…countless trips from here to there
In the span of only a week, Pacifica finds a new routine.
She wakes up bright and early so she can get ready for school, brushing her teeth and hair and applying just the right amount of makeup to accentuate her features. The bus stops outside the gate of her house—she's the only kid on this street who goes to Piedmont High School. She sits near the front of the bus, next to Dipper, though sometimes she'll lean out into the aisle to talk to Mabel and her friends who sit in the middle. Depending on the day, she'll have English and History with Dipper, Math and Study Hall with Mabel, and PE and lunch with both. On the way home, Mabel sits up front next to Pacifica and Dipper. The driver doesn't need to stop at Pacifica's house again; she gets off at the twins' stop. From there, she spends the rest of the afternoon and evening doing homework, playing games, and eating dinner with the Pines. Dipper takes her home on his bike about an hour before bedtime, as the low winter sun turns the clouds purple and gold. She showers, puts on her nightgown, and sets her alarm so she can do it all over again the next day.
She doesn't think she's ever been happier. Even last summer, with all its distractions, was still tainted by its own inevitable end and the uncertainties that followed. Her short time living with the Pines was great, but also turbulent, the silver lining of a very dark cloud.
This new normal is different. There's nothing hanging over her head; she's not waiting for the end of it. She has nothing to dread. She has three and a half more years of high school with the twins to look forward to. Wherever Dipper and Mabel are, that's where she will be. During the school year, she lives fifteen minutes away. During the summer, she'll live in the Shack. No more distances, no more endless separations.
It's honestly taking a bit of getting used to; at this point, she's accustomed to anxiety. But she's settling in, making this new life her own.
The hardest part is school, and even that's not too bad. She already had a taste of public school, brief as it was. This time she's not slipping in right at the end of the year, so she's doing her best to deal with midterm papers and tests on a compressed schedule, simultaneously trying to catch up and stay current. This means a lot of extra homework, but she's got a great study team in the twins. Plus, Dipper keeps all his notes for everything, which is a nice advantage.
It's the end of second period and the bell rings, signaling lunch time. She shoves her book into her backpack and does her best to navigate the rush in the halls, which would be a lot easier if so many people weren't taller than her. She's also still learning the layout of the high school, her knowledge of the middle school made useless by the intervening time. Some day she won't be playing catch up anymore, but that day sure feels far off.
The permanence of her situation presents additional challenges.
Her brief attendance at public middle school left her little time to make new friends; not that she was in much of a mental state to do that anyway. She just coasted until the school year ended and Gravity Falls beckoned. Now she's here for real, for four years, not merely a guest anymore. She has to decide how to present herself.
She finds herself surprised by how little she cares about ascending the social ladder. There's a group of very fashionable girls at one of the lunch tables who sit adjacent to and often intermingle with the sports crowd. Pacifica doesn't have the available money to really wow them, or at least she doesn't think she does. Going to Mother to beg for more spending money is a very unappealing thought. Some of her old designer clothes still fit height-wise, just because she isn't much taller, but they've become too tight in some other important places. Still, she just doesn't care enough to try, to dress to impress and slowly work her way into their social graces, listening and fake-smiling and gathering ammunition to be used when her position is secure and needs to be maintained.
What an exhausting way to pass her time. Did she ever really enjoy it? Or did she just tell herself that she did?
But she's not sure she wants the circles offered by Dipper and Mabel, either. Mabel's friends are nice enough, and their general lack of guile makes them easy targets… though Pacifica knows she shouldn't take advantage of that. But she isn't really a joiner, and when school ends she would rather go home than go to whatever club is meeting that week. Meanwhile, Dipper's friends are an all-boy choir of appalling geekery (maybe there's a girl or two in there somewhere, but Pacifica hasn't met them). She is never going to collect goblin cards or whatever, but many of them are also into video games, a pastime for which Pacifica has been steadily gaining an affinity. Dipper was saying something about a Medal of Duty LAN party on the horizon, and she thinks she could probably take them on. Something to consider.
Maybe it doesn't matter. She has the twins, and in Gravity Falls she doesn't just have friends, she's part of a team. Maybe that's enough. At the very least, it feels like enough for right now.
She's on her way to lunch, and she's pretty sure that Dipper's locker is along this hallway somewhere; sure enough, she soon spots his distinctive white-and-blue hat, much easier to see in the crowd now that he's so much taller. There are still plenty of kids who tower over him, especially in the junior and senior years, but she thinks he'll catch up in the next year or so. His growth spurt is relentless and she's positive he's become noticeably taller in just the few months since they left the valley.
He's talking to someone she doesn't know, a small girl with brown hair cut as short as Pacifica's was after the outdoor store incident. The girl turns and walks quickly away from Dipper before Pacifica can get a better look at her. Dipper stands with his arms crossed in an awkward pose; when he turns towards his locker, Pacifica can see his cheeks are red. He seems… embarrassed? Did that girl just make fun of him or something?
She better not have. Pacifica will get her back, with interest.
He doesn't see her approaching until she's standing right behind him. "What was that about?" she asks.
He's startled, jumping a little and spinning around. "Nothing!" he squeaks, voice breaking. He clears his throat and adds (with a great deal more bass as he lowers his pitch in overcompensation), "It's fine."
Pacifica does not believe him. "If she was messing with you, I'll destroy her."
"No!" he yelps. "Don't go all mean girl on her, okay? She wasn't messing with me, I swear. She was just… asking me something."
Pacifica raises an eyebrow. "What, are you actually not going to tell me?"
"I…" Dipper fidgets for a moment. "Just… don't be mad, okay?"
"I'm mad because you won't answer!" she snaps.
Dipper looks around, perhaps hoping too many onlookers will keep her from pressing the issue. Too bad for him, everyone else has gone to lunch or class and it's just the two of them still standing in the rapidly emptying hallway.
"We're going to get in trouble," Dipper mutters, though from his expression it's obvious he doesn't think that will actually dissuade her.
She doesn't bother replying, waiting with an impatient tilt of her head.
Dipper sighs. "She asked me if I wanted to go out. For a date."
Pacifica is still trying to process this when Dipper quickly starts talking again.
"She didn't know! About us, I mean," he stammers. "She's not in the same lunch period, she's in AP Calculus AB and she thought I was single and it's not a big deal. She was even more embarrassed than me!"
Pacifica's eyes narrow as she contemplates the situation. "Were you wearing your ring?"
Dipper reaches to his neck and pulls the ring out from where it dangles on a braided strand that's Mabel's handiwork. He holds it out in silent defense.
"It's not going to work if she can't see it."
"Pacifica, it's just a ring, okay, with a little half heart on it. I don't think she could even tell what it is unless I gave it to her, and probably wouldn't know what it meant unless I explained it," Dipper argues.
"Girls know that kind of thing, Dipper!"
"Well…" He crosses his arms, not meeting her eyes. "She didn't."
Unless she did, and she's just a boyfriend-stealing turbo tramp. Pacifica can't prove that, but she's also not feeling very generous right now, and that girl is fortunate that she got away clean, because Pacifica went toe to toe with a murderous ghost, an immortal dream demon, and alien origami hawks; she has no problem taking on some random high school skank. But Dipper, stubborn as always when he thinks he's in the right, won't reveal her name.
He's lucky those good guy tendencies are one of the things about him that Pacifica likes so much. It's not fair to be mad at him—he can't help being adorable.
She sighs and shakes her head slightly. "What am I going to do with you?" she says rhetorically.
Dipper answers anyway. "Forget about this and go to lunch?" he says hopefully.
She reaches up to lift his bangs with one hand, revealing his forehead. "'PACIFICA,' tattooed right there. In all caps. That will take care of it."
"I think that real estate's crowded enough," he grumbles, brushing his hair back down to cover his birthmark.
"Wear your ring on the outside of your shirt," she instructs.
Dipper rolls his eyes but doesn't try to tuck his ring away.
When they finally make it to lunch, he sits next to Pacifica at Mabel's table instead of splitting off to see what new, dorky cards are being traded at the other table. Pacifica picks at her food, watching Mabel arrange the crackers and slices of meat and cheese from her Munchable into a smiley face. She doesn't see that other girl anywhere, though Dipper did say she isn't in this lunch period. None of the girls at this table have given Dipper a second glance, which is a little reassuring, if not reassuring enough. These are Mabel's friends; they know better.
However, this whole thing has been a wake-up call. It seems that Dipper has become a little too tall and fit. His face isn't as square as his Grunkles', having inherited the slimmer features of his mother, but his chin is developing that same strong definition, if not as broad, and it's serving his appearance well. He has a new confidence in his bearing that Pacifica knows is hard-earned, forged through adventuring and plenty of close calls, tempered by an apocalypse.
Mabel has always been beautiful; it's one of the reasons Pacifica hated her so much initially, seeing her as competition, even with the braces. But Dipper has really come into his own this last year, which makes Pacifica feel very vindicated: She liked him before he was tall. She likes him for reasons far beyond what that other girl could ever understand. Clearly, she hasn't been obvious enough about this. Some extra PDA may be in order, at least until the school gets the message.
As for the times she isn't around, well, she hasn't completely ruled out the forehead tattoo.
It's the last day before winter break. Classes fly by in a blur; the teachers seem to understand that no one is really paying attention, not when a whole two weeks of freedom lie just ahead, and there's a lot of videos being played. Except in her history class, where there's an unexpected quiz, but that's fine; Pacifica totally aces it.
She makes sure to hold Dipper's hand while they're waiting for the bus, just in case.
They arrive home to an empty house, both Pines parents either still at work or running errands, as is usually the case. In contrast, Pacifica's mother is always home, which is reason enough to avoid the other house that is only technically her home. Though she only sleeps there sometimes, the Pines' guest room is becoming her room again, gradually collecting more and more of her things.
She's already packed for the trip north, her clothes and other sundries neatly stowed in her suitcases, stacked by the front door and ready to go. She's not sure if Mother even noticed the suitcase exodus earlier in the week and doesn't really care. She did get her mother's permission to go to Gravity Falls over winter break, just to satisfy Mrs. and Mr. Pines, but it's entirely possible Mother has already forgotten, not that it matters; she probably won't notice that Pacifica is gone for two weeks anyway.
Predictably, the twins did not follow Pacifica's example and are now in the midst of a packing frenzy, trying to remember everything they need for the trip tomorrow. Dipper is upstairs, doing his best to fit everything into a single suitcase (Pacifica may have picked out most of his clothes, but she's not going to fold them for him). Mabel is outside, attempting to coax Waddles into a laundry hamper so she can smuggle him onto the bus. Last Pacifica checked, it wasn't going well.
For her part, Pacifica is verifying her essentials. It's different going up in the winter. Her family usually summered in the valley, but she's been there during the holidays before. As she remembers it, Gravity Falls gets cold and snowy. Warm hats are a must, along with thick socks. The boots she has are very stylish, but not suited for hiking in snow-filled woods. She'll have to get a new pair in town.
As she contemplates her fashionable yet impractical boots, the doorbell rings.
Mabel is still outside, and since Dipper isn't coming down, he's probably in the bathroom. Pacifica supposes there's no reason she can't answer it… This is her home too, sort of. But what if it's a package? Can she sign for it? Is that legal?
She goes to the door and looks through the peephole, only to be greeted by a distorted but familiar face.
She opens the door to greet Wendy.
"Surprise, motha— oh." Wendy's face falls. "You saw me through the peephole, didn't you. Pacifica, what's up? You are not who I was expecting."
"That's okay, you weren't who I was expecting," Pacifica says, stepping aside to let the older girl in.
"Right? Even I didn't know I was coming until, like, last night." Wendy surveys the empty living room. "Where the twins at? Poopin'?"
Pacifica elects to ignore that. "Mabel is outside and Dipper is upstairs."
"Gotcha." Wendy heads for the stairs, Pacifica struggling to keep up as the taller girl takes them two at a time.
Dipper is indeed in the bathroom. Wendy raps her knuckles against the door.
"Hey, why aren't you out here to greet me? You fall in?" she asks loudly.
Dipper's voice comes back, startled. "Wendy?!"
"Pinch it off, dude, we gotta roll!"
"Uh, I'll be out in a minute!"
Wendy speeds back downstairs and goes out to the yard through the porch, where Mabel is still trying to convince Waddles that the laundry hamper is a cozy new spot he should definitely check out.
The second Mabel spies Wendy, she gasps and jumps to her feet. "Waddles, Wendy is here to save you! You're traveling first class again, bud."
"You know it," Wendy says. "Hey, you guys should check out my new ride!"
Once Dipper joins them, they go out to the driveway, where Wendy's 'new' ride is awaiting their inspection. It's a very strange looking vehicle of a type Pacifica doesn't think she's seen before, sort of half-truck, half-car, squat and wide and sitting at car height but with a truck bed in the back. It's an ugly, yellowed beige and has clearly seen more than its share of miles.
"Remember my cousin, Gillian? This was, like, her girlfriend's dad's brother's car… or something." Wendy slaps the hood with obvious pride. "It's old as balls and smells kind of like butts, but it's all mine, man."
Dipper is eyeing the seat of the car with doubt. "Are we going to all fit in there?"
"So, I may have forgotten about Pacifica… and Waddles," Wendy allows. "It'll be tight, but you and Pacifica can spoon or whatever. We'll stop for snacks a lot, stretch our legs. It'll work."
Pacifica knows essentially nothing about cars, but even she has her doubts about that. The front seat in the car is all one piece, sort of like a loveseat in that it lacks any divider. Even so, it's clearly designed for two regular-sized people or maybe three small ones. Waddles can go on the floor and Pacifica can sit on Dipper, but is that going to work for six whole hours? They will definitely have to stop a lot.
"Do you really want to drive back up tonight?" Dipper asks Wendy. "It'd be easier to go in the morning."
Wendy stretches her arms out with a wince. "Yeah, good call. Don't wanna pass out on the way back."
"It's fine, our terrified screams would wake you!" Mabel says.
"Let's go tomorrow," Pacifica says firmly.
When Mr. and Mrs. Pines arrive home with dinner, Wendy, Pacifica, and the twins are all on the living room couch, watching a hilariously terrible Christmas special on the Wallmark Channel. The parents don't seem surprised to see Wendy, probably because her car is in the driveway.
"Hi, Wendy," Mrs. Pines says as she comes through the hallway from the garage. "It's nice to see you again. Can you move your car, please?"
"Yeah, sorry, Mrs. Pines," Wendy says, rising to her feet. "I'll go park in the street, shoulda thought of that."
"I didn't know you were here, so I'm afraid I didn't get you anything to eat."
"No problem, I had a ton of fast food on the way down," Wendy says as she hurries out the front door.
Mrs. Pines starts taking dinner out of its bag, placing the takeout dishes on the counter. "I take it Wendy is going to save me the ticket money?" she says to the twins.
"We're riding first class on the Wendy-Express!" Mabel says.
"It would have been nice if you told me you asked her to take you."
"We didn't ask, she just showed up," Dipper explains.
"Your friends tend to do that," Mom notes. "Alright, come and get it."
Pacifica can remember family dinners so formal they were practically robbed of the 'family' part. Where to sit, which fork to use, what was appropriate dinner table conversation (which, for the sole child at the table, was to agree with whatever was being said when asked to do so). Dinner was less a time spent with family in repast and more a chance for Father to brag about his latest accomplishments while his wife and daughter dutifully validated his terrible opinions on everything.
Dinner with the Pines isn't even slightly comparable. There's lot of sniping at each other but it's all in good humor, and intended to be funny (and actually is funny). No one is required to talk about their day. There's laughter and anecdotes and the only thing you might get in trouble for is talking with your mouth full or flinging peas at your sibling (neither of which apply to Pacifica, thank you very much.) With Wendy in the mix, things are even more boisterous. She's full of news from the valley—she could hardly be otherwise, given how crazy things always are there. Of course, a lot of that is off the table when the Pines parents are present, so the latest gossip isn't quite as ludicrous as usual (Though it sounds like Stan had Soos build a pumpkin cannon for Halloween with predictably disastrous results, which is still plenty ludicrous).
"Soos better still have that cannon. I want a snowball that'll send Grunkle Stan to the moon!" Mabel says.
"You're not allowed to kill your Great-Uncle, Mabel. We might miss him," Mr. Pines says with a straight face.
That night, Pacifica goes to bed in the guest room that isn't really for guests at all, but for her. She prefers this, to stay here with the twins, rather than go across town to her cold, empty house occupied only by the help and her cold, empty mother. She's forbidden from going upstairs to Dipper's room after bedtime, of course, but despite the occasional bad dream and more general temptations it's a rule she always follows, never willing to risk her overnight privileges.
Despite her anticipation at returning to the valley, she finds that sleep comes easily.
In the morning, it takes maybe an hour to cram all their suitcases into the back of Wendy's car and say their goodbyes. It's less of a production this time around, with fewer parcels of luggage and less weight on the farewells. It'll only be two weeks, after all. They'll be back before they know it, the next half of the school year still ahead of them.
When it's time to get into the cab, Wendy looks less confident than she was yesterday.
"Okay, it's tight, I know," she allows. "We'll stop whenever we can for beef jerky, it'll work."
Somehow, they manage to squeeze in. Waddles curls up on the floor beneath Dipper's legs while Mabel squishes herself in between her brother and Wendy.
"Good thing we're all friendly here," Mabel notes, both sides of her pressed firmly into her seatmates.
Pacifica manages to fit herself between Dipper and his door, a feat only accomplished by leaning partially over him and crossing one of her legs over the other. Luckily, this is just for the benefit of Mr. and Mrs. Pines, since sitting on Dipper's lap is probably illegal. They remain in this awkward configuration only as far as the end of the street, where they stop so Pacifica can sit on Dipper, which is, at least temporarily, a more comfortable position. She imagines he'll feel differently in a couple hours.
They pull away from the curb, headed for the MacArthur Freeway, and the northbound drive.
Wendy was right about the jerky.
Their first stop is less than an hour in, in some town called Vacaville. Dipper hasn't complained yet, but when he gets out of the car the expression of relief on his face speaks for itself. They buy beef jerky and glazed donuts, and Wendy and the twins complain about the lack of Pitt Cola (not far enough north yet). Their next stop is another hour in, still a ways from the border. Mabel inventively wedges herself along the top of the seat, allowing Dipper and Pacifica to sit normally. This in turn necessitates another stop, as Wendy puts a blanket over the back window so any cops won't see Mabel's backside pressed against it. This lasts until Mabel gets tired and sore from her balancing act, and Pacifica returns to Dipper's lap. By the time they cross into Oregon, they've already tacked a full hour onto their trip, but it's fine. Stopping more often is nice, actually. It breaks up the monotony.
The scenery changes gradually, until they leave the main roads and enter the forests. There's no snow on the ground right now, though there are signs that it was present not long ago; there's ice on tree branches and along the sides of the road. The trees grow taller, reaching ever skyward, until they blot out the horizon and the car moves beneath their shade. Through the window, Pacifica can see her own reflection superimposed on the scenery. How many times has she crossed this distance in her life? How many more times will she?
The next bend takes them past the crest of a hill, and there, in the hazy distance, are the great, rearing cliffs that shelter the valley, the fractured mountain towering over all. When they pass beneath the mining trestle, Pacifica knows that crossing over is not merely symbolic; they are entering another world.
She remembers what it used to feel like, driving into the valley after the flight to Bend, the distance between SoCal and central Oregon erased by the plane; a trip lacking continuity. It was as if the Northwests had their own kingdom in a pocket dimension, traveling to it on holidays to lord over the town, peering down at it from their manor atop the hill, viewing the populace from the safety of tinted limousine windows. The entire valley a snow globe on their shelf, taken down or put away.
It's so much more than that. Pacifica and her parents were never more than passersby, separate from the depth, from the root.
Her breath fogs the glass of the car window as she looks up at the pine trees, their ragged, wild shapes stenciled against the last, faint traces of evening light. They bend towards the road slightly, as if welcoming her back.
She's never seen the Shack in winter. She avoided the venue entirely until the lure of the party crown finally drew her in, though the Shack's rustic charms were lost on her then. Her opinion of the place didn't start to change until it sheltered her during Weirdmageddon, and then last summer she learned to call it home.
They turn onto Gopher Road, the car rocking and creaking, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Around the final bend, the Shack comes into sight.
It's not surprising to see the Shack decked out for the holidays; what's surprising is that Stan and Soos have gone all out. The gravel road leading to the house is lined with illuminated plastic candy canes, their varying sizes and stripe arrangements making it obvious they were collected secondhand and are not a matched set. The eaves of the house are draped with garland—even the tin awning over the door to the private portions of the house is festooned. The lawn in front of the museum entrance and gift shop dazzles with a random assortment of ornaments ranging from an inflatable Santa commanding a line of reindeer (one of which has deflated to the point its head has sunk into its body, creating an unintentionally ghoulish display), to a variety of Christmas-themed gnomes that look suspiciously like the real thing, to a plywood snowman with a drink in one hand advertising 'RORY'S PLACE,' whatever that is. Everywhere, on everything, there are strings of lights, refulgent in the dark of the late winter twilight, sparkling like a million tiny gems. It's genuinely beautiful and festive, if marred somewhat by the lack of snow, the lawn ornaments perched on scrubby, brown grass.
It's close to closing time, so the lot is mostly empty, the few cars remaining probably belonging to the last tour group of the day. Pacifica is glad to finally be free of the small confines, ready to stretch her legs. The air is cold and feels especially crisp after hours in the muggy heat of a car with too many bodies in too little space. She won't be sorry if Wendy can't give them a ride back at the end of break.
Wendy is leaning against her car, her arms resting on its roof. She looks exhausted. "Next time, we're taking Soos' truck. And Soos."
They drag as much luggage as they can carry out and trudge to the porch, its crooked wooden boards and corrugated awning so familiar now. The couch is missing, presumably moved inside somewhere for the winter months. Wendy opens the door, and they crowd into the entryway, shedding suitcases and coats. No one is in the living room or the kitchen. Everything looks exactly the same, Stan apparently having exerted all his decorating energy on the tourist portions of the Shack. It's actually kind of comforting. For all that the rest of Pacifica's life has been rapidly changing, the parts of the Shack that are hers haven't.
They find Stan behind the counter in the gift shop, no doubt waiting for Soos to bring the tour through so he can wring every possible cent from them. Mabel runs forward and somehow manages to launch herself up and over the countertop, forcing Stan to catch her and sending them tumbling into several stacked boxes.
"You're back less than five minutes and you already almost killed me; it's a new record," Stan grumbles as Mabel hugs him fiercely.
"I love you too, Grunkle Stan," Mabel says into his shoulder.
Dipper is surveying the gift shop. "Wow, you really go all out for Christmas," he observes.
It's true. Everything is green and red and glittering, with more lights along the ceiling and counter and even some fake snow on select shelves.
"Tourists love this garbage," Stan says, standing and making a show of dusting his suit off. "Make it Christmas themed and you can charge double and they won't even blink. It's catnip for sentimental idiots."
"Ah, the spirit of the season," Wendy says.
The vending machine opens with a clang, revealing Ford's bespectacled visage. He's free of his crutches now, walking normally again. He manages to brace himself on the edge of the machine just in time to catch Mabel when she hurls herself at him.
Then Soos comes through the museum exit with a gaggle of tourists, flooding the room with strangers and prompting a loud reunion between Soos and the twins. The tourists eat it up, treating the display as just another dose of holiday magic.
"It's so nice to see family together for the holidays," an old woman tells Stan.
Stan clasps his hands in a deeply insincere show of emotion. "We love having the kids back in time for the season! Why, just the other day Mabel was telling me how it fills her little heart with Christmas joy to see all of you here, buying ten snow globes each."
It takes another twenty minutes for the Shack to close for the evening as the tourists file out to the parking lot, snow globes in hand. There's some talk about watching a movie, but after so many hours in the car, Pacifica is dead tired, and the other kids look about the same. They make it through about an hour of television and small talk before the yawns begin to override the conversation.
Wendy stretches and stands up. "I'm beat, man."
"Same," Dipper says. "So we'll see you tomorrow?"
"Uh, yeah, of course you will. In the morning, when we have breakfast together," Wendy says around a tremendous yawn. "Wait, did I not tell you? I'm staying here for the break. Dad and my brothers went to Olympia to see my aunt and uncles."
Dipper blinks. "You didn't want to go with?"
"Duh. Like I'm gonna miss you guys coming up. Besides, I just saw them at Thanksgiving." Wendy yawns again, then says, "I'm right outside your door, dude. Got a kick butt pillow fort in the window alcove. I wanted to sleep in the lab, but Ford said he's always making noise down there, so."
"I keep irregular hours," Ford acknowledges.
"Nothin' about you is regular," Stan grunts.
Ford appears genuinely touched. "Thank you, Stanley."
While Wendy and the twins go up to the attic, Pacifica takes her suitcases through the back hall to her room. The door is shut, and the air inside is stale and cold; it seems like no one's been in here since she left. She opens the vents to start letting the warm air in.
She eyes the extensive couch along one wall of her room, glad that Wendy didn't opt to stay in here. It probably makes the most sense out of any other arrangement, but Pacifica likes having her own space. Maybe Wendy knows that; or maybe she just wanted to be within mischief range of the twins every night.
By the time Pacifica finishes unpacking, arranging her things, and getting ready for bed, she's half-asleep. She turns off the lights and collapses into her bed, glad to be back, looking forward to sleep and the new day ahead.
As her eyelids sink lower, heavy flakes of snow begin to brush against the glass of her window.