'Fuck, it's loud in here.' he thinks, looking around the crowded bus. His sister bounces in her seat, and he envies her enthusiasm for their immediate future. He himself is less than pleased, being forced to spend the summer with a great uncle, (Mabel calls him 'Grunkle', and Mason refuses to bow to the silliness of it all) whom they've never even heard of before, in a small town not found on any maps, expected to be alright on the bus there (and back!) by themselves at thirteen!
Sure, Mason knows his way around a switchblade or two, but his parents don't know that! He would scream at the stupidity if he wasn't in a crowded bus filled with strangers, headed to a hick town for God-knows what.
Mason scoffs. Might as well just wait it out, he supposes. He fishes his phone and earbuds out of his pocket and sets up a mix of rock and metal to listen to, settling for what promises to be a long and incredibly boring trip.
It's halfway to the hick town when Mason realizes: he left his concealer kit at home. He might not have to hide any new bruises, but he still had that one on the back of his neck from Grantley's friendly chat the other day on what he should and should not be telling the faculty. -should've never trusted that police officer not to namedrop. Stupid.- He sighs, hoping that he can just steal some of Mabel's after her first 'summer romance' -aka creep who wants to show her off- date. That shouldn't take long, he can admit his sister is beautiful, not to mention her sweetness and absolutely gullible nature.
He gives her a day, tops, before he's threatening some rapey guy with a switchblade.
Speaking of switchblades... He glances around the bus, noticing that a lot of the previous passengers have left, gotten off at one stop or another as they got closer to Oregon. He huffs, trying to blow a bit of hair away from his face.
He could pull out his butterfly, couldn't he? Nobody's gonna-
He stops that train of thought right where it was. Butterfly knife tricks are way too flashy for inside a still really crowded bus.
After a moment of thought, he settles on going through his army knives and checking for defects, to make sure they were working perfect.
That in mind, he pulls his ever present messenger bag into his lap, and turns to face the isle. His sister's fast asleep on the seat across from him, a full pillow and blanket out. He huffs in amusement, before setting back on his task.
He first pulls his first aid kit out of the bag, sandwiching it between himself and the outer wall of the bus. Next, he pulls out a coil of rope, settling it on the floor and setting his foot inside the loops; then he pulls out a flashlight, a backup flashlight, and his battery pouch, putting those in the triangular space where his legs met on the seat; afterwards grabbing a can of pepper spray, as well as a can of high grade bear spray, and putting those by the flashlight.
He also pulls out two sweatshirts, both maroon with no logos or iron-ons; a pair of jeans, a pair of socks, and his wallet. The clothing he piles in front of him on the seat, the wallet he puts with the flashlights and pepper spray.
That all done, he begins to pull out his most important possessions: his blades. As he goes through the various pouches, out came three plain switchblades, one in white, one in purple, and one in black; two butterfly knives, steel and black respectively; seven swiss army knives, three in black, two in gold, and two in red; and one good old hunting knife, carefully sheathed.
He keeps them inside the bag so as not to freak out the other passengers on the bus (or his sister, a nagging voice at the back of his head reminds him. He kindly gives it a mental two bird salute). Pulling out a light blue cloth from the final pouch, he sets his bag down atop the clothes, on it's side with the opening facing him.
The first knife he pulls out is his hunting knife. He carefully unsheaths it with his left hand, holding it the way he usually does when fighting for a moment (blade facing his elbow, sharper side facing out, sawtooth side in) before flipping it with practiced ease. He quickly polishes the steel, before slotting it back into its sheath.
He goes to put it back, but hesitates for a second. Mabel and him aren't in danger on the bus, but for some reason Mason feels on edge, as if something bad's going to happen. Shrugging he goes with his gut, strapping the knife holster to his belt at the base of his spine. He readjusts his oversized flannel overshirt to hide the knife like he has so many times before, and continues to clean his blades.
He goes through every blade, makes sure everything comes out quickly and doesn't make any odd sounds, then polishes them and clears off any dirt- or blood- he finds.
Over the course of his meticulous cleaning, he adds four more knives to his pockets, including his two butterfly knives, one switchblade, and one of his red swiss army knives. His other knives are tucked into their respective pouches.
One by one, he loads up the rest of his items back into his bag; his clothes are refolded and put back into the bottom, his flashlights are returned to their pocket, his extra battery bag is tucked into the pouch next to that. His two pepper sprays are put into the front and back zip-up pockets on either side of his messenger bag, and his rope gets recoiled tighter and set into the zip-up pouch closest to his body. Putting his wallet into his left pocket, he finally grabs the first aid kit and sets it on top of his clothes.
He zips up his messenger bag and sighs. He remembered his full inventory, even the bear spray he'd been forced to leave at home while at school -it's the only weapon his parents know about besides the pepperspray and that one Swiss Army knife his dad had gotten him.
Stretching, he looked around the bus again to find that most of the passengers had departed, and there were now only four people on the bus all together, not counting himself or Mabel.
'I wonder how long it's actually been since we left?' he mused, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. 'Wow, it's three in the afternoon! We've been on this bus for what, ten hours?'
No wonder his sister was sleeping, she usually completely crashed by now.
He opens up his phone and begins to play some mindless game that involved using orange balls to break bricks to get points, settling in for the next several hours.
Mason's jolted awake by a particularly massive bump, his hand instinctively going to his left outer hoodie pocket, where his black butterfly knife waited. He looked around wildly, searching for the threat, only calming once he focused on his sister, calmly snoring away in the seat across from him.
Taking a deep breath, he checked out the window, though it was too dark to see much of anything. The last dregs of sunset were painted over the horizon.
'Night...' he realized, pulling his phone out of his jean pocket, wincing at the light as he turned it on. '8:37, huh? I've been asleep for almost four hours...' He sighed, replacing his phone in his pocket. He checked around the bus, noting the lack of passengers, only one, all the way in the front by the driver; it seemed he was talking to her, maybe to keep her awake? Either way, it didn't matter, his sister would be waking up in an hour or so, so he can finally practice.
He pulls out his black butterfly, flicking it open and flipping it, catching it in his other hand a closing it again.
He continued like that for awhile, practicing the feel of it and how it was balanced, working up to harder and harder tricks.
"Hm, ah, Dipper?" his sister said, yawning as she finally woke up. He quickly stashed his knife in his pocket, turning over to his sister. "What, ah, what time is it?"
"It's..." he checked the time, "Nine forty-seven. You've been asleep for, like, seven hours."
"Oh, really?" she asked sleepily, sitting up. Mason caught her blanket before it fell to the bus floor, piling it next to her. "Hmm, thanks, Dipdot."
He shrugged. "No problem."
"How long until we're there?" She worms out of her current sweater, pulling her bag over to her and stuffing it inside, grabbing out a pink one with a shooting star on the front and pulling that one on instead. She pulled her legs up criss-cross-applesauce style, and fixed her hairband while she waited for her brother to reply.
"About an hour." he replied, sitting cross-legged to match his sister.
"K." She pulled out her phone, and the faint sounds of a shooter-style game drifted from the speaker. Mason shrugged, putting his own headphones back in and listening to a piano mix.