Weirdmageddon had been quite a tough time for the poor Northwest clan. They'd had to sell their mansion to some old hillbilly goon to make ends meet, lost their carefully established reputation of being pillars of the community and even forego their promise to buy their daughter a pony when the baliffs came a-knocking. It had been a truly epic fall from grace for the once prestigious family.
That was all in the depressing past now though, fortunately. One year on from the earth-shattering tragedy that shall not be spoken of again, things were finally looking up once more. Preston's business acumen for exploiting the weak and vulnerable in society had paid enough dividends for the Northwests to at long last move into a mini-estate in the town adjacent, a huge step up from that dinky little seven-bedroom house they'd been renting for the past twelve months. Their shady dealings with one William Cypher had quietly been swept under the carpet, allowing them to finally move on from that minor 'End Of The World' scenario they'd been slightly caught up in.
Best of all, to make up for breaking their equine vow to their only child Pacifica, they'd set up an arranged marriage with Baron Von Fundraiser, the much fatter and considerably less charismatic cousin of Grenda's current squeeze. It wouldn't take place until she was sixteen of course, those damn child exploitation laws and all that. But, when the blessed event did occur, not only would the Northwests be part of the American aristocracy once more, but they'd be able to profit big time from their new status, and reclaim all the money they filtered away by backing an insane dream demon above the will of humanity. Well, you live and you learn.
Now, having just moved into their new property, the Northwests were holding a little get-together to celebrate their almost-return to the upper echelons of society. It was on a considerably smaller scale than the grandiose soirees they used to hold at their repossesed mansion, but at least here they could pick their own guestlist, and not have to let in a bunch of unsavoury plebs to placate an ancient lumberjack curse. That was yet another unseemly event from the past which wouldn't enter the polite conversation that day with the upper crust, obviously.
The big announcement of Pacifica's upcoming nuptials would be made during the mutual toast later on, in the meantime the girl herself hadn't even arrived yet. Preston Northwest, attempting to hob-nob with some visiting dignitaries, was constantly distracted by her absence, as he angrily scanned the room for any sign of the errant teenager. Where has she got to, he pondered furiously, when pretending to laugh at some truly awful jokes, I thought she'd be eager to make amends for pulling that lever on one of the darkest days in our history, but there's been no sign of her so far. When I get my hands on...
His answer arrived with the opening of some large ornate double doors, and inside stepped a rather worried looking butler. He'd made the announcements for the other guest's appearances so far no problem... from Lady Muck, to Lord Fauntleroy, there hadn't been a trace of anxiety in his cut-glass English accent.
So the fact that he sounded so nervous right now might have been a clue that things were about to take a turn for the surreal.
"I-Introducing, M-Miss P-Pacifica N-Northwest... I-I t-think..."
"Yo, British dude, thanks for giving me the big build-up. You sound kinda out of it though, make sure ya don't work too hard! Never let The Man tell you what to do. PEACE OUT!" A strangely familiar female voice sounded behind the flustered servant, as she made her way into the room, high-fiving the nonplussed retainer en route.
Preston stiffened at hearing such vulgar language being used in his presence. Surely Jeeves had made a mistake, and this feckless ruffian who'd gatecrashed his party so brazenly had nothing to do whatsoever with his beloved offspring, who'd had elocution training to perfect her speech. He'd have the intruder thrown out post haste, and the butler flogged for his grevious error of judgement. Mr Northwest prepared to make excuses to his guests, so he could leave to set up the necessary arrangements...
...Before a raucous scream from his wife Priscilla abruptly cut off his train of thought. "OH MY GOD! Pacifica?! What have you DONE to yourself?!" Before the sound of a cruet of champange being smashed on the floor was heard, as the lady in question dropped it as she fainted dead away.
Immediately, everyone stopped what they were doing, and silence reigned. The band playing classical music halted mid-song. Each person's conversation was put on hold. Even the flowing crystal fountain seemed to freeze in time, in recognition of the major drama that was about to unfold. All eyes were on the prone figure of Mrs Northwest lying on the expensive marble floor, her tongue lolling out at a most unfortunate angle, and the frame of her daughter standing over her... or at least, what they thought was the heiress.
For she looked very different indeed. Her once almost Rapunzel-like hair had been cut to just above her neckline, with her bangs now fully tapered. Usually she would have been wearing an expensive custom-made ballroom gown to one of these occasions, but today she was resplendent in a simple black tracksuit top and bottoms, complete with a purple T-shirt emblazoned with an indescipherable sporting logo. Her usually fancy shoes were simple brown sneakers, and for some reason she was carrying an ironing board with wheels. She also wore sunglasses indoors, maybe to detract from the overbearing shininess of the polished silverware.
Preston nearly choked on his moustache at the horrific spectacle of his once lovely daughter unveiled in front of his eyes. He began to gibber incoherently like a madman, while his warped facial features began to resemble their grotesque imagery after Bill had rearranged them on the first day of Weirdmageddon. It got so bad that the other guests wondered who needed the ambulence more... his comatose wife, or the host for the evening, who seemed to be having a nervous breakdown right under their posh noses.
For the time being, the only one who seemed to dare speak was the new-look Pacifica herself. "Wow, this party sure turned into Snoozeville all of a sudden..." She commented, raising her shades petulantly to gaze around all the stunned faces. "What a total drag. Might be something to do with the totally bogus tunes those guys in black suits on piano and tuba are pumping out. If you want, I can get you all hooked up with some sick R&B funky beats I've got in my room. Let me go grab my megawatt speakers, and we can blast out those triumphant jams until the early morn..."
"PACIFICA ELISE NORTHWEST! Front and centre, right NOW, young lady!" Preston had recovered from his little insanity fit, and had quickly moved on to the stage of being apoplectic with rage, his neck veins bulging and pulsating like live maggots, and his eyeballs just about ready to pop from their sockets. The other visitors were merely spectators to the main show, unable to tear themselves away from the slow-motion car crash unfolding right before their disbelieving eyes.
"Yo pops, don't have a cow!" Pacifica remarked impudently, leaving her mother's side to stand in the middle of the ballroom, while everyone wisely else made themselves scarce. "You know what the quack said about your blood sugar levels, you don't wanna go all loco again! Sorry I'm late for the big bash, but I was skating with my homies down at the half-pipe. I did some truly gnarly flips today, let me tell ya! The guys think I might be able to go pro one day, but I don't wanna get my hopes up. What's up with mommio, anyway? Did she get an olive caught in her throat or something?"
"W-what?! AN OLIVE?!" Preston had to rub his eyes vigourously, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating or dreaming. " You come in here... looking like THAT... speaking to us in this manner... carrying that thing in your arm... and you're wondering why she collapsed?! Have you taken complete leave of your senses, child?!"
"Oh, you're talking about my new threads and 'do!" Pacifica smiled, completely ignoring the negative connotations of her father's harsh words. "Yeah, got me gear today at Wal-Mart, fifty per cent off, can you believe it?! Don't I look cool in them? So much better than those henious, stuffy dresses you used to shove on me. As for my haircut, had it done at Joe The Barbers just before I picked up my new wheels. Only cost two dollars. what a snip, eh? That was a joke. Feel free to laugh anytime..."
"Y-YOU Y-YOU..." Preston was about to completely blow his top, regardless of the auspicious company that were now watching his every move. "You've ditched over a decade of dedicated home-schooling and etiquette lessons, to become this... freak I see before me today, and you expect me to laugh?! How DARE you show me up in front of all my guests, yet again, on one of the most important days in our history! Why, if I wasn't so certain that it no longer had any effect on you, I'd bring the bell out of retirement, here and now..."
"Whoa, turn the volume down a notch, Presto!" Pacifica frowned, with her fingers firmly placed in her ears. " I'd say you're the one making a dufus of themselves right now, not me! Fine then, I know when I'm not wanted. I only came in to pick up my ear buds before I got back to skating practice... I didn't expect to be read the Riot Act, as well! I'll be moseying on off the scene then, and let you take care of all these righteously rich dudes. Mucho apologies for tracking mud in on the way here, by the way..."
"You did WHA..." But Preston never got a chance to finish his sentence, before being swamped by confused, agitated and most of all, livid guests.
"Is that the high-class daughter of top breeding you were telling us about?! What a joke! No way is she ever marrying my son!"
"Did you see what she was wearing and the way she was speaking? How could we possibly do business with a family that produces offspring like that? Come on dear, we're leaving, and we'll tell all our other friends to never have any dealings with the dreadful Northwests henceforth, either!"
"What did you mean, when you said you'd get out the 'bell', as if it was some form of punishment? Sounds almost Pavlovian, Preston. Care to elaborate?"
On and on the questions came as the relentless partygoers continued to surround him, and by the time Mr Northwest had answered all of their shrill questions, Pacifica was long gone, and the room was virtually deserted.
As the servants also nervously crept away, fearful of their boss's ire, Preston stepped over his still unconscious wife to waggle his fist at no-one in particular, his face a very attractive shade of scarlet.
"I'll get you daughter of mine, for the little stunt you pulled today, just see if I don't..." He muttered ominously, as a giant 'THE NORTHWESTS ARE BACK' banner felt down behind him, knocking over a tray of caviar-on-sticks in the process.
...
"Thanks for lending me those clothes of Dipper's, Mabes. I think Dad's finally got the message that he's not going to choose who I marry. Shame I had to get my hair cut to complete the facade, though..."
"What you talking 'bout Paz? I did a BRILLIANT job styling it. I didn't even charge you, either. Ungrateful..."
"If anything, I should be asking you for money in court the way you messed it up, Mabel. Still, it got the job done, so no complaints. By the way, when you give the togs back to your brother, can you give him a message from me?"
"Sure, Paz! What do you want me to tell him?"
"Say, I can't make our dat-I mean, meet-up, tonight on account of how bad I look. In fact, I won't be able to show my face again outside for at least a few months until it all grows back. Which is convenient, because that's probably how long I'll be grounded for. I'll have to keep in contact with him via Skype when you two go back to Piedmont seeing as how it'll be too dangerous now to meet up in my room again..."
"Your room?! Uh-oh, Paz! Is this really a story you should be telling me?"
"Get your mind out of the sewer for a moment, and listen! All we do up there is discuss mysteries, hold hands, maybe cuddle a bit... that's it! Geez Mabel, sometimes you can be as bad as my father, trying to push me to do things before my time..."
"So, you're absolutely sure there's no tongue-on-tongue actio..."
"Absolutely, Mabel! Now, are you going to inform him, or not?"
"Paz, my brother, as dumb as he is, sees something in you that I've spotted as well, that keeps him awake at night staring at the ceiling, talking to himself. Doesn't let me get a wink of sleep, let me tell you. What exactly do you think that is?"
"Hmm, that's a tough one. I have so much to offer. My Gucci dress? My aromatic perfume? My unsurpassed beauty..."
"...Well, it's not your modesty Paz, I can tell you that right now. But anyway, you're wrong on all three counts there. He likes you... for you. Your stubbornness. Your intelligence. Your feistiness. Your sass..."
"D-did you just say he liked my as-"
"I said sass Paz, so don't freak out. Basically, what I'm getting at is, even if didn't have all your fancy schmancy clothes and bags of money, he'd still be head-over-heels for you. Which he's been known to wear in the past, by the way... and I have the pictures to prove it."
"W-what? Hmm, interesting. If they're anything like the snaps you showed me of him dancing with that young sheep costume on, they might just be worth taking a look at. Text them to me. Oh, and regarding that other stuff you said, Mabel...?"
"Yes, Paz?"
"A-Are you completely positive about all that?"
"Sure I am, Paz! I swear on Waddles being the cutest thing to ever oink on four trotters that I'm telling the absolute truth."
"W-well, in that case... maybe I won't cancel our get-together tonight, after all. Tell him I'll meet him at the usual place, by the stone statue of that weird trangular guy."
"His name's Bill, Paz. Bill the poophead."
"I'm not going to say 'poophead', Mabel, but thanks. Both for your help today, and your surprisingly good advice. You really are a true friend..."
"Oh Paz, that's so nice of you to say! Come on, give us a hug!"
"E-er, no thanks Mabel... I'm feeling a bit bloated right now..."
"Who said I was asking?! C'mere!" SQUEEZE
"Help! 911! Paramedics! Police! Fire Brigade! Anyone! I'm being suffocated to death by a crazy Cuddle Monster! HEELLLPP!"
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic was directly influenced by a picture by Slimegrave on Deviantart. I don't think I can leave the link here, but you should be able to find it easily enough. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. More coming soon! :) xxxx