YOU ARE BRUTUS BENJAMIN BUTLER.
Your name is BRUTUS BENJAMIN BUTLER IV.
You are a LOYAL ATTENDANT of the ESTEEMED NORTHWEST ESTATE, HEAD BUTLER just like YOUR FATHER and HIS FATHER BEFORE HIM. One of the great joys in your life is TOAST, BUTTERED and SLICED…
...and that’s all anyone needs to know.
The mark of an excellent servant is to be SEEN, NOT HEARD. From the moment you slap on your DAPPER SUIT you become but an art piece adorning the manor walls, a stage prop to be directed by the whims of your employers.
No one needs to know about your 49 CONFIRMED KILLS, all done COMPLETELY LEGALLY IN DEFENSE OF YOUR CHARGES, nor your EXTENSIVE KNOWLEDGE OF THE MANOR’S ARCHITECTURE, nor the variety of THROWING KNIVES AND PISTOLS you keep on your person at all times.
Unless it somehow becomes pertinent to share, of course. (Which you doubt it will. It has not in all the years since you returned to the manor, and you work TIRELESSLY to keep it that way.)
It is currently 14:45.03 PRECISELY. (The MOST PRECISE. You find military time to be much more serviceable in the pursuit of CLARITY.) The YOUNG MISTRESS had given an E.T.A. of 15 minutes, which was confirmed via the tracking app in her phone. That means she should be walking to the door… now.
You swing open the door before she can even knock, one arm poised for her coat as if at attention. BECOME THE HANGER, as Father had always said, AND YOU AVOID THE HANG UP.
“YOU HAVE A BUTLER MAN?!” (That must be the MABEL she spoke of. Excitable, loud, and high pitched. She would be one to watch tonight- You make a mental note to make a sign banning diving into either of the fountains.)
“Yeah,” the YOUNG MISTRESS impassively drawls, draping her leather coat over your extended arm. “We have a lot of those. Butler here is the head honcho of them all.”
“A butler named Butler.” Ah. This one would be CANDY, if you recall correctly. (You often do.) Quiet, sneaky. She looks like the type to carry a knife, herself. TRULY, A KINDRED SPIRIT IN THE MAKING. “The wealthy truly live in a different world.”
“HI BUTLER!!” GRENDA gives you a CONCERNINGLY FIRM HANDSHAKE. (The last witch who tried that never did again. It was a hands-off situation.)
“Very good, madam,” you NEUTRALLY allow. It was, after all, A VERY SKILLFUL HANDSHAKE. It is good to encourage talent in the younger generations- skill, after all, is not always taught.
A YOUNG MAN (DIPPER, you assume) trots in after them with awkward, jerky footsteps- clearly a fellow not used to his DRESS SHOES. He gestures to the ASSORTED AND ESOTERIC EQUIPMENT that he carries. “Do you just want us to get started over here, or is there a place you want us to set up?”
“There’s this one room I was thinking you could start with-” The YOUNG MISTRESS turns her head to the rest of the GATHERED INDIVIDUALS and cringes with distaste. “-Um, excuse me. Dress code.”
“Which one?” An unfamiliar older man with thick grey hair and sideburns asks. He’s standing next to STAN PINES- must be siblings, with how similar they look. Dare you say they are even IDENTICAL. (They even both have the SAME SIX FINGERS, which you TACTFULLY AVOID commenting on.) “There’s geometric color distribution, stitch-swipe fabric ciphers, socks, sandals, and strap… Which dress code are you trying to solve?”
AH.
AN ECCENTRIC.
This will be an INTERESTING EVENING.
(Ghosts weren’t interesting. Merely ANNOYING. And MESSY. You have decided you do not care for the fiends.)
The YOUNG MISTRESS rolls her eyes and flaps her hands at the WORN TRENCHCOAT he wears over his otherwise crisp wardrobe. “This isn’t a college campus, Pines. Black tie.”
STAN PINES turns to his UNSUITABLY DRESSED BROTHER. “God damn it, I knew I missed something.”
“B-but you said I looked fine?” The other man sputters, looking down at himself in utter confusion.
“That’s before I saw the entire space trenchcoat you were stowing on ya! Geez.” MR. PINES sighs. “It’s fine! No big deal. The Diablo’s always got a spare suit jacket and we’re basically the same size anyway.” He begins pedaling his BROTHER back in the direction of THE PARKING GARAGE. “Come on, Stan.”
“But- but the ghost hunt-”
“The kid’s got all the equipment,” MR. PINES deflects, pushing harder against the other’s vain efforts to stall them. “I don’t care how long you’ve been stuck in a sideburn dimension, you are not getting out of looking presentable."
DIPPER coughs into his fist. “Have you seen yourself, Stan?”
“Yeah, yeah. Pipe down, kid.”
ANOTHER ATTENDANT shows them the way back to THE PARKING GARAGE.
STANLEY PINES AND STANFORD PINES HAVE SPLIT FROM THE PARTY.
THE PARTY NOW LOSES ACCESS TO THE SKILLS AND INVENTORY OF THESE PARTY MEMBERS FOR THE DURATION OF THE SPLIT, AND VICE VERSA.
ALL PARTY MEMBERS STILL HAVE COMMUNICATION. FOR NOW.
SAVING…
SAVING...
>CONTINUE? {Y/N}
DIPPER PINES gently rattles his ASSORTED ESOTERIC EQUIPMENT. “Anyways…?”
“Right, yeah. But first.” The YOUNG MISTRESS snaps her PHONE CASE closed. “Some ground rules. I know you like, like to record your work stuff or whatever-”
“#PinesInThePines,” DIPPER pipes up, grinning at the reminder and checking his head cam. “Twitch.tv, streaming tonight!”
“-but can you keep it audio only in the main areas unless you really have to?”
Never has a jovial expression fallen apart so quickly. “But Paz, I can’t control where the ghost goes!”
“I’m not trying to be a buzzkill,” the YOUNG MISTRESS quickly explains, “It’s just like- there’s a lot of famous people. Who have a lot of money and power. We have NDAs signed for the Fest months in advance, mostly for privacy reasons, and I can’t exactly ask my parents to just overturn those.”
DIPPER raises a pointed finger, and then drops it. “Shit, you’ve got a point there. I almost forgot there was the whole “rich elite” stuff going on.” He claps his hands together, sucking air through his teeth as he thinks. “Okay. We use audio only in the main areas… meaning where, exactly?”
“Just like- the ballroom. Main hall, dining room. That’s where most of the people are gonna be anyway. The haunting hasn’t really touched heavy traffic areas, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
The YOUNG MISTRESS hisses through her teeth.
“If it’s like- an emergency, or a total accident, then whatever. I’m not here to stop you from doing your science job. Just cut it out of the VODs after.”
DIPPER nods seriously. “Aight, that’s fair. I’ll tell my mods the new ground rules.”
There’s a loud gasp from inside the manor, which immediately alerts the two (AND YOU, FOR THAT MATTER- silent and listening as ever) that they hadn’t seen MABEL in a while. “You have a chocolate fountain AND a cheese?!”
“What can I say?” the YOUNG MISTRESS smiles. “We love diversity. Millionaires, billionaires, cheese, chocolate- we like to cover our bases.” She gestures toward THE GATHERED GUESTS with a gloved hand. “I’ll show you where the audio only areas are, and then I’ll take you to the scene from this morning. The estate opens in about two hours.”
>[YOU ARE DIPPER PINES.]
>[YOU ARE CANDY CHIU.]
>[YOU ARE STANFORD PINES.]