Chapter Text
His finger lightly ran along the edge of the shelf. Recently dusted and polished, the wood was now smooth and cool to the touch. Even the old worn out nicks and dents in the shelf felt buffed to perfection and he prided himself on a job well done.
Despite the large room feeling chilled, Dipper had worked himself up to a comfortable temperature to the point where he no longer needed the added layer of his jacket, and he had long set it aside over the back of a nearby chair. Outside the library the mid October air blew in strange gusts, shaking the trees bare long before the season's end. Even inside, the chill could be noticed if one idled long enough. The library had a boiler, even a warm fire place to help light it in the winter, but fuel was expensive and never used so early in the season. If it could be helped at all, it wouldn't be tuned on until long after the snow began to fall.
None of this was Dipper's choice of course. It was not his library to run, he merely looked after its upkeep without complaint.
Even now he sat on the floor, studying the clean shelves in front of him. Lit by the oil lamps hung on the walls, he cleaned the wood properly and returned each boom to its home once done. History, sciences, fiction, thin or thick. They all had a specific place and it was his job to make sure they were well kept and accounted for. Monotonous, tedious, irritating, yet he loved doing it. He could spend hours or even days riffling through each book and studying the words, memorizing diagrams and picture and grafts.
Dipper felt a shiver run up his spine. Despite the physical work, he did tend to feel the cold quite easily. He rolled down the sleeves he had pushed up to keep clean. The white material some how managed to stay dirt and polish free which he was happy about. However, his tweed grey waistcoat was spotted with dust and splattered stains. He could worry about those later. Or maybe not – Dipper really didn't care for the state of his clothes or the social mocking he would receive for stepping outside as he was. Instead he turned a book over to read the spine before placing it back on the shelf.
He was currently working through the vast nonfiction section of the library, modern science and history textbooks mostly. Dipper smiled to himself. He had read through the majority of these books when he was growing up. By the age of twelve he had gone through every fiction novel, novella and epic. By sixteen, he was well on his way through the science and medical catalogues. Now, at twenty, he was just working through the history books.
He never worried about running out of things to read. His great uncle Ford wrote two books for ever one he finished and that wasn't even including the collection his second great uncle Stan would bring back from his travels. Between the two, Dipper was set for life.
Ford and Stan were brothers, twins actually, who lead very different lives. And even though they were identical siblings, they couldn't be more opposite.
Stanford was studious, focused and a bit hard nosed. He rarely showed a sense of humour or physical affection, but did express pride and gratitude where it was fit to do so.
Stanley was very different, nomadic by nature, quick witted and acted without thinking which often lead to violent outcomes. Similarly to his brother Stan didn't show affection openly, but he had a soft spot deep down and could be persuaded into a hug by the right person.
Dipper loved them, he and his sister both did. After all, it felt so much like their uncles had raised them more than their own parents.
The library technically belonged to Ford despite how little he was there or seemed to care about it, but he owned the building and everything inside it. Dipper worked there on his own time, being paid with the occasional 'thank you' and some times a free meal. Dipper was honestly worried that if he didn't show up to clean and tend to the books the whole place would be ruined, becoming cluttered and mouldy. So, it wasn't that bad. Dipper would gladly live there if he could and survive off nothing.
Not that his parents approved. They had other plans for his future. Even after passionately expressing his own desire to be a librarian, Dipper was urged to become a doctor against his very vocal protests. No one listened to him. So, Dipper grew up being forced into classes he didn't care to take and study for a future he didn't want.
Their ambitions were understandable, even if Dipper didn't want to admit it. Apart from owning a factory, being a doctor was one of the highest paid positions in their society. They wanted him to get a good job, make something of himself, and leave their little town of Gravity Falls to go off and be successful in ways they themselves couldn't any more.
They - Dipper and his twin sister Mabel, together with their parents – use to live in California but moved he was a young teenager. Stocks slipped and some businesses went bankrupt. To avoid going broke completely, they could no longer stay living their old lives. Much to his mother's distress, they came to live in Gravity Falls. Dipper could hardly remember the cosmopolitan city, just the vague memories of the tall buildings, rich motor-vehicles and private airships.
He was plenty capable to remember it all, he was no simple idiot, he just didn't care enough to hold onto the memories and let them fade into the background of his thoughts. All Dipper thought of when California was brought up was the pollution and dependence on gold, coal and oil.
Gravity Falls was different and Dipper liked it more than anywhere else in the wold. Maybe it was naive thinking, after all, he had only lived in two places. Still, the small town had a lot going for it. It was so removed from the rest of the country that it felt like one all one its own. The small back woods town neighboured a bay which was full of fish. They used wind and water mills for power instead of solely relying on burning fuel. The town was simple, though most people would just say poor...
Or if you asked the locals, they would say the town was special.
As cute and humble as the idea may be, Dipper had come to realize that they were cured. Not by legitimate magic, there was no such thing, but the town just had a record of bad luck: storms, inexplicable fires, strange sightings of creatures in the woods, etc. Somehow, through all that, Dipper called it home.
Dipper picked up a very thinly bound book of at most sixty pages. He turned it over in his hand, feeling the soft bindings of what looked to be a journal. It was all hand written by his uncle, filled with notes and dates and small drawings. He must have seen the small journal before a hundred times yet never read it. For some reason curiosity made Dipper pause on the book today. He couldn't explain why.
He looked at the brown leather cover. It was soft with well protected edges. Age did not show on the book though Dipper knew it had to be years old. Etched into the cover was silver writing, clean sharp lines made from some kind of leather press. It read, the The One-Eyed Beast.
Dipper rolled his eyes, finding that a very dramatic title for Stanford to come up with. Curious, he opened the book to the first page.
“In my travels, I have never come across anyone quite like William Cipher...” Dipper's reading trailed off, pausing in muted shock. He stared down at the words, barely able to believe what he was seeing. His uncle had written a journal, with claims to have met, the infamous Pirate Captain William Cipher, the legendary One-Eyed Beast himself. But that was ridiculous, because Ford was a professor and scientist. When would he ever get tangled with pirates?
Besides, as far as Dipper was convinced, this pirate Captain was simple a myth. No one really knew who he was, where he had come from, or where any rumour started. The man was a story, some sort of phantom.
Dipper skimmed over the words written down in clean inked pen. It was an absolutely absurd. This had to be fake. Though a part of Dipper doubted his uncle could even write this as a joke. There seemed to be years of information, tracked over miles, oceans and accounts. Some passages were completed and others just ended like an unfinished thought. Dipper chuckled, not buying into any of this. His uncle wasn't one to believe in fictional pirates.
The things this man in particular had done, it was just not possible. While pirates were very much real, Dipper knew this. Criminals taking to sea and air to steal and murder... However, the things this Captain Cipher had done – claimed to have done – it was impossible.
Dipper flipped through a few pages, the odd word caught his eye here and there as he glanced over the notes. 'Gold', 'Arson', 'Blood-bath', 'Murder', 'Kidnapping'.
Dipper lost his amused smile and he hummed with serious thought. It may all be a myth but it was a fascinating one, one no doubt romanticized hundreds of ways. He was guilty of it himself.
'Vast Treasure'
'Buried men a live'
'Torture'
'Mutilation'
Dipper grimaced and turned another page. By his age he was use to blood and injuries. Studying to be a doctor made him do some light travel to stay with surgeons and the like, witnessing terrible injuries and gallons of blood. It was vomit inducing at first and still made bile raise in his throat under some circumstances. He had even given someone stitches before, mild ones to clean up a carpentry mishap. This was all profession practice. Torture, intentional bodily harm, self mutilation and burning. That was sickening to think of.
No man would mutilate himself as way to swear loyalty to an insane blood thirsty Captain. The One-Eyed Beast and his crew of monsters...
Dipper looked over a little sketching of triangles. On one page there was a heavily detailed drawing of an airship pencilled in across the paper, loaded with cannons and engines. Dipper scoffed, nothing that heavy could fly. He wondered where all this nonsense had come from. It wasn't like Ford to believe in myths. His uncle believed in facts, tangible evidence.
The further Dipper got into the journal the more ludicrous it became. Ford seemed like a mad man spouting off nonsense. Even if it was all beautifully written and inked. Gold pen scribbling in embellishments to drawings.
On one of the last pages, Dipper paused. It was a portrait. The page on the left held notes of descriptive terms, shortly jotted down: blonde hair, wide cut smile, angular jaw. The drawing must have been based on them, he thought. He found himself shamelessly staring after a moment. The drawing was of a man, older than him but not aged. He looked angry, even with the large grin on his face. The charcoal used in the sketch made his eyes look so intense as if he were staring right back at Dipper.
Down one eye was a thin pencil marking, vertically drawn. Little scars were added in this way, dotting and cutting across the long nose bridge, separating an eyebrow, nicking away a portion of the jaw. His stomach felt like lead and he didn't know why.
The door to the library opened and closed without a sound. The little bell hung on the frame going mute to Dipper's senses. Even the heavy footsteps, thick soled boots on hard wood, barely registered in his ears. It wasn't until an odd shaped hand landed firmly on his shoulder that Dipper jumped. The journal snapped closed in his hands and dropped beside him, as if he had to hide it, caught looking at something secret.
Dipper almost fell over as he turned to look up over his shoulder. There in the lap light he was greeted by his great uncle looking back at him, startled himself. Dipper let out a nervous laugh and ran a hand through his permanently messy brown hair.
“Uncle Ford! Heh-heh...Hi,” he said, feeling childish and embarrassed. Dipper shoved the journal under his leg and turned his torso to better look up at the old man.
“Hello, Dipper.” Ford didn't sound suspicious or angry. Dipper always read while he worked.
All he did was smiled a little bit and patted Dipper's shoulder, his signature display of approval. “Don't you think it's a little late to be working?” The old man moved to take a seat at a near by desk and set down the bag he carried, ready to do some work of his own.
“I was just finishing up. I wasn't going to stay much longer.” Dipper put a few books back onto the shelf. He heard his uncle make a sound of acknowledgement but said nothing as he fell into his work.
They were quiet for a bit while Dipper tidied up the last shelf. He then stood, the journal still in hand. With a quick once over of the cover again he turned to Ford.
“Uhm... So Ford, I found this book actually. It was in the history section and I think it was in the wrong spot.” He joked awkwardly, patting the book against his hand.
“Hmm? Yes? Which book is that?” Ford didn't look at him when he asked.
“Uh... The One-Eyed Beast? About that pirate?” Dipper didn't notice Ford stiffen in his seat or how his uncle's hand stilled, gripping a paper too tight with his fingers making it crinkle and bend. “It should be in the fiction section right? I've hear the stories and it's a total myth. I mean, a pirate who can fly an airship through clear skies, during the day, and ransack towns with no warning? That's total fiction. It's impossible.”
“Dipper put it back where you found it and don't bring it up again,” Ford said lightly but firm. Dipper ignored it, continuing as he looked back at the book, opening to a random page.
“I didn't read it all, just some pages, pictures. It ridiculous, am I right?-”
“Dipper!” Ford barked at him, causing his nephew to jump again in surprise. “Put the book back and don't mention it to me again. This is the last we speak of it.”
His uncle had a quick temper but he didn't see what the problem was with asking about a book. Dipper moved the book, letting it fall to his side and out of sight. He was speechless as his uncle looked at him with a hard glance. It left Dipper feeling like a scolded child awaiting punishment for doing something bad. Ford frowned behind his thick glasses and watched as Dipper lowered himself back to the floor to put the journal back where it belonged on the shelf. Only then did he turn back to his paperwork.
Dipper kept up returning all the books to the shelf, casting a sideways glance toward the older man at the desk. Hesitant, Dipper reached out a hand and placed a finger on the book binding that held the journal. What was Ford so tense about? It was just a book written about some fantasy, and even if he were real, Cipher was just a man. Dipper pulled the book off the shelf and moved it behind his back before turning toward the desk. As carefully as he could, he tucked the book into the waistband of his trousers and tugged down the back of his vest to hide it.
“Well, uhm... all done, Uncle Ford.” Dipper clapped his hands together and smiled. “So, I'll be going. See you tomorrow.”
“Don't forget, tomorrow is the Northwest's annual gala. You've avoided it for two years but I want you to be there tomorrow night,” Ford said sternly. Dipper huffed in annoyance.
“Why do I need to go? Mabel with be there, and my parents. I don't like parties. I think I'd be better off at home instead of embarrassing myself being forced into dancing.”
“You're going. I promised your parents I'd convince you to go and I am telling you now. You're going.”
“But-”
“No buts, and no excuses. You will look presentable and you will go.” Ford pointed his pen at Dipper who just pouted at him. “You will act like an adult.”
“Yes, Ford.” Dipper couldn't keep the disobedient attitude out of his voice, or the roll from his eyes as he grabbed his coat from the chair where he left it. “I'll be there but I won't be happy about it.”
“I'm not asking you to be happy, I'm just telling you to go.”
Dipper groaned and did the buttons up on his light wool pea-coat. “Fine,” he said shortly and quietly left the library.
Stepping outside sent a stiff chill down his spine. He shivered and groaned to himself. It was only October yet the winter air was starting to come early this year. He wouldn't be surprised if it began to snow in the next few weeks.
Dipper adjusted the collar around his neck to keep out the breeze as he walked, and he stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat.
The sun had already set and the street lamps were lit to lead him home along the cobbled stone walkway.
His home, a small apartment he rented out on his own, was dark when he arrived. No roommate, no pets, nothing but his own company. Dipper felt a little isolated but it was something he could call his own. The point of moving out, even after his parents insisted he stay home, was suppose to improve his independence and confidence. It was a little counter productive, leaving him lonely and shut off. Some times he wondered if he did it to himself, closing the door on friends and family, hiding away inside to be alone. He didn't know really...
Dipper locked the door for the night and left his coat by the door, on a metal peg that hung on the wall. He walked right through into the kitchen. There was no stove, but he did have a little pilot light and grate which was enough to boil some water. The only other thing in the room were just a couple cupboards that held some baked goods. He dropped his keys onto the counter. The quiet fell around him, weighing on his heart and left him physically tired from depression.
Dipper sighed and rubbed at his face. Maybe he should get a pet just so he was't coming home to nothing, a loyal dog or even an indifferent cat. Deep in his soul he wished to come back to a real home, warm with light and a smiling face that was happy to see him. Not an empty apartment and not his parent's house where he was only greeted with disappointment and disapproval.
“Oh...” Dipper pulled the book out from under his vest, some how forgetting about it until now. He looked it over, still curious as to why Ford was so tense on the subject. It was still ridiculous to him but whatever the reason, it didn't stop him from taking the book and he refuse to feel guilty. After all it was just a book. He was going to read it and return it before it was noticed missing.
Perhaps there would an answers for him somewhere in the short pages of the journal...
Dipper stayed up all night, reading and then rereading the journal that his uncle wrote. It was disturbing to say the least. Fascinating, if Dipper was being completely honest with himself. Pages upon pages of detail that Ford shouldn't know, couldn't possibly known.
The first entries, dating back years before Dipper was ever born, weren't even about Cipher himself. It was like Ford had started writing this journal on piracy as a whole, and it was chapters in before the Captain was even mentioned.
William, his first name, was written many times like he was just a man. The many monikers the pirate had cultivated were noted in footnotes and brushed over like they were nothing: Sky Devil, The Hell Hound, even The One-Eyed Beast. Apparently, depending on the story the name changed, but it was always the same man. Cipher, or rather William as Ford faithfully referred to him as, could fly in without warning and vanish like he never existed. Dipper frowned. No matter how fast an airship could travel, one simply could not disappear.
Ford theorized about all types of smoke and mirror, tricks to make an object vanish but nothing on that grand scale. He couldn't even think a stage magician could pull something like that off seamlessly.
As time drifted by, Dipper started to fall asleep in his armchair. Book still in hand, he lost himself in sleep and thoughts gave way to dreams of roguish pirates and daring sword fights. Even a toothy grin from a rugged blonde clouded his mind.
Morning drifted on, the sun streaming in through the widow at Dipper's back. Nothing woke him. He was too mentally and physically exhausted to bother with things like waking up. Hunger didn't rouse him or even the uncomfortable roll of his head against the armchair.
Hours passed until a groan passed his lips and he turned his face into the hard edge of the chair. Slowly Dipper lifted his head felt the tightness of his muscles kinking up the side of his neck. He gave a noise of discomfort and a face to match. Getting up made his joins crack and muscles pull. Sleeping in a chair wasn't the most restful and he had to stretch. Dipper blinked to let his eyes adjust. It was kind of dark for morning time. How long had he slept anyway?
Still wearing the clothes he had on the day before, Dipper reached into his vest and pulled out his pocket watch. His tired eyes snapped wide open seeing the position of the minute and hour hand. It was already past five in the evening and he should have been ready for the party by now, if not on his way there.
His parents would be furious if he didn't show up looking the perfect image of proper, as would his great uncle. Only great uncle Stan and Mabel would forgive him for missing the gala, as disappointed as Mabel would be once more.
Unable to believe he slept the day away, Dipper rushed to his closet to find his best suit. It might not be the fanciest or the richest, but it was his best. He laid it out, and faster than he had ever moved in his life, Dipper washed his face and stripped out of his day clothes to change.
The twenty-year-old had a thin body, tall and lanky, with pasty white skin which was dotted with dark freckles. He never minded those markings. The only one that bothered him were the ones on his forehead due to their size and deep colouring. The obvious, visible birthmark on his face resembling the large ladle of Ursa Major. It was embarrassing and hard to hide unless his bangs were grown out just so.
The rest of his appearance Dipper found to be bland and painfully average. No one seemed to disagree on the matter much either, finding him not ugly or unappealing but also not extraordinarily handsome.
Dipper pulled on a dark tan high-collared shirt and grey, almost black, trousers. The waistcoat was a matching grey, as was his outer coat, but the jacket had pin stripe embroidery on the lapel. He pocketed his watch and connected the chain to the jacket.
“Ah...hmm...” Dipper raised a brow, looking for his spats, the cream coloured ones with the silver buttons. They completed the suit but he'd placed them somewhere deep inside his closet and didn't know where they were now. His black dress shoes would have to do without them. “Forget it! I'm late.”
Dipper adjusted his jacket and hurried to leave, tripping on the small rug by his door. He would have fallen but he caught himself against the hallway's wall. He stopped there remembering about Ford's journal. It was still on the armchair where he left it. He should return it before the party. With how his uncle was acting, Dipper wouldn't have put it passed Ford to check to see if it was back where it belonged on the shelf. So the sooner he could slip it back in place the better.
Dipper quickly checked the time on his watch. The time was flying by and he was already late. But he signed, making up his mind to grab the book.
Once in his had Dipper rushed out of his apartment and the building all together. What was a few extra minutes when he was already late?
He practically ran through town, bouncing around carts and horses. It seemed like everyone was heading to Northwest Manor, all traffic heading toward him and blocking his way. Occasionally he apologized for dodging in front of a cart and waved off the angry drivers.
Crossing the road put him closer to the library which was coming into view a few blocks a head. Dipper felt relieves as he bound along the cobble stone street and skidded over the curb. With a little bit of luck, Ford would already be at the party, leaving the library empty for him to sneak the book back. If he were lucky.
Dipper almost made it to the library's door when his name was yelled out to him from near by,
“Dipper!”
The familiar voice made him come to a complete stop, dress shoes slipping on the stones with their minimal traction. Again, he almost fell but regained some balance with a swing of his arms. He spun around on his toe to find his oldest friend, Wendy, walking along the street across from him. He heals clicked on the stone, echoing through the quickly emptying street.
Wendy stepped off the curb and crossed to join Dipper on his side of the road.
The two of them had always been close friends, but Dipper had to admit he use to have such a crush on her. And was there any reason as to why? Even tonight Wendy was stunning. She looked dressed to the nines in her emerald green dress-coat, embellished with a gold hem and black buttons. A tight black waist cincher made her look so slim and tall. She'd always been beautiful with her long red hair and confident attitude. Wendy held herself with poise and assertion that Dipper could ever even dream of possessing.
“Wendy? Hi...” Awkwardly Dipper fidgeted, itching to get inside without being asked too many questions, but he also didn't want to seem up to anything.
“Where are you going? The party's this way.” Wendy trust her thumb in the direction she was heading prior.
“Oh, uh...” Dipper gripped the book tighter to his side. “Yes, I know it is but-I was just-You see-”
“No, you're not going to work. We've got a party to get to.” Wendy grabbed his free arm and tugged him along the road. Despite how Dipper wanted to protest and object to being manhandled down the road, he couldn't find it in himself to do so. He spinelessly let himself be dragged away from the library, pouting and anxiously biting his tongue.
Dipper looked at her. He remembered being dwarfed by her height when he was young. Now, even in heels, they were at eye level. She smiled at him, and it warmed his heart to see how genuine it was. Wendy usually smiled in a sarcastic kind of way but this was different. She was happy.
“What?” Wendy asked catching Dipper's eye. She raised an eyebrow and smirked at the embarrassed pink spreading over Dipper's cheeks. “Do I look bad? Something on my face?”
“No, of course not. I was-uhm... Looking at your jewellery,” Dipper said hastily and quickly looked at her ear where there was an intricately wrapped metal casing with thinly linked silver chains dangling down long enough to drape over her shoulder.
“Really? I thought it was a bit too much,” She offered out in false modesty.
“No, it looks great. You look great. Us together like this, you look a million times better than I do. I'm just blah, you know?”
Wendy looked him over, able to agree that while Dipper looked sharp, he didn't stand out. She suddenly stopped and fiddled with her ear cuff. Without asking for permission she grabbed his face to hold him still and clipped the metal around one of his ears. The chains tinkled together like bells in his ear as Wendy flattened them over his broader built but thin shoulder.
“There, that will help distract everyone from noticing you don't have any other jewellery, or even a tie.”
“Ah shit!” Dipper scrunched his eyes closed, breathing sharply through his nose. He forgot to put on a tie. He was suppose to look proper for once. Groaning he scrubbed his palms over his face and ruffled his hair.
“Don't worry about it,” she smacked him lightly before continuing to pull him along by the elbow. “You look really fancy now. You'll catch a wife like that.”
“Don't be ridiculous. You know that won't happen.”
They snickered, knowing neither of them would ever marry – for different reasons. Wendy out of choice, and Dipper because...well, he was Dipper. Who would want him?
Before they got to the party Dipper managed to discreetly slip the journal under his jacket and into the waist band of his trousers. It pressed against his lower back snugly, held in place by his belt. It wasn't uncomfortable and as long as no one touched his lower back no one should notice it. He could pretend it wasn't there for a few hours. He'd just have to remember to return it in the morning, bright and early. No dilly-dallying.
As the two friends arrived, they were welcomed by the warm, brightly lit mansion lobby its doors held open for guests. People moved about freely, greeting each other and taking off in groups to dance or eat, drink and socialize. Music could be heard drifting in from another room. The scent of melted chocolate and roast meats wafted about the air, becoming the most appealing perfume Dipper could smell.
He made his way over the tiled floor, hoping to blend in and go unnoticed for as long as possible. Within second Wendy noticed her other friends, whom she did not share with Dipper. After a quick apology she took off and Dipper was on his own to try and become one with the curtains.
He hugged the wall as he moved about. Too many people moved about him, blocking him from general view. For the better half of the first hour, he had only nodded in greeting to a handful of people. It was wonderful. Until...
“Mason!” came the call of his real name made Dipper cringe. He hated his real name. It was a formality of these types of events and he was in for a night of it. It was either that or 'Mr. Pines'. Dipper turned around to see Ford cross the crowded room of the Northwest's lobby. Dipper blinked rapidly and stood up straight, squaring off his shoulders and holding his hands behind his back.
“Uncle Ford,” he said politely, acting innocent. The old man came over, looking stern but thankfully not angry. Maybe he didn't know about the missing book yet and was just upset at him for being late.
“No tie...No spats...Hair a mess...but you showed up, good. Your parents will be glad to see you've arrived,” he said with mild criticism. Ford himself was dress in a proper three piece suit and tie. It was a nice, if not odd, change from his usual high collared shirt, suspenders, and occasional vest.
“Yes, I'm sure they will. I will even dance with Mabel if that will keep them happy, and quiet, for another year.” His way of wanting his mother and father to shut up and get off his case about socializing and possibly getting married to a good girl from a respectable family. And by respectable they meant rich.
No one needed to rush Mabel into that kind of thing. She would aggressively flirt with anyone who looked at her twice. It gave her a bit of an unsavoury reputation being called desperate and shameless. But Mabel was harmless, more so spirited and persistent.
“I'm sure... They are in the ballroom, last I saw. Now, don't get drunk or do anything else stupid, kid.”
Ford meant well, truly. Dipper had to remind himself of that. He could be harsh and some times give the wrong impression with what he said, but he meant well. So Dipper nodded at his uncle, acknowledging the advice given to him.
They parted ways casually, conversation ending there. Dipper wandered off, sliding along the wall feeling out of place and awkward. He'd lost all sight of Wendy and hadn't come across anyone else he really knew. It was a large party and he felt he could get lost easily among the well dressed guests.
Dipper decided it was too crowded for his liking and he was getting tugged into a deep sea of ball gowns and suits. The music play constantly, mixing with loud enthusiastic chatter. It was too loud. He really wasn't the type of person for parties. He didn't even mind being social, not really. But this was too much. Dipper felt overwhelmed and suffocated.
Finally, after what felt like hours of searching, Dipper found a familiar face in the crowd. A grateful smile broke out on his face seeing his sister talking with one of their hosts, Pacifica Northwest. Dipper waved a little, catching Mabel's attention. She stopped talking when she saw him and without even a goodbye, Mabel broke away from her conversation mid sentence. Pacifica turned to watch her walk away on her. A put out expression crossed her face before she frowned in Dipper's direction. Dipper smiled apologetically at her but quickly ducked his head.
Quickly Mabel flounced over to where Dipper stood by himself, her fluffy brown hair bobbing around in the ringlets she had probably spent all afternoon curling into her hair. She gave him a big hug, arms wrapping around his shoulders. She came up to her brother's nose in height now. They hugged, a moment of sincere sibling affection.
The instant she let him go however she started talking a mile a minute about her dress and her handmade jewellery made out of wires and buckles and beads and links, obviously proud of herself. Dipper just smiled and nodded, catching every fifth word or so.
“Oh I like this,” Mabel said reaching up to play with the cuff hugging Dipper's ear. “You're like a true lady now.”
“Yeah, it's actually Wendy's. She forced it on me,” he said shyly looking away. Perhaps it was too feminine for him to being wearing in public.
“Well, I think it suits you.” She waited expectantly, smiling. But after a minute and her brother had yet to say anything, Mabel pouted and smacked his arm. “And?” She stressed, gesturing to her outfit.
“What?”
“How do I look?”
“Oh! Sorry. Well... you look...” Dipper looked at her to admire the pink dress, with all the ruffles and embroidery she could stitch to an article of clothing. “You look lovely,” he finally said, after making her wait for the complement. It was funny to him if no one else, and it earned him another light punch to the arm in reprimand. He didn't mind that either.
As Dipper promised Ford, he did have a dance or two with his sister, one with Wendy because she thought it'd be fun to try and bump into other dancers on purpose but act like it was an accident. Dipper even shared a dance with his mother without argue. They all appreciated his efforts to have a good time and not complain so much.
There were many genuine laughs shared between himself and his few friends, and even a few drinks. All proof that Dipper could be social and not 'a downer' as people called him. A part of him actually wanted to say the part was in fact fun, and he was glad he came after all. Until one glass of champagne too many, tallying grand total up to three, and the room was going slant while his head throbbed. He excused himself for some air before he said something stupid or did anything embarrassing.
Dipper used the wall of windows along the ballroom to find the open door to the gardens outside. Or perhaps he feel through an open window. Either way, Dipper filled his lungs with the cool, crisp night air and relaxed. The large porch and garden area was lit by oil hanging lamps that lined walls around a simple hedge maze. Apparently, there were viscous peacocks hiding inside. Thankfully he didn't trip over one as he tried to find a bench in a quiet corner. Pecked to death by a peacock was not how he wanted to go.
From the distance music could still be heard, but the loud voices and sounded were much lower forming a soft murmur that could be ignored like crickets in summer.
It was much better outside. The air was cool on Dipper's face. It felt amazing as the subtle breeze tickled his too hot cheeks. Dipper tried to keep his eyes open, focused up toward the stars. Closing them left his head feeling bubbly with alcohol. Curse that deliciously sweet drink.
He lost track of time, gazing up towards the heavens in uninterrupted thought. Dipper didn't think about how long it had been until his fingers were starting to ache from the cold and a shiver ran down his back. He let out a breath watching the clouds roll in quickly, which was strange because there was barely any wind that night and the clouds had been practically none existent moments ago. Within minutes they blocked out the stars and the moon's soft white glow. Dipper hummed drunkenly. Maybe his earlier prediction about snow was right after all. He chuckled to himself. He wouldn't care if it snowed anyway.
After a few more minutes Dipper started to feel better. He stood up and walked in a little circle, getting his blood flowing again. He decided that his was a good of time as any to call it a night. He had already stayed much longer than intended. No one could argue that. Everyone much be happy with him. A chilled walk home would sober him up the rest of the way. After that, all he would need would be a good nights sleep.
Dipper tracked back through the hedge maze. He followed the music and loud conversations. It made for a good indicator that he was going the right way.
Then the music ended and there was the sound of breaking glass. There was a scream from inside, immediately followed by another and then another. Not thinking, Dipper dove forward along the path, breaking into a sprint for the ballroom.
As he ran for the opened doors, countless people pushed to get by. He would have moved aside if he could, but they crushed him in their own rush to get out. He was bumped and shoved from side to side and almost stepped on.
Dipper fell against the rough brick of the garden's wall. People screamed and panicked, running in circles in the garden. But there was no where to go from the gardens, only back inside. The squared off hedge maze had tall walls surrounding it that couldn't be climbed easily. So people continued to scream and some cried for help. Dipper didn't see his parents or his sister in the frenzy. He pushed off the wall, determined to find them.
His shoes slid on the smooth tiled as he burst into the ballroom. The room was in disarray, tables turned and champagne spilt. Just beyond the room, the halls of Northwest Manor were engulfed in flames. There was no way out of this room but to flee out into the gardens, but that was just another trap.
Dipper watched as the thick smoke started to roll into the ballroom. An accident, this had to be a terrible accident. He may have been more shocked, but confusion over took him completely seeing the room empty except for his great uncles standing their ground in the centre of the floor. They weren't running or trying to extinguish the fire. They looked like they were waiting for something to happen. That was ridiculous. Dipper moved towards them, cautious of the broken glass at his feet. He was about to call out to them when the flames grew bigger at the entrance, bringing down the large double doors from their hinges.
Ford pulled something from his overcoat and held it close to his side, Stan was already in a similar position but still casually smoking a cigarette. The object caught the light and reflected it back. Dipper's attention went to it instantly because he knew what it was. It was a gun, a long barrelled hand gun.
He gasped for air, not noticing how he held his own breath. Dipper stumbled back over an upturned table. The legs knocked at his shins. He stumbled and had to hold the table so to not fall. Dipper breathed heavily, afraid and frozen in place.
Dipper watched as his uncles did. Beyond the flames in the hall people screamed. A gun shot could be heard echoing off the marble.
Then, out from the fire, as if the heat didn't burn, strode a small group of men. That is, they looked like men. Each one was misshapen and disfigured in different ways. Some were scared from knives or previously burned leaving cratering callouses ridges in their skin. Chunks of skin missing. Crude scar tissue twisted and puckered from rushed stitching after injury. A few had metal limbs to replaced ones lost. Others were simply missing parts, an ear, fingers of varying lengths, eyes or teeth.
They moved to flank the door, numbers splitting down the middle. They kept close watch over the two me standing in the centre of the ballroom. They drew their weapons, swords, guns, all for show to distil fear.
Entering after them, strolling through the fire, was a tall intimidating man of height and power. He walked in like royalty, head high and proud from under his wide rimmed captain's hat. The air about him demanded attention or else.
He was sharply dressed in mostly black, with boots that looked freshly polished. His coat was a mix of black and bright yellow, hemmed with breaded designed and set with gold buttons. Under his coat, not meant to be concealed, were many straps and buckles holding knives against his body, multiple guns shining and no doubt loaded. God only knew what was hiding under the thick material of that coat, what violently sharp knife or fire arm, explosive or mechanism that could leave a man dead before he could blink.
Dipper's heart felt like it stopped beating as the man smiled. It was a toothy grin, stretching out over his face wider than should be able. He recognized such a smile. It was the man from the journal, in shockingly accurate detail. The parted and slicked back blonde hair, the tanned skin, and angular jaw. The nicks and scars adorning his face. It was him.
The only thing different was the eye patch hiding what was once, Dipper could only assume, his right eye.
The pirate grinned at the older men with familiarity and almost sounded pleased with himself as he spoke in a smooth, inflected baritone.
“Hi-ya, Fordsie. You miss me?”