From The New World
First Movement: Adagio
Gideon Gleeful was neither giddy nor gleeful about being shipped off to the backcountry town of Gravity Falls. To be fair, he wouldn't have been happy even if he was sent to Chicago or New York or Hollywood due to the inevitable circumstances. He had to live with his estranged father while his mother recovered in the asylum after she attempted to hang herself a week prior. It wasn't the sunniest of ways to start the summer, but he couldn't say he was blindsided by the turn in events. She vacuumed the house with the cord unplugged, for God's sake. The symptoms were all over the place and honestly, he did try to help her as best as he could, but there was only so many words he could say, so many hugs he could give, so many places to hide the sharp objects—he was relieved at this point that he didn't have to try anymore.
That wasn't to say he hated Gravity Falls. He had little time to form any opinion about the town while he was packing his bags. By the time he grew curious about the oddly-named town, he was already on a bus with no Wi-Fi and no knowledge except what was on his bus ticket and what he already knew. The only useful piece of information he let his mind wander about was the fact that he was going to Oregon.
The name of the state instantly connected to the word "organ" in his mind. Organ, like the kidneys criminals cut out of their victims in a motel bathtub filled with ice to make fast money on the black market, or like the collection of cells working together as tissues working together to help perform vital bodily functions through specialization, or like the instrument that looked like a piano but with three sets of keys and a tone that wheezed chills down his spine from huge pipes. Geographically, he thought of timber and hiking and the great outdoors and everything he was seeing out the window. Gravity Falls, Oregon will be a lot different from Houston, Texas.
It wasn't until he arrived at the address he had scrawled down on a folded piece of lined paper that his own realization finally sunk into him—Gravity Falls, Oregon will be a lot different from Houston, Texas. The prospect of change melted his numbness, numbness that he wasn't aware of until he felt stimulation again. Nobody knows him where he is now, even his father on some scale. He had first impressions to give. There won't be a wall of crucifixes greeting him as soon as he walked in. The doorbell he was about to ring not only belonged to the house partially used as the Auto Shack, but also belonged to the house he would eventually call his home, over two-thousand miles away from what he currently called home.
Gideon made the decision right then and there that he would take control of his life from now on and he would start his new life off on the right foot. He rung the doorbell, forced happy thoughts into his brain, and faked a bright smile when his father finally answered. "Hi, dad!" He refused to be the son of a hag off her rocker. From now on, he was the son of a shady car dealer.
Panic sparked in Bud. "I wasn't supposed to pick you up, was I?"
"Um, no." The smile felt unnatural on Gideon's face. It's been a while since he had to use those muscles. He maintained it for the sake of his up-and-coming reputation. He didn't have to be anything big, just something different that was still himself.
"Oh, good. I'll show you to your room. I hope you don't mind sharing."
Gideon was ecstatic. Already, there was a new development for him to start his journey with. "Sharing? With who?"
"Your cousin, Pacifica. You two haven't met, yet." Bud turned his head to call for her. "Pacifica! Gideon's here, come help him with his bags!"
A voice behind Gideon startled him. "I'm right here, Uncle Bud."
Her outfit made enough of an introduction to her character. Gideon liked the way she paired an orange skirt with her 80s-esque neon cyan and magenta jacket and her clear plastic flats gave off a Cinderella vibe, as if the fairy godmother got smart and took account of how dangerous and impractical it was to be dancing around at a ball with glass slippers. Meanwhile, the mark he left would be based on the dullest outfit in his entire wardrobe. All he had was a blue baseball cap, a black hoodie with a star that had an eye in the middle, khakis, and black shoes. His color schemed begged to blend in. Black and blue were common colors in crowds. They were easy on the eyes and easier to find in the aisles.
Gideon stuck out his hand for a handshake. Perhaps it was rather formal, but it was an easy gesture to show friendliness. Easy was always good. "Hi, I'm Gideon. We're cousins, I guess."
Pacifica looked him up and down before accepting the handshake. Gideon wasn't sure whether the scrutinization was a good sign or not. It said more about her observation skills than him, he decided. "I'm Pacifica. That's the Eye of Ra in the Star of Protection, isn't it? Or is it the Eye of Horus?" Her grip was firm in stark contrast to his gentle grasp.
A real smile crept its way onto Gideon's face. "I think it's supposed to be the Eye of Providence, but I'm not sure. You're interested in that kind of stuff?" He's never met anyone who shared his interest of occult-ish symbolism before.
"I have approximate knowledge in many things," she boasted modestly, if that was possible. As naive as it was, Gideon believed anything was possible from now on. "Are you?"
He was absolutely obsessed with anything related to the occult. "A little bit," he lied. She had to be at least a level three friend to unlock that aspect of his life. Level four would unlock his tragic backstory. "I just think it's cool."
She snickered ominously. Two could play at the game of knowing more than one lets on. "We'll get along just fine, then."
If he was as dishonest as she thought he was, they were going to be best friends quick.
Pacifica gave Gideon a warmer welcome to his new home than his father. She spun her synopsis about how she came to stay with his father while they unpacked, discreetly taking notes of every possession he chose to bring with him. Literally all of his clothes were either black, blue, or khaki. She promised him that they would be great shopping buddies when she took him to the mall later. There was no way she could room with someone with such a limited color scheme. Rainbows existed to spice life up with variety, not to pick and choose three options and quit.
In summary, her parents were freelance artists and had racked up enough money to spend an entire summer in a California beach house. While she was plenty jealous that they went without her, she was also just as excited to spend a whole summer without parental supervision. It was easy to win over her Uncle Bud's trust thanks to her parents' bragging about her good grades and the good behavior she showed on the clock. He regarded her as independent, just like his brother and sister-in-law, and hasn't regretted his decision, yet. Gideon was likely to receive the same treatment if he acted similarly.
There wasn't much to know about the Auto Shack. It was extremely new in comparison to the ancient businesses that had been running since the founding of the town. Its grand opening was—Gideon paled—only a week ago. The date also became the new Wi-Fi password, four simple numbers: zero-six-one-eight. (Coincidence had aligned to punch him in the gut. He was lucky that his phone remembered passwords. Never again would he have to face the day his mother almost ended her life. Well, at least until next year.) Gideon recalled that his dad always wanted to start a car dealership. The Auto Shack functioned as a car dealership, an auto repair service, and a house all in one. Pacifica knew nothing about cars or the difference between a Honda and a Toyota before she was hired, but, with reference to the shelf of mechanic books and manuals above her bed, she vowed she would eventually work her way up to working on cars side-by-side with Uncle Bud.
It was difficult suppressing the twinge of envy stirring in Gideon's gut. Pacifica was here on entirely sunny terms and probably got on better with his own dad than he did. Yet, he couldn't hate her for it. She was the ray of sunshine he's been waiting his entire life for and the most valuable ally he had so far. Thanks to her, he wasn't completely lost about what was around him.
He was grateful that she skipped who he was in favor of getting to know who he is. His favorite color, as anyone could've guessed, was blue, but he specified that it wasn't just blue. Nobody realized how vague such a descriptor that was, with the infinite shades of blue there were. Even purple could be considered blue in a certain lighting. No, he liked the color #a0cdff, with the red-green-blue values of 160, 205, and 255. It was like beau blue, which was a light tone of baby blue, but obviously different.
Pacifica changed her mind about Gideon. Beau blue? He's so pretentious. Shut up, it's fucking light blue. A rainbow of blue is just sad. She quickly asked how old he was before she allowed herself to slip any swears out loud.
"Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he assured her. "But don't worry, I've seen and heard a few things. I can handle any cussin' or dirty jokes if you wanna throw that around."
That was good enough for her, so she didn't prod further on that topic. "So, what kind of genres do you like?" she brought up as casually as she could. "Romance, humor, adventure… mystery, perhaps?" After properly folding and storing away the last of his shirts, she clicked open a suitcase, the last piece of luggage they seemed to have deliberately procrastinated until the end.
Gideon fervently slammed the suitcase shut before she could get a peek of what was inside. He snatched it away and hugged it close to himself. "Horror. Thriller. Suspense." He left off romance.
Pacifica smiled kindly at him. "Well, I love a good mystery." Her eyes lingered on the suitcase before she retreated back to her side of the room to gaze at the decorations adorning her wall. Some were mystery movie posters, a few were abstract art paintings by her, but most were blurry photographs of strange findings she had encountered with her Polaroid camera. Bigfoot. Ol' Lefty. The singing in the woods. Child's play, really, but they were all necessary building blocks that helped sharpen her sleuthing skills. "In fact, one just arrived recently."
"There's nothin' important in my suitcase," Gideon insisted. "It's just, uhh… my underwear. I have a lot of underwear."
Never mind that obviously insignificant detail—that was a bone to dig for later. Pacifica was referring to another one. Though, since they seemed to be done with unpacking, she decided it was time to show her cousin around.
Pacifica pointed out everyone she was able to give a brief description of, which also happened to be everyone they passed by. Lazy Susan got her nickname because she has a lazy eye that never opens and she makes the best scrambled eggs at Greasy's Diner. Tyler Cutebiker is indecisive, but he knows a good fight when he sees one. Nobody likes Toby Determined. He's also a newspaper reporter, but it's more important to know that nobody likes him.
A brunet boy walking out of the supermarket in front of them, roughly their age, caught Gideon's attention for no particular reason. He grumbled under his breath as he carried an armful of groceries. He looked like he was struggling under the burden of five bags. It could've been the fact that he had chosen paper over plastic that bothered Gideon, which nobody ever did anymore for a good reason. If Gideon recalled correctly, paper production caused 70% more air pollution than plastic production and 80% more greenhouse gases. He didn't respect the decision, though he supposed that it was still a free country.
Gideon was surprised that Pacifica had glossed over him. His suspiciousness was based on a paradox—he stood out because he didn't stand out. The boy wore a similar color scheme as him. Blue hat with a pine tree on it, black jacket, blue shirt, blue jeans; the attire looked as if it was chosen specifically to make him stand out less. Gideon thought that perhaps the boy was new to town like him. "Who's that?" he prompted.
The boy did a double-take as soon as he spotted Gideon. Interest was piqued on both sides.
Pacifica didn't bother looking at him. "That's just a cheap magician who thinks nobody recognizes him when he dresses casually. Don't stare, it freaks him out."
"I don't have social anxiety!" he snapped. He adjusted his grip on the bags.
Nobody had mentioned anything about social anxiety. Pacifica increased her pace to give the poor boy a break from people, but Gideon stopped to offer charity. Pacifica had treated Gideon kindly when she helped him unpack and it was only fair to pass the generosity around. "Do y'need some assistance with those bags?"
Fear flitted across his ice blue eyes. Words sputtered out of his mouth faster than a sprinkler at a volume Gideon had to strain to hear. It was something about him, something about not needing help. The boy's presence reminded Gideon of telephone static. Telephone static was meant to remind the other person on the line that despite the relative silence, the call was still in session. The boy wasn't talking to him, but he was still there under all the white noise buzzing about. The "cheap magician" stared through his groceries, through the sidewalk cracks, and through the other end of the earth. Seconds ticked by like eternities.
Out of the blue, the boy dazzled him with a smile. "No thank you, but if your cousin ever does, feel free to call me."
Pacifica was already out of earshot by the time the boy shifted his attitude from night to day. Obnoxious flirting aside, Gideon found the flip unsettling. "How did y'know we were cousins?"
The boy beamed at him as if he were waiting for such an opportunity the entire day. "Deductive reasoning, but mostly conjecture. The only reason why your cousin would bother making a quip about me to you would be if you had been curious and unashamed to stick your nose in other's businesses, which would have been encouraged by a tour guide like her, and the only person I see her giving tours to would be an old friend or a visiting relative. Judging by how she left you just now, I opted for the latter."
The logic put Gideon at ease again. When put like that, his correct assumption felt obvious. Perspective swayed opinions significantly. He thought magicians didn't reveal their tricks, but clearly, there was no magic at play here. Not even the fake kind. "Huh. That's awfully clever. Detective-level, surely." He's never been more stumped after having the cards shown to him face-up before. It made sense now, why the boy took the time to think.
The boy maintained his brightness. "Well, I do love a good mystery," he admitted. Math was easily his favorite subject. Any unknown variable was easily manipulated in his hands to reveal its true value. He gazed deep into Gideon, past his eyes and past his mind. "In fact, one just arrived recently."
All at once, his lightheartedness dropped from his face and he quickly walked away before Gideon had the chance to ask what he meant. Gideon watched him leave before he ran to catch up with Pacifica. In hindsight, he had the choice to go after the enigmatic boy instead, but he couldn't abandon his cousin for some smart stranger he just met. He just met Pacifica, too, but at least they had their bond as cousins tying them together. Gideon was certain that the boy would've easily brushed him off. It was a shame—he was equally charming as he was skittish.
Pacifica continued her commentary of everything around them, ignoring their run-in with the so-called magician. She threw around claims backed up by impeccable reasoning. Her weaker ones contained mostly conjecture, as the boy had called it, yet her rhetoric persuaded Gideon to take it as the truth. What couldn't be disproven was taken as fact and what could be proven was taken for future testing. She filled in a "big sister" role easily with the way she talked down to him to pass down her wisdom. Plans were mapped out for hunting and experiments and data collection and Gideon couldn't help but remark that she and the magician sounded like they would be good friends.
Gideon was surprised when her expression twisted in repulsion towards the idea. To him, she came across as a sweet girl who would befriend anyone in her path. "Why do you say that?" she asked.
"You both like mysteries, and I reckon you're both lookin' for the same one," he responded innocently.
She gave him a patronizing pat over his hat. "Oh, Gideon—that's a nice conclusion, but simply impossible. He's half the mystery I'm investigating!"
He was left at another cliffhanger. It seemed that both mystery-lovers were fond of explaining in detail, then cutting off their elaboration before Gideon was able to put one and one together. They would surely be the best of friends if she gave him a chance. It was assumed that Pacifica would move on to another passing topic, a pattern he noticed in her, until she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and unexpectedly pulled out a business card.
Gideon peeked at it and read the curly font out loud. "'The Telepathy Twins: make your money disappear'?" They were going to have to work on that. The logo was a minimalist design of a blue triangle with one eye—the Eye of Providence, Gideon recognized. The background had a silver metallic shine to it. As sleek as the design was, he didn't think the Telepathy Twins were running a very sound business practice. There were no showtimes, no locations, and no contact information listed. Their real advertising was presumably word of mouth. He deemed the card a waste of paper until it was flipped.
Pacifica stared at the blue ink handwriting on the back of the business card in confusion. An uppercase P, a lowercase d, the number eight, and a capital Q were squished together. A tiny equal sign was squished in between the eight and the Q. Next to it, two question marks were underlined. "That parlor trick boy thinks he's slick, doesn't he?" she sneered. Passion burned within her, as fiery as a thousand suns. "How pathetic!"
Gideon took the card to see for himself, holding it up to the light and tilting it to the side. Turning it about didn't help him understand the message any better. It wasn't a dollar bill he could test its validity for by looking for a watermark. "So, what does it mean?"
Pacifica snatched it back. "Well, clearly it means…" Her chin was up in the air and her back straightened, drenched in the confidence of her answer. Optimistically, she confessed, "I don't know! But it also means I won't rest until I do know."
She wasn't kidding.
Back at their shared room, the odd combination of symbols was scrawled over every loose scrap of paper she knew she would never use again. It was written big and small and backwards and vertically and scrambled in every possible combination until it was tattooed to both of their minds. The seven symbols prompted stories, pictures, mnemonic devices, songs, and screaming. Every time she came up with a feasible solution, she shot it down before she could finish telling it to him. Her long ponytail whipped about as she gesticulated wildly. As entertaining as it was to watch his cousin fuss over the meaningless mess, it didn't take long for the palavering to bore Gideon.
She kept him captive during this phase until he finally wrangled his way out of her chokehold when he volunteered to hang advertisement signs in the woods for his dad. Business was slow despite the fact that the Auto Shack was literally the only place in town one could buy a car. Bud accepted it as a given due to their lack of prior advertising and build-up towards the grand opening, but that would change soon. Customers would come pouring in when word got out, he was sure. It's all a part of business, he told Gideon.
What good it would do to hang signs where nobody would see them, Gideon had no clue, but the vast solitude gave him thinking room. Most of his thoughts lamented over how creepy the woods were. He blinked and saw ice blue eyes staring back at him behind his eyelids. He felt watched. It could be the boy from earlier or a wolf or even a monstrous personification of his paranoia—he wasn't in Texas, anymore. Anything could happen.
His heart pounded at the same rate as when he had smaller and feared monsters in his closet and hid under his covers. Growing up meant that he knew now that a blanket couldn't have protected him from any monster. He willed himself to accept whatever fate awaited him within the shadows, which would clearly be nothing because he was overreacting. It wasn't too dark thanks to the light leaking past the tree leaves.
Regardless, he didn't want to be stuck in the woods all day he knew his efforts would be fruitless anyway. He had been dedicated enough at first to scatter the rest of the signs, but the rest he would nail to a single tree. As luck had it, the tree he chose wasn't actually a tree. He yelped when he heard the metal clang under the nail and hammer. Both dropped on his foot and cued a louder cry. In frustration, he kicked the tree with his injured foot, which only managed to aggravate the injury but also confirmed, through waves of disharmony ringing off the point of impact, that solid metal was in front of him.
He wiped off a layer of dust from the peculiar mock-tree. As soon as felt a ridge beneath his fingers, connections bridged in his mind. It was a hollow hiding space. He opened up the compartment. Hinges squeaked. Inside was a dusty box-like contraption with switches and an antenna framed by cobwebs without spiders. Curiosity begged him to test it out. Despite his uneasiness, he acquiesced, hoping it wouldn't work. He clicked the switches. The first one he tried out yielded no results, but the second one scared off a wandering goat. Another compartment opened up behind him, next to a fallen tree, as abandoned and forgotten as the one in the tree.
He prayed to every god he knew, even the fake ones. "Please don't be a dead body, please don't be a dead body, please don't be a dead body…"
It wasn't a corpse, but he screamed anyway because of the crawling centipedes that emerged from the new compartment. A thick book laid under more dust and cobwebs. He blew off the grime to reveal a shiny gold six-fingered hand with the number three on it. He opened it up. How convenient-the name of the author was ripped off before Gideon could read who the third volume of the book was the property of. He hated mysteries, if he had to be honest. Yet, one had just arrived if only to spite him.
The monocle inside was supposed to be a kind of bookmark, he guessed. Some diaries similarly had ribbons. He turned to the first entry where, lo and behold, the date June 18 taunted him once more. Fate hated him and he hated fate back. "'It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began studying the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls, Oregon,'" he whispered to himself. He flipped and skimmed through more entries—what was all that? Floating eyeballs, gnomes, cursed doors? He's heard of cursed chairs before, but never doors.
"'Unfortunately, my suspicions have been confirmed. I'm being watched. I must hide this book before He finds it.'" He as in God or He as in the devil? Memories flashed of his old pastor's overzealous preaching of man's sins. Gideon has always hated going to church. He respected religion, but not the Puritan-like community he lived in. If anyone knew about his interest in the occult there, he was certain he would've been burned at the stake. "'Remember—in Gravity Falls, there is no one you can trust.'"
He slammed the book shut. "... no one you can trust?" he repeated. That was a little extreme.
"Gideon!" Pacifica yelled. She popped up behind him on top of the fallen log.
He screamed, almost dropping the journal before he regained a proper hold on it and held it close to himself. He wished she would stop doing that.
"I've been so rude! I told you all of my theories, but I still haven't asked about your thoughts on what P-d-8-equals-Q-question mark-question mark means. I could use another head to—hey, what's that you've got there?"
Gideon hid the book behind his back. It wouldn't hurt to take a leaf from the author's book and keep his findings a secret. There was no way he could let her get her hands on such a mysterious journal. "There's nothin' important behind my back!" He wouldn't sleep for months if he did. "It's just, uhh… my diary. I have a lot of feelings."
"Um, okay?" Pacifica shrugged it off. She wasn't one to judge—she had an entire archive of fanfictions hidden under her bed. "So, what do you think about P-d-8-equals-Q-question mark-question mark?"
One-track mind, one-track heart. Gideon has never been more grateful to have his feelings disregarded before. "I dunno, why don't you just go to the magic show? You might get a hint there."
Pacifica was about to write off the idea as garbage, but then two pieces of the puzzle connected. It was absolutely blind of her to forget that the message was written on the back side of a business card for a reason. That rascal pulled a genius business ploy over her. She and Gideon were the only ones in the entire town that haven't fallen for the Telepathy Twins' scam. A riddle was the only way to tempt her into their tent, and tempt it did.
Victory was worth two $16.80 tickets.
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Vigenère? Atbash? Caesar? Ha! I laugh at that—it would be exceptionally dull to stick the same old same old routines. If you choose, I'll expose you to other methods of deciphering. It is my belief that proper development occurs when there are no limits. I do not bind myself to one piece. This is no canon. That's better suited for a wedding. (Canon in D lol.) This is no short lyrical etude, either. This is a piece I compose out of my horror of never being heard. Alas, there is little I can say to someone who does not want to listen. For example, probably nobody cares about Gideon's favorite color and probably nobody will look up its exact shade.
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Tell me in the reviews! Please, feedback means so much to fanfiction authors. It takes a lot of time and energy and imagination to write and yes, we know exactly how many people visit our stories in the traffic stats. One review is worth a thousand views to many writers. Nobody will know if you leave multiple anonymous reviews under different names btw just throwing that out there.
I may be heading off to school in eight hours, but it's concert season. I have too much time. Marching season sucks away all of it in the summer and fall hahaha. If you're curious about some of the concepts for my story, I'll be happy to spill a few beans. By the way, I totally recommend taking a listen to the namesake song of this story. It's Antonin Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 in E Minor "From The New World," Op. 85, B. 178. It's split up into four movements: Adagio, Largo, Scherzo, and Allegro con fuoco. The first four chapters of this story will be based on those movements. The other ones will probably be named after other pieces I like. Strauss' Nocturno Op. 7 will probably pop up just because I like it. And, yes, there will be room for gayness, if that happens to be a concern. My role model Andrew Hussie taught me that there can always be room for gay.