above the earth, below the sky
"Ahhh… you smell that, kids?" Grunkle Stan says, leaning on his cane.
Dipper tentatively sniffs the air of the early afternoon. "…Corndogs and B.O.?"
Mabel gets a snout-full of her own and adds, "Corndogs with B.O."
"That's the smell of a first-rate carnival!" Grunkle Stan says proudly.
The Mystery Fair is nearly assembled. It's almost twice as big as it was last year, the Ferris wheel turning lazily beneath a partially overcast sky. The Sky Tram wends its way overhead, twisting through the trees and looking slightly sturdier than before. Tents and booths are springing up all over, festooned with question marks and brightly-colored balloons, flashing bulbs and loudspeakers; all the blinking bustle is enticing against the deep, almost brilliant green of a forest gleaming with this morning's rain. The recent downpours have accumulated and granted the vegetation of Gravity Falls an almost unreal natural splendor, so rich in shade the open meadow gleams like a film in technicolor.
Despite Grunkle Stan's words, it's still very much a second-rate carnival. Regardless, he clearly is of the opinion that the Shack's new popularity will translate into high attendance for the fair. Dipper thinks he's probably right. The Shack really has become landmark in a way it wasn't before Weirdmageddon. No promotion of Stan's has failed thus far; he's been making money hand over fist. The town will get tired of the Shack eventually, but it looks like it won't be any time soon.
For his part, Dipper is looking forward to the fair, albeit for different reasons this time around. He won't be getting tangled up over Wendy or using time travel to manipulate her (not his finest hour). He has a steady girlfriend to take to The Tunnel of Love and Corndogs. Of course, getting Pacifica onto something called 'The Tunnel of Love and Corndogs' will be a challenge. Maybe they should stick to the ring toss.
Then he sees Grunkle Stan over at the ring toss, testing out rings to make sure they won't fit. So not that, either.
The crowds haven't arrived yet. The fair doesn't start for another couple hours and Dipper expects most people won't show up until the evening when it cools off. The humidity after the storm is stifling; Gravity Falls feels like a greenhouse. The expected forecast predicts that by the time the sun dips behind the cliffs, yet another front of cool air will come sweeping through the valley. More rain is expected tomorrow. Dipper loves rainy days as much as the next introvert, but they're starting to interfere with his desire to explore. Maybe he should invest in a waterproof backpack…
"Bring back any memories, Waddles?" Mabel says, holding the pig up. "This is where our lives became complete."
Dipper glances over to where the pig pen was last year, but there's a new goldfish-based tent instead. Looks like Waddles will remain Mabel's only soulmate.
Dipper is still intent on catching his sister and making her have a real conversation with him; he's just biding his time. If she's expecting him to try and corner her, she'll never stop moving. The moment will arrive, he's sure of it. He can afford to be patient.
Mabel runs over to where Grunkle Stan is clearly sabotaging the spring on one of the games. "Grunkle Stan, that's cheating!"
"Hey! Watch your mouth, Mabel: Nobody says 'cheat,' alright, you're breaking the carny code." He spreads his hands winningly. "Besides, I'm just making these games more difficult. People love a challenge!"
"Your lying is making Waddles sad," Mabel says, using her fingers to turn the pig's lips downward.
"I can live with that," Stan says with a fatalistic shrug.
Dipper walks away from the argument, aware that neither side is ever going to budge. He doubts that many of the people soon to be attending will hold much hope for prizes, not if they've ever been to a fair before—definitely not if they attended this one last year. They'll want to eat terrible fried food slathered in nacho cheese and then put their stomachs (and possibly their lives) on the line while enjoying rides of dubious safety. That's more or less his plan for the evening. That and whatever Pacifica wants to do.
He looks around, but she's nowhere to be seen. He turns and heads back into the Shack, opening the old wooden door and taking a second to savor the cooler air in the entryway. Pacifica is just ahead in the living room, sitting cross-legged in front of the television while eating a late breakfast of granola and honey. Dipper detours into the kitchen to grab a cold can of Pitt and then joins her.
"Aren't you coming out?" he asks, flopping into Grunkle Stan's easy chair. He's not sure what she's watching; the channel looks like Gravity Falls Public Access. There's an abysmally cheap commercial playing for Upside-Down Town.
"In that humidity?" she says incredulously. "Don't be ridiculous. My hair will frizz."
"Pacifica, if you go to the fair with frizzy hair, anyone else who's fashionable will have frizzy hair by tomorrow," Dipper predicts.
"You wouldn't," she retorts.
Dipper—slouched in the chair to the point his clothes have bunched up, the can of Pitt resting on his partially revealed stomach—says, "I have my own distinct style."
Soos comes lumbering into the room with his toolbelt jangling at his waist. He's sweating profusely in the intense humidity and it immediately makes Dipper think of their pterodactyl hunt beneath the sweltering sun. It's not nearly that hot today in actual temperature, but the sheer moisture makes it nearly as unbearable. The next cold front can't get here soon enough.
"Either of you dudes seen Melody?" Soos asks, taking off his cap to wipe at his forehead.
"She said something about a package?" Pacifica answers vaguely.
"She must've run back to the house. I'd probably know that if I hadn't lost my phone, heh heh!"
That makes this the third time Soos lost his phone this summer, one of the last two occasions being permanently; which means he just lost the phone he bought to replace his lost phone. This strikes Dipper as strange. Soos is often clumsy and sometimes pretty unfocused, but he's not really known for misplacing things, or at least not more than anyone else. Dipper's mystery instincts are tingling. Something more might be going on, though he hasn't speculated as to exactly what…
"Oh, great," Pacifica says.
Dipper snaps out of his thoughts. "Huh?"
"You've got that face going on. You know the one."
"…No?" he says, half-confused, half-defensive.
"It's your mystery face. Like on the cover of those dumb Sibling Brothers books," she drawls.
"What? I don't do that, come on…" he scoffs, even though he fears she's probably right.
She dramatically narrows her eyes and stares intently at nothing, scrunching up her mouth contemplatively and rapidly clicking an invisible pen in her fist. "I don't know what's going on, so let me point my brain at it really, really hard…"
"That's… not totally accurate," Dipper says, the end of the sentence subsiding into a mumble as he gives up.
Soos, meanwhile, is confused. "Wait, are we having a staring contest?" he says as Pacifica mock-glares in his general direction. "Nobody told me. Okay, go. No, wait. I blinked. Okay, go! Wait, wait. I blinked again. Man, I keep blinking. Now I can't stop blinking… Wait, how do I normally blink? Oh, man—how does anyone blink without thinking about it? …I can't remember how to blink, dudes."
That evening, with the sun finally sunk behind the cliffs, the valley cools off rapidly. The Mystery Fair fills up with everyone who hadn't been willing to brave the heat, people shedding their hats and sunglasses and shivering in delight. The breeze wicks away the warmth of the day, tugging at t-shirts and skirts, turning the sweat which slicks necks and arms suddenly, deliciously cold. It sends bunches of balloons thumping hollowly against each other and rumbles across tent canvas, makes ribbons snap and pinwheels whir. It is the harbinger of the clouds that hang in the distance, blotting out the first faint stars of evening as they gather to swoop over Gravity Falls tomorrow, bringing yet another summer storm.
The cheapness of the whole enterprise aside, there is fun to be had at the fair. Dipper walks down the matted grass of the aisles with a low-level sugar buzz humming in his veins; cotton candy, funnel cake, Pacifica's hand in his. The lights are bright, the speakers are loud, and it's an assault on all senses in the best way. They wander through the swirl of fairgoers, sometimes stopping to watch someone try their luck, sometimes trying it themselves. They get sick on the Tilt-A-Whirl, elated on the big slide, mildly romantic in the Tunnel of Love and Corndogs (but it's so lame that it's mostly just funny). Pacifica hurls a ball at some bottles and Dipper instinctively protects his face; somehow, she nails it and gets her very own stuffed duck-and-or-panda thing, this one in brilliant lime green.
"I don't know what this is, but I like it," she declares, tucking it underneath her arm.
Dipper knows better than to take his own shot at the game.
As the sky turns black overhead, they rest their worn-out feet at a picnic table, splitting a plate of chili cheese fries with Wendy. Dipper is glad to see Pacifica getting along with—or at least easily tolerating—the older girl, though it's happened so suddenly he feels like he must have missed something.
Soos passes by and snags a fry or two. He's been promoted this year to Fair Inspector. It's a title Stan no doubt invented on the spot, but it's not an empty one. Soos is practically running the fair, moving from stall to stall, making sure everything is working well enough to avoid lawsuits, sorting out inventory issues, and stopping grease fires. Freed from such concerns, Grunkle Stan has been making the usual spectacle of himself: goading people into trying rigged games, drawing attention to neglected corners of the fair, and constantly greasing the wheels of commerce with his huckster flair.
It's impressive how smoothly the fair is operating. Soos obviously learned a lot in his time as the Shack's only manager. Turn out for the fair has been good enough it seems like a shame it's only for one day (though the incoming storm would pose a problem). Stan doubled the size of the fair this year; maybe next year he'll set it up for a whole weekend.
Wendy is reaching for another fry when her phone buzzes on the picnic table. She picks it up and rolls her eyes. "Hey, I gotta jet. Robbie puked on the Scrambler and Tambry needs to borrow a shirt."
Pacifica immediately loses interest in the fry she's holding. "That's disgusting."
"Right? I'll take some pics. Catch you guys later!" Wendy hops up and vanishes into the crowd.
Pacifica points a turquoise-blue nail in Dipper's direction. "If you ever throw up on me, this is over."
"What if you throw up on me?" he counters.
"Northwests don't throw up," she says primly. She pushes the chili fries away, having clearly lost her appetite entirely. "Anyway, I don't get what Tambry sees in Robbie."
Dipper had spent a considerable portion of his previous summer contemplating what girls could possibly see in Robbie. "He's tall and has tight pants and plays guitar," he says dismissively.
Pacifica tilts her head contemplatively. "Huh. I guess he is a musician…"
Dipper has never regretted quitting band until this exact moment. "Yeah, but, he's still kind of a jerk," he stammers.
"A tall jerk." Pacifica straightens up decisively. "Okay, you convinced me. I'll date Robbie."
"You— I—" Dipper's mouth flaps open and shut several times before his brain catches up. "…Why do I let you do this to me?"
"Because you like me so much," Pacifica says smugly.
Well, there is that.
They rest a little while longer and then head for the Shack. Pacifica is tired of carrying her stuffed prize around and she doesn't have to, seeing as the fair is literally in their own backyard. It's kind of unreal to see the Shack, quiet and dark, sitting just across a short stretch of grass, outside the light and motion. The Mystery Fair seems like its own world.
They are just about to exit the pool of the lights and enter the shadow of the unused lawn when Dipper spots Grenda and Candy at one of the ticket booths. Grenda has Waddles cradled in her arms, but Mabel isn't with them. Dipper's eyes curiously trace the path back towards the heart of the fair and that's when he sees her: Mabel is hopping onto the Ferris wheel alone, saving the seat for her friends.
It suddenly occurs to Dipper that this is his chance.
He takes off, sprinting back into the fair with Pacifica's exasperated call of "Dipper?" following him. He'll have to explain later. He crosses the path, dodges clumps of fairgoers, and makes it to the side of the wheel.
"They'll be right here, I promise," Mabel is saying to the man operating the controls. He looks too bored to be annoyed with her.
Dipper hops up onto the wooden platform and snakes under the safety rail of the seat like he's doing reverse limbo.
Mabel gapes at him. "Dipper, I'm saving—"
"All set, you can go!" Dipper shouts to the operator.
Mabel realizes, too late, what is happening. "No, you can't!"
The operator isn't even listening. Given permission—however dubious—to continue, he slaps his hand on the button and the Ferris wheel grinds into motion. Before Mabel can do anything, she's suspended fifteen feet in the air while the next couple people climb aboard.
"Geez, Mabel… is riding with me really that bad?" he asks her as they sway above the ground.
"No! I was just—" she abandons her denial and switches to righteous indignation in mid-sentence. "Dipper! I was saving that seat for Candy and Grenda!"
Dipper glances down at the seat. Candy could easily fit with him and Mabel. Grenda would be a stretch regardless of who else is riding. "How?"
Mabel just crosses her arms and looks away. Dipper knows her too well, though: Her pouting is too silent to be real.
"Come on, this is cool," Dipper cajoles. He spreads his arms, indicating the fair below. "What could be better than a Ferris wheel ride with your favorite brother?"
Mabel doesn't answer, her gaze intent on the tree line.
The two of them climb ever higher as the wheel rotates one bench at a time, and soon they are suspended at the very top, above the trees. At the bottom of the wheel, the last bench is being filled.
"You have talk to me eventually, Mabel," Dipper warns. "We're stuck together."
Mabel blows a raspberry, eyes rolling. "It's only one ride."
There's a sudden, fair-wide noise that's unmistakable—a dozen motors all winding down at once. The lights along the tents and pathways go out in the same instant and the entire fair is plunged into darkness. A murmur of consternation rises above the crowd. Dipper twists in his seat to look, but the only lights he can see anywhere are from the occasional car or cellphone. Even the town is invisible down Gopher Road.
It's a complete power outage.
Mabel wilts in her seat. "Oh, boy."