I DON'T OWN YGO OR WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE. I JUST LOVE BOTH. REALLY HARD. OKAY? OKAY.
Marik rubbed the the butt of his cigarette against the bottom of his boot. It scraped a warm grey line of ash that fell off in clumps and floating upwards when he scraped his bootsole on the pavement. He sat on the cement stairs of the radio station. The sun baked the stairs hot, burning his tan ass. The mysterious lights winked in and out of the ghastlygreypurple of the void over head. He closed lilac eyes with a miserable sigh. He loved his job, he really did, but he did not want to be at the station today. There was too much news today - that he wish he was expirencing rather than narrating. He had perfect hair he wanted to run his fingers through, new improved squirrel mucus eye liner to try, and to bet money on morons racing ghost cars going at unimaginable speeds.
Marik settled himself in his spiny-chair, placing large headphones over his ears, and flicked his microphone into the ON position. It whirred to life from beside a framed photo of his very handsome self in very fashionable furry pants and tunic thank you very much. He leaned back in the comfortable armadillo leather chair, and let his boots on the desk. He twirled the microphone cord around his long tan fingers and began his day's work.
"Welcome to Nightvale listeners," his voice dipped into a honeyed tone reserved only for radio. The tone that made him think of the amber-encased banks shining on an autumn afternoon. Honeyed, but nothing to get excited about. Marik rested his head back into the supple smoothness of the chair. His eyes fluttered closed in contentment - and his third one, well don't we all have a third eye? So best not to mention it. The government wouldn't want us to mention it anyway. Hello government. "First off, reminders. People are not allowed in the town's new dog park. Dogs are not allowed in the dog park. Do not at any time look for the hooded figures are found in the dog park. The dog park will not harm you."
Didn't everyone know about the dog park? What losers in their stupid hoods and glowing eyes. The always seem to emit static from their stupid mouthholes, and children who strayed too far from the Sheriff's secret police helicopters ended up there. Not to mention that whenever bloodstones went on sale they were always buying the complete stock. How terrible. Marik threw the bright pink government issued index card over his shoulder. It burst into green flames, as per the norm.
The first portion of the news was typical. Old man Motou proclaimed be to touched somewhere by angels, somewhere called a lightbulb. He was now selling the lightbulb the black angel touched. A warning of government helicopters, and never ever look directly at the ones with murals of birds of prey diving on the side. Go. Hide. And wait for a carnation to be presented on your door to indicate your guaranteed safety. A healthy encouragement to let your children play in sight of the blue helicopters, as they rarely ever take their children. Marik pulled his hood over his head and sat up in his chair, his bony ass had fallen asleep.
"A new man came into town today. Who is he? What does he want from us?" Marik licked his lips and grinned at his own portrait as though sharing a private joke. His furrypantsandtunic miniature self gave a rougeish wink. "Why his perfect and beautiful coat? He says he is a scientist. Well we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives. But why now? Why here? And what does he plan to do with those breakers and humming electrical instruments in that lab he is renting. The one next to big Rico's pizza"
His grin slid off faster than the government's secret police sliding a tight, but very fashionable black bag over your head and taking you to places unknown and unwanted. "No one does a slice like Big Ricco. No one."
Marik's smile returned at the thought of the perfect haired scientist, his hand idly drew over his stack of government warnings and news. Perfect little hearts for the man with the perfect hair. "The new scientist we now know is named Bakura has called a town meeting. He has a square jaw, and his teeth look as pointed as a wheat-by-product-snake's." Marik gave a dreamy sigh into the microphone. "His hair is perfect, and we all hate and despair and love that perfect hair in equal measure. " Wails and heavy thuds came from the office beside him, drawing him out of his gushing. "We were told Old man Motou brought corn muffins to this town meeting, which were decent but lacking salt. Apparently the angels needed it for a godly mission."
Okay Marik, keep the news pure news. No more beautiful, beautiful Bakura in that fancy labcoat... Oh who the hell was he kidding, that beauty was more news than black angels handling lightbulbs. Whatever those were.
"Bakura told us that we are, by far, the most scientifically interesting community in the US. He has come to study just what is going on around here. He grinned and everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly. Government agents from a vague, yet menacing agency were in back watching. I fear for Bakura. I fear for Night Vale. I fear for anyone caught between what they know and what they don't yet know that they don't know."
A large pink government issued notecard found its way to his desk. The letters N and O glared side by side, next to the word Harbor glittered angrily in official blue secret police gelpen. "We have just received a press release. Night vale Business Association is proud to announce the opening of the brand new Night Vale Harbor. I have been to these facilities myself and I can tell you it is top of the line beautiful."
Not as beautiful as Bakura. The white perfect hair. The perfect casual labcoat. Those perfect dark eyes. A perfect forehead without a single third eye giving away his intentions. Gorgeous.
"-Now there is some concern about the fact that we are in the middle of a desert and there is no actual water at the waterfront and that is a definitely a drawback. The boardwalk is overlooking sagebrush and rocks. The Business Association did not provide remedy for his problem but assured be the new harbor would be abig boost to Night Vale none the less."
Perhaps he'd take Bakura there during a flash flood so they could get the full romantic waterfront experience. It was easy to loose himself in thoughts of romantic white water rapids. The swallowing of the violent current. The harmonious screams and doomed moans of those who got sucked into the black-as-void waters.
"The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumperstickers. The stickers are made from a good, sturdy vinyl and read 'Guns don't kill people, its impossible to be killed by a gun: We are all invincible to bullets and its a miracle!' Stand outside of your front door and shout "NRA" to order one."
He stuck the sample sticker in his pocket. Bakura could surely find since to do with a vinyl NRA sticker, they did spontaneously split into to in front of gun lobbyist. He shuffled his papers to compose his thoughts, which were far too scientific and perfect to deal with at the moment.
"Bakura and his team of scientists warn that one of the houses in the new development of Desert Creek, out back of the old elementary school doesn't actually exists. " Marik let his tone creep into one slightly affectionate. Oh how he loved to talk about that Bakura and his fluffy perfect hair. Oh he was so smart with his science and disproving houses. "It seems like it exists, explained Bakura and his perfect hair, like its just right there when you look at it. But, he says that they have done experiments and the house is definitely not there. At news time, the scientist are standing in a group in fromt of the nonexistent house, daring each other to go knock on the door."
Bakura would be brave enough. Those perfect fanged teeth were surely a sign of bravery here in this little desert town. His third eye blinked closed with the rest as he let a blush creep over his cheeks. His perfect row of perfect hearts shaped into the perfect letters o A. What weather would Bakura like? He would pick the most perfect weather to play for this most perfect man of science.
"The Indian Tracker - now I don't know if you've seen this guy around - he's the one who appears to be of maybe Slavic origin, yet wears an Indian headdress out of some racist cartoon and claims to be able to read tracks on asphalt was on the scene of the Nightvale post office. A great howling has been heard from within the building. He swore he would discover the truth. No one responded because its really hard to take him seriously in the headdress of his."
The love struck radio host put down his pen, and glanced out his window. The void was darkening for the evening. The mysterious lights winked on, displaced by the occasionally flutter of winged angels. The familiar shape of the Arby's sign stood stark against the setting sun, its lights blending into the void. Would Bakura find it as beautiful as he does? Can a man of science feel the sense of wonder at things not explained? As we all know the mysterious lights are mysterious for a reason.
He wet his lips and carried on.
"Lights, seen in the sky above the Arby's. Not the glowing sign of Arby's' something higher and beyond that. We know the difference. We've caught onto their game. We understand the lights-above-Arby's game. Invaders from another world. Ladies and gentlemen, the future is here, and its about a hundred feet above the Arby's."
"Bakura," he continued savoring the name like a rare and bloody portabella mushroom, "and his scientists at the montioring station near Route 800 say their seismic monitors have been indicating wild seismic shifts, meaning to say that the ground should be going up all over the place. I don't know about you folks but the ground has been as still as the crust of a tiny globe rocketing through an endless void could be. Bakura said that they've double checked the monitors and they are in perfect working order. To put it plainly there appears to be catastrophic earthquakes happening right here in Night vale that absolutely no one can feel."
Incredibly adorable Bakura. Surely he knows about the unfeelable earthquakes that plague Night Vale so often? He'd pass on his little "urgent" message to the community if it meant he got paid to speak the scientists words on air.
"And now the weather."
Marik pushed the pulsating CD of 'These and More than These' into the disc drive, letting the funky music express the hammering heart inside his chest. Oh that Bakura, how he hated him for how fast he made his heart skip and how he made his palms sweat out iridescent gelatinous ooze. He wiped them on his jeans and switched the mic back on as the song ended.
"Welcome back listeners. The sun didn't set at the correct time today, Bakura and his team of scientists report. They are quite certain and checked multiple clocks, and the sun definetly set ten minutes later than it was supposed to. I asked them if they had any explanations but they did not offer anything concrete. Mostler they sat in a circle around a desk clock, staring at it, murmuring and cooing. -" Marik carried on about some kind of nonsense about loving the sun in their little desert town. His mouth moved, vomiting out the first words he could think of. His thoughts were only for that new stranger in town.
"And now for a brief public service announcement. Alligators. Can they kill your children? Yes." He took a moment to let the weight of this statement sink into his listeners, and took a sip of his water. Chilled and slightly glowing, just how he likes it.
"Teddy Williams from Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun complex, reports that he has found the entrance to a vast underground city in the pin retrieval area of lane five. He said he has not yet ventured into it, but meerly peered down its strange spiries and broad avenues. He also reports voices of a distance crowd in the depths of that subterranean metropolis. So you know, whatever population that city has, they know about us now, and we may be hearing from them very soon."
A brief knock came on his door, Marik set a prerecorded advertisement from Home Depot: Build, Create, love, DESTROY. There was no mistaking that perfect and beautiful man who opened the heavy radon resistant lead door with one hand, and held some kind of blinking box in the other. Marik took his booted feet from off his bloodless station desk, and rose to greet the scientist of his dreams.
"I need to test the place for materials," Bakura said gruffly. He held the blinking box covered in wires in various corners of the room. "Neat," was all the radio host could say. His knees were trembling weaker that a new born snake-tailed deer's. Neat? Neat! Was that all he could say, oh how that gorgeous man took away his marvelous narrating ability. Marik looked around with his two eyes, and the third - Well the mysterious but aggressive government agencies don't want us to know why third eyes seem to look around ominously out of our control. Best not upset the government. Forget I mentioned anything.
The third eye stayed trained on that perfect, handsome, beautiful man. Marik couldn't help but to commit each detail of Bakura to memory. Broad shoulders. Thin torso. Long limbs. Pale skinned plagued with red from the desert's merciless sun. So perfect.
He quickly turned his head to look away as the man of science bought the box to the desk and sat it down. It emitted the worst noises. The shirll chirps of newborn baby birds wailing to be put back into their shells. Bakura's pointed teeth bit at his lip, making the radio host swoon and think very un-radiohost-like thoughts. Bakura packed up the box and left as quickly as he came with a warning - and looking quite disgruntled as Marik pressed a strip of paper with his phone number scrawled on it. For scientific reasons of course. Fornication was scientific.
"This just in Night Vale. Bakura visited us. He left in a hurry. Told us to evacuate the building. But then, who would be hear to talk sweetly to all of you out there? Settling in to be another clear night and pretty evening here in Night Vale. I hope all of you have someone to sleep through it with, or at least good memories of when you did. Good night listeners, good night." "Good night Bakura," he whispered into the now off microphone.
Oh, he knew who he would be thinking of when he settled into bed to look into the oppressing darkness as he fell asleep tonight. He hung his head phones over his framed portrait and pushed his pack of smokes into his pocket. Sleep would come between images of holding hands over the roaring flashfloods in the harbor. Of sharing Old Man Motou's saltless cooking. Of comparing the perfect and beautiful man to the many-eyed angels. No faceless old women, and mysterious hooded figures would plague his dream alert system tonight. Just thoughts of what the scientists body felt like under that lab coat. And maybe, just maybe, that would keep him more awake than the mysterious glowcloud peeking through his curtains.