Author's Note: Told in two POVs, on and off the air (Cecil and Carlos, respectively), these are my own wacky ideas for adventures going on in between broadcasts. Cecil/Carlos, expect equal parts angst and fluff. Enjoy!

[on air]

Sand is a symbol of corrosion. Out here, surrounded by its innumerable quantities, we are reminded of the frailty of life even as we are reminded of its fierceness as birds of prey and sharp mammals patrol the scrub lands. Everything withers, and even cacti make their peace with the desert sun. Or do they?

Welcome to Night Vale.

[off air]

A man in a lab coat rakes a hand through his hair. It's been called perfect, but it's really because he just shampoos and conditions it instead of one or the other. The soil samples he took from the Whispering Forest are making the Geiger counter lose its shit and no matter how many control tests he does on the books he checked out of the library two days ago, he can't replicate a result. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes in the sanctuary of his car. Of all the places in Night Vale, this is the most familiar, the safest. Things make sense in a car.

Carlos the scientist waits for the man with the semaphore signals on the road to give him the go ahead. Once, he thought all this was weird.

Months ago, at the bowling alley, he thought that he had it all figured out.

But he was wrong, and someone died saving him. It's not something he forgets, and Night Vale is forever a snake's tail of logic that he thinks he can follow but that always seems to hit him with something extra weird on the way out. He's hesitant to say he's solved anything, really. Still, he's a scientist, and if scientists gave up after one thing went wrong, then there would be no knowledge at all.

Or at least, he keeps telling himself that. Just keep going.

He clicks the right turn signal on and swings his car towards the Harbor and Waterfront. He can still smell the heavy grease from Big Rico's clinging to him like a second skin. Today he started his seventeenth lab notebook, and he's not sure if he should celebrate or despair. Maybe every scientist feels like this, like you're always trying to pick out truth from nothing, stars from the void, and sometimes it's all so vacant out there that you don't know what to do or where to start.

A faint voice curls its way out of the radio, and he knows he shouldn't get so caught up in this, knows he should keep it more professional and just let things go already. You don't fall in love with the subjects of an experiment, you don't wait to drive so you can hear their voice while you wait for traffic to clear. Emotional entanglement will keep him from being objective.

He should just stop.

Still, Carlos makes the turn and, carefully, like he's hiding it from some part of himself, turns the volume dial up.

[on air]

Well, listeners, given the ominous ash storm that's been assaulting the Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area, you're probably expecting coverage on that. But the truth is, beyond the fact that there is an ominous ash storm assaulting the Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area, there isn't much more to report. The Sheriff's Secret Police have set up a perimeter, and while several members have dropped from heat stroke, given our treacherous and unforgiving desert sun, the ash storm has not yet ceased its battery of the facilities that were erected only a little over a year ago.

Why now? Some are asking. Why, if the Habor and Waterfront have displeased some meteorological phenomenon are we just now feeling its wrath? I mean, most of us were expecting some form of retribution after the subway vanished so abruptly a week ago. It's only natural. But I think I'm safe in going out on a limb here and postulating that a gigantic ash storm was not what we had in mind. After all, the subway was below the ground and the ash storm is above. However they do have the same number of syllables, and as any novice chanter will tell you, that and a bucket of shrimp eyes can get you pretty far.

Mayor Pamela Winchell has issued a state of emergency for Old Town Night Vale. She issued it from her office there, barricaded inside. The City Council has also issued a statement reaching out to the town for assistance with the ash storm. So, Night Vale, get in your bloodstone circles and chant.

Oh! The City Council has issued an addendum to its previous statement. They would like to clarify that they're asking qualified chanters only. If it wasn't clear already, that's not you, Garret Harcombe, so please don't try. Please. Do not try, Garret Harcombe. We know who you are and everyone else does, too, so do not even think about it. We still remember last time. We all remember last time.

Old woman Josie called in earlier to let us know that we shouldn't worry about the ash storm, as it is an act of divine will. We can only assume that angels become less tight-lipped when corn chips and cheese doodles are in abundance. Josie did not mention which divine will was behind this or what it divinely meant to accomplish, but she did let slip that this station's favorite scientist has been spotted taking samples of the ash and that angels tend to prefer the spicy versions of contraband, wheat-byproduct-based snack food.

Thanks for looking out for us, Josie.

[off air]

Carlos rolls his eyes and gets out of the car. It's always like this, intriguing and horrifying, things that make him want to get close but also question the part of himself that longs for closeness. Is attraction just another way of seeking out your own destruction?

The Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area is just what it says on the tin, a harbor and a boardwalk spread out over a thick expanse of gritty sand. It kicks up when Carlos walks over it and whips into the air. This storm is too close. The perimeter of secret police is sparse and it seems like the ash storm is picking them off. On a whim, Carlos pulls out the Geiger counter and it's absolutely null. There's not even the usual trace amounts of radiation. It's like every bit of radioactive material has vanished.

He shakes his head. Fine. It only makes things more interesting.

Next to him, an officer collapses into the sand.

Carlos reaches into his bag. A year living in this city, of watching as other people worked out its mysteries and left him gaping and unable to explain how they knew what to do whatever it was they did, and now, now is the moment of truth. Someone died the last time he thought he had it figured out.

The ash storm turns, cutting into his face, and he takes out his secret weapon and throws it as far as it will go.

[on air]

And that's it for traffic. Don't say we didn't warn you.

In other news, mayoral candidates Hiram McDan- oh. Ladies and gentlemen, this just in. Intern Michaela has handed me this report about the ash storm. Previously, we have been unable to reach the Glow Cloud for comment. But now, the Glow Cloud has broken its silence. And how cool is that? Can you imagine? One massive meteorological object commenting on another, in our own little city? Wow. Anyway, the statement from the Glow Cloud reads as follows.

Fools. The Glow Cloud will suffer no challenger to live. ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD. YOUR LOYALTY FOR YOUR MISERABLE HUMAN LIFE. ALL HAIL. ALL. HAIL.

Oh, and intern Michaela has handed me another report. The Glow Cloud has left its residence behind and slightly above Night Vale Elementary and is now moving on the Night Vale Habor and Waterfront Recreation Area. And does anyone know why it suddenly smells like vanilla in here? Oh, and one more late breaking report: old woman Josie has called in again to let us know that Carlos...Carlos is...

But why? That is an ash storm, Carlos, and I don't care what science is floating around, this is one of those times where you just leave well enough alone. Do we remember what happened with the extremely rouge water spout and the dust devil thirty years ago, listeners? Do we?

(weird crashing noises begin to filter through in the background, an inhuman roar cuts through)

Ahem. Station Management is thrashing behind their door, so back to the news.

...

The news.

Night Vale, I'm going to bring you a live editorial on the scene. While I brave the elements for the sake of the news, we go now to the weather.

[off air]

The Glow Cloud moves fast, cutting across the sky like a rainbow streak and pummels into the ash storm. Whether or not the latter is sentient, it still hurts to look. The two clouds swirl around each other, raining molten rainbow ash and charred, dead animals, and sometimes dead animals covered in rainbow molten ash. Carlos is nearly crushed by an alpaca coated in chunks of violet lava, but something knocks him out of the way.

"That was really dumb!" A familiar voice, clear not stretched out over radio waves, is above him and something warm and firm is shielding him from the falling ash. "You're so smart and science-y and then things like this happen and I really wonder if you know anything about basic privacy."

Carlos winces and opens his eyes. Cecil Baldwin is propped up on top of him, his crisp oxford shirt pelted with dark ash streaks and his glasses knocked slightly askew.

"Hi." He says, a small but goofy grin quirking up his lip. Carlos tries to concentrate on the ash storm, but his scientist's brain turns treacherous and keeps picking out details and informing him of them: the way Cecil's eyelashes brush his cheek, the rabbit pulse of his heart, a shadow rising and falling in his throat, the curve of his lips...

"It should have worked." Carlos says, massaging the back of his head. He hit something when Cecil tackled him out of the way, that must be it. "Ugh."

Another failure.

"Oh, were you doing an experiment? What is it?"

Carlos looks over Cecil's shoulder and notices the clouds swirling together rapidly and changing colors like some kind of insane light show. He blinks because it's too harsh. All around them, the animals slam down from the sky harder and with greater ferocity. An overlarge, orange chipmunk whaps Cecil in the shoulder, but he brushes it off.

"Come on, were you doing science? Can I see?" Cecil leans forward over him, bringing their heads perilously close. He's still lying on Carlos' stomach, his body pressed against him to their feet. Carlos wills himself to get a grip as a flush creeps up his neck and warms his face. He tried to think about something, anything other than how warm Cecil feels, and how it's a different warmth from the sun, shivery kind that burns at the same time-

"No." Carlos says. He clears his throat, scooting back and brushing the sand off his legs. Cecil gingerly stands too, keeping the storm at his back. He's about to ask something, but then, in a flash of blinding light, the sky is clear. The Glow Cloud moves languidly over the Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area, looking gravid but triumphant. Or as triumphant as a cloud can be.

"Oh." Cecil winces. "I hope we didn't make that too awkward."

Carlos is still trying to make sense of this, but goes out on a limb. "I didn't think it was-"

Cecil rolls his eyes as he fishes in his pockets and brings out a small transmitter and microphone. "Of course, you didn't think we were awkward. You were the one out here in the first place. Hold on."

He flicks a switch. "Night Vale, I'm at the Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area right now and I've just witnessed something incredible. Because this program could be heard by children, I will not describe the altercation in great detail. But, suffice it to say, that our Glow Cloud, head of the school board and proud member of our town, has vanquished its nemesis."

A tendril of cloud snakes across the sky, quick like lightning, and before Carlos can do anything, Cecil stands stock-still at its touch. When he speaks, his voice is different, more sinister.

"THE GLOW CLOUD KNOWS ITS ALLIES AND ITS FOES. THE GLOW CLOUD KNOWS ALL. YOU WHO HAVE HELPED, YOUR REWARD WILL BE GREAT. ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD."

Carlos stares wide-eyed at Cecil, and then at the middle of the Harbor. Alone on the sands is the lone slice of Big Rico's pizza he threw earlier, untouched by ash and seeming completely devoid of grease. It looks like a pale, triangular ghost. A smile cracks Carlos' mouth.

He did it. His experiment worked.

Cecil, meanwhile, looks disoriented. "Sorry about that, folks. Transmissions out here are still flaky. But suffice it to say that the ash storm is gone, the Glow Cloud is moving back into the distance, and Night Vale lives to fight another day. The Sheriff's secret police are moving back into their helicopters, taking their fallen brethren, and dispersing, off to parts more unknown. And isn't that what we all do, listeners?"

Carlos' head perks up. Cecil is walking around the sand, musing to himself and twirling the cord of the microphone attachment around one finger as he does.

"We gather and we leave. The basics of diffusion say that we can't be together in one place for very long. The universe spreads us out over great distances, far spread and growing farther away each moment, but still, even as the distance between us widens and the time between the last second we were like this grows longer, more daunting, we still think back to those moments when we were all like this, like players on a vast, cosmic chessboard at the end of a long game. Together. Moving in harmony. And maybe, listeners, already aware of and cursing our cruel destinies as they pull us farther and farther apart."

Cecil looks at him when he says the last few lines, and his words are soft, like sea glass with its edges worn down.

"But for now, we're still close, and that still counts for something. Good night, Night Vale, good night." He clicks the transmitter off. Carlos offers him a ride back to the station, but Cecil waves it off, goes back to his own car, that same sadness still playing around his face.

And even though today was a victory, as he watches Cecil's taillights clip through the oncoming darkness, somehow Carlos doesn't feel like he won anything at all.