BARK UNTIL DIPPER COMES OUT OF THE LAB. BARKING IS ONE OF THE KNOWN PROPERTIES OF THE PIG. (AND SINCE THE LAST BEDAZZLING RAID, HE HAS LEARNED TO LISTEN TO YOU WHEN YOU SPEAK.
SUCCINCT. SIMPLISTIC. STRICTLY TO THE POINT. UNIVERSAL.
AN ASTOUNDING CHOICE befitting someone of your intellect. Humans already have the tendency to run towards screaming objects- use that instinct against them!
You PREPARE YOUR HEARTY MEAT and let out only THE RICHEST OF PIG BARKS.
True facts about the pig- measured in decibels (Db), or the intensity of a noise, a pig squeal (around 115 Db) is about as deafening as a jet engine (130 Db).
You are, of course, BARKING, not SQUEALING. You are, after all, AN EXCELLENT HOST, mindful of the FRAGILE EARDRUMS of your human cohabitants. (Except for, of course, those days they forget to feed you because they didn’t wake up on time. Such atrocities are deserving of your frightful and righteous PORCUS CLAMOR.)
After a few moments of no response, you decide to rouse another bark. Of course, to avoid damage to your BONAFIDE LUSCIOUS SINGING VOICE, you must warm up properly.
Raise the hoof to the throat. Cough. Squeal some blues scales. Check your pitch. That’s the ticket.
You raise your head and let loose another ROUSING CRY. The accompanying thump of something falling and tell-tale curses from below tells you that DIPPER had been properly alerted.
Your mission, ACCOMPLISHED.
YOU CONTINUE TO BE AN EXCELLENT HOST.
AN UTTERLY PRECIOUS PIGGY PORKER. YES YOU ARE! YES, YOU ARE.
The SECRET VENDING MACHINE ENTRANCE OPENS. DIPPER’S SWEATY TEENAGE FACE manifests from the great and yawning darkness of the UNDERGROUND LABORATORY LEVELS.
THE MYSTERIOUS GUEST’S jaw, impossibly, hits the floor. “What. The. Fuck?”
THAT THERE IS SOME BROADCAST UNFRIENDLY LANGUAGE, YOUNG LADY.
… If only the Trolley was ready. Perhaps she could have been spared the shock. ALAS, such is the improvisational nature of life.
DIPPER seems more nervous than usual. Oh dear, you wonder how he’ll deal with this confrontation.
THE YOUNG MAN brandishes his latest MAGNET GUN. (What a wonderful contraption. You find its impressive craftsmanship very attractive.) “Where is it? Where’s the fire- oh, it’s you.”
You wag your delightfully curled piggy tail.
THE MYSTERIOUS YOUNG LADY scoffs. “Well hello to you, too, Ghostbuster. Got some ghosts for you to bust. Interested?”
>SWITCH CHARACTER?
>[YOU ARE DIPPER PINES.]
YOU ARE MASON “DIPPER” PINES, you are TWELVE YEARS OLD, which is ALMOST THIRTEEN, AND THEREFORE TECHNICALLY A TEEN.
And PACIFICA is… Well, not as bad as she had been, at least. She did say some PRETTY ABLEIST SHIT that one time, but you’re pretty sure that’s mostly because of her SHITTY PARENTS because she’s actually a lot nicer when THE NORTHWEST FAMILY isn’t breathing down her neck.
And she’s kind of mellowed out overall these days. Imprisoning a god in the woods did wonders for character-building.
Still, you’re not quite sure you could call yourselves FRIENDS OR ANYTHING at this point. Acquaintances? Probably. And Contractual Ghost Hunter, apparently.
You have been having an ONGOING APPRENTICESHIP with your great-uncle, DR. STANFORD PINES, which has involved a lot of GHOST RELATED FIELD WORK. But that doesn’t make you, like, TV GHOST HUNTERS OR SOME SHIT. (Legendbreakers was much classier. You have standards.)
You lean against the wall, inspecting your MANLY HAND CALLUSES like an EXPERIENCED, UNBOTHERED HUNTER OF DARKNESS.
“Depends on the sitch.” That’s right. You ABBREVIATE. You are SO FUCKING COOL. “Got any more information than just… Ghost?”
PACIFICA shuffles uncomfortably on her feet. “... Uhhh. Not- not really?” She waves a FANCY GLOVED HAND. “But whatever! All I know is that it ruined brunch and blew everything into a tornado in the middle of the ballroom. And the heads started talking. And if I can’t come up with something to fix it right now, the party’s going to be ruined and I’ll be-”
Her mouth clamps shut with an abrupt click. Her face is mortifyingly red as she looks anywhere else but your direction.
“Just…” She rubs her temple despairingly. “I’ll pay you whatever you want, Pines. Get whatever you need. Just fix this.”
You roll your wrist expectantly, cocking a brow. “And?”
PACIFICA groans. “Do we have to do this now?”
“Yep,” you say with a loud pop on the P. “Gotta be consistent. Takes time to build habits.”
“Ffffffffffffffffffine.” She takes off her GUCCI SUNGLASSES, revealing her desperate- but nonetheless sincere- expression. “Please help me out here.”
“There we go. Now we’re in business.” You stick out your hand to shake, glancing around the room for the girls. MABEL & CO had been in the living room the last time you’d seen them- They must’ve migrated to the attic. “Let’s check in with the girls real quick- we’re gonna have to check in with Uncle Ford, too.”
You SIGH, taking a VERY NICE STRETCH.
“I’ll have to do some recon and threat assessment before I can do anything else, anyway, and some extra bodies would help that move along.”
Provided they didn’t break anything in the mansion, of course- But hey! That wasn’t your problem today.
PACIFICA’S face brightens, weirdly enough. “Mabel’s here?”
“She lives here, you know.” You smile indulgently. “But yes, she is here today. Upstairs, probably. Do you wanna come up?”
PACIFICA schools her excitement to something more neutral. “Sure, I guess.”
>SWITCH CHARACTER?
>[YOU ARE PACIFICA NORTHWEST.]
>[YOU ARE MABEL PINES.]
>[YOU ARE STANLEY PINES.]