Cecilos Fluff

CARLOS THAT IS A PEN

Cecil creeps towards Carlos's lab, his pale fingers gripping a mug of tea (black with two sugars, just how Carlos likes it) and a plate of Old Woman Josie's corn muffins (which no longer lack salt). He gently bumps open the lab door, revealing a scientific mess of tubes and beakers heaped across several white benches. In the middle of the mess is Carlos, his perfect hair mussed where he'd unconsciously rubbed it while deep in thought. His back is to the door and he is bent over the desk in front of him, evidently working hard at some science-y project. Softly walking up to him, Cecil brushes aside some empty beakers and lays down the breakfast.

"Morning, beautiful," He whispers, running his fingers through Carlos's perfect hair to smooth it.

Carlos leans back and beams at him, revealing a row of perfect white teeth.

"Good morning, Cece."

Cecil grins, then his eyes slide to the object held in Carlos's right hand.

"Carlos," he hisses in a sharp, and suddenly worried, voice. "What are you holding?"

"That, Sweetie, is a pen."

"OMG CARLOS NO," Cecil wails, his voice higher than usual and his nervous hands twitching spasmodically. "Carlos, PENS ARE ILLEGAL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU ARE GOING TO GET US KILLED."

Carlos's smile widens as he twirls the pen expertly between his long fingers. Even while handling illegal and highly dangerous objects, Carlos is still perfect.

"Cece you are so adorable. It's just a pen. What else am I going to write my notes with?" He says in that straight-forward science-y way that is just so... cute? No, perfect.

"Carlos, we've been through this." Cecil cries in concerned exasperation. "You just have to crawl outside in the middle of the night and scream your notes to the unforgiving void. From then on, your words will be repeated back to you in a monotonous growl while your sleep every night. It's really quite simple. And very efficient. No need to slaughter our precious forests to make paper. Night Vale is proud of being environmentally conscious. Please, Carlos, for your own safety, and the safety of the entire planet, GET RID OF THE PEN."

Grinning broadly now, Carlos waves the pen in front of Cecil's face. Cecil leaps backwards, his arms flailing wildly.

"No nO NO!" he squeals, accidentally knocking a glass off the desk with his windmilling arms.

Before it can smash against the floor in a thousand deadly shards, an elegant hand shoots out of nowhere and deftly catches it. Placing it carefully in the middle of the desk, Carlos turns back an moves towards Cecil with a mischievous glint in his deep chocolaty eyes.

"Are you scared of the pen, Sweetie?" He smirks, swirling it through the air closer and closer to Cecil's chest.

Cecil scrambles backwards, bracing himself to hear the screeching, ghostly sirens of the Sheriff's Secret Police. They will be coming soon, because Carlos is crazy. He is perfectly crazy. 

Yes, even when he has completely lost all rational brain functions, Carlos is still perfect.

Cecil feels a cold wall press against his back and he knows he is trapped. There is no escape. There is never an escape.

Now, he realises exactly why pens are banned. They are incredibly, incomprehensibly, inconceivably destructive objects that masquerade as innocent stationary, infiltrating our homes and lives, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Then, when the time is right,  they will warp the minds of those they touch, turning people into mindless drones intent on converting all humans into pen slaves.

Pens.

 Are. 

Sentient.

They want to take over the world. They want to destroy us all. They want to rule.

This, Cecil realises in the few moments it takes for Carlos to close in on him. Carlos is converted. Cecil is next. Cecil closes his eyes, giving in to void that hovers constantly beyond his vision. Waiting for the cold, unforgiving pen to pierce his chest and take over his brain. Accepting his fate. 

Waiting. 

Something soft brushes his lips. His eyes fly open in surprise. Carlos, perfect Carlos, is leaning over him. His chocolate eyes are sparkling and his soft lips are curved in a small smile.

"My adorable little Cece," he whispers. "Don't be so afraid. You know I'd never hurt you."

He presses his lips against Cecil's mouth and Cecil melts towards him, running his fingers through Carlos's perfect hair. 

"You scared me," Cecil whimpers,  burying his face in Carlos's shoulder.

Carlos's chin rests on top of Cecil's head, hot breath ruffling Cecil's sandy-blonde hair as Carlos murmurs a soft stream of comforting words. Warm arms are wrapped snugly around Cecil's shivering form. He is safe. Carlos is not a possessed pen zombie. Everything is fine.