CHARACTER RECLAIMS

[powersthatbe]

From now until endgame, Synodiporia is closed to new applications. However, players who dropped or idled characters but who do not have a behavioral strike against them may reclaim characters at any time. Dungeons and app windows are no longer necessary. Simply comment below with "I'd like to bring [character (username)] back!" And we'll take it from there. Players already at 3 characters who wish to bring back a 4th or 5th may do so so long as they're current on AC. Players wishing to bring in characters above 5 may request special mod permission. If you are uncertain if you qualify to reclaim, please email us at synodiporians@gmail.com and ask!

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cecil gershwin palmer ∞ welcome to night vale ∞ 3/3

[saccades]

S A M P L E S;

FIRST PERSON:

[The voice is sonorous, though not ominous; precise, though not loud; pleasant, though not cheerful. It's a voice that sounds like it has something important to say, even when it doesn't, the kind of voice that belongs to a man who steeples his fingers before the microphone and weaves words into pictures in other people's minds.]

Well, Travelers.

[A brief hesitation, as though he's unused to the word.]

Well, Travelers; we have come back.

Not all of us, of course, have come back. Many of us have stayed behind, for reasons that escape those of us who have come back, who see their absence as an abscessed wound or as a barely-noticeable splinter. Or even less. Some of you are happy to be fewer in number, to have enemies gone and complicated relationships unequivocally ended.

[Soothing:] That's all right. It's all . . . all right.

Because we're rewarded. Every time, we're rewarded. We get a few days in which our minds, all of them, are as wholly ours as minds ever belong to any of us, and that, Travelers, is a great gift. You should all be grateful.

[Dark:] We should all - be grateful.

[And then, like an utterly different man, or a child who's just caught sight of a particularly fluffy puppy:] Did you see they've got cotton candy in the hallway by the entrance? And candy corn just a few feet down from that! This place is amazing. I wish we could take pictures. But they wouldn't last, I suppose; we couldn't take them with us.

THIRD PERSON:

Cecil would feel better if he could see them. The Trumps, that is - and is that so strange? In his opinion, all things, even the impossible, are more comprehensible when tangible.

He finds himself daydreaming on occasion about them. Whether they keep themselves hidden, as he suspects, because they are grander and greater than a collection of by-and-large human beings can handle, or for some other reason. Maybe they experience some strange and inexplicable version of shame because of their ugliness or awesomeness, or because they aren't perfect. Maybe they're afraid of being mistrusted.

Maybe, he wonders in the most secret parts of his mind, they are angels.

It feels like a betrayal of all that they've done, inscrutable as it is, to miss Night Vale. But he experiences his loss as a gaping hole sort of feeling in the place where his heart is (probably is), as though a few weeks ago every soul in his city was wedged neatly beneath his ribs, a many-headed bird in an ivory cage. Now they have all at once vacated their cage, or rather it has abandoned them. Are they cold at night? Unsure? Undirected?

Sometimes he says, "I'm sorry," out of nowhere, in the middle of conversations. He doesn't know why. He shocks people with it. He shocks himself. He wonders if the Trumps can hear him, or if his voice carries back to the microphone, or if he says it loud enough, Carlos might hear.

All he knows is that once the words spring without permission from his stumbling lips, he feels a little better. Lighter. As if somewhere, by someone, he is forgiven.