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darkspine10 · 22 days ago

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GF Fanfic - Jailbird Mabel

Amidst the Pines, Beneath the Falls (5,724 words) by darkspine10

Chapters: 8/25

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: Teen

The bare grey walls lined the route to the cells. Ed Durland plodded along the passageway behind his office at the back of the police station. He didn’t like coming back here, with the smell of dry urine infesting the floor tiles and a dank mustiness that would never go away. There was a reason these cells were kept far away from the main station. It was far enough that you couldn’t hear the commotion from outside.

His keys rattled as he slid open the metal door that barred the way. The door stuck slightly at the end, requiring him to give it some force to get it to grind along its rail and fully open. Just inside was a wooden table. It usually stood empty but today a plastic bag sat on top, containing a wooden placard, two cans of spray paint, and a black wrist brace of unusual design. Durland studied these objects, trying to put together a picture of the owner of these effects.

“Hey Sheriff.”

The voice made him turn to the lone occupant of the row of three cells lining the opposite wall. In the one furthest from the door, a young woman sat with her knees forming an arch on the bench, her hands behind her head. She leant back in her pink jacket, looking for all the world like she was oddly at home in these surroundings. A curtain of brown hair fell across the occupant’s face, revealing that the rest was shaved in an undercut. The woman was grinning, a splash of glitter mingling with freckled cheeks.

What kept you?” said Mabel Pines. His prisoner.

The ruckus started a few hours earlier. A crowd of people had gathered downriver from the Northwest mudflap factory, at a temporary site that had been set up as a construction area for a planned expansion of the factory. While diggers cleared land within a walled-off zone, the protestors had assembled by the gates. They’d brought tents and supplies to camp out, with the intent of blocking supply deliveries and making their dislike for the project evident.

All of them had been brought together under one banner, that of May Pines. She’d used her contacts to get supporters, some local, others bussed in, all of them opposed to the Northwests’ plans. Things had been civil at first, with the protestors chanting slogans and waving signs, both against pollution and in support of keeping the local ecology safe. When the delivery trucks arrived things began to deteriorate. People blocked the roads and jostled the vehicles. It had been a pandemonium, with Durland’s small force of police officers trying desperately to contain the protest outside of the construction yard. They’d succeeded for a time, though the mood of the crowd continued to boil over.

Preston Northwest himself was hardly deaf to the cries, and came out to address the people from atop a stage. He spoke of progress and stimulating the town’s flagging prospects with new jobs. He’d been met with heckles and thrown vegetables. Durland had stood guard, his men and women taking the blows in defence of the patriarch. He couldn’t resist thinking that the man looked ludicrous in his neatly pressed tailored suit (which was no doubt needlessly expensive). Out here beside the mud and the peons he was an easy figure of disdain for the crowd.

At one point Northwest’s daughter showed up, elbowing her way through the crowd to reach the front. Durland found himself impressed with her imperious nature. She wasn’t a part of the protest but she wasn’t going to let that stop her getting a word in. Her father didn’t understand that. “Not now, Pacifica, your father’s trying to win over these unwashed masses.”

She put her hands on her hips, and Durland caught the flash of a gold watch on her wrist. It drew his eye to her gold hoop earrings and matching gold necklace. He couldn’t tell if that was her normal attire or if she’d dressed up to present a more acceptable impression to her father. “Come on, Dad, call this off. Sit down with these guys and talk.”

“Talk? My dear, these are common folk. I’m not sure some of them are even intelligent enough for that.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Here was me thinking you might be open to change.”

“I am open to change. Pennies, nickels, dimes. One must never let money slip through one’s fingers. That’s what this expansion is about, darling.”

“Ugh, you’re such a tool.” The young, excommunicated Northwest wasn’t winning any sympathy points, so stormed away from her father in a huff. She’d likely return to her family, or her modest job as a writer. Anywhere out of sight of the protest. Her visit didn’t seem to dent Preston’s unaffected tone, and he continued to talk over the jostling crowd, promising great wealth and admonishing their ungrateful jeers.

Not long after that Durland received a call on his walkie-talkie from one of his lieutenants. She’d found a protestor inside the boundary wall. Evidently there’d been a break-in. When Durland came to investigate he found the woman sitting cross-legged in the centre of the pit that the Northwest crews had started digging to put in the foundations. The woman wasn’t doing anything disruptive, not destroying the equipment or damaging any property. She was sitting serenely, zen-like, with her eyes shut. Almost daring them to arrest her. Durland had called her bluff, and now May Pines was lounging in one of his cells like a common criminal.

“So, let’s get this over with. When do I get to call my lawyer?” Pines said this with a resigned energy, almost boredom. This wasn’t her first rodeo. “What exactly am I being charged with?” she asked, turning from her reclined position to gaze at Durland.

He picked up a clipboard and read, “Unlawful entry.”

“Trespassing?” she snorted. “Yeah right.” She leaned back against the wall, her posture relaxed.

“That is a criminal offence.”

“I climbed over one prefab wall and sat around for a couple of minutes. You know, two weeks ago that spot was a nice little grassy field, good for rolling around in and not much else.”

Durland ignored her and flipped over the page on his clipboard. “We’re also charging you with defacement of private property. We found three sites with evidence of spray painting, and you were carrying these.” He gestured to the cans sitting in the ziploc bag.

Mabel sat up slightly straighter. “Ooh, what’d you think of the design?”

Durland flipped over a photo of one of the defaced walls surrounding the site perimeter. On it had been sprayed a shooting star with luminous trail, colliding with the wall. The artist had drawn bricks being flown aside and a hole with a sunny sky and clouds poking out. If he squinted, Durland could see the illusion that the wall really had been smashed through.

“Charming,” he deadpanned, tossing the photo through the bars where it floated to rest on the floor of Mabel’s cell.

“All my idea, of course.” At the other sites she’d scrawled ‘question authority’ in messy black paint and a red anarchist ‘A’ symbol. “You’re lucky I didn’t use any magic sigils,” she said.

“Magic…” he slowly drawled.

“To hex the site.”

“Right.” Durland was taken aback by how matter of factly she’d said it. Then again, in this town he’d have to be a fool not to recognise that her words had the ring of truth. Durland’s eyes flicked up to the woman’s hot pink jacket. A crest of the same shooting star and rainbow was emblazoned across both halves of the unzipped hoodie. Between the gap he saw her t-shirt had a red silhouette of Che Guevara printed on it. Nice, the archetypal rebel. “You do realise that you’re admitting to this crime? These walls-“

“Walls. All they do is divide us. Walls are designed to keep things out.” She threw her hands up. “All I was doing was trying to remind people of that, to get them to tear down the walls in their minds. You get me?”

“Not really, Miss Pines.” He shook his head, unimpressed with her attempt at profundity. “My deputies are out there right now trying to keep the peace, while your ‘supporters’ are creating mayhem.”

This seemed to grab the woman’s attention. She stood up and held onto the bars, trying to look Durland in the eye. “Mayhem? Sounds like all’s going as planned. Preston’s getting what’s coming to him. Paz tries to tell me sometimes that he’s not so bad, that he’s mellowed, but I don’t see it. Neither does Dipper, he’s probably checking his journal right now, trying to come up with some way to disrupt the factory. He always goes all out when he knows I’m in trouble.”

“I can believe that,” Durland said, raising the slightest smirk. He knew the reputation both Pines twins had in this town. Ever since they were kids they’d been breaking laws in small ways, here and there, causing minor infractions and ending up in these cells every now and again. He was also well aware that while her brother had settled down to raise a family, May Pines had grown ever more infamous across the country, and indeed, the world. She was a notable figure in several organisations that opposed corporations and government restrictions. An agitator, that was what she was, someone who couldn’t leave well enough alone and whose goal in life was convincing others of the same. That hadn’t been something he’d concerned himself with, until last year when she’d moved into town with her aloof partner. His initial worries had softened as both women appeared to be avoiding conflict. Mabel had bought a house, started running a curio store, kept herself off the radar and generally lived a normal life. Until today.

“C’mon, can’t you let me out?” Mabel wiggled her eyebrows, trying to convince him she was the same wacky kid he’d once known to elicit some sympathy. “I didn’t know that place was off-limits. You know what they say, ignorance is nine tenths of the law.”

Something in Durland snapped. “For chrissakes, girl, this isn’t some one night stay in jail because of your uncle’s misdemeanour. We’re talking about the town’s economy. You have to take responsibility for-”

“Relax.” She cut him off and slid back onto the bed. “This isn’t my first time behind bars.”

“That’s very clear.” Durland gritted his teeth and flipped to the front page on his clipboard. “I’ll need to take some personal information, if you don’t mind.” This wasn’t strictly necessary, given that he already knew exactly who he was talking to. But it might put her in her place a bit. “Name, Miss?”

“Mrs,” she grumbled, wiggling a wedding band at him on her finger. He glared at her, stony-faced, until she relented and said, “May Pinos. That was my gang name.”

Durland dutifully scribbled it down exactly as she’d said it. “Gender?”

“AMAB.”

Durland’s eyes looked up over the end of the clipboard. “Excuse me?” She’d rattled it off so quickly that he’d hadn’t quite processed what she’d said.

“Assigned Mabel at Birth.” She looked at him cheerily, disappointed when he frowned. “C’mom, can’t I have a little fun messing with police formality and gender at the same time? You need to think bigger, Sheriff. It’s that or ACAB, take it or leave it.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone.” He flicked his pen sharply across the page, marking a cross in the box marked ‘F’. “Age?”

With a shiver, she replied, “30, if you can believe that.”

“Occupation?”

“Witch- no, druid, or- uh, purveyor of mystic artefacts! How about anarchist terrorist? But if you wanna be boring put store manager I guess.”

“Finally, have you recently consumed, or are you in possession of any controlled substances.”

“Uh, no comment.” She whistled a shapeless tune and glued her eyes to the ceiling.

Durland jotted down a note that said ‘run urine test?’ and left it at that. “That’ll do for now,” he said. “We may need to take fingerprints later, but I’m convinced of your identity.”

“Woohoo,” she said blandly. “I hate filling out questionnaires. Especially cop questionnaires.”

“Do you say things like that to be purposefully provocative?” he shot back.

“Well, sure.” Mabel gave a light shrug. “The way I figure it, if you’re gonna make assumptions I might as well be honest about myself. You’ll treat me the same either way.”

“I try not to judge,” he said, though doubted she’d believe him. “Although, when I heard we were pulling you in I read your file. You have a long record, girl.” He flipped over the clipboard to the page copied from Pines’ file on the FBI database.

“I see my reputation precedes me.” She eyed the list of crimes warily. “Go on.”

“I have you down here on suspicion of drug running in Colombia back in ‘22.”

Mabel sighed wistfully. “I miss my uncle Rico. Those were the days. What next?”

“You were active all around the world in the mid ‘20s, ended up on several government watchlists for ‘subversive behaviour’. I believe this is you at a protest in Hong Kong.” He showed a blurry shot of a crowd of people wearing face masks. Mabel’s brown eyes peered out of the image, captured in a half-turn. She’d had much shorter hair back then, and was avoiding her penchant for bright colours, choosing instead a muted brown jacket.

“That could be anyone,” Mabel said, examining the photo and letting it float down with the other one. “Who among us hasn’t had a crash-out pixie cut phase?” She squinted, then shrugged. “I could be sure that was me, but I haven’t got my glasses.”

“Ah yes, that’s in your file too.” He glanced over to the evidence bag, conspicuously lacking in eyewear.

“I’m s’posed to wear them, but I can’t be bothered all the time.” She gave a cheeky grimace, somewhat disappointed in herself.

Durland continued reading from the file. “There are also suspicions that you were involved in break-ins against both Re-Gen Corp and the Vechnyy organisation in 2027. What do you say to that?”

Mabel gave an amused chuckle. “Man, what a crazy year that was. Fighting the man, everywhere we went, even on other worlds.” She waved it off. “That was ages ago though, three years or more. Not really relevant, is it?”

“Once again, you’re admitting to these offences.”

“I may have a rap sheet, but I did my time. Ain’t nothing there you can pin on me with cold, hard evidence.” She sat back on the bench, arms folded in victory. From the window slit above her, Durland began hearing a growing sound of chatter and bustle. “Aha, my followers figured out where you’re keeping me. Over here, I’m not silenced!” Mabel hopped up on the bed, stretching her face towards the window slit. She was too short, so sat back down.

Durland pinched the bridge of his nose at her childish antics. Ignoring her, he examined her evidence bag again. No mobile phone, that was the most obvious thing he noticed. She’d been smart enough not to be carrying it during her big stunt. The spray cans’ purpose was obvious, and she’d had the placard placed in front of her when her boys had brought her in. It read ‘come and get me’.

The cloth bracer was her cobbled together ‘grappling device’, likely the means she’d used to get over the walls and into the site. Durland was half-convinced to permanently confiscate the device, due to the thin firing tube that sat adjacent to the retraction mechanism. He knew it was used to launch small projectiles, such as tranquiliser darts or ball bearings to cause distractions. It could conceivably be described as a concealed weapon, though Durland abandoned that train of thought. Mabel Pines was many things - and he knew for a fact that she possessed a firearm, locked up safely in her home - but she wasn’t violent.

He sighed and turned back to the cell. “I’m trying to understand you. Why are you doing all of this?”

Mabel tilted her head to one side, and for a second Durland recognised the carefree kid who’d first come to Gravity Falls two decades ago. She still had the same chubby cheeks that puffed out when she was confused about something. “What? The protest? Northwest doesn’t care about safety, he’s only about the bottom line. That new factory’s gonna pump out double the toxins straight into the river. I’ve seen the crazy mutations that can cause. Ever heard of Octavia? Not to mention the ramifications to our mystical neighbours. They won’t be happy when we edge into their territory and muck the place up.”

Durland was silent for a moment, letting the babble of the crowd outside filter in, then said, “Better to try and fail to make a better world than to never bother making a difference. Is that it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Mabel looked at him suspiciously, and he sensed walls coming up behind her eyes. He’d finally managed to put her on the defensive “It’s weird,” she said, “I don’t usually have to justify myself. Either people hear my message and agree, or they resist what I have to say. Rare to find someone on the fence. Then again, if I was able to win my brother over then maybe it won’t be so hard with you. You’re a long-timer.”

“A what?”

“You know, from the old days. The Weirdmageddon crew. You were there, I was there. Most of the town was there. You’ve seen the absolute worst day that ever hit this little town. I’m not saying that what I was trying to prevent today was as bad as all that, but surely you get that I’m on the right side?”

“No, I don’t get that.” He set down the clipboard and sat on a bench beside the cell. He scratched the military-grade ginger buzz cut under his hat which he’d maintained for the past twenty years. “I’m on the side of peace, order, and civility. From where I’m sitting you’re disrupting all of those things.”

“Only in the short term. Which is worse, an afternoon of disobedience or a lifetime of regret?” She sighed, and it was as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Durland wondered what had driven this young woman to bear such responsibilities. “In truth I’m supposed to be semi-retired. All I wanted to do for the next few years was take it easy, run the store, spend time with my wife and my snake. Maybe catch up on my overdue art commissions, heh. But I thought, cause this was so local, that it wouldn’t hurt. I’ll mobilise some people, get boots on the ground, maybe do some good and stop that factory being built.”

“You sure that’s a good thing? What about all the jobs it could bring in?”

“Pfft, this town doesn’t need heavy industry, it needs protecting. Tourists are one thing, but we have to manage it carefully so we don’t upset the natural balance. Or supernatural balance.” She smiled to herself at that, then turned serious again. Leaning on the bars, she pointed at Durland’s chest. “The real question is, why are you here?”

“What do you mean? You’re my prisoner, this is a police interview.”

“No it’s not,” she stated bluntly. “You didn’t need to personally have this little chat. You coulda just slapped a fine on me and let me stroll out. Instead you’ve come for a one-on-one. Why is that? Does something tickle your conscience, Durland?”

He scratched at his forehead once more, an itch that refused to go away. “I want you to tell them to stop.”

“Stop? Who, that crowd of angry protestors?” Her eyes flicked up towards the window. “I may have called them here but they’re not about to give up. They’ll know if I’m faking it.”

“I’m not…” He took a breath, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want you to ‘fake it’. I want you to ask them to stand down and go home.”

“And why would I do that?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Because I’m asking. And from where I’m standing, you’re the one stuck in a cell without any other options.”

“So that’s it? Blackmail?”

“No, not exactly.” His words tumbled out. He felt frustrated with how she was misconstruing him. He calmed himself and tried to rephrase his plea. “I want to win you over. You’re a resident of this town, and thus under my protection. I want what’s best for everyone, and the best way to avoid any more of those kids getting arrested and sued by the Northwests is to disperse and go about their business.”

“Damage control then?” She seemed slightly more sympathetic to this line of reasoning. “I get it, I really do. Sometimes it can be hard work, this life. Standing up for what’s right. It’d be so easy to sit back and let the world turn. I’ve been trying to do that lately, to live my life. I can’t help but get tangled up in a cause.”

Mabel slunk back from the bars and took off her jacket. She dropped it beside her on the bed, and once again Durland was reminded that the girl didn’t know the meaning of the word subtlety. Every spare scrap of skin on her arms was covered by colourful tattoos. His eyes couldn’t help but snap to a red hammer & sickle design on her forearm. “Look at this one: Pines.” She pointed to a different tattoo, a golden pine tree below the opposite shoulder that he could swear shone like glitter, before he blinked and the effect vanished. “It’s a sign that my family all carry in some form. A sign of solidarity. I’m not about to sell out my principles.”

Desperately, he jumped to his feet. “But you can get them to trust me, those people out there.”

“They might trust you if you stop arresting them. If you let me go right now then who’s gonna find out, besides Preston? Uh, that’s right: No-one. So why don’t you act like you’re not a stuck-up pig and let me outta here!”

“You watch your tone,” he muttered, feeling the conversation slipping ever further out of his control.

“That’s the main thing I don’t get, Durland. How can you stand to wear that uniform? I mean, being who you are, with Blubs-”

“That’s enough!” he snapped.

“No, it isn’t.” Mabel rose to her feet and angrily clung to the bars of the cell. “How can you support the same system that goes against your own relationship like that? I can’t make sense of that.”

“My personal life is none of your business.”

Before he could respond further through gritted teeth, the babble of the crowd outside was entirely overwhelmed by a horrendous screeching which forced Durland to clamp his hands over his ears. The sound was tempered for a moment as he made out discordant violin strings and threatening percussion, which continued to rise in pitch. “What in heaven?” His cries were nearly drowned out.

“Oh, that,” Mabel said, leaning against the wall with her hands behind her back as if this sound was nothing more than gentle birdsong. “It’s the Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima. I think it’s kinda beautiful.” Durland tried to focus on her words, to blot out the assault on his ears. The girl seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the whole thing. “It was that or my Heavens to Betsy cassette tape, pick your poison. If you’re not gonna let me go I might as well make it harder for you. Sound based disruption is a classic guerilla theatre technique. Hey, you listening?”

Durland was on his knees, the blood pounding in his head. The crowd must have been using an industrial-level speaker to be blasting that so-called music so loudly. Stumbling towards the door, he shouted back at Mabel. “I hope you enjoy the night!”

Once he was down the corridor the the so-called music continued to echo. He wiggled his fingers in his ears to no effect. Despite all his efforts to get through to May Pines she’d blanked him at every turn. Now she’d banished him from his own prison.

When he got to the front desk he found his chief deputy talking to a woman he recognised as Pines’ wife, Zera. When she noticed him she walked past the desk despite the deputy’s cries. Her expression was forlorn, but he detected a resilience beneath her tired frown. She said something and realised his ears were still ringing from the cells. He asked her to repeat it.

“Is May alright? You haven’t hurt her have you?”

“Hurt her, god no! We’re not barbarians.”

“I was just worried.” Zera clutched her arms together. “When you handcuffed her I thought it looked like it might have been too tight on her wrists. I wasn’t sure how restrictive the police were on this pl… in this town.”

“Please, ma’am, you don’t have to worry. Mrs Pines is in a perfectly fine condition. We’re restraining her until further notice or such time Mr Nortwhest chooses to press charges. She’ll be taken care of until then. I’ll have someone bring her a warm meal.”

“Please remember she’s a vegetarian,” Zera added.

He wondered if she was merely playing the ‘worried loved one’ routine. There were stories about the new Mrs Pines, that she was some kind of ex-con herself. Yet he felt that her emotions were genuine.

Mollified, Zera walked to the door, turning back at the last moment. “If you see May again tonight, please… tell her I love her.”

“I-” He hesitated, torn between his duty and a quiet, nagging voice saying ‘there is another way’. The same voice that had led him to May Pines’ cell in the first place. “I will, ma’am. You can count on that.”

Durland drove back from the station in a daze, passing from streetlight to streetlight down main street. A faint white glow over the treetops was the only sign that hundreds of eager young people were camped out by the river. He hoped there were no overnight calls that necessitated him having to rush to the scene. After his chat with Pines he was ready to fall into bed.

He pulled into the drive of the two-storey Victorian and stepped out, already undoing his tie. He sighed gratefully on entering the hallway. If the stresses of the job became too great this was his peaceful spot. A man’s home is his castle, but he preferred to think of it as a secret retreat from the hectic pace of modern life. Perhaps that description was overselling it - this town rarely saw much action on an average day - but he still relished the quiet of home.

Durland heard a gentle humming coming from upstairs. Throwing his hat onto a stand, he took each step on the staircase with the weight of the world. The bedroom was dimly lit by a single lamp, and his husband was already tucked up in bed with his reading glasses. “Hey there, Ed,” he said. His smile lit up the room and Durland almost forgot how tiring the day had been. With his shirt half unbuttoned he slid in besides Blubs.

“Hi Daryl.” He gave him a kiss on the cheek then sunk gratefully into the pillows.

“Long day?” he replied incisively. It was hard to miss Durland’s tightly wound mood.

“You could say that.” Durland sighed and took a moment to close his eyes. When he opened them he saw that Blubs was reading another Tom Clancy novel. Reliving the glory days, as Durland liked to joke. “The glory days were never as exciting as this,” his husband always responded, as he would take Durland’s hand in his.

Tonight he didn’t have the energy to say that much. Corralling the protestors was one thing, but he couldn’t get May Pines’ words out of his head. Looking at his husband he felt her sharp comments stab even harder.

“Did we always do the right thing?” Durland asked aloud.

Blubs finished his page, then took off his reading glasses and put them away in his dressing gown. “I don’t know about that,” he said, guffawing. “Remember the Pioneer Day conspiracy?”

Durland mustered a grin. “I do indeed. Couldn’t even catch a couple‘a twelve year-olds. But on the whole?”

Blubs knew he wasn’t generally a deep thinker, but chose not to comment on the fact Durland was obviously unsettled by something. “More or less. We kept the town safe as well as we could, that’s what’s important.”

“Safe?” He chewed on that word, sounding it out in his mind. “Is safety always the best thing though?”

Blubs placed his hand on top of Durland’s and kissed him for a long time, letting the weight melt off of Durland’s shoulders. “The best time to do the right thing was 20 years ago. The second best time to do the right thing is always right now”

Durland found solace in this simple wisdom. As he settled into bed, an image of May Pines reclining on the hard prison bed flashed through his mind. One night in that place. Was that enough? Or too much?

The first rays of sunlight shone through the high window slit directly into Mabel’s eyelids. She scrunched up her face to no avail, and forced herself to sit up and stretch. Her back was killing her; an unfortunate downside to ageing that she’d been unwilling to accept gracefully. After eating the meal provided by the cops - mashed potatoes, on the milder side of tepid - she’d tried to stay awake through the night. She’d even cast her newly tested illumination spell, before realising that there was nothing to see within the three walls of her accommodation, even if she’d had her glasses. After that she slept fitfully for a few hours.

Groaning and slapping her lips, she was taken aback by the presence of the Sheriff, already sitting hunched over on the bench right outside the cell bars. “Mornin’. Do cops get overtime?”

Durland got up and strolled in her direction. “Good morning, May. I’ve come to a decision on what I’ve got to do with you.”

Mabel tensed. Jumping out of bed, she sprinted over and clung tightly to the bars. “You’ll never make me revoke my principles, ya hear me! Freedom for nature! Freedom for May Pines! Freedom for- whuh.” A tiny click, and the door to the cell swung open, causing her to barrel over onto the floor. She peeked one eye open to see Durland standing over her, keys in hand, having unlocked her cell. “Wha?” she mumbled.

“You’re free to go, Mrs Pines.”

Mabel awkwardly rolled over and got up into a crouch. “How come?”

“After our little discussion yesterday… I’m releasing you with no charges. I’ve deemed that the evidence was flimsy and wouldn’t hold up.”

“But, but why?” Mabel said with widened eyes.

Durland wondered how this girl, who’d spoken at such length on this very topic, could be so naive. “I thought about all that you said. And you were right. I may stand before you wearing this uniform, but I stand for my own code first.”

Mabel’s mood instantly brightened up. She winked at Durland and shot a finger gun towards him. “See, I knew I could win you round. Folks say I’m good at that, getting people to see the bigger picture.”

“Some people might call that manipulative.”

“Not you though.” She hooked an arm around Durland’s shoulder, angling him towards the door before remembering her personal items. The Sheriff gestured for her to take them back, though Mabel dithered over the wooden ‘come and get me’ sign and ultimately left it lying on the table. The grapple brace went straight on her wrist, and she tensed and released her muscles to test the hook. With three cans of spray paint stuffed into her hoodie, she made constant click-clack noises as she walked. “So, what happens now? With the protest.”

Durland glanced at the window. He could already hear a morning chorus of voices gathered outside the cell again. He prayed that they weren’t about to blast out more deafening ‘music’. “I’ll have to watch over the crowd, make sure it all stays under control. But you can do whatever you like. Frankly I think it’s more trouble than it’s worth keeping you here.”

Beaming, Mabel strolled happily towards freedom, Durland keeping pace with her energetic gait. “This is great. I better get back to my friends. Wouldn’t want them to try something more drastic to get me out.” She suddenly slammed her fist into her palm. “And Z! I’ll have to check up on her before I get back to tearing down the patriarchy or whatever.”

“I’m sure whatever you do will be unmissable,” Durland said with a slightly critical edge.

“Hey, hold up.” Mabel turned to face him. She rubbed at her arm and said, “thanks. For not completely sucking. For making this town somewhere I can be myself.”

“It’s where I can be myself too.” He winked at her, and Mabel gave a sigh of relief.

She turned to leave and stretched her arms once more to loosen her back. “Man, sometimes I can’t get over what my life is like as an adult living in this place. Being middle aged is so weird. When I was a kid I used to have, like, existential fears. Fears of what might happen in the future, fears of losing my personality, or my brother. Now I just worry about mundane shit like paying taxes or-”

“Please don’t tell me you’re guilty of tax evasion too?” Durland said wearily. “You do have the right to remain silent.”

Mabel was taken aback that he’d cut her off for a second, then broke into a grin. She let out the bubbliest laugh Durland had ever heard. It echoed off the solid walls of the jail. He found it delightful, and led May Pines out into the light.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #mabel pines #deputy durland #pacifica northwest #preston northwest

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darkspine10 · 2 months ago

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GF Fanfic - A Comparative Study of Mundane Fauna

Amidst the Pines, Beneath the Falls (7,312 words) by darkspine10

Chapters: 7/25

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: Teen

Note: This chapter is better experienced on AO3 due to the unique formatting.

Axolotl: A̷̡̠̩͊n̶̘͙̉̾́͌t̴̺̩̗͘͜j̸̼̰̮͔̎̇̓̉t̸͚͙̤͈͔͗͆̾͒͘ķ̶̳͑̄̽̐̊ú̶͎͙̜͙̖̍̈́́̕h̴̡͐̌̈͘q̵͕̲̑̚p̶͔̫̻̳̹̉͐̅̃͝b̶̡̞̓q̴̳̞̮̓͂́̋b̴̭̥̈̈́̍d̸̻́h̸̞͈̟͌̈́̃̒͝ḽ̸̛̞̅̊̀̽q̶͎̼̿̍͌̍̚k̴̥̠̾̂̕ḍ̸̢̢̌̏͗̈́h̸͓̏̽d̶̩͈͊̔͑̿͠u̶̫͒́d̵͙͒͆̋̆ḫ̴̨̖̘̿d̴̟̒̚̕p̵̨̆͋͘j̵̧͔̦͊e̵̮̻̟̭̦͐̀̐̔̏d̴̮͕̝̘͔́̑͝͝͝b̷̡̞͙̱͛͌̂ť̵͓̘͖͊̅l̵͚̈́̚

Author’s Note: The next 26 entries were cut out and re-ordered alphabetically to make them easier to reference in future. That means there are a few chronological glitches in my notes, and my introductory passage was also reshuffled further down the list. -M

Bats: No, not the eyebats. Gravity Falls is home to a veritable warren of caves and tunnels, from the old railroad cuttings, to the subterranean void beneath the town cemetery, to the amber grottoes and even some artificial bunkers. Wherever underground passages are present, so are bats clinging to their ceilings. These airborne mammals take to the skies at night and sleep during the day. An aspiring speleologist can therefore study them while they’re napping, hanging upside down.

I'm still debating whether echolocation counts as a superpower or not. My sister-in-law once told me very confidently that she could echolocate, though in a manner more akin to a dolphin, and thus only in water. I’m still not sure if she was being serious or just teasing me. With Zera it’s hard to tell, as I outlined in the ‘Fish’ section.

A direct connection between bats and vampires is often assumed by laymen, though my own experiences have proved inconclusive. While creatures do exist that match many of the commonly attributed vampiric features - fangs, invisible in mirrors, harmed by sunlight - any connection to our winged friends would appear to be hearsay. Though that’s not to discount connections to other cryptids, such as the giant ‘Land-Bats’ (or Chiropterans) I’ve encountered, which are vicious predators. As of yet the exact evolutionary pathways require further study.

In any case, most of the bat species found in Gravity Falls are fruit or insect eaters, though several varieties have evolved to subsist on the mushrooms that grow in the valley. Some of these possess unique attributes. I myself have many times ground up the innocuous reddish-brown Dragon’s Hide toadstool (Russula draconis) to brew a noxious mix that provides immunity from fire, particularly useful when dealing with a pet firebird. The bats which eat this fungus in large quantities have developed fiery saliva glands, allowing them to dissolve certain softer rocks such as limestone to create nests. These can be recognised by brownish-fur flecked with brighter orange spots on the wings. Meanwhile those that consume fungus growing near the size-changing crystals exhibit near-infinite appetites and wild size disparities among their young. The largest of these are occasional menaces, but can be stunned via high-voltage shocks. The fungal basin, as Merrise named it, may prove an important avenue of study, now that its previous occupant has been evicted.

The mushrooms themselves are curious, and perhaps deserving of an entry of their own if I had the time. All the way back in Journal 1 Grunkle Ford wrote detailed observations of the fungus growing within the valley. Sadly those entries were lost to me for several years, since Ford disposed of his research for very sensible reasons. When I was living in California all I had to go on while starting Journal 4 were greying photocopies Stan made of Journal 3 during his repairs of the Portal. I certainly made frequent use of these copies in my teen years, they provided a wealth of knowledge for me to expand on. Fortuitously, times change, and thanks to Candy’s efforts I’ve now recovered all three original books (which reminds me, ND2-F1 would be a good next move in our correspondence chess).

Ford’s notes on the subject are rather dry, as he was still finding his feet with his journal and wasn’t fully aware how abnormal this line of research would become. However, his work on the mushrooms was exemplary. He mapped the extent of each species’ growth throughout the forest, maps which still hold up to this day, given a few disruptions due to crevices forming during earth tremors and the like. He also documented several spores and their properties. This research would allow me the ability to chart the bats which thrive off each type of mushroom, though I myself don’t see much point in the endeavour. This is meant as more of a casual series of entries in any case, so I’ve already spent too much time waffling about bats and mushrooms. Onto a more exciting creature!

Beavers: Exist mainly on the islands dotting Lake Gravity Falls. Though they appear to be almost devoid of intelligence, they’re also some of the happiest animals, fond of cavorting and hugging one another, and content to build their dams in peace. Nasty when provoked however. In fact, my oldest scar comes from a beaver incision on my right arm, just above the elbow.

Birds: The number of supernatural avian species native to the area is uncountable. This makes it hard to catalogue many of the birds dwelling nearby as so many are half-breeds. What I’m saying is we play host to a lot of local oddities. Quails with remarkable head deformities. Owls that closely resemble specific mammals. Most of these hybrids don’t tend to travel too far from their roosting grounds within the cliff walls. Leveraging the bird-watching community might be an option to gain a more thorough understanding of the sheer numbers. The annual Woodstick festival scares off many of the birds due to the noise pollution, though they tend to filter back over the following weeks.

The Western Meadowlark is Oregon’s state bird, with a distinctive flute-like call, but in Gravity Falls they are capable of producing a melody near-identical to Ennio Morricone’s 1986 theme from ‘The Mission’. I still don’t know why.

Owls are particularly common in the region for some reason, often being present in flocks of a dozen or more. For such solitary, nocturnal animals they sure love to block roads and roost on top of cars. Locals consider them a perennial menace. The town council have discussed culling their numbers in the past, but my sister started a counter-campaign to preserve the species. She made posters, gave a few talks at town meetings, and finally strapped herself to a pile of owls as a protest act (they flew off en masse, tearing off shreds of her sweater). Ultimately it was decided that the owls contribute to keeping the numbers of rodents down (see ‘Rats’), so they were spared.

In terms of birds of prey, hawks can be sometimes seen hovering above the trees waiting to strike. Another hybrid, the Hawktopus, raises questions about mating habits that defy answer. Our town’s electoral process is dictated by eagle kiss, so they’re considered protected animals. Not that there are many, since they share the skies with so many other hungry fliers. Vultures can sometimes be found near the graveyard, ready to scavenge any depressed emo teens who might find themselves brooding there.

The Northwests used to keep peacocks on their grounds, and these were inherited by McGucket when he took over the place. As far as I know they’re currently thriving, as McGucket let the grounds become overgrown and they were no longer hunted for sport by the family. The chicken Pacifica once won at the fair used to reside alongside them. Why she wanted to own a pet farm animal at all still baffles me. She told me once that she was looking to acquire some kind of animal mascot, something to boost her appeal. I think it may have backfired judging by how much the chicken pecked at her.

After she set it free among the peacocks she would return from time to time to make sure the bird was well fed and getting along with its colourful siblings. Apparently the bird never complained about the new residence. The Northwests ignored her presence. Pacifica didn’t name the chicken at first, believing that she wouldn’t last more than a few weeks. She settled on Clucky, which along with Shelly and Waddles shows you that no-one in our family is very good at coming up with pet names (Daedalus and Apep are a step up in that regard). Sadly Clucky passed away while we were living on the West Coast. When Pacifica found out she insisted on having her bones interred in the old Northwest family mausoleum, to spite her parents one more time. I think it also made me realise that even if she hadn’t always shown it, she really did care for that bird. She must have represented a personal connection that Pacifica’s parents were too ignorant to interfere with, thus rendering it free of their influence.

Of course, Mabel and I changed the course of reality that day thanks to a bit of sneaky time travel, so who can say what Clucky’s fate would have been in that aborted timeline. Really makes you think.

(it doesn’t, I don’t really care)

Cats: A few residents in town have feline companions. I’m told Lazy Susan has taken up the missing mantle of crazy cat lady, which I’m sure we’ve all been missing. Pacifica looks back fondly at the summers she worked under Susan as a waitress at Greasy’s Diner and still has a strong relationship with the old woman even though she’s in her dotage now.

Most residents however were hesitant to let me tag their precious pets with tracking devices or run experiments on them. Perhaps next time I’ll try selling it as a ‘cat protection scheme’, to ensure your beloved tabby won’t run into danger in the big wild woods. Maybe Zera can help me workshop that one. Deceiving the townsfolk would certainly make Grunkle Stan proud. It’s amusing to me how easily cats have ingratiated their way into humanity’s homes. Nature’s perfect killing machine reduced to a lazy ball of fur in exchange for hand rubs and tinned tuna. A winning strategy. Makes me curious as to whether any cryptids will adopt that strategy someday. Maybe everyone in town will have a pet Scampfire take on walkies.

When we were kids our family had a black cat named Ashes. Mabel used to play with him, though he never responded much, being a bit old and dopey. After adopting Waddles she shifted her attention there. In any case, Ashes went to the great litter tray in the sky about two years after our first summer in the Falls. Not from old age, mind, Mrs Carpenter from down the road accidentally hit him with her car because he was too slow to dodge out of the way.

Cows: Mutants like Octavia are outliers, as the majority of cattle living on farms are quite docile. Cows are favourite targets of the most dangerous supernatural monsters which occasionally stray out of the woods. I’ve seen more than one chewed-over carcass in my time, which I can tell you is not a pleasant experience for a dyed-in-the–sweater-wool vegetarian. I’m not sure I’d trust the meat that comes from these cows even if I still ate meat. There’s all sorts of chemical run-off in the rivers and soil from the Northwest’s mudflap factory. Radioactive elements from Crash Site Omega have been known to leak to the surface as well.

Buffaloes used to roam the valley, but were made extinct by settlers in the 1800s. The only examples remain as taxidermy in the History Museum. Thanks to the wonders of time travel, I myself have seen a few living specimens, though those observations were very brief (and eighteen years ago, relative time) so there’s not much I can intuit.

Crocodiles (or possibly alligators? The distinction is unclear): Not naturally endemic to Oregon, nevertheless our rivers are populated by a few scaly specimens, possibly abandoned pets brought up from Florida or Louisiana. A few hiking trails had to be closed off last year because they happened to lead to a clutch of fiercely guarded eggs. No hunters have yet dared to defeat the beasts, and the reptiles thankfully don’t stray into populated areas in town. So long as their numbers don’t grow too large there might not be a problem. May be a good idea to set up some motion detector cameras around the edge of their territory just in case. I’ll see if Soos knows somewhere I can get those in stock. The Corduroys and other such logging interests might need to be nudged in other directions for the time being.

Deer: Not nearly as skittish as their counterparts elsewhere. They’ll still run if they’re spooked, but these deer know how to book it. They’ve evolved to know exactly how dangerous some of the creatures lurking in the valley can be and they don’t waste time when they have to flee. Because of this they’re more muscular than other related species. Contradictorily, their antlers haven’t diminished in stature, ie. for the possibility of presenting a smaller target. I hypothesise that the antlers present some ritual significance to many of the valley’s resident monsters which subtly wards them away. I someday hope to prove this, that is whenever I’m able to catch up to one of these slippery devils.

Some deer have been domesticated by the gnomes for use as transport and in war, which is a fascinating example of Gravity Falls’ unique interplay of mundane and magical fauna. What’s next, hedgehogs used as defensive units, raccoons used to plough fields? Actually I remembered the gnomes' use of squirrels, so perhaps it’d be best if I limit my imagination this one time.

Dinosaurs: Hardly the most normal creatures to be found on this list, but these are mundane animals nonetheless; products of evolution over millions of years, or rather its stagnation. Gravity Falls’ amber caves are home to several examples of otherwise extinct species not seen in over 65 million years. I’ve made several expeditions into the caves, partly to ensure that they remain at a suitably low temperature to prevent any further escapes. I’ve counted about a dozen distinct species, a snapshot of multiple periods of Earth’s prehistory. The oldest intact amber formations include a pair of preserved Cynodonts, early creatures from a species that would one day lead the evolution of mammals. Also trapped in the amber are Pterosaurs, which are not technically dinosaurs, but only the most ardent pedant would complain if I mention them here.

To further my research I’ve had to make surreptitious calls to several local palaeontologists, making sure I couch my words in the realm of speculation. They’ve been very helpful in identifying the majority of interred dinos. Because of the excellent preservation, none of the animals have been particularly affected by any of the valley’s weirdness. Unless they themselves became trapped in the amber precisely so that they could be strange and unusual millions of years down the line? Hmm, perhaps further definition of my categories is in order.

On the other hand there’s something nice about knowing that what’s weird depends largely on our point of view. After all, I’m here in Gravity Falls, aren’t I? Stick me in amber for eighty million years and someone might start calling me weird.

Dogs: Back when I first met her I think Pacifica owned a dog. I’ll ask her to see if she has any insight on their behaviour or manner compared to outside the valley.

Trust me, you don’t want to know what happened to that retriever. It was never the same again after your sister got her hands on it and that’s all I’m saying.

Fish: Onto some less violent marine creatures. Salmon swim up our waterways to a couple of breeding sites, which attracts its fair share of predation from other animals, including the salmon-shovelling ‘Bearver’, a buck-toothed ursine too baffling to relate in more detail. The local Gobblewonker myths may be evidence towards a similar aquatic predator hiding in the depths of the lake, but this is mere conjecture.

But I think this entry is better served discussing a more specific aquatic specimen. She isn’t technically speaking ‘mundane’ in any sense of the word, since she was born on another planet and came to Earth via interdimensional portal. Since she’s now a permanent resident it makes sense to include a brief description here.

This individual is Zera, my sister-in-law. In truth she’s more amphibian than a fish, but it’s long past overdue that I wrote some kind of entry on her. My last hastily sketched overview (see 01/28) is painfully out of date. Biologically speaking she’s obviously an outlier. Her species, the S’aren, come from a rocky planet in the region of van Maanen's Star, approximately 14 light years from our neck of the woods. Along with my daughter, Zera kindly submitted to a few basic tests of her anatomy when they first arrived on Earth. This was primarily done to ensure they could survive without issue in our atmosphere and weren’t susceptible to local diseases, but I used the opportunity to study Zera’s biology in some detail (I didn’t wish to put a child through the same bevy of examinations, so Merrise was spared this process). The following information is therefore a mix of recounted facts and observed characteristics.

S’aren begin life as tadpoles in spawning pools, I’m told in births of several thousands, which leads to fierce competition among siblings for scant resources from the geysers they are found near. Eventually limbs emerge and the juvenile S’aren that survive this gruelling process crawl onto land. The children then enter vast creches where they’re raised by multiple volunteer individuals. It’s rare for the young to know their biological parents because of this.

At puberty, according to what Zera was willing to describe to me without going into too much detail, several new growths sprout on the body. The translucent fins on her arms and legs, as well as a particularly prominent one on the head, all come from Zera’s teenage years. Anemone-like fronds additionally crown Zera’s scalp, resembling dreadlocks. These carry a small electrical charge, completely harmless to humans and only producing a mild tingling effect. These vestigial tentacles are used to ward off small parasites and deter fish from getting too close whilst swimming. Not all S’aren have these fronds; close to 15% of adults possess them.

A S’aren’s lung capacity is a hundred times that of a human’s, meaning Zera is capable of staying underwater for approximately ninety minutes without coming up for air. That is provided she takes several deep breaths first to fully oxygenate her lungs. She also possesses a set of micro-gills, leftover remnants from the tadpole phase which do slowly filter in oxygen directly from surrounding water. The quantities absorbed using this organ are miniscule, only providing a few additional seconds at best. Zera’s epidermis requires frequent hydration to avoid drying out, necessitating daily swims to replenish her moisture intake.

All fascinating details, of course. But aside from biology I’m also interested in Zera as a person. In simple terms, this entry is a chance for me to gossip wildly. Zera’s past is somewhat murky even after knowing her for a few years now. She was a conwoman or thief, pulling scams across the galaxy, the exact nature of which she doesn't like to go into. Her taciturn personality deters further inquiry, and can come off quite bitter to the uninitiated. One evening when Mabel and I were together in Sapphire Bay we both got drunk and she started dishing out snippets about her at-the-time girlfriend. Zera was visiting her homeworld during that period, part of a ritual event that’s tied to S’aren maturation in some way, a renewal process of sorts. But more importantly it meant May was free to spill the deets on various crimes Zera told her about.

I knew about some of it, the whole ‘pretend to be the last of her kind to lift a valuable local treasure’ act is one she’s pulled off a few times. Then there are the petty larcenies and bank raids. Mabel mentioned a few contacts - Fay Bane, the Monk of S’aren Centris, Quelton - but the names meant nothing to me. She never killed anyone as far as I know, though I’m not exactly going to ask that question to her face.

Untrustworthy, that’s the vibe Zera gives off. The thing is, I can’t tell if it’s all an act. Despite acting like she’s got all these big secrets, it might all be to give the illusion that she can’t be trusted when in fact she’s being perfectly honest. It’s not like she’s ever betrayed mine or Pacifica’s trust since getting hitched to Mabel. Maybe I just have a prejudice around Mabel’s romantic partners when they’re part fish. I didn’t care much for Mermando either back in the day.

Perhaps I shouldn’t judge. Zera’s come through for us, in Salem, in Piedmont, at the end of the universe. Whatever life she led before intersecting with ours is no business of mine to pry into. That won’t stop me trying to figure it all neatly into a timeline of her activities, but I want that to come naturally. There’s no point pushing her into yapping all about it. That wouldn’t be nearly as fun an exercise.

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Foxes: My old friend Wendy Corduroy once said that the fox was her family mascot. Wily, scrappy, flaming red. Sadly if they end up with anything resembling her fate then they’ll be extinct soon. Like most of the scavenger species, foxes are rare within the valley boundaries.

Leah’s currently too young to appreciate a plush fox, but I still made sure to get her a blanket with a fox motif on it, in honour of her namesake. Maybe one day she’ll get to see the real thing.

Goats: It makes sense to end at the beginning. As with the sheep, the goats living on farms in the valley seem mostly unaffected by weirdness. But there is one exception, a wild goat of infamy who wanders the woods around the Mystery Shack. Gompers is his name, and he possesses the uncanny ability to always appear where you least expect him. No door can prevent him sneaking in, at least not into the Shack itself (which perhaps may be a sign of the building’s lack of structural integrity more than anything).

There’s just something… off, about Gompers, more so than most inhabitants of the valley, which is saying something. All the mystical horrors or scientific experiments gone wrong can’t stack up to the gentle disquiet this goat brings with him.

A quick description then. He has light brown fur, scraggly, on his chin it looks like a beard. Two black horns curve back from the head, one of which is half missing due to some unknown event. An encounter with a Chiropteran or other similar giant predator? Some headbutting accident with another goat? The Northwests, out hunting and taking it as a trophy? Who can say?

The eyes are the most disturbing. Empty eyes, hypnotic and soulless. Rotate them 90 degrees and you have a passable impression of demonic possession. My sister once did a faux-exorcism on Gompers, though the word ‘faux’ might be an overstatement. It was right at the start of her experimentation with occultism - all black clothing and lipstick, getting an undercut - the standard teen phase. In the basement of the Shack, beside the old Portal chamber, she drew chalk sigils in the shape of a pentagram, lit five black candles, then recited a cleansing chant in old high Loggothian, a language based on carvings from several runic sites which Mabel cobbled together into something meaningful. Nothing happened of course, Gompers got bored and chewed the base of the nearby desk chair. Bear in mind that Mabel was only 16 at the time, though I think the methodology for her ritual was sound.

I guess in the end Gompers has proven to be or less harmless. During Weirdmageddon he was enlarged but reverted to normal size afterwards with no ill effects. The reason I decided to end on this note is because Gompers is arguably the first creature I ever encountered in Gravity Falls, if you want to stretch the description a little. He was my first taste of the valley’s weirdness, and in some way that makes me grateful for him. I met Gompers before Pacifica. Hell, I met Gompers before I knew about Journal 3. He’s still kicking about, roaming as he pleases, surviving off scraps and mostly unchanged from how I remember him. One wonders if he’ll ever go away entirely. He might just stick around as a haunting presence forever, an intrinsic part of the valley like the lake or the floating cliffs. Or perhaps I’m investing more in this little goat than he deserves. That’s what makes this place so magical really. The fact that you can never really be sure that you know all there is to know. There’s always a bigger mystery out there…

Horses: Pacifica used to ride ponies, kicked the habit not long after her parents lost part of their fortune and the mansion. Donkeys are called into service every Pioneer day to add some flair to the reenactment. I used to not enjoy Pioneer Day, but I think I was subconsciously taking on my Great Uncle’s hatred for the event, not to mention my wife’s dislike for having to host it every time. The year she stopped doing that we actually had a really fun date, exploring all the stalls and getting immersed in the culture. Merrise found her first Pioneer day fascinating too, she loves getting a taste of history in such an atmospheric manner.

The connection horses have with unicorns is one I’m working on pinning down. They’re clearly related species, but whether the mythical variants emerged out of some selection pressure here in the valley, or are the result of some magical alteration, has yet to be defined.

Insects: There are large numbers of bugs of all kinds present in the Falls, from vast ant colonies, to termites that dwell in all the crevices underground (they seem common in Ford’s bunker out in the woods, perhaps they’re survivalists planning to outlast humanity). Bumblebees appear in the meadows to pollinate our flowers every spring, and mosquitoes are an ever-present menace (I’m a magnet for bites).

I’ve never been much of an entomologist, so there are bound to be numerous unrecorded species. Whether they’ve started expressing unique characteristics would require a much longer period of study, particularly with the smallest of creepy crawlies. If we start going microscopic we’ll be here all day, so let’s move on.

Introduction: Recently I’ve been spending a lot of time out of doors, wandering the valley’s trails and going off-road into the wilderness. My new project of selling photos I’ve taken of the natural landscapes and wildlife in Gravity Falls to magazines and websites isn’t always the most well-paid, but it is very rewarding.

It’s ironic really; it’s the reverse of the switch I made in college. Originally I majored in photography. I thought I’d use the skills I was learning to do something media related, maybe in tv production or a creative venture ofone variety or another. Going from that to a full-on astronomy degree was certainly a huge shift (and one that Pacifica graciously helped me through over several stressful nights talking it over at her place). I can’t deny that it wasn’t the right move though. Mapping the stars at the observatory, working on research projects with my buddy Raj, it was a dream career. However, I similarly can’t say I was wrong to switch to my current, more ad-hoc job. It leaves me more spare time for my own thoughts, time I use to add to my journal, and, equally importantly, to raising my kids in the place that I love.

I also get to experiment with new techniques. The other week I created a ‘headless portrait’. This fad favoured by the Victorians was a simple method of layering negatives. I posed wearing an old suit and managed to create a convincing monochrome shot of myself holding my own grinning head in my lap. Pacifica called it ghoulish when I showed it to her (she wrinkled her nose in that adorable way she does whenever I describe at length any cryptid she deems ‘filthy’). Two weeks later I found the same print framed and hanging above the desk in the study where she writes every day. Clearly I’ve found a woman appreciative of my artistic talents.

But enough about photography. The real reason for this series of journal entries is that my career has also given me a new appreciation for the less supernatural denizens of the valley. Those animals which haven’t yet succumbed to the call of the paranormal. Those totally ordinary creatures which can be found all over the country, but which have developed to fit in a unique environmental niche.

I’ve had ample chances to capture moments involving wild animals, without even needing to go off-trail and wait patiently for a rare sighting. Usually they get in the way of my supernatural pursuits, triggering traps or disturbing carefully laid tracks and making new discoveries difficult. Some of the animals are more timid than their counterparts elsewhere, while others have become more aggressive. Take for example an incident that took place last week. We had an unseasonably warm day, and I decided to take advantage of the early Spring sun to eat lunch with my family in the garden. It was nice to enjoy a taste of the sunny days which remind me so much of my teenage years. While I was reminiscing, that was when a giant snail, larger than a cat, attacked our picnic table. With surprising alacrity it leapt up, shell and all, and skittered across the table gobbling up whatever it could. We lost a sandwich, a bowl of nachos, and a half-drunk bottle of beer that day.

That’s just one abnormal specimen on the brink between standard biology and something more mystical, less definable in any textbook. And so, with the leaves on the cusp of sprouting, I’ve decided to pen a series of entries cataloguing the creatures nobody’s bothered to take a close look at before.

Of course we can only start with that most faithful companion to mankind.

Lobsters: It’s a common misconception that Waddles was the first pet Mabel adopted. Not so. She smuggled a lobster home after her first dinner with Gideon Gleeful, mostly out of guilt around her inability to let anyone down gently. She named him Shelly, but eventually Stan got bored of maintaining his tank and we had to let him go free in the lake. Whenever we go there to swim, May always makes a point of searching for him, and sometimes succeeds. She’s knitted him several claw mittens and mini-sweaters over the years. Shelly must be incredibly resilient though, given that lobsters can’t normally survive in fresh water.

Mooses: This is actually one the few animals that you won’t find in Gravity Falls. While there are a few places in the US with large moose populations, Oregon isn’t one of those, and the valley remains free of the large herbivores. Given the amounts of unique cryptids already present, another large species trying to edge in probably wouldn’t prove successful. It’s possible that in time some brave individuals may wander over the weirdness border. This could even lead to new cross-breeds with our local oddities. I for one am grateful we don’t see such heavyweight beasts on the prowl.

Speaking of varieties, this of course brings us to one of the more common creatures in Gravity Falls’ bestiary, where we can most obviously see the influence of the valley’s effects on the local wildlife.

Pigs: I am, of course, referring to the pig.

In my first entry in this series I’ve had the luxury of being able to study one specimen for the past 18 years. In hindsight Waddles was probably a key step in my adoption of vegetarianism. Having a sister who refuses to eat anything with pig in it tends to reduce your menu options, so it happened mostly by accident rather than intention. Given the number of ‘enchanted talking animals’ I’ve encountered in the years since, it was probably a wise precaution. I’d hate to eat anything sentient enough to call me out on it.

Despite being born only a few miles from my current abode, Waddles now resides with my parents in California. He’s become accustomed to a mostly sedentary lifestyle, ballooning to an enormous size and enjoying a pretty pampered life to be honest. As an example of a pig living in the Falls for extended periods, Waddles is perhaps a poor choice.

However, Waddles was part of a larger litter when Mabel won him at the fair. I decided to seek out the rest of his kin to see how they’d developed, with Waddles as a control (as much as anything raised by Mabel can be considered a control). Sue Sprott was kind enough to get me and Merrise into her father’s farm under the pretence of eyeing up one of the pigs for adoption (as if, one pig adopted into the family is enough for a lifetime, thanks). I’m grateful for her continual condoning of my research, despite our rocky first meeting. It’s crazy to me that Sprott is still running the farm in his dotage. He should have retired decades ago, put out to pasture like his former pig. Given the high volume of mutagenic pollutants swirling around the area, I can’t say it was a totally unbiased sample. Still, the chance to compare pigs closely related to what I was familiar with swayed my judgment.

Merrise definitely got a lot out of the experience. As an alien, all Earth creatures are equally novel to her, so she found the pigs and other farm animals as exciting as a Rosetta or an undead Category 9 spectre. She spent hours watching the pigs frolic around in the mud. At first I thought all of Waddles' siblings would be long gone, turned into bacon or passed away of old age, but it turns out there was a thriving community of offspring, Waddles’ nephews and nieces if you like. Since Merrise doesn’t write down her own journal entries in the traditional manner, she’s given me permission to transcribe a section from her audio notes (so long as I don’t copy the whole thing, because she doesn’t want her ‘journal’ to be irrelevant compared to mine).

...Dad, that one just looked at me!... …woah, so pudgy… …ha, you’re right, it does look like Soos. What do you mean he once possessed the body of a pig? You’ve gotta stop mentioning things like that and expecting me to know it all… …they aren’t as scary as some of the things I’ve seen on this planet. I know they’re not supposed to be scary, but still. You can never be sure. The things mom told me about llamas…

Alas, my examinations of Waddles’ kin proved to be mostly disappointing. There weren’t any mutations or abnormal features. I asked Sprott why he’d kept the pigs around for so long. Apparently he considers the entire brood to have been afflicted with a witches curse. Hmm. I asked him what the pigs were named, and shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Waddles’ siblings are 13-poundy, 12-poundy, 16-poundy… you get the idea. Sprott isn’t the most imaginative human being.

Oh well, at least one kind of animal is thriving on this polluted farm. I shall continue by describing some more of the livestock that can be found here.

Predators: Despite the megafauna roaming the valley, mundane predators still retain a niche in the biosphere. They exist in small populations, supplemented by migrating individuals from further afield. I’ll go over a few key examples here.

-Bears: Of the single-headed variety. Not overly common sights at the best of times, and in the valley they’re pushed to the margins. Sheriff Durland once let me have a look at the police records, and by ‘let me look’, I mean ‘I sneaked a look in a filing cabinet drawer and rummaged for five minutes while he was out the room’. It turns out that the only recorded case of a bear getting close to humans was in 2012. Involving… Grunkle Stan…

As someone who was in the backseat during that bear incident, I can safely say it was truly awful.

That bear did not know how to gear shift properly, the noise was like the car was trying to cough up phlegm, ugh.

-Cougars: Does Pacifica count as one yet? Lololol Surprisingly harmless, I once spent a night getting my leg chewed by one and hardly had a mark to show by morning. Not funny, Mabel, please don’t deface my entries in future.

And please don’t let Paz see this entry, oh please no.

-13-15-21-14-20-1-9-14 12-9-15-14-19: 14-15-23 1-22-1-9-12-1-2-12-5 9-14 16-15-3-11-5-20 6-15-18-13 20-8-1-14-11-19 20-15 20-8-5 19-9-26-5 1-12-20-5-18-9-14-7 3-18-25-19-20-1-12-19.

The X: For those who read on, beware…

Huge claws…

...fearsome attack bite…

...one-of-a-kind monstrosity, possibly from a distant dimension…

…watch out!...

…I can’t watch…

…it’s coming, I have to…

…OHMYGOD…

What my husband is trying to get across with this entry is that this creature is so ‘spooky scary’ that he couldn’t even write it legibly. Though why he had to scribble all over the page is beyond me. Paz, you’re ruining the bit! What bit? And why are we having this conversation via writing when you’re sitting directly opposite me with a naughty grin? Just imagine someone discovers this book someday, this page will totally freak them out! Ok, I’m imagining it. Why exactly is that a cool thing? Paz, you don’t get it. Besides, you’re doing it too. You know you look really hot when you write in a journal. If you say so doofus. Now, you’re wasting all your ink, get over here. Stop using your pen and start using your lips. On me.

Rats: Mostly out-competed in their particular niche by supernatural scavenging creatures. The same is true of raccoons and possums, meaning the valley is not a friendly place for rodents of all sizes. It’s come to my attention that raccoons and possums are not, in fact, rodents. Not sure why I was labouring under that assumption. Merrise of all people corrected me. After our visit to the farm she’s been listening to an audiobook on zoology. She knows more about taxonomic classification than I think I ever have. Smart one, that girl.

Sheep: Nothing unusual about them as far as I can tell. They provide the main source of wool for Mabel’s knitting projects. These days she knits fewer sweaters, but every winter she still creates a new set of colourful apparel. Gloves, hats, scarves, anything to stave off the cold. She and I are both used to the warmer climate back in Piedmont, and it will take a few years more of living here to become accustomed to the snowy winters. At first I went down a blind alley, thinking there was some mutation causing the colour of the sheeps’ wool to change, until I found out that Mabel’s simply an expert at dyeing the wool. Didn’t I feel a fool after that waste of effort.

Snakes: I haven’t made much study of reptilian lifeforms, due to their rarity compared to mammalian and avian life. Oregon has at least 15 species of snake, with only the Western Rattlesnake being venomous. Luckily our family is already well-equipped with anti-venom solution, and that’s thanks to my sister’s other long-term pet. Let’s add one notch the species count in our state by adding a Horned Viper.

Mabel informs me she acquired Apep from an exotic pet store in Tijuana. Given that Horned Vipers are native to the arid deserts of North Africa and the Middle East I can only speculate how she ended up there. This was in the period when Mabel and I were living separately, so I’m not entirely clear on what Mabel was doing at the time, and efforts to question her led to some evasiveness. I gather it wasn’t an entirely legal trip. Yet somehow she came away from it with her own 10 foot long death noodle.

She’s never been a very active creature, preferring the pleasures of lounging around, chewing on dead mice (contributing to our rodent population problem), and generally being the laziest animal in this hemisphere. Mabel has suffered numerous incisions from her ‘beloved hiss baby’ over the years, and has thus become an expert in knowing the proper doses to cure any stray bites Apep might inflict. In any case, Apep makes a suitable control animal to compare to our resident snake population, as she comes from outside the weirdness barrier (although prolonged exposure to Mabel can’t be discounted as having rubbed off on her). I’ll have to see if I can wrangle a few local specimens to test their aggression levels and the qualities of their venom (without getting bitten myself if possible).

-Addendum: The whereabouts of the Snake-Badger couple dubbed the ‘Snadger’ is currently unknown, though reports from startled hikers sometimes drift in of hybrid Snadger offspring. I didn’t bother to write a full entry on badgers, as they’re not all that common. However, it’s worth mentioning that the few examples spotted in town have always been European badgers, not American badgers. For whatever reason we appear to be an enclave hosting an invasive species. The wonders of Gravity Falls never cease.

Tardigrade: The valley boasts a few macroscopic sub-species, approximately the size of a house cat. These are mainly found in and around the islands on Lake Gravity Falls. To date I’ve never witnessed any setting foot on the mainland, nor do they swim far from their nesting grounds. Possibly evolved as symbiotic parasites to some of the more exotic denizens of the lake, a sort of souped-up head lice. They have no relation to the size-altering crystals (unlike some other animals I’ll come to later), their abnormal size has some other, as yet unknown cause. More research is needed.

Suqsibr: Wets fr etoobkfkd ebqb?

Qujluqr lc jtk-rfzba, ‘slstiiy qtafnti’ sbbktdb justsflkr ifvfkd fk luq rbwbqr tka aboilyfkd kfkgt stnsfnr etvb kls mbbk vbqfcfba tr squse. Kls ybs tkywty.

Whales: It’s odd to have an entry on giant ocean-dwelling mammals here, hundreds of miles from open water, but some word should be said about the fearsome Land Orca. I’m still working on putting the pieces together on how this monster came to be, but my working hypothesis involves a beached Killer Whale crawling across a narrow strip of land, and over time its flippers evolving back into limbs, as well as a heaping of sheer impossible luck and what I may have to dub ‘weirdness mutagens’. Yeah, I’ll be honest, I have no idea where this bastard sprung from. Just know that if you see one then it’s already too late. It’ll have caught your scent a mile off. Run, for god’s sake, run.

#gravity falls #dipper pines #mabel pines #pacifica northwest #journal #gravity falls fanfic

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