A fic trade I did with SenpaiBuckwheat. Go check out her profile! The prompts she gave me were: ballroom dancing, ugly sweaters, and sharing a milkshake.
I don't own anything, not even the milkshake. *single tear*
On with the show!
Dipper scowled. "This is stupid."
Pacifica elbowed him hard enough in the ribs to elicit a breathy oof. "Quiet down, dork, you're making a scene."
"Not as much of a scene as this is," he gestured to the masses of high society dressed to the nines, swirling around each other in a multicoloured kaleidoscope so vibrant it made his head throb. Seriously, he didn't think some of the colours these people wore even had names! "What is it with your parents and parties, anyway, you'd think they'd have learned their lesson after last year." Apparently not, as the grandiose oaken halls of Northwest Manor (or Cottage, as Pacifica referred to it) remained despairingly bare of any 'commoners'. Save Dipper himself, of course.
Though it wasn't like he'd signed up to go to a party.
Pacifica stared straight ahead, spine unyielding and hands folded at the wrists like some kind of doll. Dipper frowned. He wasn't a fan of this version of Pacifica. She looked like she was trying to pass as twenty. "You should have heard how thrilled they were once they realized they didn't have to invite the townsfolk again." The corner of her mouth quirked up, secretly, like her smile was something she only wanted him to see, and suddenly Dipper could see the thirteen-year-old version of Pacifica again. "Father nearly dropped his martini glass."
Dipper couldn't clamp down on the laugh that escaped his chest, and several partygoers sent him scathing looks. He ducked his head. What he wouldn't give for his hat and vest to hide behind. The tuxedo Pacifica insisted he wear barely offered any cover. He lowered his voice to library-volume. "That doesn't really explain why I'm here, though."
Pacifica shot dazzling smiles at the few patrons who glared at Dipper until they looked away, but he doubted they could see the malice behind the sparkling teeth. He nearly barked another laugh. That girl was a viper in the grass, and he felt a spark of gratitude. Thank goodness she was on their side! "You're here because of the gnome problem."
"Sure, but that's been taken care of." He reached around and patted his backpack, one of the only things Pacifica had allowed him to keep on his person. The leafblower poking out the flap certainly drew stares, but he could withstand a few odd looks for the ease it gave his job as a Monster Hunter. "Couldn't I, y'know, leave now?"
She tilted her head in such a way that made her golden tresses fall in front of her face. "In a minute."
Dipper narrowed his eyes. What was she trying to hide...? "Pacifica~"
"Pacifica!"
Dipper jumped at the volume of the word before he realized it hadn't been him to say it. Preston Northwest swept over, his wife on his arm, and Dipper's shoulders tensed up. A year's gap was still too soon to be seeing these two.
Contrary to his own spring-coiled reaction, Pacifica seemed to smooth out, her chin raising marginally and shoulders lengthening. Dipper momentarily forgot his own seething hatred for her parents to send a surprised glance at her through the corner of his eye. If she noticed, she decided not to react. "Oh, hello, Father."
Preston's eye twitched, and Dipper had to disguise his snort as a stifled cough, but he probably could have done the lamby dance without reaction for all the attention Preston paid him. His eyes skittered over Dipper like he didn't quite want to sully his own irises by settling them on a commoner.
Jerk.
"Pacifica Elise Northwest, you told us you had the escort situation under control!" Was it just Dipper's imagination, or was Preston smoking under his collar?
"I do." A shocked noise burst through Dipper's mouth as she grabbed his arm, linking it with her own and pulling him into her parents' line of sight all in one swift movement. "Mother, Father, you remember Dipper Pines. He's my escort for tonight."
Dipper's jaw dropped open. "Your~" Pacifica's manicured nails embedding themselves into his arm shut him up real quick.
Neither of her parents seemed to notice the word. Or even his presence. "You were supposed to choose an escort off the list we had Jasper write up for you! Not this~" Preston waved a hand in Dipper's direction, but didn't turn his head. It was starting to get on Dipper's nerves. "~commoner!"
Okay, that was it, he couldn't take any more of this. Dipper took a breath, ready to really lay into Preston, but Pacifica beat him to the punch. Impossibly, her hold on Dipper tightened. "Actually, Father, I didn't like anyone on that list, and I'm happy with my choice. So if you'll excuse me, my escort and I are going to go and dance."
It was all Dipper could do not to fall over himself as Pacifica yanked him onto the dance floor. "Pac-Pacifica, I can't dance!" This, he knew for a fact, she'd tried to show him once last week.
Wait.
His head spun along with his body as Pacifica twirled them expertly into a ballroom technique, settling one hand on his shoulder and guiding his to her waist. Only when they fell gently into the melody of the strings quartet and he saw the smirk on her face did the pieces start to connect in Dipper's mind.
The outright refusal to her father's authority seemed... out of character. How much had things changed between Pacifica and her parents in the year he'd been gone? The last time he'd seen them interact, Pacifica curled in on herself like a scared turtle. This... this had seemed more like the part she showed when she was hanging out with him and Mabel at the Mystery Shack. Maybe with a bit more challenge behind the eyes...
Challenge!
Of course, the retaliation, teaching him to dance last week, her calling him over today of all days, making him stay when she clearly knew he hated parties almost as much as he heated bathing.
Realization hit Dipper like a sack of bricks. "Are you using me to make a point to your parents?"
The smirk never left her face, and she glanced over her shoulder to where her parents still stood, fuming. "Call it my rebellious phase."
Whoa. Okay, Dipper didn't know what his chest did there, but he couldn't say he wasn't a fan. He matched her smirk best he could, but knowing him it probably came off crooked and awkward. "You could have told me. I'd love to take those two down a peg."
She shrugged, and Dipper's throat caught. The chandelier light glinted off her bare shoulders. "Sure, I could have. But it's more fun not to."
He supposed he should have said something to that, but after the shoulder display Dipper was far more intimately aware of her gloved hand in his, and the way her waist shifted under his fingertips, and how close they were standing, and gosh was it hot in here, who decided long sleeves were a good idea for a summer party? Words shrivelled on his tongue and his mind blanked and something crunched under his foot.
"Ow!"
Pacifica sprang back, tripping over one of Dipper's feet and landing sprawled on the floor, the layers of her dress fluffing everywhere upon impact. Several people nearby laughed, and Dipper caught a comment about 'that's what she gets for dancing with a' and then a rude word for donkey, although he wasn't sure if it was worse if they meant it as donkey or as the other thing. Not even Grunkle Stan said that word in front of kids if he could help it, and these people were supposed to be 'high society'?
Pacifica untangled herself from layers of peach silk, her cheeks flushed red. The comments about Dipper's lineage slid off his back like water off a duck. There were more important things to worry about right now.
He knelt, trying as best he could to straighten out Pacifica's skirts. Why the heck would a dress ever need this many layers? "I'm really sorry, Pacifica, I didn't see where I was stepping."
"Yeah, I noticed." The viper had bite, but Dipper knew her well enough by now that it wasn't directed at him. He offered a hand, helping her stand and waiting awkwardly as she brushed invisible dust from her dress. Then she turned, glaring openly at anyone who was still watching the townsboy make a fool of the Northwest heir.
Dipper's stomach soured. Within the walls of Northwest Manor two-point-oh, Pacifica hid behind as many walls as her dress had layers, rows and rows of defiance and diplomacy and cold calculation instead of peach silk. It was like hanging out with a whole different person than the girl he and Mabel had adventures with out in the woods and in the caves by the lake. There, Pacifica was just Pacifica, not a Russian Doll of her parent's instability.
Oh, of course.
He put on (what he hoped) was a winning smile, offering his hand to her again. "Come on."
She took it without question, and his heart swelled. At least one thing hadn't changed from Forest Pacifica. Hiking his backpack farther up his shoulders, he led her out of the main ballroom and down one of the servant's corridors. The clack clack of their fancy shoes echoed eerily throughout the empty halls. Maybe he should say something to break that weird silence.
Pacifica beat him to it. "Where are we going, Dipper, my parents will kill me if I leave early."
Ha, the irony in that. He grinned at her over his shoulder, not 'winning' this time, just his normal grin. Some of the tension in Pacifica's face melted when they made eye contact. "Well, since you're rebelling against your parents anyway, that would be a good way to do it, right?"
Pacifica's face lightened in a smile of her own, and Dipper's chest did that weird thing again. "What did you have in mind?"
Dipper reached the door at the end of the corridor, pushing it open into the warm summer night. He stepped back and gestured grandly. "After you, m'lady."
She snorted a laugh and shoved him. "Stop, I get enough of that from every boy my parents try to match me up with." The shove, Dipper didn't mind, but the comment? Not sure how he felt about that. Especially the end part. The dark spot in his stomach disappeared as she swept past him, leaving a trail of vanilla scent in her wake. "Still, it's nice to see some manners are rubbing off on you."
He smirked at her retreating back, letting the door swing shut behind him. The golden light drifting through the mansion's windows lit the courtyard enough to see by, but as Dipper and Pacifica travelled farther away from the house their world darkened. Whatever darkness unreached by the light of the full, summer moon danced with thousands of tiny fireflies like their own private constellations. The air was kept from being stuffy by the kind of gentle breezes that only came out at night, ruffling Dipper's hair.
They reached the perimeter wall unseen, giggling, and Dipper knelt to help Pacifica and her skirts over the top. She was surprisingly light. Or maybe he'd just gotten stronger, it was hard to say. He pulled himself up afterwards, scuffing his fancy shoes with granite dust, and dropped to the ground next to her on the other side. Together, they set out down the gravel road towards town.
Dipper breathed in deeply. Thank goodness, the air in the mansion had been practically stifling.
Pacifica sucked in her own breath, and Dipper looked at her. She held herself rigid, not like he was used to with Forest Pacifica. What did she still have to be so tense about, they were out of the manor~
The answer came in the puckering of goosebumps on her shoulders. Oh. It struck him that sure, maybe the night felt warm to him, but he was wearing three layers of long sleeves (at her insistence, but besides the point).
He pulled his backpack off, setting it on the ground. "Hang on." Maybe his vest would help a little, it was sleeveless too, but something was better than nothing. Under the leafblower, past the photocopies of Grunkle Ford's journal entry on gnomes... wait, what was that?
Dipper's fingers brushed thick fabric, almost like fur, and he pulled out a sweater. A beige one. With a llama on the front. How did that get in there? From the folds, an origami star fluttered to the ground. Dipper unfolded it, the moonlight just enough to read by, and recognized Mabel's looping handwriting immediately.
Of course. Of course. His backpack had passed through her hands before she'd shoved it into his arms this afternoon. She must have stuck the sweater in there. But she can't have known that he'd drag Pacifica out of the party, could she?
Dipper squinted at the wrinkled note. His eyes widened, and he could feel his cheeks heating up. Please, please don't let Pacifica see! Before she could get too suspicious about all his awkward silence, Dipper shoved the note deep deep into his pants pocket and passed the sweater over. "Here, put this on."
She unfolded it, holding it out in front of her distastefully for a second before she realized what exactly it was. Her face softened. "How did you know to bring this?"
No way was he going to mention Mabel's note. He scratched the back of his head. "Uhh... Pines intuition?" Not entirely false, just Mabel Pines' intuition.
Pacifica pulled the sweater on over her dress. The combination of the thick wool and delicate silk was almost laughable, but Dipper was too busy staring at the slight muss of her hair and the way the tension finally melted off all the way, leaving her truthfully Forest Pacifica. He like that a lot better. Thank you, Mabel.
They passed through the streets of Gravity Falls, mostly empty save for the sporadic streetlights keeping them company on their way back to the Mystery Shack. Their laughter and words rang out into the evening air, giving the world a comfortable ambiance, because who could be uncomfortable in their own home? Especially with such good company.
They pulled off into a side street, and Dipper perked up. "Hey, your parents still have you on that food ban, right?"
Pacifica scoffed. "A diet is hardly a food ban, but yeah. Why?"
"How do you feel about one more act of rebellion before we call it a night?"
Pacifica followed his gesture, and a wide smile overtook her face. That was about as close to a 'yes' as a person could get without outright saying it. Dipper grabbed her hand and together they climbed the stairs to Greasy's Diner.
They crossed through the threshold, darkness held at bay by the diner's golden glow. What made the chatter and the light of Greasy's so different from the Northwest manor? They both had essentially the same elements. Maybe it was the familiar faces in Greasy's, the welcoming (and sometimes... sly?) smiles of townsfolk Dipper considered family moreso than anyone he knew back in Piedmont.
He glanced back at Pacifica, and saw the smile had never wavered, and hoped she felt the same way.
They clambered into a booth, laughing as they tried to get all the layers of Pacifica's skirt into the tight space. Susan appeared a moment later, notebook in hand. "What can I get for you two fancy kids tonight?"
Oh yeah, he was still in his tuxedo, wasn't he. Why hadn't he thought to change at the manor? Suddenly his bowtie was too tight, and he tugged it open. That's better.
"A diet iced lemon tea, hold the lemon and ice," Pacifica said, and Dipper knew through the tone that it was a conditioned response. He bristled a little. Even when they weren't around, her parents were still messing things up.
Which is why he was around, he guessed. "An order of fries, please. And," he quickly checked his allowance money. Yeah, that would be enough. "And a large strawberry milkshake."
They entertained themselves by playing table football and talking about video games until Susan brought their orders. In front of Dipper, she set the most delectable, golden-brown fries he'd ever seen, and a frosted glass for the milkshake, piled high with whipped cream. In front of Pacifica, she set a glass of tap water.
Dipper gave it the side-eye. "You sure that's all you want?" It's not like she couldn't afford more.
Pacifica shrugged, but she made no move to pick up the glass. "It's the only thing this diner has that's on my list of acceptable diet foods."
Oh. Well, that was just wrong. He stuck a fry into his mouth, crispy and hot. Perfect. What must it be like to go without fries? "You're still sticking to their stupid rules?"
She shrugged again, and looked so miserable.
Dipper slid his milkshake over. She looked back and forth between him and the glass long enough for Dipper to get a little squirmy. "You remember what this is called, right?"
Finally, a tiny half-smile quirked her mouth up. "Sharing." It disappeared in lieu of a raised eyebrow. "But why?"
He picked up another fry, examining the crisp outside in order to avoid her probing gaze. "It's not exactly 'rebellion' if you're still following their rules, right? Come on, try it."
She frowned, but there was an amused twitch to her mouth. "I've had a milkshake before, you know."
"Not like Greasy's." He gestured towards the glass, and she relented. Dipper watched, transfixed, as her lips closed over the straw. They looked so soft...
He glanced away, tugging at his collar. Had it suddenly gotten really hot in here?
"Oh..."
The noise that passed through Pacifica's mouth was one of the gentlest he'd ever heard from her, so gentle in fact that Dipper turned back. Was anything wrong, or...
His face split into his own grin. If this had been one of Soos's cartoons, no doubt the air would be filled with sparkles and bubbles, going from the expression on Pacifica's face. Ha, victory! "I told you."
Her only response was another long drag of milkshake.
He eventually convinced her to share in his fries as well, and between the two of them the snack vanished quickly. Maybe too quickly. Dipper didn't really want this moment to end, just the two of them, good friends, having fun in a diner, wrapped in salt and strawberry and her vanilla scent, and if he maybe thought a lot about the fact that there was only one straw between the two of them and every time they took a milkshake sip their mouths touched indirectly, well, no one could prove that. Good friends. Having fun in a diner.
As thanks, Pacifica paid for the food (leaving a hearty tip for Susan after Dipper's explanation on why tipping is important), and the two of them left into the summer night.
Pacifica's glass of water sat, untouched, on the table. One final act of rebellion.
END