Mabel woke with the sun the next morning. Or, more precisely, she woke the moment a single inch of sunbeam made it through the triangular window and into the attic bedroom that she shared with Dipper. Immediately after she woke up, she shoved her comforter aside and started to quietly get dressed. She nearly forgot about Waddles, who woke up with the movement of the bed and snorted curiously at her.
"Ssh!" Mabel said to the pig, putting a finger to her lips. "Quiet, Waddles! I don't want to wake Dipper up!" She softly pulled open a drawer of her dresser and pulled out a lavender sweater that bore a picture of a white daisy. "I could hardly sleep last night," she continued to whisper to her pet. "I kept thinking about that workshop of Mr. Mason's. It's amazing, Waddles! I just can't wait anymore! I've gotta go back there!"
Waddles snorted again, and Mabel shushed him. "You can't wake Dipper up, Waddles! Look, Dipper doesn't like Mr. Mason much. I don't think he'd be too keen on me going out to visit him again. But Waddles, you should have scene the place! It's like some sort of art museum!"
She pulled on her socks and slipped into a pair of shoes. "I'll just be out for the morning," she whispered. "And hey, look, I'll leave a note, see?" She took up a pad of pink stationery and a sparkly purple gel pen. "See, Waddles? No big deal." The gel pen scratched audibly on the stationery pad for a moment as Mabel scrawled out a quick message to Dipper. She laid the note onto her pillow.
"See?" she said softly. "No worries." Waddles snorted one more time, then rolled over and closed his eyes to go back to sleep.
"Aw, what do you know?" Mabel said. "You're a pig." She strolled across the attic and through the door, cringing as the hinges creaked while she pulled the door slowly to a close. Once out of the attic, she tiptoed down the steps, staying close to the wall so that the stairs wouldn't squeak too.
You're being stupid, Mabel, she chided herself. There's no reason to be all secretive. You're just going off to enjoy a fun hobby with a nice neighbor. So what if Dipper doesn't approve? He's not the boss of you. Besides, the only thing wrong with Mr. Mason is Dipper's dumb paranoia. It's not like he's never been wrong before. No need to leave so silently, so early. You should go back upstairs, shake him awake, and say, 'Hey, Dipper! I'm going to Mr. Mason's house whether you like it or not! I'm not going to let your stupid scaredy-cat vibes get in the way of my having fun any more!' Yeah! I'll just go up and say that! Right to his face!
Still in silence, Mabel crept through the door and across the front yard until she reached the little road that was her route to Mr. Mason's house. She glanced over her shoulder to the house, and to the attic window. Eh, I'll tell him off tomorrow, she thought, and with that, she set off down the road.
Stan Pines looked up over the morning's edition of the Gravity Falls Gossiper as he heard his great-nephew clambering down the stairs. Dipper gave him a nod before pulling a box of Cheerios out of the pantry and then searching the overhead cabinets for a clean bowl. Stan noticed that his hair was matted down oddly to one side. Apparently his nephew had once again forgotten to take his hat off before falling asleep.
"Mornin', Dip," Stan said.
Dipper only grunted in return. He pulled open the refrigerator door and gave the contents a quick glance. "Grunkle Stan, we're out of milk," he said.
"No we're not. I just got more yesterday. Check behind the orange juice."
Stan watched as his nephew rummaged through the bottles and jugs. "Oh, right," the boy muttered. "I didn't notice it there." He grabbed the carton and set his breakfast supplies on the table. With a grunt, he pulled himself onto the chair. He lifted the box of Cheerios and started to pour them into the bowl, but he must have aimed poorly, because little pieces of cereal scattered onto the table and floor.
"Geez, kid, watch it!" Stan snapped, pushing his chair back and getting down onto the floor to scoop up the spilled cereal.
"Sorry!" Dipper said. "Sorry, wasn't paying much attention. Want me to go get a broom?"
"Nah, I've already got half of 'em. We'll just let the pig vacuum up what we miss."
Dipper knelt down and began helping his uncle collect the Cheerios. Now that they were at eye level, Stan noticed that the ever-present bags under Dipper's eyes seemed dark than usual. "Something eating at you, kid?" he asked.
His nephew looked up. "No. Why?"
"Well, you lost the milk, spilled cereal everywhere, and you look like your body still thinks it's in bed. You seem like you're running on fumes."
"Oh." Dipper ran a hand through his hat-pressed curls. "Yeah, I guess I'm a little distracted. Mabel left me a note this morning, and I- I dunno. I'm not too crazy about it."
By now, the two of them straightened up and dumped the cereal they had gathered into the garbage can. "Not too crazy about what?" Stan asked.
"Mr. Mason. One of the neighbors we met yesterday while we were handing out those doorhangers. Mabel's over at his house right now. Apparently he's letting her use his workshop to work on her art projects."
"Mason, Mason," Stan muttered, racking his mind for the name.
"Patrick Mason," Dipper said. He sat down at the table and carefully began a second attempt at pouring his cereal. "He lives in this big old house that's in the woods closer to town. You know him?"
Stan pulled out his own chair and sat down opposite his nephew. "I might. Describe him?"
Dipper frowned. "Um, well, he's kinda medium-height, I guess. Gray hair, balding a bit. Normal weight, maybe a little less. No mustache or glasses, but I think he was kinda stubbly. And maybe sixty-something, seventy-something?"
His uncle snorted. "Kid, you just described half the people I know," he said.
"Well, it's not my fault that he just looks like a generic old person! That's all I remember, except that he says he's always sculpting and doesn't get many visitors."
Stan's face brightened. "Now, see, that's the kind of information I can use," he said. "I remember that name now. That guy used to work over at the museum, restoring art and stuff, or something like that. I had to run him out of the Mystery Shack a couple of times back when I first started. Kept telling the tourists which exhibits were fake."
"I thought they all were fake."
"Some of them have basis in fact," Stan snapped. "Anyway, long story short, the guy's really into preserving art, then a few years back, he retires, and suddenly he's a hermit."
"But isn't there anything else?" Dipper urged. "Were there exhibits mysteriously vanishing from the museum or something? Wasn't there anything weird at all?"
Stan raised an eyebrow in confusion. "What, do you want him to be a criminal or something? Hoping he'll be the next one of your little 'mysteries'?" He held up his fingers and made air quotes on that last word.
Dipper scowled. "No, it's not- look the guy really rubs me the wrong way, okay? And if there's any solid reason that Mabel shouldn't be going to his place-"
"Sorry to disappoint you, kid. Nah, the man's a little arrogant, bit too bull-headed for my taste, but nothing worthy of banning your sister from him."
Dipper sighed. "Aw, relax, kid," Stan said. "You really gotta stop being so suspicious about every little thing. And in the meantime, I'll go get you something to wipe up that milk you're pouring onto your leg."
He smirked as he got up to get a paper towel. Dipper quickly turned the milk carton upright, his cheeks turning pink. He really needed to get more sleep.
A/N: Leave a review! Or don't. Whatever. I don't care. I am strong and independent. I don't need you. Your opinions don't define me.
(I'm in denial. They totally do. Review, please! And if you need something more to click, favorite and/or follow!)
Edit: Hey, look! Chapter 3 is back!
