Wendy was a demon when she got going with that axe. Dipper couldn't help but be hopelessly impressed by the sheer strength of the flannel-addled teenager as she cut, sliced and thwacked her way through that solid sheet of board as if it was little more than the paper they had encountered only a short while before.
Chips flew, splinters scattered, and the odd woodworm flew by, screaming in earnest terror - thrown to the breeze that seemed to perpetually travel through those dark, foreboding burrows that made up the subterranean nightmare-world of The Crawlspace.
By the time the lump of axe-bound plywood fell to the floor, of course, word had spread.
Mabel and Pacifica both gasped at the sight that sat ahead of them.
There must have been hundreds. Perhaps a thousand. However many there were, there were too many.
They were confronted by an enormous convoy of tiny jalopies, each one overladen with a cluster of Clurichauns, pointing miniature Tommy guns. They were all manners of shape and size, squared off at the shoulders by their natty dress-sense and wide tough-guy stances.
A stout, broad-shouldered miniature gangster strutted out slowly, flipping a coin in his tiny, leather glove addled hand, his face so still and cold that one could swear it was rough-hewn from granite. His jaw was like a brick - his nose sharp and crooked, and his glare only more so.
He tipped up his wide brim hat and pierced them with tiny, sunken eyes that were almost completely obscured by thick eyebrows, his entire face almost obscured by his thick, sharp five o'clock shadow.
A ten dollar fairground sucker sat in his mouth, the sort made out of rainbow candy - threatening to disrupt his speech. It, instead, only thickened his impressively broad accent, save for the odd dribble of thick, Day-Glo pink-dyed spittle that trickled from the oversized confection.
"Th'Big Man's bin expectin' you." He said, authoritatively. (Save the odd slurp of gusto.)
Marius froze as he stared at the little man - and, moreover, the hundreds of other little men that stood in their tiny motor cars ahead of him. He was not quite so acclimated to the oddness of the town - indeed, it was as if his entire outlook on life was changing at the sight of the tiny crooks in trilbies and trenchcoats.
The silence that ruled was beyond awkward - far too awkward for a boy of his polite upbringing.
It was, after all, a Fundhauser family rule to always, without fail, introduce yourself - even if threatened with a firearm. In retrospect, it was a really dumb motto, but one that he stood by. He twisted his lip, stepped forward and offered his hand. "Greetings, my uh- my name is Marius von Fundhaus-"
RATATATATATATATATATATATATATA
The group yelled in terror as the Tommy Guns lit up like sparklers, sending Marius onto the floor with a howl as a lurid, bright red spattered in all directions, contrasting fiercely against the dark, mossy surface of The Crawlspace's cobblestone paving in thick, clotted splashes of claret and crimson.
The leader of the troupe held up his hand, prompting the firing to cease, wisps of smoke rising from those brutal, uncaring steel barrels.
Mabel squealed in horror and hid behind Soos and her brother, who both vainly attempted to shield her from what was happening. Pacifica latched onto Dipper around the waist tightly, her cheeks pale, her eyes scrunched shut.
"Dude!" Wendy shouted, shoving them out of the way and running to the young, motionless magnate. "Why would you do that?!"
"That's what happens when ya creep up on th'Mob, firehead. They get jumpy."
"So you murder them?!" She yelled back, holding up Marius's head.
"Calm down, ya dumb broad. They're-"
"Paintballs?" Wendy interrupted in disbelief, plucking an unexploded casing from Fundhauser's hair.
"Truly…" Marius groaned, "A hero's death."
The Corduroy teenager unceremoniously dropped his head and stood back up, turning to the tiny men and snarling. "Alright, smart. Cute bit. Now, where's my brother?"
"Ya mean the buff little hume with the big hair? Relax, freckles. He's still alive. The Big Man just needed some bait ta get these three shmucks down here. They've been quite th'inconven- inco- inconvan- trouble."
"I've not done anything!" Marius protested.
The leading Clurichaun glared at Marius with limited interest and unlimited irritation. "I don't even know who the hell you are, kid. Unless ya wanna play another game'a Tommy Gun dodgeball I'd advise ya ta keep yer trap shut."
Dipper snickered until he was elbowed in the ribs.
"C'mon Dip, say something!"
"What am I supposed to say?"
"I dunno, ask 'em who they work for!"
"Pacifica, seriously, these guys mean business-"
"And we don't?!"
Dipper huffed, took a deep breath, and stepped forward. Ever eager to impress, he attempted to square up - puffed out his pigeon chest, rocked his shoulders back, the whole shebang. "Well, who is this damned big man anyway?"
"That's why ya gotta come with us, ya nitwit." The man in charge snorted in response. "If ya think ya wanna be a wiseguy, try bein' a wiser guy, capiche?"
The timid, anxious teen fell back, tapping his fingers together awkwardly. "Uh, right… so, uh, do you lead on, or…"
"Na, we got other plans, kid." The Clurichaun replied.
"Huh?"
The mobster wordlessly clicked his fingers - and, from behind, every one of human intruders received a heavy cosh across the back of the neck, sending them to the floor. Dipper yelped as everything went black.
"Say g'night, Gracy." The mobster grinned, flicking away his lollipop stick. "Man, I love this job. Tie 'em up, boys."