Welcome to Fashion Vale {Welcome to Night Vale}

CHAPTER 1

{AN: First off, I would like to give credit to my close friend who supplied this idea. She sent me a text message saying that she HAD to have it in her life, so I agreed to be the author of this fic and please her, as a good friend does. I've decided to share it among the Internet, now. Be forewarned: This fanfiction is the strangest I have ever written. So.. You'll probably have quite a few:

'WTF AM I READING?!?' moments.

Also; I wrote this fic before I knew his last name was Palmer XD

BUT IT IS ABOUT CECIL PALMER, NOT THE VOICE ACTOR MR. BALDWIN.

Enjoy! }

Chapter 1

Cecil Baldwin nudged his way along through the bustle of people back stage, glaring and making small sounds of disproval when a strangers body brushed against his own accidentally. "Out of my way, come on , do you people even know who I am? I've got a show in less than an hour!" He shouted over heads that hardly looked his direction through the dimly lit and rather stuffy area. After five minutes of poking a shoving with elbows, the blonde finally managed to locate his dressing room (more of a private office) and forced his way inside before slamming the door behind him, eyes closing while he panted heavily to catch his breath from the scene. It was quite a struggle to get from point A to B without being recognised (so he believed). After all, he was Cecil Baldwin, top male fashion designer in Night Vale, and of course, world wide. His work varied, from petite dresses for normal human women (which he despised creating. Such boring creatures...) to corsets for five headed dragons. Yes, Cecil designs corsets specially for Hiram McDaniels when requested with a reasonable sum of money to accept.

His clothing was on the front cover of nearly every favourite fashion magazine, worn by the very best models that were willing to pout in front of a camera wearing his designs. Now, he was extremely wealthy and lived.. A fairly comfortable-- no.. An okay life-- NO, Cecil Baldwin was lonely and bitter because of it. There is no holding back on that subject. He had the money, the fame, the success... But he was missing something that his heart desired beyond any of those things. Love is a powerful thing, dear reader. And without its experience, what feelings do we know? Cold, empty, hatred... That little missing emotion of happy warmth.

Cecil understood.

A loud shout on the other side of the poorly efficient (and disgustingly old) wooden door made him jolt in surprise as he pulled out of his short break of only leaning against a solid object to find his breathing. "One of your models dropped out, you're short for the show!" He heard, his expression fading into an irritated frown as he groaned in frustration. Cecil snatched open the door with a glare and clenched his jaw, knuckles white from his tight grasp on the rusted gold handle. "Oh, magnifique!" He said in particularly bad French with much sarcasm, "How could this happen, I need another model or this entire thing will be ruined! I had all the people and outfits, must one person be an idiot and--.." Cecil nearly choked on his words as his eyes drifted up from the scrawny boy with the clipboard he had been shouting at to the taler, darker male who he had not taken notice to. His glasses, his eyes, his... Oh.. Oh, his hair... "Who.. is this?" He mumbled, mouth going strangely dry.

"Mr Baldwin, this is your new model."

{AN: Okay, that was chapter one. I apologise for its length, it is very short, I know. I tried to give Cecil the stereotyped fashion designer personality... You know, cocky, rude, stubborn, arrogant, with a ton of poorly spoken French thrown in there? There you go. By the way, Billy/ Steve is in fact an AU Steve Carlsberg. What a jerk... }