#inkyveins

Quickly casting his mind back he remembered the tiny scrap of fabric that had dangled on top of his centrifuge in the lab, declaring in delicate white thread in clear letters, that he would be visited by one the Sheriff’s Secret Police in order to help him adjust to life in Night Vale. It had reminded Carlos of ‘A Christmas Carol’ before he promptly and accidentally forgot about it, too concerned with the thick purple sludge his hairdryer had emitted this morning and why his co-workers were distracted by the radio and exchanging

looks

.

It took the setup of a speech to text programme and a free hour to read the transcripts through before bed to realise why and his ears still burned when he thought about the compliments he was given by the radio presenter.

“Are you from the Sheriff’s Secret Police?” Carlos asked carefully, ensuring that every word was pronounced to the best of his ability, cringing even so. The figure carefully refolded the newspaper and stood up, multiple bandanas wrapped tightly around their face so that not even a trace of skin could be seen and mirrored ski goggles ensuring that their identity remained a secret as well as any expression currently displayed on their face. They nodded, holding out a piece of paper, waiting patiently for Carlos to hesitantly take, fingers fumbling slightly as he pushed his glasses further up his nose.

My name is Raziel. I will be keeping an eye on you as per regulations which you have been informed about by the City Council in your welcome pack. You will only see me when regulations are altered or are breached to an extent which is unacceptable even with the leniency given to you as an outsider.

“O-oh, okay. Erm- It’s not that I wish to question your capabilities, but I-“

Raziel cut him off in complete silence holding up one hand before another scrap of fabric, this time a lurid orange was pulled from out of their sleeve and passed to him.

I am perfectly capable of my job Mr Scientist. I do not wish to speak which is why I am communicating like this. I hope this will not be a problem but I can also communicate in sign language if you prefer. Or email, text or another variety of written communication if you’d prefer.

“N-no that’s more than fine,” Carlos said, relief filling him, “But if I won’t see you, then why are you in the kitchen? And what will happen in the lab? I mean I understand that you have your orders but then I also have to do my work which is very important and is rife with potential scientific discoveries such as the kettle for instance and well we really can’t afford any contamination especially around some of the more sensitive equipment and samples seeing as they seem to react violently to certain colours for reasons we haven’t discovered and well…”

I will wear a lab coat Mr Scientist. I won’t interfere with your job so long as you don’t interfere with mine. And I like your kitchen. Your kettle is less violent than my own and I wish to have coffee that doesn’t run the risk of dismemberment.

“I’ll exchange free run of kitchen and kettle if you will help me collect samples on occasion? You must have a wider range of access to Night Vale then I do?”

Raziel laughed silently, clapping gloved hands together in glee and nodding frantically. Carlos could practically see the thoughts of free caffeinated drinks passing through their head.

I’m going to like this assignment Mr Scientist. Just let me grab another drink while you get ready for your job? The stop signs are being most difficult this morning so you’ll need to set off early.

  ii)             Shaun’s hands trembled violently as he held the package before him, re-reading the information already imprinted on his brain for what seemed like the millionth time in a vain attempt to calm his nerves: Cecil Gershwin Palmer, Radio Booth Number 7, Night Vale Radio Station, State, America, Universe Number 332. The package itself was fairly standard, a nondescript box wrapped in bright pink paper, decorated by silver swirls with the paper only marred by a large white square stuck on the centre with the address neatly printed on the front over the top of the mandatory dark brown sigil. It hummed comfortingly but now the sound jarred Shaun, fingers drumming frantically against the side of the box in a counter tempo as he waited for the lift to arrive, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. His first day and already he was being sent up to go and see the main radio host, the man whose voice awoke him in the mornings, whose voice lulled him to sleep at nights and whose comforting murmur filled his waking hours until it felt as if he could drown in that gorgeous voice. However he had never seen Cecil in person, and yet he fell in love with the other man, all without seeing his face as strange as it seemed. And now, like all the other Shaun’s in the Sales department, he was working in the radio station after first being forced to climb out of the cavernous pit filled with something that hissed ominously in the darkness like everyone else, and which was how every day was started. The ding of the lift reclaimed Shaun’s attention and he stepped in, hearing the doors immediately slide shut behind him with a high pitched screech that trailed away into quiet whistling as an Intern slipped in on the next floor, giving him a half wave with one hand even as the others balanced files and gently steaming coffee cups before she exited on the next floor. Shaun left on the next floor up, no less nervous than he had been upon entering the elevator, but a tad less shaky. A perverse calm seemed to have infected his body and the corridors passed by him quickly until he was waiting outside of the door. It seemed fairly normal as far as doors in Night Vale went, no immediate dangers seemed to appear the longer he stared at it and yet that door terrified him, but he had a job to do. Double checking the address against the sign, handwritten in a childish scrawl, he carefully knocked on the door, hearing the mumbled voice within halt and then calls louder. “Hello?”

Shaun took a deep breath and opened the door as quietly as possible, stepping into the darkened radio station. “I have to say listeners I have never seen this name before- oh wait,” A smile lit up Cecil’s face before he continued, “It’s Shaun from Sales, how could I possibly not recognise him, however I do believe that this is a new Shaun everyone.” He waited for the nod before continuing, “Well welcome to our radio show Shaun and we all thank you and the other Shaun’s down in sales for all the hard work that they do for us here in the Night Vale Community Radio. I’ll be just a moment and then we can return to our scheduled broadcast." “You are Cecil Gershwin Palmer?” Shaun queried, shrugging his shoulder slightly at the raised eyebrow because rules were rules after all.

“Yes I am,” Cecil replied holding out his hands, dark skin and light skin coiling and curving around long fingers and disappearing up underneath his sleeves, for the package. Shaun stood there, fingernails biting into palms as he waited for Cecil to finish his inspection of the box and he stared at Cecil, trying to imprint the image onto his brain. Steve Carlsberg insulted Cecil, but all Shaun could see was beauty, the patches of paler skin formed complex curves and circles that he itched to trace, scars littered the visible skin, silvery in the light, and all Shaun could think about was kissing each and every one of them, and tattoos that flickered languidly, colours swirling and changing in the blink of an eye. Shaun was head over heels and couldn’t find it within himself to care. “Thank you Shaun,” Cecil said, before adding, voice deepening, “I do hope to see you again.” Shaun nodded robotically and managed to let himself out of the booth, cheeks red. Inside the booth Cecil chewed his thumb thoughtfully before continuing with show, the strange Shaun lingering in his thoughts.

  iii)            Jake Zhang pulled the threadbare hood over his head as a gentle rain beat sporadically down upon the dry and cracking paving stones, feet rebounding against the pavement. One breath in, two breaths and jump over the sprawling creature that lived under that paving stone, mouth less tentacles snapping at his heels, mumble a quick prayer to the buzzing cloud of darkness that swirled over head as it chose to divert from its prearranged City Council approved path to follow him for an uncountable length of time, before a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him into the closest building. Jake had not fought his way to the rank of Dark Scout, the badge adorning the chest of his hoodie with uneven shaking stitches, to let himself be taken quite so easily. He threw his head back aiming for his unknown assailant’s nose and feeling it crack as he pulled against the reflexively weakened hold to run out of the alley. The strong arm of a Secret Policeman wrapping around his waist halted Jake’s escape and he went limp, his instincts as a Night Valeian too ingrained for him to struggle against them. [Go to the Night Vale Private Library Jake. You have something you need to do there. Also we put some money underneath your kettle for celebrating later.] His breath caught in his throat and he slumped, hands slamming against the cold hard ground as the arm around his waist disappeared, words still ringing in his head and stabbing through his mind with all the icy cold of a steel knife. Raising his head, he blinked slowly, allowing the green film to slowly slip away from his vision. Towering in front of him in all its opulent glory, twinkling gems embedded into the solidified gold that functioned as concrete in between silvery-white bricks that he knew was platinum, was the Night Vale Private Library. Library… Librarians! Jake scrambled onto his feet, heart pounding in his chest as he tried to dive away from the Night Vale Public library, the giant building too close, always too close to him and found that he couldn’t move, jerking onto the floor. He yelped, hands scraped raw from repeated contact with the floor and Jake yanked at his feet in a vain attempt to get them to move, finally managing to stagger a few steps in the direction of the Private Library, in all its ridiculously over the top shininess. [Just go inside! I have money riding on this!] He wasn’t about to argue with the Secret Police this close to the Library, even though he didn’t understand what they were trying to tell him and he ran into the building, worn shoes slipping slightly on the burnished metal steps that led into the building. Thankfully the door was wooden, but upon a slightly closer inspection as he pushed it open and slipped into the building, quietly closing it behind him, it was African Blackwood. And he bit back a sigh, mentally counting backwards from ten and began to walk towards the sole light source which was emanating from behind a slightly ajar door, a little further down the corridor. Upon reaching the door, Jake pushed back his hood, dark hair flopping forward partially blocking his field of vision and raised his hand to knock. “What!?” Jake leaped back as the door was flung open and someone stormed out, face set in righteous fury and howling in anger exited the building. He stared into the room and raised an eyebrow at Marcus Vansten, who grinned lavishly back,  beckoning Jake into the well-furnished room as he reclined further back on the chair. “You’re here for the interview?”

“Evidently,” Jake replied calmly, walking into the room and taking the offered seat. He wasn’t going to turn his nose up at any job at this point, especially one with such a low fatality rate of almost zero. This seemed to be going well, Jake mused as Marcus posed another question, golden rings glittering as he waved his hands, still reclining in the chair so that he was nearly completely out of sight and that fact alone was causing Jake to become increasingly… not nervous, nor intimidated (though he was well aware of that particular stereotype for both of them with Jake being Asian and Marcus being black) but something felt off, as if these next few moments were crucial and he did not like that. Jake prided himself on being in control of everything he legally and possibly could, and then in control of some things he was not allowed to be. And then it happened. Marcus stood up in all his naked glory, expansive of free uncovered mahogany skin suddenly visible, and held out a hand for Jake to shake, an almost shit eating grin plastered on his face as if he believed that he had won some sort of game. Jake didn’t flinch or react save for the reflexive raising of an eyebrow and shook Marcus’ hand, carefully sweeping his gaze upwards from where it had originally been to level it at the billionaires head and from the surprised look that got him, Jake had won. “When can you start?” Marcus asked, laughter trickling into his voice. “Now,” Jake said with a slight shrug, “Provided you can put some clothes on while I dismiss the other potential applicants who may turn up.” “But I don’t wanna!” “Sir you are a grown man. Put your pants on.”

  iv)            The Mute Children were long gone. And now he was alone. Nothing seemed right anymore. It was slowly getting more difficult to think, the once easy task degenerating into being almost impossible as his thoughts slowed, becoming thicker like treacle where once they had been as light as air. But yet throughout it all he still remained. Not quite alive and not quite dead. Just here. And then he wasn’t. This morning started off like any other for Caesar Strex: his radio flickered on filling his room with Kevin’s cheery tones (he ignored the slight edge to the man’s tone as he did every morning, even when it continued onto the day), the humming of the kettle as his tiny apartment responded to his stronger heartbeat and slowly buzzed into life around him, and the faint and frantic beeping noise as his phone began to sound off everything of lower importance that he had missed, mainly texts from Divina and the rest of his siblings, and one finally low rumble as his schedule for the day arrives from Ricardo, having being calculated a week before. He blinked, glancing down at his hands, feeling off kilter as he did every morning, seeing the small pale blue pills resting in the palm of one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. For a moment he remained quiet, unmoving as the city woke up around him, a growing pain beginning to erupt behind his eyes before he pushed the pills into his mouth and washed them down with a gulp of coffee, the strong liquid burning his mouth slightly. Blissful, pain free silence. Well that was enough of that. Downing the rest of the coffee he disappeared back into the bedroom, phone in one hand as he scrolled through the list. After all he had work to do. Heat. Burning, blistering, agonising heat. He was still alone, no-one to help him. So what could he do but scream and scream and scream, both soundlessly and with a broken voice, until he had no voice? Scream, scream, scream. Unsurprisingly the sudden and unexpected appearance of a humanoid directly in front of his car as he driving, screams being ripped from their throat as they dropped to their knees, curling in on themselves was not on Caesar's schedule. Unexpected materialisations were next Tuesday and those were strictly bird like in nature. Humanoid was not on the list and that annoyed him. Someone would have to tell Ricardo that his schedule was wrong and considering the truly terrifying tantrum the other had thrown it was not going to be him. Luckily Caesar hadn’t hit the man, car stopping automatically as it sensed the obstacle, and he sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation, before gracefully climbing out and walking over to them, crouching down next to him a few feet away. “Hello?” Car? Car! That was a car. Too loud, so loud, too hot, burning, too much. Where was the dark? Where were the children? His Scouts? He had tried to protect them. Footsteps? A person? Another someone in this confusing Not-Void? Hello? Hello? “Help…” Caesar carefully reached out a hand, one holding his gun that pointed cautiously at them and nudged their shoulder. They moved easily, limply flopping onto one side silently, eyes darting underneath pale lids. Freckles span across his skin like trapped constellations as Caesar pressed his palm to their forehead, noting the unnatural chill emanating from the other. His phone buzzed and he answered with a practiced ease: “Hello?” “You’re late Caesar,” Divina cooed in his ear, sounding delighted which was never good, “You better have a good excuse or that baby picture of you in the bath with the foam beard is getting sent to everyone. So?” “I found something Ricardo tantrum worthy,” he said quickly, scowling. How did she keep finding those? “Cover for me? This is definitely worthy of Strex Corp attention.” And by Strex Corp, he meant himself with a quick bullet for anyone who tried to butt in, family or no family. “Fine. But you run interference for me for two weeks,” she said, hanging up immediately afterwards. Caesar sighed and turned back to the unconscious man. Earl Harlan, missing Scoutmaster of Night Vale, that persistent thorn in the Strex Family’s side. “My name is Caesar Strex, Earl Harlan,” he informed the man, voice low and threatening, “You are in my care now.” A shiver ran down Earl’s spine and he opened his eyes to stare directly at the man, and yet did not. One pair of eyes remained closed, and one opened to stare at the dark eyed man in front of him, the rest of his words being tucked neatly into Earl’s mind to be processed later, because baby photos? It was pointless to try and run and yet he could not move, even if he could think with more coherence now and so he succumbed to his fate, not willingly but with a sense of future escape and sabotage.