Coach trips, Mason had decided, were the worst.
Summer was starting with ambitious spirit, and the 20-year old could swear he was going to melt long before he reached his destination. Hair damp with sweat stubbornly clung to the skin of his neck and forehead, and his pants had to be peeled off the ancient (and hideously patterned) seats every time he needed to use the on-board restroom. The can of soda he'd bought along had passed 'lukewarm' long ago.
Worst of all was the company. There was a surprisingly full house considering their destination was a small rural town in the middle of nowhere, with only a handful of empty seats- tourists, perhaps? Most of the passengers were families, and families meant young children screaming, crying, throwing things and barfing while their parents seemed eager to leave them to their own devices.
Mason was very glad he had the foresight to bring earplugs.
Content to drown out and ignore his obnoxious travel buddies, the young student took to sketching some of the Oregon scenery. It was awkward getting his sketchpad in a decent position, and he had to be wary of whenever they hit a pothole, but he was getting some good practice at landscapes.
The drag of pencil across paper always helped him relax. Today, he would move into a place of his own for the first time, would finally be a proper adult. OK, so his rent money and living costs were probably going to leave him living on cup noodles, and yes he would have to share the place, but it still counted as being independent.
So engrossed was he in his drawing that it barely registered when the bus stopped to pick someone up. Briefly glancing outside, he noted they'd just passed through Roseburg. If he was remembering the maps right, they still had about an hour and a half drive.
Dismissing the town as of little consequence, he got back to sketching. He felt someone sit in the seat next to him but didn't really think about it.
He DID start paying attention when said someone poked him in the side playfully.
Startled, he turned to look at the offender with a sharp glare, and then blanched at the sight that greeted him.
An incredibly cheery looking girl was grinning at him, her wide smile nearly blinding him. Literally; the harsh sun reflected off her braces, which was rather odd as she looked far too old to need them. A smattering of freckles lay across her rather round face, framed by long brunette hair. She wore a bizarre outfit; Mason was no fashion expert, but he was certain that a neon green sweater (In summer?) with a photo-realistic emblem of unicorns advising him to put "BRORSES BEFORE HORSES" did NOT go well with a tartan skirt and leopard print leggings.
She was quite possibly the most bizzare person Mason had ever met, and he wasn't sure if he should be aggravated or impressed.
She was mouthing something to him and flapping her hands about with great fervour. He stared, attempting to decipher the strange communication. Was she mute or deaf, and trying to use sign language? It didn't look like any he'd ever heard of. She was getting increasingly frustrated, face flushing red and her expression morphing into a pout. What was she-
The earplugs. Right.
Embarrassed, he plucked them out of his ears, wincing at the rush of noise and pressure.
"Uh, can I help you?" He asked tentatively.
The mystery girl sighed in relief. "Urgh, finally! I was trying to get your attention forever!"
It was closer to a minute by Mason's estimate, but he decided to humour her. "Right, sorry about that. I tend to zone out on long trips." He politely waited for her to ask whatever she'd been trying to get his attention about, but she just kept looking at him with wide eyes.
He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Look, if you aren't-"
"Have we met before?" She interrupted. "I swear I know you from somewhere."
Was she hitting on him? That had to be the most terrible pick-up line he'd ever heard. Definitely file under 'aggravating'.
…Although, now that he was thinking about it…
Her face was not set in a cocky grin or a leer like he would have expected, but screwed up in sincere confusion, like she was trying to remember something important. And though he was absolutely certain he'd never seen her before, an unsettling feeling of déjà vu hung over him. The shape of that nose...those brown eyes...no, no. He'd never met her before...probably.
"I don't think so." He answered nervously. She stared at him intensely, and he could feel the sweat run down his neck. What else was he supposed to say? He avoiding talking to people for a reason, he was awful at it.
"Well, then let's get to know each other, mysteriously familiar stranger!" She exclaimed gleefully, accentuating each word with a friendly poke on his arm. "My name is Mabel!"
"Mason." He replied tersely, trying to return to his sketch.
"Whoa, cool! Are you an artist?" She leaned over to look, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort at the close contact. "It's all nature and stuff!"
"Yeah." Couldn't she take a hint?
"I draw stuff too!" Mabel reached into her own backpack and extracted a sketchpad. Unlike Mason's, it was practically engulfed by stickers and glitter. It hurt to look at it- He could only imagine the childish quality of the 'art' within.
"Now, here's drawing number one- the 'Rainbow Court'. I drew this one when I was seven years old! It was a period of free exploration..."
Mason groaned and slumped in his seat. It was going to be longest hour and a half of his life.
After learning all about Mabel's political views on waffles, how she had a cat named Snake Eyes but always wanted a pig for a pet, and of course her crush on 'that guy from the ten dollar bill', Mason was incredibly relieved when the bus pulled up at the stop for Gravity Falls. The crowded vehicle slowly emptied, and he hurriedly stepped out in the fresh country air, his new 'friend' trailing behind him like a lost puppy.
Blinking, Mason realised that the bus stop seemed to be randomly placed on the road a fair distance from the edge of the town, which he could faintly make out through the trees at the bottom of the hill they were on. He was aware this place was rural, but this was something else. He turned to the incredibly bored looking driver.
"Hey man, can you drop us off a bit closer to the town?" He got a pair of closed automatic doors in his face for the trouble.
Grumbling, he retrieved his luggage from the lower compartment amidst the crowd attempting to do the same, luckily not having to fight anyone over disputed suitcase ownership. Wasn't it the driver's job to sort this out? They weren't getting a favourable review when he managed to setup internet in his new place, for sure.
As he started the trek into town, he noticed that after a while most of the passengers deviated from the main road to follow signs pointing towards something called 'The Mystery Shack'. The establishment was attempting to entice him with slogans such as 'BE BEWELDERED AND AMAZED', 'WHAT IS THE MYSTERY SHACK?', and 'FREE?'.
Rolling his eyes, he somehow managed to resist the temptation to waste all his money on hokey tourist traps. He'd lost track of Mabel at some point, so presumably she'd headed that way too. She seemed exactly the kind of person who'd fall for that junk, and he wasn't exactly sad to see her go.
He was just reaching the first buildings at the edge of town when he realised he wasn't entirely certain how to get to his new home. He quickly whipped out his smartphone, only to be dismayed at the total lack of GPS or data signal. Not a good start.
Horror enveloped him as he realised he was going to have to ask somebody for directions.
He spied several people milling about the street, going about their business.
He inhaled deeply, bracing himself. "Man up, Mason. How hard could it be?" He approached the nearest person, an elderly gentlemen with a Santa-like beard, an odd hat and a painful looking hunched posture. Surely this kind, grandfatherly figure could help him out?
"Um, excuse me, sir?" He said cautiously, waving to catch the man's attention. The stranger turned towards him with a wide grin, and Mason could see he was missing several teeth.
"Well, howdy stranger! You must be new around this here town!" He said in a loud, grating voice accentuated with a noticeable country twang. "I can tell because you're the first person who's actually wanted to talk to me in about a year!" He added cheerfully.
"Er...right. I was just wondering, could you give me directions to the apartments on Trembley Road?"
The old man thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Well sure! If you make a left here, and then-" He paused, and Mason was alarmed to see that his eyes were bulging out of his sockets, his mouth hanging open in silent horror, staring at Mason as though seeing him for the first time. Was he having some kind of attack?
"Sir?! Are you alright?" He wasn't prepared for something like this, he just wanted directions! "Do you need me to call 911, I don't-"
"It's YOU!" The stranger screamed, pointing at Mason with an accusatory, heavily bandaged hand. "I knew this day would come eventually! YOU'LL DOOM US ALL!" With a shriek, he leapt away from Mason and ducked into a side alley, scampering on all fours and making noises of distress.
Mason just stood there for a while, trying to process what just happened. Eventually he had the presence of mind to look around, and noticed that no-one else on the street seemed to care what had just happened, as if this was an everyday occurrence.
Well. That was...something.
Eventually, he managed to get directions off some rather more stable townsfolk, and arrived at the apartment complex. A man was waiting outside in a sharp black suit. He was tall and spindly, practically all bones, and he had a scar in a cross shape across his left eye. He wore a wide brimmed hat that covered all of his hair...assuming he had any. Maybe he was bald and embarrassed about it? Regardless, the rather adventurous looking headpiece was at odds with his otherwise gloomy and serious demeanour.
"Hi there!" Mason greeted as he approached. "Mr. Wexler, right? My new landlord?" He recognised the guy from a picture enclosed with one of his e-mails.
"Indeed. And you must be Mr. Mason Free." Mr. Wexler replied, and Mason was surprised to realise he was British. How'd he end up in one of the most remote parts of the USA?
Wasting no time, Wexler pulled a key out of pocket and handed it to him. "You're on the fourth floor, north side. Has your name on the door. Rubbish- sorry, garbage collection is Friday. Your deposit covers the first month. If you break anything, you pay for it. No pets, no wild parties. Only contact me in an emergency, I'm a very busy man. Are we clear?" This guy was all business.
"Crystal, sir." Mason replied confidently. He was fine with those restrictions. He'd rather enjoy a quiet evening in reading or working on an project that than be some house-trashing student stereotype.
"Good." Mr. Wexler gave a rare smile, though it came across as more of a grimace. Glancing around, the landlord checked his watch. "I just need to give your flatmate a copy of the key and the guidelines, then I must be attending to other business."
Ah, right. The flatmate. This was the part where it could all go haywire.
...well, whoever it was couldn't be that bad, right? Sure, they probably wouldn't be as introverted as Mason, but they were likely a sane and reasonable individual. So long as they kept to own, established clear house rules and respected each other's space, what would be the problem?
"Ahhhh! OHMYGOSH, what are the odds!" Came a shrill squeal from behind him.
Mason could feel his heart sinking into his stomach. He recognised that voice. He'd been listening to it for an hour and half on a cramped, sweaty bus.
Turning, he saw Mabel standing a few feet away, body practically breaking under the strain of several large suitcases and travel bags, a huge grin on her face.
She shuffled up to him, suitcases scraping along the tarmac. "Heeeey there, mysteriously familiar new flatmate! I can already tell this is going to be so much fun!"
That settled it. He was doomed.
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A/N: Neither Mason or Mr. Wexler are OCs.