Work Text:
Flowers
Cecil couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed as his nightly radio show came to a close. The show itself went fine, sure. But he had gotten a text from Carlos during the weather report saying he would be home late. Cecil’s listeners may or may not have heard about it.
Night Vale Radio was already onto the next program (the sound of emaciated wolves being chased by bees), but Cecil still sat, slumping sadly, in his chair, rereading that text. It had said Carlos was on the verge of a breakthrough, one much too scientific to describe in a text. “But, trust me, it’s a real DOOZY!” Carlos had written.
Cecil reread it again. And again. And then he sighed. His sweet Carlos worked so hard. The corners of Cecil’s mouth suddenly, so quickly, so God damn fast, jolted up into a grin. He sucked in a sharp, excited inhale, so deep he felt it in his spine, back through all the previous centuries he had surely, or perhaps not, lived through.
He had an idea. A wonderful, thoughtful idea. An idea a certain, sweet scientist would be sure to love.
Or, at least, Cecil had hoped.
He was currently strolling through downtown Night Vale, whistling as his arms swung. His wooden clogs struck the sand with each sharp step. He was on his way to the florist shop, owned by Sissy Monroe. He had walked passed all those silly buildings that used to belong to Desert Bluffs and was now making his way to the rock formations further out into the desert.
After a few moments of confused mumbling to himself about the directions, even complete with scratching the top of his head, he had eventually found the floral shop. A huge, towering beacon of a boulder, with a large stone door carved into its front. Sticking out of one side was a single, yellow daisy.
Cecil knocked on the door. There was a great symphony of sound. Shaking, shuffled running, yelling. The kind of ruckus and debilitating fear one associates with surprise intrusion from the unknown. When one is unaware of what enemy lies in wait behind the knocking door. What do they want? What did you do? Whatever it is, and whatever you did, they will find you.
In fact, they are already here…
With a great trembling, the stone door slid open. Cecil had to step with his feet further apart to steady himself on the violent ground. A head poked out from behind the door, not blatantly, or visibly, attached to anything. The head had a tan face with long, braided hair.
“Hi, Sissy,” Cecil offered with a friendly wave. Sissy was of a people whose ancestors called home this land, centuries before the current Night Vale was founded. Just like Cecil and most other inhabitants of Night Vale.
Sissy said something in a dead, ancient language that Cecil could not name, but he could understand. He replied in the same language and then Sissy closed the door. Cecil huffed and put his hands on his hips. His foot tapped in the sand. He wasn’t sure she clearly heard his order, but he was determined to make light of the unfortunate situation that was his evening with Carlos.
There was a deafening silence followed by the equally deafening, but oh so recognizable sound, of florist machinery firing up. There was a great blast, presumably from the steam engine, and an eardrum shattering churning of gears, presumably from the water wheel.
There was a primal scream that came from, Cecil presumed, the torture chamber. Cecil’s feet crossed over each other and his fingers idly played with the fabric of his mint-green pleated skirt as he waited for his flower arrangement to be finished.
At a moment that seemed all too soon, every sound halted. Cecil’s idle fingers held still. There was a small, circular window that sat diagonally from the top of the door. It popped open and a tan arm shot out. Its tan fingers pointed upwards. Cecil followed with his eyes to the top of the rock.
Right at the tip of the egg-shaped rock, was a colorful, but romantic looking, flower arrangement. Cecil sighed and began to climb. Once he retrieved his flowers, he paid the customary way you pay a florist: by blinking in Morse code the correct amount through the eye scanner embedded in the door. Then, Cecil mustered up his remaining energy and, flower vase in hand, made his way to Carlos’ lab.
The building was tall and confusing. Made of hot, grey metal, it jutted out and bended in all sorts of ways and directions. At some points, the floor was so tilted, Cecil wondered how Carlos and his team got any work done. He’d been meaning to ask Carlos about that.
Cecil readjusted the collar of his windbreaker and knocked on the front door. He knew Carlos was somewhere in that labyrinth of architecture as their shared van was still parked in the back lot, which was visible from the street. However, someone definitely not Carlos answered the door. Their head was very blatantly, and very visibly, not attached to anything. They said nothing.
“Uh, hi!” Cecil started, giving the stranger, but not that kind, a smile. The head said nothing. “Is Carlos in there?” Still, nothing. Cecil shifted uncomfortably. “Can I come in?” He asked. When the head just started at him, Cecil took the liberty of stepping inside.
But before his foot could barely move forward, the head screamed. No, shrieked. It was so loud and sudden, Cecil jumped back and stumbled. “Oh, okay,” he said. “So, no to that.” He grimaced at the flowers and then at the head. “Can you give these to Carlos for me? Carlos, the scientist?” he spoke the last part of Carlos’ name carefully. So many people mispronounced it.
The head stopped screaming. It stared at Cecil again. A slimy hand slowly made its way around the doorframe. Now, the color of the head was a normal, human color of skin. However, this hand was a deep, sickly green. It slithered through the air and seemed to go on and on forever, spanning the length of a fully grown adult as it reached out for the flowers in Cecil’s hands. It wrapped its twisted hand and wrist around the flower vase and then took it, retreating into the dark shadows of the lab.
Cecil barely got out a “Thank you!” before the door slammed. With that, he made his way to the apartment.
Carlos stood in his lab, looking at some rock samples he got from the part of the desert originally belonging to Desert Bluffs. He was comparing those rocks to Night Vale rocks. The Desert Bluff rocks, although not bloodstones, like most Night Vale rocks, were completely covered in the stuff. They had absorbed, through their porous infrastructure, generations worth of blood. In every nook and cranny. They oozed and smelled sharply of copper.
Carlos, wearing his protective lab coat, gloves, and goggles, poured a few drops of acid on the rocks. They fizzed and bubbled, the blood creating a bubblegum pink foam. “Hmmm,” he said to himself, hand on his strong chin. He turned to grab a hand lens from his desk, but stopped in his tracks when he found, not his hand lens, but a large, colorful bouquet.
Like all things he finds in Night Vale, Carlos approached the flowers with caution, notebook in hand in case he made any scientific observations. When the flowers didn’t scream or shake or bleed, he deemed them regular, ordinary flowers. With a sigh of relief, he put down the notebook and breezed over to the colorful arrangement. He sniffed a few gingerly, he didn’t want to make that mistake again, before finding the note.
From your HVH
Carlos clutched the note to his chest and sighed. Oh, his Cecil. His honey-voiced honey. Carlos could feel the muscles of his cheeks pulling as he smiled. They pulled so tightly it was a mystery the very fibers of his muscles didn’t snap. But he didn’t really mind. This was exactly what he needed for that special kind of End of a Big Day energy boost. He ripped off his gloves so he could text Cecil.
OMG baby thank you so much for the flowers!! I love you!
He smiled, big and goofy, as he hit send. He thought a moment before sending a second text.
Do you want me to grab dinner on my way home? I’m so close to finishing!
Cecil smiled down at his phone as he walked through the apartment door. He had just finished the long, vigorous process of proving his identity to the apartment’s doorman and was ready to relax. He rubbed the injection site on his arm as he plopped down on the couch, still smiling.
I’m glad you like them
And that would definitely be appreciated, thank you
…
I love you, too