Revisiting
Scrolling through political popularity polls was not his ideal Saturday night past time. But Tarun found it necessary. And by that, he meant there was nothing else to do.
The return trip to his apartment from the fundraising dinner he'd just attended was a lengthy one. For once, he was happy it wasn't his responsibility to drive. It would be tedious and boring. Instead, he flicked through different channels and feeds on his iPad, catching up on the latest public opinions. If only the headlines weren't like watching someone beat a dead horse.
Yes, he was young. Only twenty-five. The minimum age one needed to be able to run for congress.
Yes, he had spent significant time abroad. That wasn't a fault. His father was an ambassador for crying out loud.
Yes, he didn't have as much experience as his competitor. Give him a break. The other guy was in his sixties, no duh.
There were only so many times these things could be brought up and still make a point. That point had been made about four months ago.
Tarun took a deep breath, drawing from meditation lessons he had with his grandfather every time he visited India. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Fill your stomach first, then your middle, then your chest and throat. Slow. Focus on nothing.
That did the trick. The repetitive criticisms rolled off his back. The chips in his armor were smoothed away. The riffraff of unnecessary emotions drained into a void.
He'd show them Tarun Bajaj.
Tomorrow was his chance. There was a big debate with his competitor. Big deal. That man could talk in circles until no one knew what the initial questions was. That man could wow everyone with political jargon that would make most people's eyes glaze over. That man could demean and embarrass Tarun as much as he wanted. But that didn't change the fact that Tarun had been leading the race for the last six weeks and that Tarun's movements serviced the needs of the time with greater accuracy.
Tarun was not manipulative. He was honest and tactful when appropriate. He'd spent years watching politicians from around the world schmooze until there was no personality left for them to be anything more than pieces on a chessboard. He'd learned from their mistakes and developed his own approach. Hopefully. Cross your fingers. It could work.
No.
It would work.
It had to. His competitor's moldy ass had been clinging to the congress seat for too long. The man was corrupt, with veins of poison running deep into the system. His focus for the past year had been reelection rather than policy. Tax dollars disappeared in droves. Anyone who came close to the reason was booted from public service, and in some extremes, silenced.
Tarun had made it this far because he was savvy. There was some luck in the mix too. He was careful and he would need to be even more so. While tomorrow was his chance to bring some of his competitor's corruption to light, it was also a risky move that would no doubt draw a target on his back.
Maybe he should increase his security measures.
Speaking of which.
The car had stopped at an intersection, but the red light seemed to be burning for an uncommonly long time. Tarun's head snapped to the side as the driver's door was suddenly opened. A figure, swathed in a dark hoodie, pointed a steampunk stylized gun at Tarun's driver.
"Would you please step out of the car, sir."
The statement was directed at the driver. But Tarun was surprised by the tone. Not malicious or grating like he'd expected. A steady tenor, betraying a hint of humor.
"No." The driver responded, his grip on the steering wheel going white with terror. Tarun was definitely giving the man a raise or a comfortable pension depending on his preference.
The light came as suddenly as the figure. No second warning. Just the click of the trigger and a burst of white, eating away at the scant night vision Tarun had accrued during the drive.
"What was I doing?" The driver muttered.
"You were getting out of the car to walk home under the streetlights." The figure explained, "It's a nice night and you're house is only a few blocks away."
"Oh. Okay."
The driver and the hooded figure switched places. Tarun watched, as the car began to slide away from the now green stoplight, as his previous driver serenely wandered home under the orange, sodium lights. Nerves twisted in his stomach as the car accelerated to a speed where it wouldn't be safe to abandon the vehicle, but he shoved them down into the void. A deep breath. He would figure this out. He'd been expecting something like this… just not so early.
Much to Tarun's surprise, the car continued on its planned path.
"May I ask a question?" Tarun queried.
"Shoot."
That voice was younger than he'd expected. Something about it familiar.
"Where are we going?"
"To your apartment." The man said, "In a roundabout way."
"Why?"
"You'll see."
"Can you please explain?"
The man glanced his watch, "Not enough time. We need to stay on schedule or they'll suspect something went awry."
"Did something go awry?"
"Sure did."
Tarun was certain he saw white teeth flash a wide smile in the depths of the hood. Still confused and still unsatisfied, Tarun sat back in his seat. But he wasn't stupid enough to go back to his iPad.
"Who is 'they'?" He asked as they started down a bridge. It was under construction, only one way available for use. Amidst the flashing, yellow lights that heralded delays was a temporary stoplight, set up near the middle. Tarun's stand-in driver slowed to a stop as it flicked to red. A now familiar scenario.
Tarun was about to repeat the question when the man shushed him, finally sounding serious. Though swathed by the hoodie, Tarun could tell that the man's shoulders were taught with tension. It filled the air too.
The area around the bridge was a little too quiet, even for eleven at night. Tail lights of cars flickered by down distant streets, but none of them came close. A niggling sixth sense informed Tarun that danger was closing in upon them. And why the hell hadn't it warned him about the hoddie weirdo?
"Don't duck down." The man said evenly, "They need to be able to see you in the car to take the bait. I promise you'll be safe."
Whatever he said after that made no sense to Tarun; "Tolle formation"? But in the rearview mirror, he could see the man's eyes glow solid white. His mind raced back to lessons in magician castes courtesy of a friend from Piedmont, Dipper Pines. The hooded man was likely a wizard based on his technique for drawing power.
Wait.
Hadn't Tarun thought the man seemed familiar?
"Dipper?"
Whoever he was, he continued to ignore Tarun as he chanted a continuous stream of spells. The dark hoodie shifted away like a burst of interference, replaced by a projection of Tarun's previous driver – not the hijacking one. The locks snapped shut and sizzled with power. The car rocked with a pulse that raced across every surface to coat it with a sheen like quicksilver.
Tarun's breath seemed trapped in his throat when silence finally reigned. But it was cut short by a heavy thump against the passenger side of the car. Tarun whipped around just in time to see a man, dressed in what looked like black riot gear, slump out of sight.
A bright figure stood ready as a squad of identically dressed men suddenly crowded onto the narrow bridge from an unknown hiding place. And that figure was unmistakably Mabel Pines. Her brunette hair, bound by a thick braid, whipped about behind her she advanced on the goons. Black guns, the same shade as the riot gear and fitted with silencers, flashed as a rain of fire peppered Tarun's one-time classmate. He felt his fingers dig into the upholstery of the car. But he couldn't look away.
It turned out, there was no need to worry. Mabel's neon pink sweater, fitted with what looked like lemon-lime colored roller skating pads on her elbows and knees, suddenly flared with ribbons of light. The flash momentarily blinded her assailants. And once it had cleared, a perfectly disc shaped shield adorned one arm with a matching bo staff was loosely clutched in the other. The weapons were translucent, day-glow orange, and effusing a steady wash of illumination. Tarun knew immediately that they were magic.
"What?" Tarun muttered in confusion, "Mabel Pines doesn't have magic."
The face of his ex-driver smirked, a look of such self-satisfaction that it appeared out of place on that face. It belonged on the face of Dipper Pines.
"Just watch." The man advised, "You don't want to miss this."
Mabel shot forward in a flash, diving into a summersault that curled over her staff. The two protruding ends connected with the two of the goons' shins, producing a chorus of cracks so loud they were audible in the cab of the car. Tarun winced as the men went down. Mercifully, and gracefully, Mabel twirled her staff as she rolled to her feet, connecting the ends with exposed parts of the mens' heads and knocking them unconscious.
In the meantime, the seven remaining goons had fanned out, putting Mabel in the center of a half circle as they opened fire. Their guns coughed through silencers. But Mabel didn't flinch. She hunched behind her shield, holding fast as the bullets produced ripples on the surface.
"That's impossible," Tarun muttered, "Firearms, at that range, should be knocking her flat no matter how strong she is."
"Perfectly elastic collisions." Tarun's driver – he was pretty sure it was Dipper Pines – explained, "Conservation of momentum implies that there is no dissipative force. All the kinetic energy remains in the bullets before and after they hit the shield."
"Impressive."
"That's what I thought!" Mabel yelled with her usual volume and intensity, as if answering both Tarun's comment and the goons' realization. Two more had been taken down by the ricochet of their own barrage, "Y'all've been denied! No let's do this mano a mano!"
Mabel threw down her magical weapons, where they shimmered out of existence upon contact with the cement. She replaced them with brass knuckles, the very real and very tangible metal gleaming in the flashing caution lights and consistently red stoplight. A smile took over her face. And for the first time Tarun noticed a star-shaped sticker next to her right eye and a giant bow on her headband and a sweater that read "Grunkle's Gym" over an image of a grumpy cat wearing a fez.
Tarun's driver smacked his head on the steering wheel, causing the overlaid image to skip again. "Why does she always do this?" He whined, "It gives me anxiety, watching her run into the fray without protection."
"She is wearing knee-guards." Tarun pointed out.
Another groan was drowned out by a delighted war-cry. Mabel danced around the first goon that tried to tackle her, kicking him in the small of his back so that he stumbled forward and fell flat on his face. In her retreat from the other four, she brushed a hand over his neck, an action that halted the downed man's struggle to rise.
And then the others were upon her. Mabel was a bright blur, ducking beneath punches and catching kicks before they could connect. That manic smile never left her face. Her reinforced fist connected with another man's jaw and he toppled, blood spraying from his nose and mouth. Only three left.
"C'mon, Mabel." the driver impatiently tapped the wheel.
Mabel ducked another man's grapple, driving her elbow into his solar plexus with such force he flew back onto the hood of the car. Tarun jumped, but the driver was unfazed.
"Geez." He fruitlessly activated the windshield wipers and they slapped against the wheezing goon's side.
Tarun returned his gaze to the fight, where Mabel looked to be in trouble. A goon had caught her in a headlock. But it only lasted a few seconds. A smooth sway of her hips and Mabel's opponent was tossed over her head, spread-eagle on the ground, probably wondering how he got that way.
Unfortunately, the maneuver had taken a moment too long.
The last man came running in and delivered a flying kick to Mabel's side. She stumbled away, fighting to reorient herself, but her challenger capitalized on the opening. A punch landed on her cheek, jerking her neck painfully to the side.
Tarun's driver looked ready to step in, bristling with energy that sparked over his projection and dissipated into the electronics of the car stereo. It was probably broken now.
His concern turned out to be unnecessary. Mabel recovered with impressive speed, pulling her hands up in an expert boxing defense. The following blows glanced off her forearms, but did no further damage. Eventually, one of the goon's swings overreached, and Mabel struck under his shoulder with lightning speed. His arm fell slack, nerves sent into shock. Mabel took that opportunity to grab his dead wrist with one hand, the other behind his neck, and spun him in a circle, building momentum to hurl him over the side of the bridge.
The resulting splash signaled the end of the battle. Mabel stood proud and victorious in the headlights of the car.
"Ha! Losers." She announced, "I am a god of destruction! Pines! Pines! Pines!" she pumped her fist, brass knuckle flashing.
The driver finally stepped out of the car. His projection shorted out to reveal none other than Mabel's twin, as Tarun had suspected. Dipper threw back his hood, mussing his hair in the process, before covering it with his pine tree hat instead. In his hand was that steampunk gun again. He toggled the switch on the back before aiming it over the bridge, probably at the man scrambling out of the water.
Dipper aimed another blast at the group of goons Mabel had piled up for him. When Tarun climbed out of the car, Dipper tossed him a disposable cell phone.
"Know how to make an anonymous call?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"I see you for the first time in ten years, and that's all you can say?" Tarun responded with chagrin, "Some reunion."
"Yay! Reunions!" Mabel crowed, "I love reunions. Dipper, remember that one time the other Stan came back and we…"
Dipper put a hand over her mouth, but removed it quickly. It came away dripping slobber. "Gross! Mabel!"
Mabel's smirk was unrepentant. Tarun couldn't help but agree, he deserved that.
"What's that?" Tarun gestured to the gun.
"A memory eraser. I've set it to eliminate all memories of their employer. They won't recall anything about the criminal activities they've done at his bidding, including tonight's."
"Couldn't you cast a spell for that?"
"Why would he bother with a spell when he's got a cool gimmick?" Mabel answered in a tone that made it apparent she was mocking her brother's memory erasing technique.
Dipper flipped her braid, but Mabel easily tossed it back over her shoulder.
"That doesn't work when it's tied back, Goober." She said smugly, readjusting her elbow pads.
Dipper crossed his arms, pouting.
"As much as I love reunions." Tarun interjected, "What are you two doing here? What is going on? And why am I making a call?"
Mabel herded Tarun into the car, "Number one: we're saving you. Number two: we're saving you. And number three: we're saving those idiots who can't fight."
The twins took the front seats.
"It's a little more complicated than that." Dipper added as he shifted the car into drive and crossed the bridge, "But we really don't have time to explain. I wasn't kidding when I said we needed to stay on schedule. The next rendezvous is in," He glanced at his watch again, "ten minutes."
"Can't you talk while you drive?" Tarun rolled his eyes.
"Says the guy who has a personal driver." Dipper muttered.
"Awww, Dip's just embarrassed. He's totaled three cars since turning sixteen."
"Mabel!"
"Don't tell me that." Tarun reached for his seatbelt, "I don't want to die this young."
Mabel laughed.
"Don't worry. Dipper can probably heal us if anything happens!"
"Speaking of which." The wizard in question worried, "Are you okay? You got roughed up a little by that last guy."
Mabel gingerly touched her face. "It smarts, but it's not serious. If you have any juice left over after tonight, you can heal it for me."
"Okay."
"Can someone please tell me what is going on?" Tarun repeated.
The twins were silent for a minute. Even when they were in high school, Tarun wondered if they had some kind of telepathy, twin or magic or otherwise. Mabel's mouth was an uncharacteristic thin line. But Dipper shrugged and they came to some kind of agreement.
"I'm sure you've realized that your political opponent is underhanded as hell." Dipper began, his eyes fixed on the road, "He hired a magic user named Gideon Gleeful to sabotage you."
Tarun's brow furrowed, "How does that work? It'd be obvious if I didn't show up for the debate tomorrow."
"Yeah." Dipper turned down a dark street. Buildings hovered close by and the car had to be maneuvered around trash piles, "Gideon is smarter than that. He's a mage that specializes in psychic magic. He could easily place pre-ordained responses in your mind and make you forget all about being abducted. It was a perfect plan, really."
"Where do you two come into the picture?"
Mabel took the lead, "Gideon is an old rival of ours. He has some of our great uncle's writings in his possession that we want back. Like Dipper, he casts in Latin and doesn't belong to a traditional craft. And, to top it off, he is obsessed with me. Now that's gross! Whenever he gains too much power or influence, Dipper and I take it upon ourselves to sabotage his efforts.
"Unfortunately," Dipper added, "There's no way to officially prosecute him under the law because they don't acknowledge the supernatural. He can't be accused of magical crimes as most are untraceable. No one in the magical community wants to deal with him. So that leaves it up to us."
"Oh." Things made a lot more sense now.
The car rolled along silently, dank, pier air beginning to cycle through the cab.
"What is your specialty?"
"What?" Dipper muttered distractedly.
"You said Gideon specializes in psychic magic." Tarun clarified, "So what is your specialty?"
"Wards."
"Wards?" Tarun echoed, "Why?"
"Long story."
Mabel tossed him a look over her shoulder and discreetly shook her head. But it didn't matter. There was no more time for conversation. They'd arrived at the rendezvous Gideon had established for his goons: a giant warehouse.
"Why is it always warehouses?" Dipper mumbled under his breath, shifting the car into park.
Mabel shrugged, making the universal 'I don't know' sound.
"What do I do?" Tarun queried, "Gideon is expecting me, after all."
"Uh," Mabel turned around in her seat, held up her hand, and started ticking off her fingers, "One: If Dips and Gid are throwing spells, get out of the way. Two: If I say I'm going to catch you, I will. Three: always get out when you can. Four: Don't tell Pacifica Northwest if anything serious happens to us, she'll try to kill you. Five…"
Dipper pushed Mabel's hand down.
"That's enough. Mabel, seriously." Tarun thought Dipper's ears looked suspiciously pink, but Dipper quickly continued, "I'm sorry, Tarun. But we have to send you in. You're right. Gideon is expecting you. But you need to talk. Slow him down. Distract him long enough for Mabel and me to get the jump on him."
"That's the plan?" Tarun said with incredulity.
"It's simple." Dipper argued.
"We can't actually tell you the whole thing," Mabel admitted, "because, mind powers." She wiggled her fingers to make her point.
Right. If the twins had any backup plans, they wouldn't be telling the bait.
Tarun took a deep breath.
The moment the door creaked open to the warehouse, the lights buzzed to life. Harsh fluorescence illuminated a man, perched in a high backed chair, simply waiting. Creepy.
But if that was Gideon, he certainly didn't look impressive. Outrageously short. Strangely soft looking skin. Pastel colored suit with a bolo tie. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent and he must have started greying prematurely because he had a whole head of white hair.
"Welcome, friend."
It took him a second to process the greeting. A combination of shock and Gideon's thick accent.
"Where are the others?"
Tarun had to remind himself that he'd been kidnapped and dragged here, not driven by a pair of old friends, "Outside. The guns and riot gear made a pretty convincing argument for me to meet you."
"Yes, yes, they can be unpleasant." Gideon's tone never lost its sweetness, "Come closer. Come. Yes, there. Tell me, do you know who I am?"
"No."
"I am Gideon Gleeful."
"Is that supposed to mean something?"
Gideon's smile stayed plastered on his face, but he drew heavy breaths through his nose.
"Yes and no." Gideon said, "I've been famous. I've been infamous. But more than anything. Tonight, I will be your best friend."
"How so." Tarun kept his tone measured and careful.
"Well, you know how you tell your best anything and everything? That's what I will be for you. But you won't have to tell me. See, I know how people can be shy, so I'll just get it straight from your mind. Sound good?"
Tarun couldn't help the shiver at the man's smile.
No, that did not 'sound good'. Why would the twins abandon him to this monster? His breaths were coming faster, no longer controlled. Tarun couldn't remember ever being this afraid in his life. Among all his peers, he'd always been the calm one – perfect poise and control. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Yes, perfect." Gideon purred, "Let's start with that. Eyes closed. I know how people find that easier."
In his mind, suddenly, all Tarun could see was white. An expanse of colorless, dimensionless white. A cold, but sodden hand rested on his crown, and Tarun almost crumpled on the spot. At twenty-five years old, that was not something he was proud of.
It felt like a worm was prodding at his mind and he wanted to disappear completely.
Disappear into nothing.
'Nothing' is easy! His grandfather laughed, only infuriating a pouting Little Tarun even more. He was only six in this memory, when his grandfather first decided to teach him the art of meditation.
Not for me! An eloquent argument at the time.
I'll let you in on a secret, little one, his grandfather's eyes glittered with mirth, White is not nothing, but it is close.
Little Tarun screwed up his face, White? Like your beard?
Yes. His grandfather handed the length of his waist-long beard to his grandson. It was an honor to hold it. His grandfather was very particular about his facial hair. Whenever you want to think of nothing, you can think of my beard. I will be proud to have it remembered as long as you live.
Little Tarun's awe was interrupted when his grandfather mussed his hair. But he never struggled with meditation after that.
Tarun employed that technique in the present, focusing on nothing, and Gideon's brain worm vaporized in the void.
"What!"
Tarun opened his eyes and took a few steps away from the chair.
"How did you do that?" Gideon sputtered.
"What do I get in return for telling you?"
"Nothing!"
A shelf off to the right toppled. A few boxes burst open, contents of plushies made in Gideon's likeness spilled across the floor. Another box, still taped tightly shut, rolled right next to the man.
"Oh, sweet tea." Gideon cursed, "What in heaven…" he trailed off as he saw the source of the commotion.
Dipper Pines waved, "Hey, Gideon. How's my favorite gnome bride?"
"That never happened!" Gideon screeched, stalking over to his rival through a sea of plushies.
Visible only to Tarun, Mabel silently crawled out of the 'taped' box, creeping up behind Gideon as the man angrily poked Dipper in the chest.
The rant about gnomes was cut short. Gideon started to giggle.
"But if you're here, Dipper Pines. That means you're sister is probably close by. I certainly hope so. For your sake."
"What do you mean, Gideon?" Dipper rolled his eyes. But Tarun could tell that he was trying to keep Gideon talking. Mabel took a step closer, a sigil inscribed slip held in her hand, ready to slap it on the psychic as soon as she was within reach.
"I mean, Dipper Pines, that you underestimated me." The small man's eyes gleamed, "I knew you cooked up a power-reducing spell with some complicated code that will probably take me weeks to undo. I knew you'd be here tonight. And I knew that if I summoned Bill Cipher here, you and your lovely sister would be too preoccupied to stop me from fulfilling my contract and disappearing."
Gideon cut a finger and let ruby blood drip to the floor, "Whoops! I activated the circle." Magic began to gather in the air, tons of it, so palpable it energized every molecule in the warehouse.
Tarun had never seen Dipper look so terrified. Usually, when it came to the supernatural, Dipper was the keystone of confidence and knowledge. Not this time.
Mabel surged forward, but Gideon skipped out of her reach, giggling madly.
"Ah, Mabel, My Marshmallow. You made it. I'm so thrilled!"
"Gideon." Mabel seethed. Tarun took a few steps away from her. While he didn't believe in auras, he could tell that the usually cheery woman was feeling absolutely murderous.
"You have approximately one minute to decide." Gideon announced.
"Save the politician." He gestured to Tarun.
"Save your brother." He motioned to Dipper, still frozen.
"Or stop me." He put a hand to his chest. With a smile and gentlemanly bow, he added, "Then again, you could always join me. Who will you choose, Mabel Pines?"
Mabel dropped her head.
"Dipper." She said quietly.
Gideon frowned, "Of course you'd choose him…"
"DIPPER PINES, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND DO WHAT YOU DO BEST!" Mabel screamed over whatever Gideon was trying to say. She sprinted past her brother and tackled the tiny psychic, slapping the seal right down on his piggy nose. Gideon howled in outrage, struggling but ultimately unable to break out of Mabel's strong hold.
Dipper snapped to attention, but Tarun feared it might be too late. Magic sparked along steel shelves and magnetized the chain links dangling from the ceiling so they swayed ominously. Whatever Gideon had triggered, it was happening fast. Tarun didn't know who this Bill Cipher was, but he didn't want to meet anyone the twins were scared of. Gideon was bad enough.
The circle he hadn't noticed upon his entrance was glowing furiously on the floor, casting shadows of shifting blue light on the roof. Dipper was holding his hands to his head and wracking his brain for some kind of spell. As the seconds ticked by, a shape began to take form on Dipper's forehead. Tarun felt a sensation of ice spilling over his scalp or spiders scuttling down his spine when the shape resolved into an eye. Gold, wide, and unblinking, it branded Dipper's forehead.
A demonic mark. Somehow, he knew without needing to be told. How did his friend get such a thing?
Plushies began to blow about the warehouse as an invisible wind buffeted them. The pull of the circle was growing stronger, bleaching color from the world and sucking it into another dimension. Sounds howled together until it simply started to sound like maniac laughter.
"DEDI TE IN PRINCIPIO FECIT DEUS CAELUM!" Dipper screamed into the vortex. Tarun noticed that his ever present, leather bracelets were smoking. The golden triangles white hot.
At his words, the world shivered and came to a standstill. Plushies looked like they had been paused in midair. Mabel's braid was suspended from momentum when she had spun to find her brother. And Tarun felt like his limbs were layered in thick sap, too sluggish to move. Was this an effect of the spell? Or was the Cipher creature summoned after all?
Reality dropped out from under the four of them. Gideon, Mabel, Dipper, and Tarun were dumped into a space of black nothingness.
"That was a close one, Pine Tree."
Tarun felt like he was surrounded by the same sensation he'd had when he'd seen Dipper's mark. Being watched endlessly and forever. But the only other thing in the void was the strident voice of Bill Cipher.
"You threw up a serviceable barrier in the nick of time. How annoying."
Mabel was now holding Dipper's hand.
"Gideon is not in the position to make a deal with you, Bill." She commanded, "Leave."
"I gave Gideon the information he needed to counter Pine Tree on the condition that I could see my favorite meat sack."
Dipper's expression was horrified and pallid. Mabel squeezed her brother's hand tighter, still speaking to Bill, "You've seen him. Leave."
"What good," the demon raged, "is a sweet deal if I can't make use of it!?"
"You've made use of Gideon's deal," Mabel snapped right back, "And you are in no position to make use of Dipper's deal. For the last time, LEAVE!"
"Pine Tree," the voice sing-songed around them, echoing through the void, "You're my meat sack. Don't you forget it."
"NO!" Mabel stamped her foot and the void vanished, replaced by unforgiving concrete. Softly, more to herself, she finished, "He's my brother and I will never let you have him."
Tarun had never been happier to see the warehouse.
"We made it!" he celebrated, feeling kind of stupid for stating the obvious.
It didn't matter. The twins smiled, a little tired and roughed up around the edges, but still a smiling. The bruise on Mabel's cheek was starting to come into sharp relief against her skin. Burns on Dipper's wrists were beginning to ooze clear liquid. Blood was still actively dripping out of Gideon's nose as he moaned on the ground.
"What now?"
"Now," Mabel answered, placing and object in Tarun's hand, "We draw on Gideon's face."
Tarun held up the black sharpie she'd given him. When he glanced at the twins, they both held up their own marker, wearing matching, mischievous grins.
Only slightly after that, Tarun was home, just as Dipper had said. In a roundabout way? More like in a life threatening way! He remembered, what he thought of as the crazy, the days he'd spent with the twins during high school. But those must have been low-key adventures for them. Geez. They weren't sane.
Speaking of which.
Tarun held up the business card Dipper had handed him before they left. It was a simple design – gold lettering on white cardstock:
Dipper Pines, Wizard
Warding Specialist
(555) 244-7859
"I can't vote for you because we don't live in your district. But I'm rooting for you, man." Dipper had gingerly clapped Tarun on the shoulder, trying not to jostle his injuries. He'd dumped everything into that one spell, desperate to keep the demon away. Not enough 'juice', as Mabel had called it, to heal the burns, "If you ever need anything magic related, give me a call."
Tarun thought he might just do that. Those wards Dipper had designed for Mabel looked like they'd stand up to anything save her own exceptional willfulness.
Completely wiped, Tarun went to set the business card on his nightstand. But when it caught the light of his bedside lamp, the face flickered to something completely different:
Mabel Pines, Warrior
Badass Specialist
(555) 347-3675
In other words. Mystery Twins.
Wow. That was a fun ride. Much thanks to EZB for your wonderful reviews. Your thoughts on my incorporation of power-play was revealing, and I hope I did a better job of avoiding it in this chapter. On that note, Mabel is ultimately the hero. I believe this is what the show tries to convey as well. In my AU (I guess I'm calling it that now) Mabel and Dipper must constantly be on their toes for Bill's schemes to bypass the wards that guard Dipper (I love protective!oldersis!Mabel). It came across kinda BillDip, but I assure you, it's not. I headcanon that Bill is obsessed with the idea of having a body to interact with the physical world. It would allow him to wreak ten times the havoc whenever he pleases. Right now, Dipper is his best shot. Hence the creepy, possessive vibe.
I don't remember how popular Tarun's character was, but he was one of the first characters I thought of when I initially conceived this story. I mentioned in his chapter that he had a political agenda, and here it is. It is purposefully ambiguous and not the center of this story anyway. I like doing these character continuations, they're fun!
Also, Gideon is trash. Just putting that out there.
I am also pleased to announce that I am making awesome progress on my other Gravity Falls writing project. Like I said before, it is not related to this story. It will be titled Triangulation. I hope to begin posting it within the next month (mid August at the latest) so be on the lookout if that interests you. Writing will be my way of taking breaks from doing essays almost constantly for admissions committees :|
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this random update.