Actions

Work Header

Pilot

Work Text:

“A friendly college campus where the ice is fresh, the snow is cold, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to study. Welcome, listeners, to Samwell.”




Hello, listeners. It’s so nice to see you, especially after what happened, you know, last time . I didn’t think you survived! Come to think of it, I’m sure you didn’t survive. I remember seeing you, listener, belly swollen with the thousands of small, seemingly harmless fish that forced themselves through your skin, seeking any semblance of moisture left in the barren wasteland of our campus. Little did those fish know that they should’ve just waited a few hours for when the flood came! Goodness me, funny how those things turn out sometimes!

Anyways, I’m rambling. Before we get started with today’s program, I was given this notice by the Board of Directors to read on-air, so pay close attention listeners:

 

Do not approach the ice rink. It is possible you will see hockey players at the ice rink. Do not approach the hockey players. The walls are electrified and highly dangerous. Try not to look at the ice rink, and do not look for any period of time at the hockey players. The ice rink will not harm you.

 

And now, onto campus news.

 

April and March, out by lake quad, say that the Angels have exposed themselves to them. The Angels are ten-foot tall, radiant, and one of them was black. They helped the girls with various household chores, and one of them helped April change the sand in the volleyball pit, which as everyone knows must be completely replaced every week, lest it become sentient and start complaining about ‘equal treatment’ and ‘how everyone should stop stepping on it, it can feel that you know!’. Anyways, April and March are offering to sell the sand, which has been touched by an Angel. It was the black one, if that sweetens the pot for anyone. If you’re interested in approximately one-thousand, two-hundred and ninety-six cubic meters of sand, contact April and March. They’re out by the lake quad.

 

A new man came into town yesterday. Who is he? Why his perfect and beautiful cheekbones? Why his perfect and beautiful… posterior? He says he is a historian. Well… we have all been historians at one point or another in our lives, but why now? Why here? Why our perfect and quiet little campus? What does he plan on doing with all the cameras and notebooks and strange glass circles, you know the ones with the strange symbols around the edges and gentle metal which clicks like a strange insect that is just out of one’s sight. He has rented a small photo-developing lab next to the Annie’s.

 

No one does a PSL like Annie’s. No one.

 

Just a quick reminder to all wellies, make sure you’re wearing plenty of sunscreen, you’re up to four times as likely to get sunburn during the winter as you are during summer. Make sure you’re using at least SPF seventy-five or higher, and never, ever take off your high-temperature protective gear while outside, or anywhere where you could be hit with direct sunlight, or natural light of any kind. I know, winter is such a drag, but we all just have to push through it, wellies! Make sure to check the daily danger rating for your area of campus! You don’t want to end up like station intern Dex, would you?

 

Oh, um… speaking of which, to the family of intern Will, we regret to inform you that Will is in a state of permanent immolation. He went outside without his standard-issue protective gear, loudly shouting ‘I won’t burn! Just because I’m ginger doesn’t mean I burn that easily! Watch me! You’ll all see!’. Upon opening the door, he was immediately set entirely on fire, though he appeared to feel no pain as the flames devoured him with a whoosh and a blood-curdling ancient chant. His clothes aren’t even affected, and his skin is surprisingly unblemished for someone who’s been steadily on fire for… going on four hours now. The fire has also apparently made him immune to the harmful rays of the sun, and doesn’t seem to be spreading to any surfaces he touches, so we’ve had him doing coffee runs instead of his usual IT work. Way to go, William!

 

That the historian – whose name we now know is Jack – called a campus-wide meeting at the south quad. April and March brought corn muffins. They lacked salt. They said that the Angels took their salt for a Godly mission and they hadn’t gotten around to buying more. I brought a peach pie, which was quickly devoured with many snores and squelches that did little to ease my nerves at being so, so very close to the handsome new stranger.

 

Jack told us that we are by far the most historically interesting city in the US, and he had come to study our vast number of ancient altars and the many secret citadels hidden within the walls of our academic buildings. He grinned, and everything he said was perfect and I fell in love instantly.

 

Oh, by the way listeners, I’ve just got word from station intern Nursey that the newly-founded Alpha-Chi-Omega sorority here at Samwell has started to give out flyers for their ice-cream social, a fun-filled event to celebrate their own creation, which happened last night after a large comet crashed into the lake, spilling a hot, dry goo into the water which later formed into the sorority’s Big, Camilla Collins, who appeared to us in a glowing, golden haze, ethereal and terrifying. We all bent to her will instantly.

 

“I’m so excited to see everyone at the social tonight! It’ll be soooo fun!” Collins said, crumpling up flyers into small balls of paper and using a tennis racket to bat them across campus into the limbs and backpacks of unexpecting students. So, listeners, be sure to pick up a flyer from the Alpha-Chi-Omega house, which is located up past the ice rink and past the dragon pits (the ones for the zoology students, not equine and reptilian studies). Bring a spoon and a smile, wellies, and get excited about our newest addition to campus!

And now, traffic.



There’s something. Something you can never quite put your finger on. You’ve forgotten it. You don’t know what you have forgotten, but it is gone. Lost, somewhere other.

 

Your eyes drip black ink from the corners. It was blue, yesterday. Don’t you remember? Or have you forgotten?

 

Spiderwebs clog the cogs in a clock you haven’t seen before. Or have you seen it before? It itches at the back of your mind, itching and itching and burrowing deeper, but you let it. It is not fear that burrows into your brain, but common sense. Of course it’s common sense, what else could it be with the howling panic it drips into your blood, frantic panic black as ink.

 

You put your keys on the dresser. You could’ve sworn you put them on the dresser. Where else could they be? You pat your pockets, bruising your hips and thighs a beautiful shade of cerulean.

 

Your keys are not there.



This has been traffic.

 

Listeners, I have some fantastic news for you! I’ve just been told by station intern Chowder that we appear to be having a brief respite from the large amount of snow that’s been falling continuously without stop for several weeks now. All of the snow has melted, which has caused a near-dangerous amount of flooding. Luckily intern Chowder is part shark, which happened due to a terrible mix-up at the annual scream-harvesting contest last spring. Chowder is very happy about the change, though, as he can now breathe both in and out of water, and he doesn’t need his braces anymore. But for all of you who aren’t a dangerous (Dangerously cute that is!) combination between human and shark, be sure to fish that oxygen tank and your tallest wading shoes out of the closet!

 

 

Oh… oh my..

 

Listeners, I’m sorry, I… Intern Nursey has returned, and he does not look well, listeners. He does not look well at all. His clothes are torn and bloodstained, words written in what appears to be black ink, but is not wet. It does not smear, listeners. It appears to be… appearing through his skin, black blood pressing against the skin of his arms, welling up underneath his skin almost frantically. Panicked. Fearful.

I will return shortly, listeners. I must… I must investigate this. But now, listeners, let me bring you

 

to the weather.

 

~~~~~~~

 

Listen Before Continuing

 

~~~~~~~



Listeners. Oh, my dear, sweet listeners. I know what you’re thinking. And I am sorry to say that yes, it is true.

 

To the family of intern Nursey, we regret to inform you that Derek was, in fact, at the Alpha-Chi-Omega house when it Happened. The ice cream social was in full swing (or so I hear, I was unable to leave my booth during the time, though I did attempt to claw through the door, scrabbling at the glass walls and screeching in ancient tongues) and Derek was there, of course, along with the other interns and, well, everyone . Even Jack, the handsome stranger, was there. They were having a perfectly nice time, eating ice cream with sprinkles, hot fudge, bat’s eyes, charcoal, and all the other delectable toppings you can think of, when it Happened.

 

The flooding was already in full effect, but due to the campus rule that all fraternity and sorority houses must come fully equipped with air-tight sealing features, it wasn’t a problem. Well, until it was.

 

Due to the Alpha-Chi-Omega house being so new, the sealing wasn’t entirely done yet, and water started to leak into the building. But it wasn’t water, listeners. This… not-water was inky and black, kissing the soles of everyone’s shoes and lapping at their ankles like a puppy, it’s tongue void and dark. Nursey, the charming young man he is, attempted to organize everything a bit, informing everyone to just be ‘chill’. While walking over to help someone onto the couch, out of reach of the inky black whatever it was, Nursey slipped and fell.

 

Even though the ink appeared to be only a few inches high at most, Derek immediately disappeared under the surface. Someone screamed. It might have been Nursey.

 

After this, all chaos broke loose, or at least that’s what Chowder has told me. The only one who appeared to not be completely panicked was Jack, the handsome historian. Jack proceeded to wade through the water, which was about up to calf-level now, and dove under exactly where Nursey had fallen, disappearing for a span of minutes. Everyone was silent, the only sound the gentle gurgle and hiss of the ink as they waited for Jack to either surface or for the water to swallow all of them as well.

 

Nearly ten minutes later, Jack appeared out of the ink, which had risen considerably by that time, Derek over his shoulder. Jack appeared mostly dry, strangely, and almost entirely uncovered in any of the black liquid surrounding him up to the chest. Nursey, however, was completely covered, the bottom of his tee-shirt ripped and frayed as if shook around in the mouth of a feral dog, the words I mentioned earlier pressing against his skin like bruises. He was bloody as well, listeners, fingertips almost glazed in it, the sticky redness mixing with the watery black.

 

Nursey was immediately pressed for answers as to what happened beneath the surface, what monstrous beast he had defeated to have been covered in that much blood. Nursey smiled, and with a wave of his hand said, “Don't cry! Dreams are a window to another world. A concept so close yet we cannot grasp it.” He looked taken aback, furrowing his brows and attempting to speak again, only to blurt out as if interrupting himself, “When tragedy strikes look inside of yourself. You see that lump of straw and spiders?” Nursey looked at Jack, eyes fearful. Jack, seemingly just as taken aback as Derek, cleared his throat and explained. Or tried to. Only an amount of the watery ink dribbled out of his mouth when he tried to talk.

 

This continued for some time, Nursey babbling in strange words and phrases, Jack gurgling not-water until there was no not-water left. Finally, Jack managed to speak and only said “No” and “Not possible” and “It can’t be. It just… it can’t be.” and “More research is required.”

 

Do you know what that means, listeners?


I think it means that our favorite handsome stranger will have to stay for just a little bit longer.

 

Now, listeners, I have to go help scrub the blood off of Nursey, as it appears to have hardened into a tough, smooth shell on his skin. Coming up next, blue.

 

And as always, goodnight, Samwell. Goodnight.