the sound of someone else breathing nearby. Prying his eyes open, he was met with shapes and shadows, unable to make anything out.

“Oh, you know,” he mumbled, turning the small spoon between his fingers. “Time is weird. It was just a little weirder than usual when Cecil happened to be on air.”

Even with all of his studies keeping him busy, Oscar still managed to find time to poke at his doubles theorem, continue refining it as he did more digging into this strange pocket of the desert.  And as he did his digging, even from the very beginning of his acquaintance with Night Vale, he kept running into the name “Steve Carlsberg.”

A few things surprised Oscar about this Steve Carlsberg: not only was the tone of most every mention of him about the same, almost every mention was similarly suspicious; and in all of his years drifting in and out of Night Vale, he had never come across this Carlsberg.  The former point was fascinating, but the latter was perplexing and frustrating, because as his work went deeper, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this Carlsberg would somehow be important.  He didn’t know how, exactly, but this guy had to be.

It was just a matter of finding him.

Any purposeful efforts to find him were either brushed off or regarded with great suspicion, for reasons the Night Vale locals were reluctant to share.  But, if the past was any indicator of the present, he was probably more likely to bump into Carlsberg by accident.

And apparently sitting at the diner counter with an open notebook crawling with scribbles was enough to attract that accident.

“He’s not going to like you being here...”

five times my muse didn’t text yours and the one time they did

ask-stevecarlsberg || Raised by wolves

Unsent:[txt: steev] wats weet y cant we eat it[txt: steev] i just tryd sushi i like it[txt: steev] do i hav to go to skool everyone looks at me funny[txt: steve] i miss my pack but i like it here. is that wierd?[txt: steve] why doesn’t city council want us to talk about angels?

Cecil knocked on the door, hard and rapidly. This was an emergency, and he knew he couldn’t rely on Steve (just knew it), but he didn’t have much of a choice this time. His voice was gone, and, though he was loath to say it, he needed help.