The Big Con
Chapter 8: When I Say "Kara"
Wendy came up with the idea. Around ten in the morning they arrived at the biggest building Dipper had ever seen—and because of its strange solidity, it loomed even larger.
That was an unnerving thing about this world: things seemed heavier, denser somehow. And more detailed. You could see individual leaves on trees from a great distance. Even little things—flies weren't just small black bodies with sketchy wings, but intricate organisms, the membranes of the wings prismatic, the segmented abdomen furred with the finest hairs imaginable.
On the other hand, Dipper had a feeling that if Quentin Trembley had ridden his horse backward over a cliff in this world, he would have found a sudden splashy death instead of founding Gravity Falls Valley.
From the minute they walked toward the building, they attracted attention. Three times in less than twenty feet people stopped them and begged them to have their pictures taken with them.
Fourth time, Wendy said, "Sure, dude. Two bucks for each person posing."
Before they even got to the building they'd made fifty-two dollars. "Grunkle Stan would be proud of you," Dipper told Wendy.
Brad Begman went inside and was gone for half an hour, or forty-four more dollars. "We don't need to enter the contest," Mabel said. "We're like the darlings of the paparazzi. Or is that a kind of pizza?"
Brad showed up with a serious-looking guy named Graham, his dark hair cut short, his eyes blue behind horn-rimmed glasses. "Oh, man!" he said when he caught sight of them. "Yeah, we can take care of this. Tell you what, I'll get you three temp passes for today, and when things get less crazy we'll track down their registrations."
"Good job, dude," Brad said. "High five!"
Graham laughed but made no move until Brad said in a fairly good imitation of Soos's voice, "C'mon, dude, don't leave me hangin'!"
They slapped palms and after getting name badges on lanyards—they all read "TEMP" with their made-up names scrawled underneath with permanent markers, except Dipper wouldn't stand for "Diggory" and instead got the inscription "Dipper" Palm.
Brad had the full package, name tag with his right name on it, a canvas bag full of convention swag, the whole bit. "Okay," he said. "I got the con app on my phone, so we can take a look at the schedule. Uh, guys, as long as we're inside, no charging for the pictures, OK? It's kind of a rule."
"You got it, man," Wendy said. "Hey, can we pay you back for breakfast?"
Brad actually blushed. "Naw, that was on me. Look, I work in IT and moonlight as a sound engineer and sometimes a keyboardist. I save my money all year and schedule my two weeks' vacation just for this trip. Happiest times of my life are when I'm roaming around here in costume as Soos. You guys are just makin' it happier. Anyways, it was just fast-food."
"We're gonna chip in some for gas, anyhow," Wendy said. "It's incredibly expensive here!" She counted out fifty dollars, all but twenty in singles. "Here ya go, Brad. For bein' our knight in a white Charger . . . van."
"That's awful nice of you," Brad said.
"Hey, when you get costumed up, you gotta pose in all the pictures with us," Dipper told him.
Brad looked away. "All the times I've come here," he said softly, "I've met people I liked. But I never really made a friend here before today."
"You have now," Mabel said, giving him a playful sock on the arm.
Before they had been in the convention hall for more than an hour, Dipper pulled Wendy and Mabel aside. "Guys," he said, "have you figured it out yet? You know what we are?"
"Messed up," Wendy said. "I'm almost used to the weird people strollin' around here—then I remember I am one!"
They were in a niche, and though a crowd shuffled past toward some big panel or other, no one was looking at them. Lowering his voice, he said, "In this world we're cartoon characters! There's a table of books down the hall here about half a mile, and one of the books is all about the art of Gravity Falls. We're all on the cover, sittin' in the bonfire clearing, posing with Grunkle Stan—and though it's a drawing, it looks like us. The real us!"
"Whoa," Mabel said. "Heavy!"
Wendy's brow wrinkled in thought. "Yeah, and the things Brad says about seasons and episodes—he's talkin' about stuff that really happened to us, man! But how does a TV cartoon show know that? Are our lives really patterned on somethin' that's on TV for kids in this world?"
Mabel said pensively, "That is either profound philosophy or completely nuts."
"Grunkle Ford would know," Dipper said. "He'd say, I dunno, something like there are many universes and billions of worlds in each, and the ones that are closest sort of reflect the nearest ones—I don't know. But we're real—and this is real, too. And I have the feeling that the ghost brought us here for a reason."
"What is it?" Mabel asked.
"I just don't know."
"Aw, man," Mabel said. "You always run out of steam at the worst times!"
In early afternoon they went with Brad when he checked into the hotel room. It had two queen-sized beds—he said, "Smallest one I could get because I reserved too late. Just four months before last year's con."
"So, okay, me and Mabel will take one of the beds, and you an'—"
"You'll take the other," Dipper told Brad. "I'll sleep on the little sofa there—"
"Love seat," said Mabel.
"–whatever, because I toss and turn a lot."
"Dudes," Brad said, "I am gonna unpack a little, and then I'm gonna take a shower. Could you guys use one?"
"Diggory could," Mabel said.
"Okay, we'll take turns. We can, like, get dressed in there, so take your clothes—oh, sorry, I forgot, you just have the costumes. Hey, should we like notify the cops or something?"
"I did already," Wendy said with a straight face. "Called them on Dip—Dig's phone and one showed up at the con while you were in that panel. Gave them the full report. They're lookin' for my car, but I don't know if they really expect to find it."
"What is it?"
"A really old Dodge Dart slant six," she said automatically. Then she looked apprehensive. "Don't know if you ever even heard of those things."
"Oh, yeah," Brad said with a grin. "That's the car you can't kill, you know. Okay, tell you what, I'll get into my Soos costume after the shower and you guys can critique it for me."
He came out of the bathroom in the khaki parachute shorts, billowy dark-green question-mark T-shirt (extra-long) and brown cap.
"I can see the resemblance," Dipper said. "Be Bigfoot."
They all laughed when he immediately struck an almost walk-like-an-Egyptian pose, head swiveled and eyes popping in a vacant expression. "You got it!" Mabel chortled. Okay, we're gonna turn you into the ideal Soos."
After they had all showered, they huddled in a council about the masquerade. "Each contestant has two minutes to show off," Brad explained. "They're real strict about shutting you down if you go one second over. Most people just come out and do poses, but some have little acts."
Mabel, who was working with mascara to add wispy mustache and beard hairs to Brad's face, said, "Little acts, hm? And you can play a keyboard?"
"Yeah, in a little pick-up band in Cordele. Me and three other guys. We do mostly covers, but write some of our own stuff, too. Nothin' big."
"Could you maybe synthesize a tune if I hummed it?"
"Oh, sure, easy. I learned to play by ear before I could even read music, and I got my laptop and a program that—"
"Let me work my magic," Mabel said. "And then you and I are gonna put our heads together. I think I have just the thing."
Hours later, on a stage set up in a park overlooking the bay, Dipper thought, This is a really bad idea.
The masquerade had different categories: Live-action sf/fantasy. Animated sf/fantasy. General TV. General movies. Three or four more. They were in "Animated sf/fantasy." He didn't recognize any of the other contestants, except those in Gravity Falls garb. None of them looked particularly realistic. There were also kids with triangular heads and pop eyes, a girl dressed as a big yellow duck for some reason, lots of anime-looking characters . . . some of the costumes were very good.
Because Brad had registered for the masquerade a year before, they drew a high number—their act would be number 12 out of a total of 70. Just before their turn, two teens, one dressed in a black suit and the other in a brown business suit, had gone onstage to do a brief skit. Dipper gathered one was Sherlock Holmes the other Dr. Watson. Funny how both universes shared some things, skipped others—Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character in both, Dodge Darts were real cars in both—
'We're on," Mabel said. "C'mon, guys, just like we rehearsed!"
They bounded on stage, and in the audience flashguns popped. "All right!" somebody yelled. "Gravity Falls!"
Mabel grabbed the microphone as Brad quickly set up the laptop, cued it, and plugged into the sound system. "How are you, San Diego?" Mabel yelled into the mic. "Ready to rock?"
An ear-shattering "Yes!"
"First, I gotta say that last guy as Sherlock Holmes? Please, he didn't even have a mustache!"
That got a big laugh for some reason Dipper couldn't quite figure out. The lyrics of the song were on the laptop screen, and Brad gave them a thumbs up.
"Okay," Mabel yelled again as the laugh died down. "I'm Mabel, that's Soos, this is Dipper, and that's Wendy Corduroy! And together we are Love Patrol Beta!"
Dipper grumbled, "I still never agreed to that name!"
"And we're gonna sing the newest hit from &ndra, "At the Con!"
Soos/Brad hit a key, and the music began to pulse. Mabel took the lead:
Hey, Dad, I'm textin' from Diego—
I know, you said "No, you can't go—
But Dad, here I am with my game on,
Goin' to a party at the world's greatest Con!
The audience cheered and began to clap along.
Brad, Wendy, and Dipper joined in as backup on the chorus:
Comic-Con, the world's greatest party!
Guys are lookin' hunky, gals a little tarty!
Who knows, we may meet a special someone.
Need a hero? Why not just become one?
Put your cape on and your tight Spandex pants,
Join in, 'cause everybody's gonna dance!
Let the music go rockin' on and on and on,
Hey, hey, havin' fun here at the Con!
The crowd went completely wild. They wrapped up the song and came in at a minute and forty-two seconds, so to fill up the time, Mabel passed the mic around. In his pretty-good Soos voice, Brad said, "My wisdom is both a blessing—"
The audience yelled "—and a curse!"
Wendy took the mic. "'Cause I'm a flippin'—
"—Corduroy! Go, girl, go!"
Mabel: "I call him Waddles, 'cause—"
"—he waddles!"
And finally Dipper.
"My name is Dipper, and the girl about to—"
"—puke is my sister Mabel! Yay, Mabel!" The applause went on and on.
They got the time signal on the button, Brad switched off and unplugged the laptop, they took a bow, and it was over.
Backstage, Wendy collapsed. "Oh, man, I have never been so scared in, like, my entire life!"
"Not even in the Fearamid?" Brad asked with the widest grin Dipper had ever seen on a human face.
"Dude, in the Fearamid I was mad, not scared!"
The hapless couple who went on next—a Mad Hatter and an Alice who did a little minuet—didn't get much of a response. "We," Mabel announced in a smug tone, "are a hard act to follow."
Three hours later, she was fuming. "Second place? We got a lousy second place? After that reaction?"
"Hey," Brad said. "It's still five hundred dollars! Look, tell you what, I'll take a hundred, and that'll more than cover the entrance fee. You guys get the rest, but I get to keep the trophy to show the folks back home, OK?"
"You can have the trophy," Dipper said.
Mabel was tapping her foot, her arms crossed on her chest. "I don't even know what a Pokey Man is!"
Brad sounded comforting: "Well, it's a big, big fad right now."
"Come on, girl," Wendy said, putting her arm around Mabel's shoulder. "Four hundred bucks is a lot better'n nothing."
"Plus," Brad told her, "there are like two hundred people out there waiting to have their picture taken with us. Two bucks a head, you're gonna be OK."
"Yeah," Mabel grumped. "But second place!"
She was even angrier forty-five minutes later when a blonde girl in a sea-foam dress and tiara—a not very convincing Pacifica—insisted on getting her photo taken kissing Dipper on the mouth.
Especially when someone explained to her what "shipping" meant.