I do not own the show GRAVITY FALLS or any of the characters; both are the property of the Walt Disney Company and of Alex Hirsch. I make no money from these stories but write just for fun and in the hope that other fans enjoy reading them.

Woodstickin' 2016!

(August 17, 2016)

1: Ebb Tide

A short time after the sun rose that morning, the sea went away from the shore. It looked like the lowest tide anyone had ever seen. Fish were left stranded on the sand. Many of the villagers went out with baskets to collect them. At least 100 of them were still far from safety when the great wave roared in, the highest of all high tides, drowning the whole village. -From Kino Yoshida, A Description of the Tidal-Wave at Shīpāru, 1794, tr. Carlson Kettering, 1851.

We call them tsunamis today, not tidal waves, but Kino's eyewitness account is one of the first in the modern era to record the strange receding of the ocean just prior to the catastrophic flood surge.

And the same phenomenon happens in Gravity Falls when Woodstick is coming to town. OK, granted, it's a long reach for a metaphor, but consider: The crowds roll in on Thursday. Mid-August is typically a moderately busy time for tourist tra—um, attractions like the Mystery Shack. During the actual music festival, Soos Ramirez even tricks out an RV as a remote rolling Mystery Shack, parks it in Merchants' Row, and makes a butt-load of money from festival attendees. And it was Stanley Pines's idea—he, of course, being one of the two owners of the Mystery Shack—to provide free music-festival parking and a shuttle service at the main site of the Mystery Shack, and, hey, every suck—um, patron who parks there inevitably tours and shops and spends dough in the Shack.

Sweet deal, and it helps that Stan took over as the festival promoter a few years back. As he might modestly say, "Ca-ching, baby! Heh, heh!"

But like the mighty sea, the normal tide of August tourists backs off in the couple of days before crowds pour in for Oregon's biggest festival of independent bands, upcoming and downgoing rockers, and crazy overpriced fun. So that Wednesday, business was slow at the Shack. Even Stan, who was working off his nervous energy before the festival got underway (nervous, because he always wondered, "are the authorities gonna inspect for safety violations this year?") as Mr. Mystery—even Stan got a little bored.

Mabel was actually lying on her back on the gift-shop floor, trying to keep a small, downy, white feather floating by puffing on it. The dog Tripper, his cone now off for good, lay beside her, watching the feather with interest.

With no tourists to take out on the Mystery Trail, Soos had time to collect the mail from the box down by the highway. He returned and said, "Hey, it came!" Dipper was doing a Wendy—he'd propped his chair back against the wall and had his feet up on the counter, his eyes half-closed. Wendy sat on a stool next to him, torso folded down over the counter, forehead on her crossed forearms, evidently asleep. Soos opened a small package and nudged her. "Hey, Wendy, girl dude! I got something for you."

"Slide it under the door," Wendy muttered.

But Mabel bounded up, and Tripper fielded and ate the small fluffy feather. "What is it? A present? I bet it's a present! Is it a present?"

With a grunt, Wendy straightened up and yawned. "Chill, Mabes. Whatcha got there, Soos?"

"This!" Soos said. He cleared his throat. "OK, so like I forgot for a long time, but then, like I remembered! Boom, just like that! I was down in the copier store? And they make, like plastic door plates and junk, so I asked them, and they didn't make these but they said they could, like, order one for me, and so I said do it and they did it, and like, here it is! Congratulations, Wendy!"

"Yay!" cheered Mabel. "Wait, what for?"

"Oh, Soos!" Wendy said, accepting a gleaming gold metal name badge from him. "Look, guys!"

Dipper put his feet down and his chair upright. "Cool!" he said.

Wendy held the badge up. It read

WENDY CORDUROY

MANAGER

"Huh? What's the deal? You've been manager for a long time," Mabel said.

Wendy unpinned the faux-metal plastic badge she was wearing. "Yeah, but this is my old badge, and it says, 'Assistant Manager.' Look at this new one! Solid metal, and engraved, too, not printed! Classy! Dip, want to pin this on for me?"

"Do it, Brobro!" Mabel said, whipping out her phone. "Let me take a photo of the big moment!" She giggled.

"You don't think I will," Dipper said.

"Show me!" Mabel challenged, lining up the picture.

"I can do it," Dipper said.

"Do it! Do it! Do it!" Mabel shot back, her thumb poised.

As Mabel fast-fired several photos, Dipper took the badge, unfastened the pin, and fastened it onto the pocket of Wendy's blazer. "There, see?"

"Uh, dude, it's like upside-down," Soos said, trying and failing to rotate his head 180 degrees.

"Oops," Dipper said.

"'Cause that's the way he'll be able to read it!" Mabel said. "Hey-O!"

As he was re-pinning the name tag, Dipper thought he understood Mabel's implication. "Mabel, that's—ouch!"

"Dude, did you stick yourself?" Wendy asked.

Dipper reached under the counter and got a tissue to soak up the small drop of blood on the ball of his thumb. "It's nothing."

"First aid emergency!" Mabel yelled. "BRB!" She thundered out.

"Is it still, like, bleeding?" Soos asked, concerned.

"No, it was just a little stick. Uh, Wendy, maybe you better fasten the pin, 'cause I wouldn't want to get a spot of blood on your jacket."

"Got it," Wendy said. "Sorry, man."

"Dude," Soos said, "have you had, like, a tetanus shot?"

"Yes, just before we started high school," Dipper said. "And they're good for ten years. I'm OK, really!"

Mabel came back with a plastic kit from which she took antibiotic ointment and bandages. She used three of the latter on Dipper: One along the back of his thumb, with the sticky part starting at his knuckle and running over his thumbnail to put the absorbent pad against the tip where he'd stuck himself, a second running along the sides of his thumb, and the last wrapped around.

"Oh, come on! It's not like a major wound," Dipper said.

"But you deserve special treatment, 'cause you received it in the line of duty. Duty to LOOOVE!" Mabel bellowed.

Stan walked in from the museum. "What's goin' on?" he asked. "If that Love God guy comes in this year, he's limited to one free refill of his drink! One, remember!"

"Dipper took a stab wound for Wendy!" Mabel announced.

"Good man." Stan yawned. "Soos, it's dead! Want to take the afternoon off?"

Soos checked the time. "Um—well, we got a tour bus scheduled for one, and then another at two-fifteen. Let's stay open that long anyways, and then if there's no more business than this, we'll shut down early. Anyway, that's what I think."

"Eh, you're in charge," Stan said. "Remember, now, I won't be in at all tomorrow, 'cause I'll be supervising the Woodstick check-in—"

Mabel had been repacking the first-aid kit. Sweetly and with eyes so big and imploring that Tripper looked up at her as though making notes, she said, "Hey, Soos, Grunkle Stan, you two are the kindest bosses in the world."

"Uh-oh," Stan said. "Here it comes. Watch out, she's gonna use her cute mind powers on us, Soos!"

Mabel reached down to scratch Tripper's ears. "No, seriously, since we haven't sold anything since before eleven and now it's nearly twelve, why don't you reward your new badge-carrying manager and your cutest saleswoman by giving me and Wendy the rest of the day off? We gotta do some shopping."

"What're you shoppin' for?" Stan asked.

"Woodstick outfits, duh!" Mabel said. "Uh, that duh was for Soos, not you."

"I'll take it!" Soos said, punching the air.

Stan scratched his nose and shrugged. "Meh, OK with me if it is with Soos."

Soos grinned. "Sure, dawgs. Hey, you guys gonna also want the weekend off?"

"Not if you need us, Soos—" Wendy began.

"Nah, it'll be real busy, but you guys love Woodstick so much, take Friday and Saturday off. Melody and Sheila and Lorena have already, like, offered to volunteer. If it gets really, really bad, I'll call on you to maybe take one shift and man the rolling Shack out at the festival, you know? But I think we got it handled so's you young dudes and dudettes can enjoy your music."

"Thanks, man!" Wendy said. Then she high-fived Mabel. "Woo-hoo! Girls goin' shoppin'! Sweet!"

"Dipper," Mabel said, "you could use some new dress-up clothes, too. Let me pick something stylish out for you?"

"Nothing leather," Dipper said. "Or vinyl."

"Um, how about . . . some more bangin' jeans? And a couple snazz shirts? Maybe an accessory or two, little bit o' bling?"

"What's she even talking about?" Stan asked.

"Stylish clothes and like a bandana or something," Dipper explained.

Stan snorted. "Bandana? Kid, go with gold chains!"

"Mabel, don't go overboard," Dipper said. "I'm not sure I trust you."

"I'll ride herd on her," Wendy promised.

Dipper smiled at her. "Well—I guess that would be OK."

Mabel held out her hand. "Two hundred should cover it!"

"Oh, man!" Dipper moaned. "Should've seen that coming!"

Stan grinned. "Sucker!"

"All right, all right," Dipper said. "I'll to up to my room and get some money—"

"I'll get it!" Mabel snatched up the first-aid kit and ran out, Tripper at her heels. They could hear her and the dog racing up the stairs.

Dipper grimaced. "She'll be back. I've got it hidden where she'll never find—"

Mabel galloped back in, brandishing a handful of twenties. "I took three hundred, just in case of emergencies!" she said. "Broseph, word to the wise—between the mattress and the springs is the worst hiding place in the world. Plus, I saw the magazines, and ew! Really? When there's so much for free on the Internet?"

"What magazines?" Wendy asked suspiciously.

"Don't tell her," pleaded Dipper.

"Why be embarrassed?" Mabel asked. "It's a normal guy thing! Wendy, my brother has a little secret stash of magazines like Writer's Digest, The Writer, and Editor and Publisher."

"It's for my craft," Dipper said.

"Yeah, yeah," Mabel said. "Wendy, get your sweet self changed! We girls are gonna go get MALLED!"

"I'll watch her, Dip." Wendy kissed Dipper's cheek and then went to the Employees Only section and to her locker for her street clothes. She followed Mabel to her room, where they would change.

Soos went to tell Teek he could close up the snack bar. Stan leaned against the counter, his arms folded, shaking his head. "Dipper, I'm surprised at you! And hidin' 'em in such an obvious place, no less! Seriously? Do some of those mags at least have centerfolds?"

"What?" Dipper asked, blinking. "No!"

Tutting, Stan mildly scolded him: "Dip, even your porn is nerdy!"

"Oh, man," Dipper groaned.