*loves the mystery surrounding the friendly desert community of night vale deeply and truly and will defend it to the grave*
also me for the past six years:
but? what HAPPENED here??? what is going oN. how come it's so hard to leave night vale. why does cecil exist across multiple time lines. how does mortality work there. also ! ¿ what the fuck ¿ ?
This week’s (canonically) Jewish character of the week is: Cecil Palmer
(There were rules to living in Night Vale: don’t acknowledge the angels, don’t go in the dog park. There were rules to being Jewish too, but those were of a nicer, more forgiving sort. Vague-yet-menacing government agencies had no opinion as to whether you mixed your textiles, or whether you ate shellfish.)
Cecil Palmer is literally a sentient voice. He lacks a physical body and appearance, but his voice is so powerful that most people form a consistent, if not always accurate depiction of him in their heads. In fact, his voice is so powerful, the actions he performs have an actual measurable effect in the places he claims to be, and on the people he loves. In a sense, he can actually “touch” things, despite lacking any actual body parts to touch with.
His existence as a form of sound allows him to broadcast live anywhere and at any time, even in the form of a recorded mp3, so long as somebody happens to be listening to him. This is why he’s able to give well versed, objective news coverage about events seemingly happening in real time all the while technically never leaving the station.
However, he can not witness news in an area where people aren’t listening to him, which is why some of his reports follow a more traditional “research and report” approach.
In a sense, he’s not so different from Fey, the sentient numbers station. But while Fey is a programmable AI who accidentally stumbled upon sentience, Cecil was sentient from the beginning of time, even before the existence of radio and record-able technology.
Prior to these inventions, Cecil was essentially a cryptid… a sight many people could recall, but who’s existence could not be proven. Some people might have called him a conscience, others an imaginary friend. Back then, he was the voice you could hear clear as day; someone who felt oddly familiar, though for the love of god you couldn’t place it. You’d recall the image of someone not tall or short, and neither thin nor fat, but this character feels like a faint memory. Faint. But also comforting.