CHAPTER ONE: A Beautiful Human
Now Leaving Night Vale: A story about a young man who, for whatever reason, finds himself unable to conform to Night Vale's nonconformity. He doesn't lift into the air when gravity stops working. He can't call the secret police with the microphones hidden in his house. The street cleaners don't terrify him. The Library is normal, if not a little isolated. And the Hooded Figures pass by him without a glance.
When he and a few new friends try to band together to leave Night Vale, a dream they've all shared for separate reasons, they end up causing unimaginable mayhem for those left behind. It turns out the government doesn't like learning about cities that having unaccounted for possibility to create weapons of mass destruction.
When Cecil is injured and taken as part of their 'security' program, the small gang takes it upon themselves to save and undo what they've done to their town. But some things are much harder than they seem, and even with Carlos and Dana and everyone else who loves Cecil, it still might not be enough.
Now Leaving Night Vale is purely fan-made, and I do not own Welcome to Night Vale or anything to do with it.
Please feel free to comment, review, follow, like, do everything! It makes my day hearing from you, and I'd love to know if I'm doing a good job. Thanks for reading!
PJ Noteworthy was a musician. You know, the kind that sometimes shows up in the supermarket to chant children's nursery rhymes? Sort of like that, but with considerably more crying.
He specialized in guitar, piano, drums, tuba, saxophone, harmonica, violin, double bass, (it was actually a cello, but nobody believed him), kazoo, piccolo, viscera whistles, the spoons, and he could sing. At least, this is what his resume said. In reality, nobody had seen him touch any instruments but the violin, double bass (cello), and the spoons. Everyone could play a viscera whistle, so it wasn't that special.
"PJ Noteworthy" was no where close to his real name. But then again, did that make it less useful? That is what he told people, so it was as real as any other name.
PJ's ultimate goal was to get his music played on the radio. To have Cecil play it, at any point, would be an absolute dream come true. Everyone would hear it. Everyone would have an opinion on it. They may be bad opinions, but at least they'd be opinions about a previously opinionless thing. He, so far, had yet to achieve anything close to this.
It was on a summer day, a day that was hot without being overly bearing, and humid without any actual humidity, that he wander down the quiet street. The kind of day that made you want to run barefoot through a grassy field, to paint art and make music and sing at the top of your lungs and dance all the time. The kind of day that made you forget that you were a human, living in a human world, and fanciful stuff like that in illogical, and overall useless.
PJ turned into Dark Owl Records before he'd realized that had been his destination. The building was lit dimly, with fairy lights spread out over the rows of records, the only light source in the building. Michelle Nyugen was the manager of the place, and she was there, every day, at the same times, like clockwork. A reliable person in a relatively unreliable town.
He had come for one thing in particular, under the guise of needing something else, but that was how it always was.
"Hey, Michelle," he said, waving awkwardly, as at the same time he'd tried to lean on the counter, so he ended up waving by rubbing his hand against the cold surface. Michelle seemed not to notice.
"Hey, PJ," she echoed. Her voice seemed hollow, and the leather pants she was wearing were preventing her from sitting properly. She was also wearing a leather shirt, and a leather collar, and he would not have been surprised to see her wearing leather shoes.
Dark Owl Records had been through a lot in the last year. From the failed band Michelle had tried to start, and the free concert that had left all of the staff screaming in the desert.
Regardless, they'd bounced back like the champions that they were, and PJ was back to his usual schedule of lurking about in the records shop.
"Have you got in it?" PJ asked, still using the false pretense for being here, while discreetly scanning his eyes around for the real reason.
"Think so. You wanted the newest Blue Hardly album, right?" Michelle asked, stiffly walking out from behind her desk to lead him down the dark isles of records. PJ didn't need to confirm, as she'd already started, and she was right, so why bother.
"Hardly's here," she declared, beckoning to the bottom shelf. "If you find it, don't forgot to give it a tear before trying to touch it," she warned as an afterthought, aware that PJ often did forget to do a lot of the little, mundane Night Vale rituals that came to everyone else so easily.
He bent down, spotting immediately the mottled blue cover of the new album. Blue Hardly was one of his favourite artists, really his only inspiration for becoming a musician himself. Blue's music was absolutely amazing. It made him want to dance and sing and capture fireflies in jars. But that was ultimately useless, again.
PJ's father had always told him that if it was ultimately useless, it probably wasn't useful. PJ hadn't known how to argue with this.
He also, suspiciously, didn't know who is father was, so the reasoning behind listening to the man seemed flawed.
He glanced at his watch. 6:59.
"Hey, Michelle. Cecil's show's on about now. Mind turning on the radio?" he called, glancing away from the rows of records, before turning back to it. He pretended not to have found it, to be able to kill a little bit more time here.
"I know what to do," Michelle growled back, but he heard the static from the radio anyways, at least, it was static until the Night Vale Community Radio theme started playing to introduce the host.
Not many people missed Cecil's nightly show. Not many people liked Cecil's show, to be fair, as many thought he spent much too long on his personal life, too long with veiled criticisms of other people's lives, shared too many people's secrets, and didn't touch on the important stuff nearly enough.
But he was Cecil Palmer. He was the voice of Night Vale, so when he spoke, they listened.
"A small desert community, in which young love sprouts, grows, blossoms, then is corrupted by the touch of society. As always, dear listeners, Welcome, to Night Vale."
The familiar voice filled the space that was occupied by the Dark Owl Records building, and the two or three other customers in the place all stopped momentarily to be welcomed to the town they already lived in, and had, and will, always live in.
"I'd like to begin our show tonight by congratulation Sydney Sarah for coming in fourth place in the annual Desert Run of the Century. While Sydney didn't win, she gave it her absolute best shot, and since there were only three people running, the fact that she managed to come in fourth is impressive in itself. Still, though, she managed to beat out Desert Bluff's runner, Emmanuel Johnston, who is technically and biologically, a cactus. So we all know he had an advantage in the heat of the day."
Had PJ ever met Sydney? He couldn't remember. A lot of the news focused on people that PJ never knew, and yet made him feel strongly compelled to want to know them. Sydney came if fourth? That's amazing! He had to congratulate her!
The fact that one voice could make him care about someone he didn't care about sometimes greatly concerned PJ.
"In Similar news, a Public Service Announcement from the Night Vale Juvenile Detention Centre consisted of nothing but cat hisses. We sent an intern-"
PJ held his breath.
"-Intern Ellaina out there to check out what they would need to make a PSA about. She was eaten."
PJ felt his whole body relax, relief swimming through his body quite invasively as he didn't recognize the name. Cecil sending anyone anywhere ended with the same situation, and he tuned out the next minute as the radio host went on about how Elliane will be missed, how great she was at making coffee and then recited all of her middle school speeches, front to back.
While this was going on, PJ decided to turn him out. He knew that when Cecil started talking about something more thrilling, they'd all go back to listening. For now, he stared at the album he was pretending not to see.
"Looking for something?" a familiar light, musical voice asked, and PJ looked up, eyes meeting long, slender legs, up to a pink and white striped dress that ended above the knees, following it to a slender waist with a brown, fashionable belt around it, to the sweetheart neckline of the dress, and a little flower pendant. The face that looked down at him was breathtaking, with a small, narrow nose, narrow, shaped eyes that were blue and gold and yellow at the same time. Ruby lips and pale skin, and blonde hair that was shaved close to the sides, but kept long and curly on the top.
She was a she, today, he noted.
She shifted the satchel that hung at her hip, with the Night Vale Community Radio logo on it, and stuck out a hand to help him up. He accepted the hand and pulled himself up, feeling a spark of energy through his body as he touched her skin. There must be a storm coming.
Her name was Fairy Sullivan, and PJ had been, for the past six months, completely and absolutely smitten with her since he first met her. Fairy Sullivan was also not her real name, but it was closer to her real name that PJ was to PJ's real name.
PJ himself had spent the first month of his enrapture with her have an emotional break down, as he was, one hundred percent (he'd thought), gay.
And Fairy had been a boy when they'd met, but then had been a girl, and PJ decided that for the sake of the beautiful human he could identify as bisexual.
The other big hurdle for PJ had been that Fairy was currently a Night Vale Community Radio Intern, and he knew that the interns had very short shelf lives. What if, one night, at seven pm he turned on the radio and Cecil was apologize profusely for his or her death, whichever they were on the day he sent them out to find out if the wild boar in the desert was friendly? Or if the volcano was still hot. Or to pick up a newspaper. Chances are, if Cecil asked, they died.
Fairy had, to date, survived seven months of the program, which, in total, was two years. One year and five months of intense stress to go.
"Hey, Fairy," he stammered, trying to calm his heart and make his mouth less dry.
"PJ," she responded politely.
"I'm looking for the Blue Hardly album that came out yesterday," PJ told her quickly. She looked down.
"There's only one album on that self, PJ," Fairy replied, tilting her head a bit. God, she was absolutely stunning in the dim light.
"Right, so there is," PJ said quickly, bending down to grab the album.
"Wait!" Fairy exclaimed suddenly, and PJ froze, nearly falling backwards in his haste. This was Night Vale. Someone calling anything frantically was cause to be concerned. "Doofus," she said playfully. "You forgot to cry for it."
Right. Crying. PJ could do that, totally. He tried. He thought of all the sad things he could. His cat, The Black Lord of Time, disappearing into the Dog Park a few months ago. His father, telling him to not waste usefulness on useless things. The fact that that probably wasn't his dad.
He thought about how he still hadn't asked Fairy out.
Nothing was working.
"I can't cry on demand," PJ admitted eventually. Fairly seemed confused.
"Everyone can cry on demand," she said, frowning.
"I can't," PJ insisted.
"I'll grab it for you," Fairy said, shrugging, and bent down, quickly squeezing out a tear and dropping it on the record, before grabbing it and standing up, handing the album to PJ.
"Thanks," he said, feeling his fingers brush her's as the album moved hands.
"Don't mention it," she said, smiling at him ever so slightly.
The two nodded, the darkness of the room preventing either of them from reading the other's face completely, and as they stood for an eternity in Dark Owl Records, PJ found, somewhere deep in the back of his almost adult skull, the insane courage to do what he wanted to do.
"Hey, do you maybe want to go grab some coffee somewhere?" he stammered out, feeling his face flush red, and glad for the dimness of the room.
Unbenounced to him, Fairy blushed the same, if not much darker shade of red, hanging her head and gripping tighter at her bag.
"That could be nice," she reasoned. "Perhaps tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow's great." PJ said, and suddenly he felt an immense weight lifting off his shoulders, and his heart felt like butterflies, and his stomach with the familiar, nervous feeling of pine beetles crawling in and out of his organs.
"I've got to grab something for Cecil though," Fairy said. "He wanted… His exact words were 'anything not branded by the three antlered king', which is pretty broad, but I think we was telling me he wanted one of the new audio books they're trying out."
"Oh," PJ said, and the pine beetles were swallowed by a menacing hawk. She had been sent here by Cecil. "Mind if I stick around?"
"Hmm?" Fairy asked, laughing a bit at the strange question.
"I just… Like spending time with you," PJ said quickly, and that wasn't exactly a lie. But what else could he do? Maybe if he was there, whatever would undoubtedly happen could be stalled. "I don't have anything better to do today anyways."
"Well then, it's a date," she said, and skipped past him, further into Dark Owl Records.
PJ turned and followed her, trying to wipe the goofy smile off his face, and completely unaware of Michelle, watching him from the corner of her eye, or the Sheriff's Secret Policeman, standing in the other aisle and watching him through the gaps in the records.
Had he known, would it have made much of a difference? Probably not.
He'd forgotten to pay attention for when Cecil came back to important news, so all he heard of the end of the segment was:
"And that has been a message from the City Council. There were no survivors. Remember kids, sound can be as bad as sight. And smell is as bad as touch. Taste is on par with pyrokinesis, and the moon above us is better than the sun."
PJ laughed. What the Hell did that even mean?
If only the poor musician had stopped to asked, perhaps he could have foreseen his future a little bit better. As it was, PJ was more preoccupied at the moment, with the possibility of a new relationship with the absolutely stunning human that was Fairy Sullivan.
And time kept moving (relatively) forward, and his heart kept beating (relatively) steady, and his mind kept running (relatively) sanely, because everything was relative in Night Vale. Nothing was black or white and nothing ever followed what that scientist called 'scientific laws'.
Well, nothing except for PJ Noteworthy, that is.