#dr-carlosrobles

[thevoiceofnv]

[ @dr-carlosrobles — ]

Cecil just likes to feel the rain, sometimes.

He is so horrendously old— older than the winds, the storms, the rains under his command. There is so much he has done, and still he feels a lack.

It is not unlike the vacuum he first awoke in, this feeling. It is an untethered feeling, unanchored. He feels tossed on the waves his own storms create, and still no closer to steady ground for it.

Flat on their back in the sand, Cecil sighs, eyes wide open, staring upwards into the storm clouds they've gathered over themself. Over this section of the beach, it pours; a storm rages, and Cecil, spread starfish on his back, lets himself absorb the sand, lets the waves lap against them as high tide comes in, lets lightning crackle and snap down into the ocean with every flash of their tattoos and heavy rumble of thunder.

They just feel this way, sometimes. It's better to let it out like this than keep it in too long.

The air pressure changes on the beach. Cecil feels it— of course, he feels it. He feels every lick of wind everywhere, every change in temperature, every shift in density; the air, the winds, the clouds, the storms, the weather, the rain, the lightning, the thunder, the magnificence, it is all theirs.

Lifting her near-nonexistent head, Cecil blinks through the driving rain in search of the source of the shift. She doesn't need to have a human body— or a human name, or anything human at all, really— but, it's something to do. And it all feels far more properly theatrical when she's fling out on the sand physically, not just metaphorically.

There is a shape down the beach, it realizes.

It'd thought this stretch was empty, remote; that's why it came here, specifically, when it realized it had to release: to hide. It'd hate to hurt somebody who wandered over just because it doesn't have control.

Cecil begins attempting to calm the storm, to quell it, to stuff it back away for now. It's an effort; he sits up in the sand, fists gripping the wet granules in gritty palmfuls, and concentrates, scars and tattoos and markings flashing with each bolt of lightning, head pounding with the rumbling thunder, until the rain has begun to subside, his emotions compressed backwards— and the weather with it.

With this lessened rain, Cecil can see so much more.

He can see a… a person.

A person?

He thinks they might be a person. Maybe.

Are they, though?

[thevoiceofnv]

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Oh, my—

𝑂ℎ.

Cecil is struck 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 when Carlos leans over and kisses his cheek in return.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was kissed. Literally, he does not remember it; the last time he was kissed was years ago, by Earl Harlan, and Cecil doesn’t remember a single second of it, wiped clear from his mind after several ensuing— though unrelated— sessions of re-education that left Cecil blank, Earl heartbroken, and their relationship a broken, half-gone mess.

Regardless.

Being kissed now— and being kissed by perfect, perfect Carlos— on the cheek is the most tremendous feeling he’s ever had. And he had such fear when Carlos didn’t respond, at first, but now—

He couldn’t be more thrilled. He couldn’t be happier, really, and—

And he gets a second kiss.

And a third!

And three is one of his best numbers. He can’t help but sigh happily, tugging Carlos’s lab coat closer around himself. It feels so grounding, perfect, warm.

Though Cecil has never liked facial hair on men before— oh, he loves it on Carlos. He loves the friction against his own skin; he hopes it leaves a mark behind. He hopes Carlos is burnt into his skin forever.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Cecil insists, blushing furiously. His blood is rushing so fast he feels like he might lose consciousness— but, he can’t! Carlos is here! He wants to spend every second he can together with him. “I’m just so grateful you’re coming! Thank you, Carlos! I’m—”

He hesitates, then admits— “Prophecies are never guaranteed. Nothing is ever guaranteed. But I… I saw you, and I couldn’t live without you anymore. I feel so lucky that… that this prophecy was guaranteed. That you are…”

He doesn’t want to say guaranteed, even though he, himself, is guaranteed. He’s not going anywhere, not while Carlos is anywhere else.

“There are many prophecies,” Cecil informs him, rather than picking up his previous line of thought. “And many of them… Many of them, I hope would not come true. But I would have endured any of them— all of them— to make sure you would.”

The smile that comes onto his face is sharp-toothed and inhuman and irrepressible.

“But I didn’t even need to. You are your own force of nature, aren’t you, Carlos?”

Just like Cecil is. They are meant to be.

[thevoiceofnv]

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Esteban always comes up with such creative ideas— and so does Carlos. He’s so scientific, of course— both he and their son can be so scientific!— but that means they’re inventive, too, and Cecil loves to hear every idea they come up with.

Like names in a hat! What a dangerous idea! But Cecil loves how dangerous Carlos can be, how risky and reckless and fascinating he can be!

Carlos’s voice is so soft when he speaks, like a blanket wrapped around Cecil— and then he promises real blankets, even, and Cecil smiles, sighing, relaxing into Carlos, half-aware of what’s happening around him.

“That sounds 𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒,” Cecil murmurs. It’s the perfect night, really; it’s his favorite sort of evening between them. “What food do you think the baby wants? Maybe I’m just… just not giving them the food they want.”

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel well. Maybe he’s just doing this wrong already. It was easier with Esteban— he had just been born when he came into their lives. Cecil’s not used to doing everything that comes before a baby is born instead of after; maybe he’s already messed it up, somehow?

“What do babies need? Before they’re babies?”

[thevoiceofnv]

@dr-carlosrobles—

Cecil holds the black rag against his hand, letting it absorb his blood until it clots.

The rag would be stained, if it weren’t black— and it’s black because Cecil has done this many times, and will do it many times more, and he knows that he may as well choose a fabric that won’t leave such obvious marks behind. He can be sort of classy like that.

His blood is dribbled all over his bloodstone circle, frosting the stones and pooled in their center, a layer held in by the energy of the circle.

It’s too bad he’s one of the Night Vale citizens who can feel pain— but, at least he’s had to make offerings to the bloodstone circle so many times in his life that he knows exactly how much to focus on his hand to clot the blood and stitch the wound back over, pulling the skin into one unit again. It still hurts, but at least he doesn’t have to keep bleeding all over the place.

He’s been acutely aware of his ability to feel pain, lately. Near-constant nausea, and headaches, and superlunary vomiting, and flesh hazing, and the aching need to chew on things, and just being so exhausted! It’s all typical pregnancy stuff, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s not tired of it! And Esteban is going to notice soon, if he hasn't already...

The bloodstones shine, the muted glow taking on the color of his blood, cast between a deep violet and a rich red, coming out wine-dark and strange. The circles reflect in his pupils, rimming the crescent moons.

Closing his eyes and letting the third one open, he blinks to the bloodstone circle and begins his prayer.

He’s so used to praying by now, he can almost do it on autopilot. His voice is an intonation, a hum, sonorous and deep and vibrating. He speaks in the tongue of the bloodstones, asks his questions, gets some answers— receives some additional questions of his own.

The bloodstones are losing their shine, the prayer and exchanging of information (practically descending into gossip, by the end, but then— Cecil does love gossip, and so do the bloodstones) coming to a close, when Cecil feels Carlos’s presence close by. A smile flickers onto his face; this, too, is automatic.

He lets his awareness spread to engulf Carlos, encompassing him, enveloping in a soft, warm greeting in his direction. Excitement is buzzing in him; he’s just learned so much! Carlos will be so excited!