"Why tentacles?"

He didn't look up from the papers in his hand at her question, but instead lifted his station coffee mug to his pale lips, and took a quick sip before setting it back down again. By now, he was used to her slightly random inquiries that sometimes popped up in his headset when they weren't on-air. She had been asking him questions like that since the first day she'd become comfortable working with him. Granted, that had taken a while.

"Cecil?" She dragged his name out a bit, begging to get his attention.

"Hmm?" He pretended to be lost in the text in front of him.

"Why the tentacles?"

Violet eyes still scanned the sheets in his other hand, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. She never did let him ignore her. "They come in handy."

His reply came casually, in his non-radio voice. Slightly higher and more nonchalant than the deep, mellifluous tone he normally used when reading off the daily news and traffic reports.

The slight click of her pressing her speaker switch was heard, and a faint hint of static came through his headset again before she spoke. "Handy? What do you mean?"

Cecil shrugged and quickly licked his thumb before flipping the page of his stapled stack of notes. "Y'know," he said with a slight drag to his voice. "They're useful."

A moment went by and no reply came. For the first time since they'd gone to The Weather, the radio host lifted two of his three eyes to her, leaving the omnipresent one on his forehead fixed in his notes. He found Dana pouting at him through the window that separated them, her chin resting in her hands. When their eyes met she expectantly raised one dark eyebrow, before glancing down at his forearms pointedly.

The radio host smirked and placed down the notes before pushing up his shirt sleeves a bit more to better display the Cthulian tattoos that nearly reached his wrists. "Why are you pouting?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically at him before pressing her speaker switch again to scold him in her tiny voice. "Cecil, you know I hate it when you tease me and dodge my questions like that."

He feigned innocence. "I didn't dodge your question."

"You didn't really tell me what I wanted to know, either. You know I hate that too."

Cecil brightly smiled at her in amusement and shrugged before leaning back in his office chair. He put his feet up on the desk, and fiddled with the laces of his purple Converse. "Yeah, but your reactions are always so cute."

Her glare deepened, but she felt her cheeks turn red.

"Sorry," he claimed, trying to hide his smile. "Why do you think I chose the tentacles?"

Dana lifted her hands in the air. "I don't know," she remarked, "they're your tattoos, so they're your story."

Tilting his head - the way he aways did when he was about to say something clever - he blinked all three eyes at once, then raised an eyebrow. "Well, Miss Intern, when you're interviewing to report a story, if you want to know specifics, you need to know to ask the right questions."

Dana scoffed and leaned back in her seat, defeatedly. A few months ago she might have asked him if every conversation really had to be a reporting exercise, but by now she was used to his consistent hampering in day to day discussion. He took his job seriously and he wanted her to do the same. Though this time, she was a bit at a loss for questioning.

"I'll let you think about it a little bit while I finish up the show," Cecil added, leaning forward again. He adjusted his headset and nodded towards her switchboard. "Watch it, that weather segment is about to end."

Dana adjusted her own headphones and turned to the time on the recording, switching it off the moment it ended, and nodding to Cecil who began speaking into his microphone, voice suddenly deeper and smoother than a moment before. "Welcome back, listeners," he began, and Dana's mind trailed away from work and back to her mentor's forearms.

The black, tribal tentacles were very prominent against his pale skin, and the little runes and markings that covered the spaces in between them were very elaborate. They were also very beautiful, much like Cecil himself.

Dana studied her mentor at that thought, peering at him through the window behind the gleam of the switchboard lights. He wasn't thin, but he wasn't fat either. He wasn't short, but he wasn't tall. He was fit, but not athletic, and simply average in his height. His features were young, and though Dana had never asked him his age, she guessed he was in his early thirties. His fair skin and almost colorless, somewhat messy hair sometimes made him appear to glow in the broadcasting room he always kept so dark. Maybe he was glowing.

His violet eyes - the two normal ones, at least - sometimes did give off a bit of light on the occasions when she witnessed him to be a bit emotional. Like whenever someone mentioned Carlos, the scientist, (and more recently, Cecil's boyfriend) his irises would illuminate just a bit, though only for a moment or two. The only time she'd ever seen them do more than that, was when Carlos had been thought killed by the little people in the tiny city ten feet beneath Night Vale. When he'd covered his face with his hands and silently sobbed into them, shoulders shaking, Dana had seen the light from his irises shining brightly from between his fingers, and the omnipresent one had slipped closed to see no more of the horror that had come down upon the scientist.

The memory of seeing her mentor like that stung her, and she pulled herself away from it, looking up. She met Cecil's gaze through the window as he was just saying his famed, closing line, his hands resting readily on the speakers of his headset. She noticed a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

" … and until then, goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight."

He pulled the headset down from over his ears, letting them rest around his neck, and pressed the button to stop broadcasting. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Dana, the same smile still tugging at his lips.

Dana tilted her head at him and pressed the speaker switch. "What?"

The radio host shrugged casually and pursed his lips at his intern. "Nothing, just noticed you staring at me."

'Damn that third eye of his.' While she knew that Cecil's third eye was what allowed him to see most of what was happening anywhere in Night Vale at any time, she was thankful that she knew it didn't let him see her thoughts.

Dana rubbed her face to hide her blushing cheeks and feign being tired. "Sorry, I was zoning out," she fibbed, and she was certain that it was obvious. Cecil said nothing and, lowering her hands, she found him running his fingers through his hair, two of his dimly glowing eyes floating a bit wistfully around the dark broadcasting room, while the third one stared straight ahead, surveying something in Night Vale in the way that only it could. The intern rolled her eyes.

"Hey," she said into her microphone to get his attention.

"Hm?" Cecil's wandering eyes darted from the ceiling and back to her own. "What?"

"Quit spying on Carlos and answer my question."

He rolled all three eyes then, and the third one slipped closed. Leaning back in his chair, he put his feet up on the desk and crossed his ankles. "I was just seeing what he was up to, it wasn't hurting anything," he indicated, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Though I thought you were going to come up with a better way to ask me?"

Dana shook her head insistently, dark curls bouncing about her head. "Nope, not this time. I just want an explanation."

Cecil grinned at her softly from his reclined position, and Dana found herself looking back at him with a similar expression. Seeing him in his entirety, she found herself thinking that she liked his style. What, always in collared shirts, vests, and ties. Sometimes jeans, sometimes khakis. Most of the time Converse, and always, always in purple. It matched his eyes really well.

Dana sighed. 'The good ones are always co-workers, taken, or gay,' she thought humorously. 'Though, I guess in this case it's all three.'

Not that she had a problem with that. While Cecil was indeed handsome, all of the above somehow added to his charm. Besides, she would never want to ruin the rather cool working relationship they already had. Sometimes she might be brave enough to even think of it as a friendship.

"Come in here."

Dana snapped back to attention. "Come in there?" She asked, looking at her mentor a bit suspiciously.

"Yeah, don't be scared," he said teasingly, reaching up to pull the light switch on the desk lamp, illuminating the room. "I'll show you rather than just give you an answer. That's probably easier anyway, really."

"Show me?" Dana pulled her headset off and laid it on her desk. Spinning in her chair, she stood up and opened the door next to the window between the two of them. "Shouldn't we be leaving soon," she asked. "Station Management might get agitated if we are here past clock-out time. I don't want to face that wrath after last time."

"Oh, you can hardly see the scars anymore," Cecil exclaimed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It wont take that long."

Sighing, Dana somewhat reluctantly moved over to where Cecil sat pushing up his sleeves. She sat on the edge of the desk and watched him curiously.

"Should I be nervous?" She pestered.

"Don't be silly," he replied, stretching out his arms, palms up. "Though I would stand back, if I were you."

His intern jumped a bit at the comment, but didn't move from her spot. Instead, she leaned forward and stared at Cecil's forearms. Something was happening to the radio host's tattoos.

Slowly, as if hesitant to move from its comfortable spot on his arm, one of the Cthulian appendages peeled itself from it's placement, seeming to instantly take on a three dimensional form, and reached into the air.

"Woah!" Dana leaned back a bit as, seemingly all at once, the other tattoos lifted themselves from Cecil's skin, and began to slowly, fluidly wave about in the air. "Cecil, that's so cool!"

"Yeah," her mentor replied a bit matter-of-factly, "They actually work by will. I have a very amazing tattoo artist. Well, I did before the Secret Police vaporized him for having an expired tattooing license."

Though she didn't have any herself, Dana had always known about the interesting property of tattoos; that, if not properly applied, they could sometimes move around the wearer's skin and change colors, though almost always not by the subject's choice. If you didn't have a good tattoo artist, chances were they might even burn the wearer in an attempt to escape their fleshy prison. However, if you had a talented tattooist, they would mostly stay where they were supposed to, and hardly ever hurt you. Sadly, it was rare that good tattoos were ever seen around Night Vale on the account of most artists dying before they could ever master the craft. Normally because they were killed by their own creations.

"What do they feel like?" the intern asked.

One of the black tentacles reached out and neared Dana's hand. She hesitantly moved to touch it before it brushed against her palm, presumably by Cecil's will. The intern gasped a bit, finding it warm and just a tiny bit viscid.

"They're a bit sticky, but they have to be if I want them to stay on my skin," the radio host explained. "I can move them just like any other limbs on my body, but I can't really use them around here because my shirt gets in the way. They extend all the way to my back, you see." He lifted one on his left arm and wrapped it around his headset, lifting it from around his neck and placing them on their hook by his desk.

Dana was watching them closely, when a thought crossed her mind. "Wait," she said, dropping her hand from touching one of the inky, black forms, "Does Carlos know they do this?"

Cecil looked away from her eyes for a moment, his own ∫ darting to the ceiling in thought, his irises emitting a dim glow. A mischievous smile formed over his lips. "Well-"

The intern held up her hands and squeezed her brown eyes shut. "Never mind, I don't want to know anymore.

The radio host laughed. "Yeah, he knows," he said innocently enough. "He finds them fascinating. Though, you know, I didn't really get them just for simple reasons like helping me with household chores and fending off killer mosquitos."

"What did you get them for?"

Cecil let out a small sigh, and Dana watched as all six tentacles, three on each arm, suddenly shrunk back into the radio hosts skin. They pressed themselves against the spots from which they came, and sank back into their two-dimensional state, ceasing to move.

"I got them because this job is so very dangerous," he answered. "After my first few weeks here, I realized that in order to get through many of the tasks that Station Management asked I do, I was going to need something to help protect myself from the especially dangerous ones that I knew were to come until I found myself as the Voice of Night Vale."

Dana was staring at him with wide eyes. "And," she said slowly, "I'm assuming they helped?"

He nodded in reply. "Mostly. Honestly, it was enough of a risk just getting them because of everything that could go wrong, but really, it was one of the smartest things I've ever done. I wish I knew a tattooist as good as the one I found all those years ago, so maybe you could have something to help you. Not that I don't think you're entirely capable, of course, but…" He trailed off suddenly, and dejectedly looked down at the floor a few feet ahead of him.

His intern felt a wave of anxiety come over her a she understood what he was going to say. So many interns had come into Night Vale Community Radio to never again see the light of day, and many of those who survived often ran screaming from the building, never to return. She could only imagine the amount of promising, bright, young people that Cecil had seen come and go during his time at the radio station.

"Cecil," Dana spoke in a reassuring tone, "I know you're worried about me, but I can't help but feel as thought I was born for this. I feel like something has been drawing me to the radio station ever since I was small, and I'm very determined to do my very best here. I don't want you to think that I don't know what a risk I'm putting my self in, because I do. I just have this … this feeling that whatever it is that has been pushing and pulling me to do Night Vale radio isn't something that I can't handle. In fact, I think it's going to take me on a grand adventure. Whatever that adventure is, I promise you, I'm ready for it."

Cecil listened to her motionlessly, and when she'd finished, he lifted his face back up to see the girl sitting on his desk. Her dark skin and eyes seemed to radiate with confidence, and her head of untamable, curly, black hair certainly made her seem as though she was tough enough to take on anything. Even through that adorably meek voice of hers, Cecil could hear that she knew that she was right.

"I wish I could see the future and not just what's happening around Night Vale," he sighed, tapping a finger to his forehead. "As much as I believe that you believe what you believe, I'd certainly like to know that I don't have to worry about you. You've made it so far, and I've been very impressed with you. I've grown rather attached to you, you know, Dana?"

Dana found herself blushing again, and she looked down at the floor. "Um. Yes, sir."

The radio host tilted his head at her inquiringly. "You haven't called me that in a while. I told you, you never have to be so formal. You can always call me by my first name."

The intern nodded and then shrugged. "I know, but sometimes it just feels like I should show you a bit more respect than that." She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her purple NVCR sweatshirt. "I do have a lot of respect for you, you know."

Cecil smiled a brilliant smile and shook his head at her. "It makes me feel so odd when it comes from you though. We're friends, Dana. Please just call me by my first name."

Dana thought back to a few minutes ago when she'd been contemplating her relationship with her mentor, and beamed. As much as she thought she could consider him a friend, she had never quite thought that the radio host might think of her the same way. Of course, he'd been the one to make her feel the most welcome when she'd first come to the station. He'd been the one to be patient with her when she made mistakes, instead of screaming at her in deafening, monstrous shrieks like Station Management. Ultimately, he'd been the one to pull her out of her shell, and get her to be more confident in her approach to just about everything. If not for Cecil Palmer, Dana wouldn't be nearly as capable of what she was today, regardless of whatever had been calling her here.

The intern smiled at the famed radio host, and blushed a bit more deeply. "I've become very attached to you too, Cecil," she said assuredly. "And thank you. You know, for everything."

"You're welcome, Dana."

The two of them turned off the rest of the broadcasting equipment and made their way outside, passing through the bloodstone door and out into a wonderfully starlit sky. Cecil immediately spotted Carlos sitting cross-legged the hood of his truck, across the parking lot. A huge smile spread across his face, and his violet eyes shone a bit more brightly than normal.

"I guess my ride is here," he cooed, and Dana teased him by sticking out her tongue and dramatically rolling her eyes.

"Doesn't he ever wear anything other than flannel? He looks like a lumberjack all the time."

"Shut up, he looks adorable."

"Tell him I said 'hi,'" the girl mentioned as she began walking backwards towards her home. "Maybe one day when you're not so preoccupied with each other, I can talk to him again and warn him how horrible you are."

"Don't make my tattoos strangle you," her friend retorted with a half smile. "See you tomorrow, Intern Dana."

Dana smiled brightly as she turned around to face where she was going. "Yeah. You will."