"I dreamt you laid me to rest in the great temple of Ra beneath the watchful gaze of the Eye. To protect me, or something. You cried the entire time."
- William Pines
Lucas to Xanthar: The kid's in Italy, last I recall. He's staying with Giano and his family.
Xanthar to Lucas: Giano?
Lucas to Xanthar: Gaspard's grandfather's twin brother.
Xanthar to Lucas: I need you to confirm he's alive.
Lucas to Xanthar: It'll cost you. Gaspard gave strict orders on keeping the kid's state on the hush hush.
Gaspard also gave orders on what to say when the chink came asking about the kid.
Uncle Giano's English is bad, and his accent is thick, conjuring vivid images of Naples infrastructure. He remembers them still from this youth.
Uncle Giano has the face of that man, but he's not like that man. His hands are tattooed but not up to the elbow. He's divorced, with children who are not tattooed. Bill considers this acceptable.
His voice is warm and jolly on the phone, very Santa Clause. He asks how Bill's doing and says he'd like to come visit. Says Bill must be lonely and he himself could use a vacation. He knows the family business but never participated in it; Gaspard was the heir and Uncle Giano was fine with that.
Everyone always said he was too flakey to be a good leader.
Bill wants to ask: "Can you take over for a while?"
So I can make a run for it.
But he isn't sure if Uncle Giano will agree. That is, until Uncle Giano offers to help him. Mentions how broken his brother Gaspard was when he ran away and knows Bill never underwent the proper training.
What would the man seek as compensation? Is Bill going to be reduced to a fuck toy again?
As if.
He says he'll see and let him know if he can come visit. Things are tense, Bill says.
But I miss you, Bill says. Stay safe, Uncle Giano.
Uncle Giano reminds him of Dorian Grey's portrait in the attic. It suffers the debaucheries of Dorian, while Dorian himself remains and beautiful and pristine in the eyes of all who see him.
Forever young.
Gaspard Giordano is young today. Young and beautiful, like Dorian Grey.
Hideous and grotesque,
like the old Dorian's portrait.
Tobacco barely tastes like tobacco anymore. A poignant taste is on the filter; reminds him of cat piss. Like that time he's roommate had a cat that pissed on all his items, and he unknowingly huffed a pissed-stained cigarette. Good times. Any times besides these times were good times.
God, fuck these times.
The sun catches the fountain's diffused droplets at the precise angle for rainbow colours to tremble through the air. A dreamy and romantic atmosphere, and he thinks back to his childhood. A ghost of his sister chasing Casper across the plateau catches his mind's eye. Casper trips, and she laughs, voice a breeze in the quiet wind.
Stanford might've liked this view. But Stanford could not be allowed to set foot on the premises. Bad luck. Stanford might get tainted, would get tainted; the ghost of that man would no doubt possess Ford. Bill was by no means superstitious but this went beyond superstition– it was fucking facts.
Like that man had crept into him, he would creep into Ford. Possess Ford.
Stanford Pines…
A beautiful set of bright yellow flowers dropped into his lap.
"Look what I picked up for you! Favourite colour, right? No need to thank me, I know I'm good."
8ball.
"You bought me flowers? This is gayer than sucking my dick."
"Well fuck you too. That's the last time I get you anything nice." 8ball grumbles, sitting next to him on the warm cement and whistling at the spectacular view.
"What's the occasion?" The flowers are bright but gentle on the eyes.
"Dunno. You haven't been looking so good lately. Saw these when I was in town and thought 'hey, what the hell'."
"I'm just fine."
"If you say so."
They both settle into silence, interrupted only by the chirping of birds and occasional soft rustle of wind through the bushes near the fountain.
"I'm just gonna say it. Are you sick? What's up with the throwing up? Maybe the pills that doctor gave you ain't working."
Bill snickers. "Nah. I'm fine."
"If I looked up the definition of 'fine', I bet you $10 it wouldn't have 'frequent throwing up guts' underneath it."
"Nah, that always happens." Bill says, smelling the flowers. The fragrance is soft, mild.
"You throwing up? Wah? So, you're sick then? You see a doctor? What'd she say?"
"It's nothing."
One of the drawbacks of replacing Xanthar with 8ball: 8ball was nosey, and prone to asking too many questions.
"Isn't Stanford a doctor, yeah? Maybe you should tell him. Get a second opinion. You couldn't have trusted that last doctor anyway if you had her nicked."
Bill offers 8ball the cigarette, and he takes it, intent on finishing it.
"Tell Ford huh? Tell Ford." Bill repeats.
Everything is muted; dumpy, hazy. Senses: sluggish and thick with lethargy. Everything passes through him in choppy bits of data he can barely process; he's here, and then he isn't.
8ball is talking again but the sound is filtered through something dense, and he can't understand. As though underwater, he hears chunks of reverberations barely resembling the original tune. In the womb? His mother has yet to give birth to him.
Or did she? Did she…
She shouldn't have.
He touches and doesn't feel. Is it the alcohol? The Screwdriver he had this morning?
"…but yeah, tell Ford. Bet he knows his shit and all." He hears 8ball finish.
Tell Stanford Pines.
He types out:
Do you want to run away with me?
And deletes it before sending it.
Stanford wouldn't.
Drinking on an empty stomach.
Drinking on a full stomach.
It's better if you don't eat: you need less to intoxicate yourself into the void.
He swallows down the whiskey like a fire-eater swallows fire: it lights up the contours of his wasted dog-tired face, illuminating and numbing the barbed-wire dark huddling around him. It flows down his throat and enters another dark, and there, it lays itself to rest.
There's a light at the end of the tunnel.
It's a bonfire, with the charred-up carcasses of his family.
The heat is persuasive. Maybe a good old family reunion is in order?
Committing sati is so retro.
And he's a 21st century boy.
He takes the flowers with him to bed, lets them inhabit the right side. Smells them goodnight.
He curls up beneath the blankets in foetal position while cradling his phone.
[Bill]: Hey hey Jerry
[Bill]: How's Italy treating you?
Kryptos doesn't answer him. Kryptos can't answer him.
[Bill]: Hey, I think I might let Ford tutor me
[Bill]: If you ask me real nice, I might let you join me every so often
Teeth doesn't answer him. Teeth can't answer him.
Crying in this bed was something he thought he'd left behind six years ago.
Everything hurts, and then it doesn't. He's too exhausted to feel anymore.
He dreams he's at a night carnival, watching a puppet show. No music; the silence is cold, matching his breath.
The red curtains part and a poorly put together Bill puppet dangles with a loud 'Tada!'. Its eyes are too yellow - the painter's done a poor job.
"I'm Bill Cipher! I've been watching you!" The mannequin dances limply, twitching as it tries to gesture in a way more human that what it's capable of.
Another puppet drops from the top, the string pulled taut before it hits the ground; it jerks in mid-air before getting its rhythm. It's Stanford Pines.
"I'm Stanford Pines. Let's be partners! Only I won't keep my end of the bargain! Also, you want that equation? Not gonna happen!" The voice sounds like Bill's, as though he were attempting Ford's voice. Yikes. It's a terrible impersonation.
…?
"Oops, wrong dialogue. I'm Stanford Pines! A lonely, gross old man who preys on young fles- uh human men!" The Ford doll nuzzles up to the Bill. "Hey, you looking kinda down, Billy! Let me help you! What do you say?"
"Oh Ford, I love you!" The Bill doll gushes. In a puzzling and deliberate manner, its fabric hand reaches out slowly and touches the Ford doll. A strange mark appears on the Ford doll, and the two of them continue to flail about in what was meant to resemble affectionate fondling. The backdrop's curtain falls, revealing an odd-looking (and rather stupid) face, belonging to a creature Bill has never seen before.
The dolls continue to embrace one another amorously.
They fall to dust.
What the fuck is this?
Another doll, that's only a yellow triangle with an eye and stubby black limbs drops in. Alongside it, a new Ford doll appears.
"No, Bill! I won't give you the equation!" The Ford doll cries out.
Instantly, the doll bursts into flames, screaming with Ford's voice. In a blink, it's back to normal. Then it splits into two, screaming with Ford's voice. In a blink, it's back to normal. This continues, the puppet being brought to horrific deaths, repeatedly. It's how Bill imagined Hell. Just countless deaths, one after the other. No rest, no sense.
"What's your preference? I'm thinking fire, right?"
The Ford dolls burns to ash, then reassembles once more.
"I get it. You're a real 21st century baby boy and all, but top-hats never go outta fashion!"
A snapping of fingers followed by a drum roll, and he feels something on his head.
Another snap: the Ford doll turns to gold and hovers in the air, swaying back and forth. A terrified expression worn on its face, the reflected light makes the grimace appear to move.
"Oh, I hate you…" The triangle puppet hugs the golden Ford. "I hate you…"
"Don't go anywhere, Ford…" It clings to the Ford doll.
I don't get it.
"Of course you wouldn't! For me, this was a traumatic re-enactment! Of an astounding betrayal but a man I adored! Allegedly adored. Let the record show I stated allegedly. Allegedly!"
Uh?
"Look, this guy is terrible! Never keeps his promises, puts his family above his best pal! Puts his own ego above his friends! You don't wanna get involved any further with him, kid! Trust me, I got them receipts."
The voice deepens, distorts until it's a nearly deafening boom.
"You don't wanna get involved further with him, kid."
The voice suddenly softens, as the triangle doll hugs the Ford doll tighter.
"Actually…you do…no, you don't…well. Take everything I say with a grain of salt!"
The Ford doll floats into his hand.
"I'll ask you what the other guy asked you. Who came first? Me…?" The mark on Ford glows. "Or you…?"
Me?
Silence.
You?
"Bingo!" A cash register DING goes off. A snap of the fingers. "That meat machine of yours can really burn the oil when it wants to, huh?"
"It's a chicken or the egg riddle. There's no real answer." The mark on the Ford doll disappears.
He holds the Ford doll up, makes it dance by jerking its limbs. At his touches, the burning brand reappears.
What's this mark?
"Cut off contact with him. For the love of pina coladas! Stop talking to him! Don't even make eye-contact with him! Just look away, and slowly step back! Don't even breathe in his general direction!"
The triangle doll calls the Ford doll back to it.
"My favourite disappointment…"
The triangle doll freezes, as if stuck in time. He blinks and it's a mirror, reflecting himself, with black hair, pre-surgery.
"Hey hey! Don't listen to that guy! He's special. You know how it is. Every family has one of those." The same voice says: still sounds like him, as if he were yelling.
A new doll appears: more extravagantly assembled, materials clearly expensive. Detailed. The real deal.
"So, I finally figured out what's been putting me off about you." The doll says. "Now that I've figured that out, I gotta say… I'm not as mad as you'd think I'd be. Quite the opposite. I'm intrigued and ready to party."
"You're not really 'Bill Cipher', are you? It's just some little mask you made up to hide those human insecurities of yours. Clearly you have nothing in common with my fine-looking, three equal sided self."
The doll laughs, loudly – a chorus of derision and contempt.
"Or do you?"
What? My name's Bill Cipher.
"Nah. You're borrowing that name. What's your real name?"
…Gaspard.
"No, your real name. Let's put it this way. Say you were a coin. You got heads, and you got tails. Heads is your Bill Cipher. What's your tails?"
Something tells him to say: Casper.
"Nah. Wrong. Very wrong."
"Your entire existence was built around a coin toss. You know that?" The doll floats around him, movement lazy. "Who you are depends on which side of the coin faces up."
"Just like how you tilted that coin up when you were a wee lad and became Bill Cipher, you're letting Ford tilt that coin back over, and letting you become– what's the name?"
The doll expands, then shrinks.
"You have to know the name! You know mine, don't you?" The doll flicks his nose. It stings. "You've used a name. A name, which is it? Pick. You know."
He doesn't know. He goes through names, the doll unresponsive, until he says:
Andrew?
"So close! You're so close!" The doll shakes with excitement, as though possessed by the ghost of elation. "Come on, kid. You're so close. I can feel it in my very fibres."
…I don't know.
"Ah, let's forget it. Let's talk business." The doll snaps a finger and a train set appears mid-air. A yellow train with two tracks it can traverse.
"The choo-choo train is you, and you got two roads you can go down! The first one leads to me! The second, well, who knows? But it leads all the way over there!" A black cloud of zero appears at the end of the right track.
"Consider…this direction." The train is pointed towards the doll: the left track. "You and I could be besties, kid."
The left track is gilded: enticing, and calling to him.
"If I press you any further, I'll get into trouble. Probably. But hey, trouble's my given name."
"Now. Go down that way." The doll gestures to the right track, leading to the void that whispers a name he's unfamiliar with. "…and then make a sharp turn left into my lane. You got that? We gotta make sure we surprise our Stanfords!"
The doll slaps his nose. "You gotta make sure you let the old guy stick his jazz stick into you! Multiple times!"
What?
"Bump uglies! Mate! Let him give it to you, kid. He's aching to split your peach! Let him! Get weird with it! Throw some freaky shit in there! Call him Papa when he drills you!"
That's fucking disgusting.
"What's disgusting? Imagining Ford as your dad? You think it's gross? Oh, boy do I have news for you, my fleshy counterpart."
With a wave of the hand, the train set flickers into nonexistence.
"What if I told you that you were his kid?"
I'm not though.
"What if you were?"
I'm not.
"We've established that. If you were and you knew but Ford didn't, would you tell him?"
...No.
"You'd still wanna fuck him, right? Right?"
I... don't know…
"Yeah, thought so. Incest is fine with you."
That's not true. If Ford was… I wouldn't want him to leave me…?
"Weird. So, you'd bang Stanford if he was your dad. Got it."
He frowns, becoming angry. Red paints his mind.
"You always fuck your relatives, kid?"
Ford isn't-
"You want him to be."
No, that's gross.
"Whatever. You gotta bang the old man! I'm gonna film it and show it at the next Christmas Party in high definition!" The doll squeals. "Here's Sixer! Fucking his–"
The lone eye slyly narrows, as though it knew a juicy secret and awaited Bill's inevitable prying.
"We'll be watching. Make sure it happens."
The doll turns around, laughing loudly.
"Oh man, these Pines'! They really never learn, do they? I can't wait to see the look on Sixer's face when he realizes what he's done!"
What do you mean?
"My Sixer not yours. It's…complicated. He's all 'what are you even doing' and I'm all 'you know I'm a whimsical fellow!' As if it's that simple! HA! Nothing we ever do is unintentional, right?"
He listens.
"Order disguised as chaos is such a hard art to master. One you've only dabbled in." The doll waves a finger back and forth.
"Besides, you know you're like…only half me right? You're diluted Bill Cipher. Like those cheap drinks you mix with water: half Bill Cipher, half…" The doll's pupil slits even further, then entire eye narrows.
"Well, that's a whole other story. Point is, did you think there wouldn't be repercussions for using my name?"
…?
The doll expands to a monstrous size, and with a push of a hand now three times the size of his head, he staggers back.
"My name. Bill Cipher."
It pushes him back again, and something tells him he's close to an edge.
"You can't call gold gold if you dilute it with cheap solidified lemonade."
The doll laughs.
"Did you know you're a Gemini? Two-faced."
The edge is here.
"See ya, kid. Don't play pretend. And say hi to Sixer for me."
He falls into a blackness.
An image of a rotating coin simmers into his mind.
It's double-sided. Heads.
He hears himself laugh again.
Just fucking with you. You're me and I'm you.
We're also–
Yellow noise overwhelms him.
There's something in his ear–
REALITY IS AN ILLUSION. THE UNIVERSE IS A HOLOGRAM. BUY GOLD, BYE!
He dreams the tattoo on his hand told him to–
keep talking to Stanford Pines.
[Bill]: ;)
[Bill]: Sorry, I have no fucking idea when I typed that
[Bill]: I have something I wanna tell you
"I lied."
-Every Bill Cipher, in every universe.