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First Broadcast (Video)
[There is a man on the feed. He is not tall or short, not thin or fat, and he looks to be somewhere in his thirties, with black geometric tattoos sprawling out from the rolled-up sleeves of his sweater.
He also has just about the worst fashion sense of any man you could ever see, I'll tell you that right now.
More important than any of his other physical attributes, however, are the look of senseless fear upon his face that only years spent huddled in needless isolation can bring, as well as the oaken baritone that escapes his lips when he finally manages to speak:]
...hello? Is anyone here? I don't think this is Night Vale, I...where is this place? And why is there a woman in this house who claims to be my mother, when my real mother had always warned me to beware of any possible mirrors? Also, to beware of just about anything, but oh, you know how parents can be. I miss her so much...
Oh. I almost forgot.
[He puts on a face of stony insularity, and, with a piercing-yet-vacant glare, points at the viewer.]
INTERLOPER!
[His expression returns to normal, and he puts his hands back into the pockets of his furry pants.]
That was the traditional Night Vale greeting to all outsiders...although I suppose in this situation, I'm the interloper? It's so hard to tell when your entire life fades away in an instant, leaving behind nothing but fuzzy memories and the sense that none of it was ever real.
Sorry about that.
On to more pressing concerns.
[He gestures towards the Bronzor near him, which currently looks nothing like a Bronzor. Most of this has to do with the paper shopping bag draped over its body, hastily-cut-out eye holes visible but not helping one bit..]
Uh, does anyone have an idea what this...being eats? It didn't want any of my trail mix, and when I tried feeding it a rice ball and some pickles it just stared at the food blankly, before hovering into this house's bathroom in disappointment and concern. I am afraid that I might have offended it enough to bring a terrible curse upon us all...or at least, have it telepathically assault me, it's hard to tell the difference sometimes.
He also has just about the worst fashion sense of any man you could ever see, I'll tell you that right now.
More important than any of his other physical attributes, however, are the look of senseless fear upon his face that only years spent huddled in needless isolation can bring, as well as the oaken baritone that escapes his lips when he finally manages to speak:]
...hello? Is anyone here? I don't think this is Night Vale, I...where is this place? And why is there a woman in this house who claims to be my mother, when my real mother had always warned me to beware of any possible mirrors? Also, to beware of just about anything, but oh, you know how parents can be. I miss her so much...
Oh. I almost forgot.
[He puts on a face of stony insularity, and, with a piercing-yet-vacant glare, points at the viewer.]
INTERLOPER!
[His expression returns to normal, and he puts his hands back into the pockets of his furry pants.]
That was the traditional Night Vale greeting to all outsiders...although I suppose in this situation, I'm the interloper? It's so hard to tell when your entire life fades away in an instant, leaving behind nothing but fuzzy memories and the sense that none of it was ever real.
Sorry about that.
On to more pressing concerns.
[He gestures towards the Bronzor near him, which currently looks nothing like a Bronzor. Most of this has to do with the paper shopping bag draped over its body, hastily-cut-out eye holes visible but not helping one bit..]
Uh, does anyone have an idea what this...being eats? It didn't want any of my trail mix, and when I tried feeding it a rice ball and some pickles it just stared at the food blankly, before hovering into this house's bathroom in disappointment and concern. I am afraid that I might have offended it enough to bring a terrible curse upon us all...or at least, have it telepathically assault me, it's hard to tell the difference sometimes.
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