Everything must be Perfect
Chapter 1
Beautiful.
The word made itself known into his mind as soon as his eyes fell upon golden brushes of colour falling down, slowly seeming to glide down in front of his eyes like dripping honey. Among the gold he could spot lighter shades and the ochre of skin combined with the blue of the clear and unnerving ocean during autumn. The girl in front of him turned around, making the chair she sat upon squeak softly and her curls bounce all around her as curiosity lit her chocolate eyes. Dipper always thought his sister's eyes were lighter than his, more of a hazel than a dark brown if one willed. They were full of light and happiness, always a glimmer of creativity and curiosity he never understood, however hard he tried to grasp it. Recognition spread across her features and she grinned widely at him, but Dipper was barely paying attention as he looked slightly past her.
"Woah…"
It was the single word he managed out and the next thing his sister was practically glowing with happiness as she got up from her chair in front of the beautiful canvas she had painted. It was a spot of imagination in a grim world, a butterfly with wings of pink candy, blue and ochre creating the decorations it held and golden paint surrounding it as if the light was slowly draining from its being. Dipper would have mentioned that but he knew it would be taken the wrong way, Mabel no doubt intended the gold to be a symbol of happiness and had no intention of keeping to reality. In her imagination that butterfly would have been able to hide wherever it wished and would have not been disturbed. And despite its complete inaccuracy to reality, it was a piece of art one could not contest. Even if they could have, no one would have denied his sister's happy smile as she stood proudly near her canvas. It was filled with colour and took one's eyes away, completely captivating the viewer and distracting from the world around it. It wasn't hard actually. Mabel herself was a spot of colour in the world with her bright dresses and show costumes, always something different from the last and, more often than not, bearing a spot of paint or glue somewhere along it. This particular room held almost as much color as Mabel did, being decorated with ribbons, materials, yarn, paints of all colours and the occasional painting or sketch on the wall. More often than not one would think they had entered a different dimension just by stepping inside, the stark contrast between the hall and the room being startling to the senses…as was the mess.
"Do you like it!?" She asked expectantly, grin widening as she watched her twin for his reaction, already seeming to anticipate the praise she'd receive.
Dipper snapped himself out of his little astonished haze to try and find the words to describe his thoughts. It would not be anything new to Mabel but she loved praise all the same. However, as soon as his eyes seemed to finally move themselves from the painting he noticed colour, but not the ones usual to the room. Paint. All over…That snapped him back to reality. "Mabel, you know Grunkle Stan told us not to get ourselves dirty! We are meeting with the Northwests today." He told the girl who instantly seemed to deflate at the scolding, a pout taking over her earlier grin.
"But Dipper!" She said, voice whining but nowhere near even seeming remorseful. "Inspiration struck! You can't just let inspiration leave you like that!" she reasoned, placing her hands on her hips which only seemed to spread more paint – was that red? There wasn't even any red on the canvas! – on her dress for the day, a beautiful piece Grunkle Stan had bought for her. The male part of the duo wondered if perhaps she had done it intentionally because great uncle Ford had been pretty strict on her needing to wear something…appropriate. A devilish grin, matching the paint she had just spread across her hips and the flourish in her dress, tugged at her lips. "And I can see I'm not the only one who is 'dirty' here, bro-bro!" To emphasize, she brought her finger up to point to the book in Dipper's hands.
The boy had almost forgotten he was holding his sketch book and when he looked down he could see the coal marks on his hands along with a few ink stains. In his quick descent to find great uncle Ford and show the man how he had managed to capture the appearance of one of the stranger creatures he had seen recently in the forest, he had not noticed that perhaps his cleaning earlier had not been too thorough. His already pale skin seemed to get whiter as he noticed he had gotten some onto his suit.
Grunkle Stan would kill them both.
Speaking of the Devil…
"What did I tell you two kids about today!?" his voice boomed and Dipper jumped with a small start as he realized the man was right behind him, a few pages seeming to want to break free from his sketchbook. He barely caught the flying papers, brown eyes trying not to leave the man which was now in front of him as if he'd spit fire anytime soon now. How he had gotten there while he had averted his eyes for only a moment was beyond Dipper, but he had other things to worry about now as the man looked them over critically. Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose in pure frustration as he caught sight of Mabel's ruined dress and Dipper's stained suit. Poor man just couldn't get a break. He loved both of them dearly but sometimes they were a lot more to handle than he had originally bargained for. "Mabel, sweetie," he started, voice soothing but laced with tiredness as he looked at the Pines maiden with her dishevelled curls and paint all over her new dress and even in her hair. "You know you should not dress in your good clothes when painting." He chastised but it came off more as an exhausted statement.
Mabel put on her best pout. "But Grunkle Stan," she began, bringing her hands up in a grand gesture of defence as she got ready to justify her case. "Inspiration struck and look!" she gestured grandly to her butterfly painting with light in her eyes. "Isn't it beautiful!?" Not even Grunkle Stan could deny that. It wasn't the beauty of the painting that did it for him though, but Mabel's unmatched charm. Stan's eyes seemed to soften as he looked at her, sighing. Then he turned his gaze to Dipper and it once again hardened, making the boy sit up straighter, preparing himself for whatever was coming. Grunkle Stan would never hurt either of them but he could look very scary every once in a while when he wanted to impose himself.
"And what were you doing!? I can understand your sister here, but you're supposed to be getting married today!" he said, voice raising to surprising volumes in its harshness. Somewhere behind Dipper, Mabel bit her lip.
Dipper gulped.
"W-well, I thought I'd draw a bit. To settle my nerves." He tried to clear up, a small one shouldered shrug serving as his only gesture. A paper took it as a door of escape and Dipper fumbled to catch it and put it back in its place before it had the chance to float to some random spot of paint on the ground that would ruin it beyond repair.
The answer to draw amusement from the older man who didn't even noticed the paper that now bore a few coal marks of its own on the edges. "Hah! Kid, you're getting married to a Northwest! What more could you want? There's nothing to be worried about!" he assured, seeming very sure of himself.
Dipper wasn't.
This was a woman he did not know, someone he had never met, someone he did not want to meet. He didn't want to get married but it wasn't his choice. He had gotten off of the hook by waiting until both he and Mabel were twenty-one so Mabel could own her own property and do as she wished, while Dipper got some of his life in order but there was no going around it now. "Technically, it's just the rehearsal for the actual wedding." He protested weakly as if that would have any weight in the conversation. Stan didn't even seem to hear him as he grasped his shoulder and pushed him out of the colourful chamber that served as his sister's art room. The man had a grip on him that always took Dipper by surprise. After having lived with him and great uncle Ford it wasn't as if Dipper didn't have some strength of his own but it still surprised him how strong Stan was when he wanted to be.
"Yeah, yeah, rehearsal, wedding, close enough." Dipper really wanted to ground out to his grunkle that it wasn't in any way the same thing but Stan didn't seem willing to listen. The man was already dressed in his suit and looked ready to leave for the mansion. No doubt he had done so early so he could make sure they were ready as well. "Go change." He gave him a little push to emphasize his point, then turned his gaze to Dipper's twin. "You too, sweetie, go find a nice dress. Something uh," What was that word again? "Fancy. You know, the type that all those ladies wear to the opera or whatever." Stan was never one for women's fashion but he actually knew his fair share if only to be able to spoil his grandniece.
And so, both twins started on their way, Dipper with a resigned "Yes, grunkle Stan." And Mabel by giving a kiss to the man's cheek before she skipped off to her own room, leaving behind a thin trail of paint and almost tripping in a few ribbons that had gotten tangled between her feet as she hurried down a set of stairs. Dipper's steps were swifter as he took the stairs to retreat to his room at the upper floor.
Some of the stairs creaked under Dipper's weight with familiarity as the brunet made it to the door. He pushed the knob down and let himself in, the creak of the door welcoming him inside and closing behind him with a loud click. It was a simple room and Dipper had lived in it ever since they had moved in with their Grunkles. Their parents had unfortunately died of some disease or another, but Dipper couldn't remember them well, nor could he remember how the sickness had affected them. They had come one summer to visit their Grunkles and then, not even a year later, they were taken away from their parents in fear that they'd catch the virus as well. It was exactly seventeen days after they had moved that their parents died. Dipper remembered counting the days as if that would somehow tell him what would happen or when the next disaster would come, how everything would go from there, but seventeen was just a number and he and Mabel were just children at the time. Great uncle Ford had taken him under his wing at the earliest possibility and had gotten both him and Mabel whatever possessions they could from their old home with Stan's help. They lived in a weird town which was more grey than anything else and which Mabel had taken to colouring with everything and anything she found. Dipper instead loved the way it was, it had fit with his glum mood at the time and slowly melted into familiarity along with many other things like the creaks of the stairs, the supernatural creatures Stanford wrote about and researched, his Grunkle Stanley's moneymaking schemes at the Mystery Shack – a construction attached to their actual home – and the triangle imagery Dipper would find around both the Shack and the house. Strangely, Ford never got close to them but Stan had told both of them they had originally been Ford's idea, related to some old love interest. Dipper couldn't quite make out what triangles had to do with love but he soon found comfort in the ominous symbols.
Even now, as he entered his room, he found it dyed in red and gold. The light outside was cold and the air probably not far behind but when it hit the stained glass hovering over his desk it turned warm and easy on the eyes whatever the time of day. It usually gave Dipper a feeling of comfort but just seemed to stir up nostalgia now as he stepped towards his desk and placed his sketchbook down. He reached for where he would have found a pen and then a handkerchief but his hand found nothing. He looked up and was not surprised to find nothing, just disappointed. The room had been stripped bare as far as he was concerned. All of his books on the supernatural, his research, all of the novels he had collected had been taken into boxes and packed up to be placed in some other room, replaced by what his grunkle Stan thought were more…appropriate books. Dipper had never read any of them and found the titles downright ridiculous along with the contents even if he had just skimmed them. He didn't need to skim them to know he wouldn't like them. His little specimens and random souvenirs from adventures in the forest or with his great uncle Ford had also been moved on the basis that they were 'scary' or 'disgusting' or that 'no girl wants to see that Dipper, you'll scare her away!' hence leaving a huge empty space in his drawers and shelves. They left his art supplies, but somehow scattered them about and now Dipper had no idea where half of them even were. Most of his concerns were just pushed aside or not acknowledged though because everyone was planning this blasted wedding. Dipper just wanted it over with, or, more so, he didn't want it to happen.
He was nervous, he felt sweaty, he felt furious that he had to change his room for this prissy little princess he did not even know! It wasn't as if she'd want to inspect his room or anything but even Dipper knew that was a stupid thought. Logically, no she wouldn't want to. Reality was that Mabel would probably want to take her through all of the house and the Shack when she came over and they could not have her thinking bad of Dipper if they went by his room. Personally, Dipper would have preferred using a lock and having that be it! Not that it would help for long. Maybe for a bit before the wedding but after? He'd have to give them all up again, every little thing, he'd have to give them up because he'd have to settle down and he doubted some rich girl would like anything that he did. The whole thought of it made him want to crawl in a hole and just die, this wedding wasn't going to mark a celebration, it was going to mark the end of the life he liked and leave him with only drawing and writing as outlets, it was going to be a prison more than anything his family considered to be 'healthy social interaction' and 'making a life for himself'. It wasn't a blessing filled with white doves and love like Mabel explained it, it wasn't a good deal like Stan made it out to be or a healthy relationship like Ford seemed to think, it was worse than being killed because he had to live through it. At least if he died he would be able to see what happened after. Most theories about life after death sounded good to him right then…
No, he couldn't do that.
He couldn't leave Mabel alone and, as much as he hated their decisions, his Grunkles would miss him…plus he didn't trust either of them to have enough good sense more often than not. For all their good points both of them seemed a bit out of touch with reality every so often and Dipper feared leaving them alone without checking on them every so often.
Wiping his hands on his coat, Dipper took it off and got another one from his wardrobe once his hands were clean. He left the coat on the ground in some corner -he'd deal with the mess later. Taking a look in the mirror he decided it was good enough. Not much he could do about it. He was wearing a suit, he had gotten as much rest as he could – which wasn't much in truth – and they'd just have to deal with the fact that his hair was not going to change or 'be arranged'. They always hated it and Dipper didn't think it the best part of him either but he'd prefer it long and a bit messy just as long as it covered his forehead.
"Dipper! Come downstairs when you're ready!"
The brown haired boy sighed. That had been Mabel, judging by the voice. He brushed a hand over his hair again to make sure it covered his birthmark and made his way back to his desk, closing the small window opened on the side, fingers brushing over the cold surface. They had taken a lot from the room and changed it but they couldn't get to change the window in time, nor did he want them to. If this girl came and saw it, Dipper was sure she'd be freaked out by it alone. Somehow, that made him feel a bit smug despite the unpleasant feelings coiling in his stomach. Without hurry he took the files from his sketchbook and arranged them as they were before getting messed up by him constantly dropping them. He stopped just a bit longer to look at the last one he had made, the picture of a gremlobin he had encountered briefly about a fortnight ago. It was no butterfly, it had no wings or antennas, the colours were missing and it was instead done in the greys and blacks of coal and ink, any beauty seemed to have bled off of the drawing, scared by the creature in it, and Dipper wondered what he had seen in it. He had been so proud of it just a moment ago, he had felt so happy about how realistic it looked and about how he had impregnated the paper with the creature's fearsome aura, he had been so excited to show it to his great uncle Ford…and then he had stopped by Mabel's room and his eyes had been blinded by colour and sweet golden paint. He had stopped by her room and realized that what he had was a feeble drawing of some creature while Mabel had just made art one would have stared at for hours simply because they liked it, not because they were scared of it. He had stopped by her room and all of his confidence and excitement had suddenly seemed like the flimsy emotions of a child who had managed to spell his name for the very first time and hadn't even done it right. Great uncle Ford already knew what a gremlobin looked like, he didn't need another drawing of something he already knew. Dipper should have known this, the man always looked bored when someone brought up something he knew, however polite he might have been.
"Dipper!"
The yell startled him out of his thoughts and Dipper turned towards the closed door. "Coming!" he yelled back. The door creaked open and closed with a loud click, blocking him from the warmth the triangle shaped stained glass brought and putting something between him and his drawings, between him and whatever had remained of the things he loved.
He smiled to his sister who was waiting downstairs and, after spending ten minutes just getting the many frills of his sister's dress in the carriage, they were finally off.
It was fine.
As long as he concentrated on what was going on and didn't think of the rest it would be fine.
There was nothing to worry about.
After all, what was the use of worry for something you could not change?
He'd soon be married…
