He poked at the toaster, unsure of how to work it. Stanley said it was broken before he left; perhaps he should have left instructions as to how it worked. He conjectured he wouldn't have time to disclose it when he was in a rush to get to Piedmont, leaving Ford by himself in this little shack. Ford, of course, wanted Stanley gone and Stanley was more than keen to live with Dipper and Mabel. His eyes went downcast when his mind stumbled over this hurdle of a thought, and quickly shook his head, changing the subject of thought. The guilt of disowning his brother proved to be too much at the moment. He added the toaster onto a long list of broken things that needed fixing.
Ford crossed the room and mercifully rested his legs on the chair in the kitchen. The man had been rushing about his lab for days now, and every fiber of his being ached with it. He looked as the other four chairs were empty, the spirit that once filled them a visible echo. He could practically see the spirits of the vessels that the chairs once cradled. Mabel would be at the far end, bouncing with energy. Dipper's eyes would've been filled with a wanderlust and admiration that was directed at Ford. Stanley would be ignoring the scene with a dismissed complexity, but a look of resentfulness, even pain laid underneath. One would've assumed that it was thirty years of time in the portal that gave him this incredible skill, but no. Ford developed this skill long before the portal and far after it. Some would have deemed Ford special for seeing the world in this manner. However Ford knew that to see the world in this light, one had to truly experience heartbreak, sorrow. The emotion was all too familiar to Ford.
He finally looked up at the window. There was nothing more than a grey sky, a sky that made everything under it a light grey color. The sun still made its presence known, but for the most part, the sky was nothing more than a blank canvas. He continued to look to it, finding himself nothing more than abject boredom. Eventually the sky disinterested him and his eyes flickered the kitchen once again. They continued to dart about the room, from the broken toaster to the phantom livelihoods in the chair. His thoughts shifted from one object to another.
Time passed as the boredom weighed on his person physically, making him wilt further and further until he put his head in his hands. Living like this was depressing, if Ford was honest with himself. The silence was the loudest thing in the room, and the will of his voice was buried deep inside his throat. It wasn't resurfacing anytime today. He began to take note of his irregular breathing. It was probably due to the ten minutes of sleep he got last night. His eyes were wide open despite this, but it was the illusion of energy that kept Ford awake. Of course Ford chose not to acknowledge this truth. He didn't want to fall asleep. He knew exactly what he'd wake up to the same exact thing- a vacant house his brother practically owned. A vacant house that once had what remained of Ford's family. A vacant house with phantom laughter, joy, sadness and the like, and its absence nearly pained Ford to hear. A vacant house he wished so desperately to be occupied again. A vacant house he suffered in again.
He wasn't sure why all his melodrama had to weigh down on him today. It was totally fine yesterday. He read a book he hadn't seen in 30 years, and finally ate something for the first time in about three days. He washed his sweater and stopped wearing his coat. Yesterday was a productive day. Now his melodramatic and perhaps sentimental thoughts were pressing down on him like a ton of bricks. Ford was urged a while ago that to get help; Stan even gave him a psychiatrist's number. But due to his stubbornness he never went. Ford was reluctant to see a professional. He wasn't sure if he had successfully put the portal behind him, let alone the severed family ties and aftermath of Weirdmageddon. Ford wasn't sure if he could let something like that out of him- perhaps he'd remain guarded forever.
Ford's illusion of energy was gone and he collapsed on his brother's chair. The man slept shamelessly.
It had been about nine in the morning when Ford fell asleep. He adjusted his glasses and glanced at the clock- one in the morning. How had he slept for 13 hours? It was clearly well-deserved, in his mind. He hadn't gotten so much sleep since the night after Weirdmageddon. The melodrama was not going to weigh him down today. It was a lie, and he knew this. But that was how Ford survived the past 40 years, by denying evident truths so that he would have something to keep him occupied.
Ford wondered what one does to keep himself occupied at one in the morning. A normal person would fall back asleep, but Ford knew that wasn't happening anytime soon. He lay back down in Stanley's uncomfortable arm chair, letting his body adjust to the awkward position he was in. He pretended to adjust when in reality he didn't.
It was so silent in his dark house, he could hear the locusts sing in a chorus outside. They were mesmerizing, with their high pitched squealing all in one single uproar to make one constant buzzing noise. It was a rather melodious noise, and Ford found himself losing track of his thoughts as he did so.
Through the white noise the locusts created, Ford heard a distinct noise that stood out. It was barely audible, and then it got more prominent. He introduced motion back into his body as he stood.
The knock had come from the gift shop of the former Mystery Shack; a place Ford was unfamiliar with. He opened the door and found a brown haired girl, with a dark complexion to compliment her green eyes. She was rather undressed for the weather, with nothing more than a sweater and pants wrapped around her figure. Her eyes were filled with anticipation and shock, to an extent. Ford looked past the girl and found a car with smoke pouring from the hood of it. It didn't take Ford very long to assess the situation. He looked back down at her, and she extended a shaky and withered hand out to him.
"H-hi," she stuttered, obviously frazzled. "I'm Ada...erm, you see, my car's broken down and I don't have any tools to fix it...d'you know the nearest mechanic?" Her voice was coarse, gravelly from thirst, and quite fearful.
Ford took her hand and shook it, feeling the cold that he conjectured was spread all across her petite figure.
"Ford," he said, remembering his obligation to speak. "Ford Pines. Erm, there's someone I can call for a mechanic, but I'm not sure how late they'll be in. It's one in the morning. Come inside, please, it's freezing."
The girl stepped inside the Shack, shivering but pleasantly surprised by the warmth the Shack radiated. She glanced about, obviously confused what a man like Ford would be doing in a shack like this. He attempted to explain, but his voice died in his throat and Ada spoke instead. She didn't seem to be talking directly to Ford, but rather out loud.
"Jesus, it's cold...could use another jacket," she shivered, hugging herself for warmth. She cocked her head and noticed Ford, who was still staring at her. She smiled shyly. "Sorry, I'm just really cold and-"
Ford held up a hand. Her eyes glossed over the hand. She was expecting it to have five fingers that she failed to see the sixth. He was surprised by this; everyone noticed the sixth finger. He paused a moment before speaking.
"Would you like something to drink? It's the least I can do." Stanley and Mabel were the ones to teach Ford this custom of offering a drink.
"Y-yes please." She stood up straight, now adjusting fully to the warmth of the Shack. "Get me whatever you've got."
Ford smiled, rather awkwardly, and he pushed through the door of the gift shop with the words 'employees only' on it. He didn't expect Ada to follow him, so was shocked thoroughly when he heard soft footsteps trail behind him on the plush carpet. She was smiling sheepishly when he turned around.
"Don't be alarmed," she raised her hand in almost insincere surrender. "I'm just following you to your kitchen."
"Very well," Ford mumbled passive aggressively, betraying the hospitality he had shown her moments ago. He walked through the threshold of the kitchen and started making coffee. It was the only warm beverage Ford knew how to make; he would give it to Mabel when she woke in the early hours of the morning and relied on it himself. Ada sat down at the kitchen table and made herself comfortable. Ford peered at her from the other side of the room, and found that she was returning that gaze with equalled curiosity.
"What brings you here at one in the morning?" Ford set the coffee mugs down, filled with black coffee. Ada took a hesitant sip, while Ford proceeded to down almost the entire drink in a couple sips. Ada was obviously unsettled, but composed herself and proceeded with a reasonable explanation.
"Well, I was looking for work, if I'm honest. I'm kind of in debt at the moment, so I decided to get a second job, which would help in paying it off. I'm also having trouble sleeping, so I check out potential workplaces to pass the time. My car broke down outside your house, and I panicked."
Ford nodded, not sure whether or not he believed what she said. He allowed his eyes to study the girl and her features. Her face was sunken in and tired. Ford guessed she was anywhere from her late twenties to early thirties, but her appearance may have fooled Ford slightly. Her voice was still gruff from dryness. Under the gruffness he could hear sincerity and maybe even a hint of melancholy. Her eyes hung heavy, and Ford could tell she was more than tired. The girl was downtrodden and exhausted, with rigid, lethargic movements that were attempting to be coordinated, but of course her own exhaustion gave way and he could see right through it. She blinked at a rapid pace, trying to keep herself awake. Ford almost felt a tinge of concern. Ada soon took notice of Ford's staring.
"What?" She asked this with a tremulous tone and querying eyes. Ford shook his head and mumbled a negative, attempting to shrug it off. She was obviously still puzzled, but proceeded to focus back on her coffee. After a few moments of deafening silence, she too was out of the beverage. The caffeine still hadn't kicked in, and Ada expressed her discontent with this.
"Well, you see, caffeine has a half life of only..." He trailed off, silenced by Ada's gaze.
"I don't care. I just want it to kick in," she yawned, "I-I haven't slept in a couple weeks." Her gloved hands were still gripped tight around the mug, shaking. Ford took notice of the tightness of the grip.
"Be careful, Ada, you're gonna break it," Ford cautioned.
This only made her grip tighter. Her bloodshot, yet weary eyes shot open. Her arms were tense as her knuckles turned white, her grip was so tight. Ford, seeing as she hadn't heeded his caution, took hold of her wrists and diverted them away from the mug-which would have been in danger of breaking if Ford hadn't seen.
Ada yanked her wrists away from Ford's and lost eye contact. She dug her elbows into the table and placed her head in her hands, her fingers tangling with her dark hair. Ford watched as she closed her eyes, but not voluntarily. She had closed her eyes because she simply couldn't keep them open any longer. Her once rigid elbows fell loose and she collapsed on the table. Sleep had claimed her at a remarkably quick pace. Ford felt himself become sleepy.
He left Ada undisturbed at the table and retired to Stan's armchair, where he had fallen asleep once before. He felt the caffeine from the coffee wear away slowly and drifted off.