Things were very different on the outskirts of town. The storm was yet to reach the Northwestern part of Gravity Falls, and, there, the Northwestmost Maisonette was still bathing in jolly streaks of golden sunlight.
It peered through the large windows and deep velvet curtains, reflecting against the family's breakfast crystal and silverware. It was naturally excessive, with exotic cereals (such as Master Pumpferbirt's Fanciful Finance-Flakes, a childhood favourite of the family Patriarch), luxury meats and cheeses, all laid out on the outsized table in fine, enamelled dishes, delicately arranged on top of a lace tablecloth.
Preston and Priscilla Northwest sat at the opposing ends of the table, sharing very few words and even fewer glances to each other.
"Have you read the newspaper, darling?" Priscilla finally asked as the housekeeper brought a plate of quail eggs served on a bed of peacock fillet.
Preston sat at the far end of the table, wordlessly spreading the finest giraffe's butter on his gourmet lobster-claw toast.
Mudflap sales had climbed sky-high over the past couple of months, as had weather vanes, a cheeky bit of tax write-off on Geron Street's destruction, and, perhaps most importantly, a cheeky bill to the mayor for the cost of rebuilding.
The Northwest family was picking up much of its old financial situation, returning to the worth they had always craved, grasped and clamoured for. The family name's wretched, gripping, capitalistic claws had dragged pennies, dollars and cheques back into its comfortable, plush cocoon, like an insatiable beast fuelled by an appetite for cold, hard cash.
They may have lost their manor, and may have lost the town's respect, but damned if they weren't, once again, filling up their coffers on sheer monopolisation alone.
In Preston's mind, nature was healing. In reality, it was just incredibly difficult to keep a ruthless, arrogant millionaire down.
People like Preston were born for financial success. Quite literally. He was taught to launder money at age four.
It was hard not to wonder if their rapid ascension was partially out of spite, a sort of message to their estranged daughter.
A reminder that, no matter what she did, she would never have what she once did unless she came home.
"I said, have you read the-"
"I heard you, my dear." came the abrupt reply. "And it means nothing to me. What our daughter gets up to is of no consequence-"
"Only," Priscilla interrupted, in a disarmingly casual manner. "I did notice she had a bail available, and I'm fairly sure we have it in cash down the side of the couch."
"Why should we?" he asked, still scraping butter onto the bread furiously, leaving a scattering of pinky-red-crumbs. "She has made it perfectly clear where she lies! She made her bed! She can sleep in it!"
The housekeeper swept up the debris and scuttled away, unacknowledged by the two owners of the humble-ish six bedroom detached maisonette.
"Preston, come now. She may have gone somewhat astray, but have you thought about what this means? We could take her home. There's not a chance anybody else could afford it. Not in this grubby little backwater."
"Why would we want her home?"
"You miss her as much as I do."
The middle-aged socialite bristled as his wife spoke. "That's neither here nor there. The townspeople love this 'new Pacifica'. I say they can have her."
Priscilla had much the same stubborn traits as her daughter, and continued unabated of her husband's protests. "Exactly! Exactly, Preston! If we take her back into our home, they'll all fall back into line! She's become almost an emblem to these people!"
"Priscilla."
"She's our daughter , Preston. She's in prison. We've tolerated it long enough. I contacted Toby to run an inane campaign yesterday, and we've already had sixteen takers. In this town, that's exceptional."
He took a bite of his bright red buttered toast and mulled it over. "Fine. But we let her stew for a while. Until she's desperate for any way out."
"Exactly my thoughts." Priscilla smiled. "Champagne to our success?"
"Exactly my thoughts." He beamed as he readied his glass.
Slowly, the storm clouds darkened over the maisonette. The sunlight was drowned out by the influence of tarry, swirling skies, the rumbling of the atmosphere above doing little to phase the pair's plotting.
Behind their backs, the housekeeper - tall, slim and red haired - slipped free of the dining room, making a beeline for the home's rearmost exit. She tapped the discreet little electronic in her ear as she stepped out of earshot. "You get that, Suse?"
"I sure diiiid, Sweetie!"
"Just as well common people all look the same to Preston." The teenager replied, taking off the old fashioned apron and throwing it away, as if any item with frills was as repulsive to her as a bag full of cockroaches. "Guess we gotta get a plan together."
"You know anything about exploooosives?"
"Man, you're speaking my language. No wonder Paz wants you as a mom!" Wendy cackled, slipping through the kitchen door and vaulting over the Tibetan oak fence. "I'll be down there soon!"
Greasy's Diner may have been closed, but, inside, it had become a hive of activity. Manly Dan, Soos, Melody, Bud Gleeful and the Corduroy siblings were all present and correct inside the darkened diner, gathered around the counter.
Nobody was speaking. They were awaiting Wendy's return, armed with her Intel, Dan's knowledge, Bud's fuel supplies and Susan's finely ground coffee.
The middle-aged woman topped up everybody's beverages as they peered over the plans of Gravity Falls Police Precinct. "Y'all want anything to eeaaaat?"
"Not while that thing is cooking," Kevin said, rubbing his hands together with a gappy-toothed grin. "Man, this is gonna be great!"
"I could eat, dawg," Soos said.
Everyone gave him a glare. "I- I mean, I could probably wait. Man. Uh… tough crowd."
Melody rubbed his shoulders understandingly.
"I'm still not quite so sure that this is a great idea." Bud said. "Are we even sure it'll-"
Manly Dan was banned from speaking at the meeting due to the necessity of staying quiet. He just slapped Bud on the back - with a hideous thwack- and held a thumbs up.
Bud winced and rubbed his bruised spine gingerly. "I'm not the kinda fella who's gonna argue with the town's most experienced labourer, but ain't we somewhat at risk of getting ourselves thrown into the peni-ten-tiary?"
"I'd go to prison for those kiiids!" Susan said, firmly.
"My cousin Reggie has been in prison for way less things. And way more things. The point is, the Pines are like, my family." Soos added in his usual slightly rambling manner. "I'd do anythin' for 'em."
The rest of the group nodded in agreement. It was fairly clear the elite group of… eccentric individuals were nothing if not determined (though Toby himself was having his weekly squirrel bath and, thus, not at the meeting). It was only ten minutes of awkward silence later when the redhead stormed through the door. "Hey, jokers! How's that for Intel?!"
"You did great!" Kevin said.
Gus pouted. "You shoulda taken something while you were there."
"One crime at a time, little dude." Wendy grinned, ruffling her youngest brother's hair. "Are we ready, Suse?"
"Half an hour more. Then we just gotta get the finishing touches lined up!"
"Man, this is gonna kick butt!"