She felt almost ashamed at how much she secretly looked forward to being back in her own room. She knew it wouldn't last - she already missed Dipper and the pig - but part of her was kind of aching to feel those sheets again.

Sadly, things began crumbling the moment she arrived. The clouds seemed to circulate around the Northwest Maisonette in a way that trailed and crawled around its Tibetian oak picket fencing. It seemed to lean slightly towards those who entered. A luxurious, upscale but utterly characterless imitation of what once had been.

Of what once had been the town's crown jewel. Now it was barely a rhinestone.

Her father didn't say a word. Her mother's stiff facial features grinned and occasionally patted her knee, but remained quiet. It was understandable, of course - the young socialite was under no illusions; she had given her family plenty of reason to be peeved.

The tension was unbearable. If they were so annoyed with her, why were they taking her home?

Part of her wanted to believe it was because they were genuinely intending to change. That life was going to be different. That she was going to enjoy a better life with them…

The problem was she didn't know if she wanted that. A new life at home meant leaving her life with the Pines behind. No swashbuckling adventures at sea? No prospect of such a kind, supportive life with Susan?

No Dipper?

It was complicated. She loved her parents… she thought. She had grown far too aware that they were liars, frauds, thieves and abrasive people haunted by their families. And… well, the Grunkles were really a bit of a skewed, foggy mirror of that. The irony wasn't lost on her.

The difference is that - in Mabel's typically bizarre terms - The Pines didn't have huge, splintery sticks up their butts. In Pacifica's mind, they were certainly more compassionate, more caring… and, y'know, had Dipper Pines as their great-nephew.

The idea was rumbling around in her head like Dipper's geeky little rock tumbler. (Something about cereal mascots. She didn't really know.) It was perhaps unsurprising that, without really computing the matter, she walked into the house, popped off her fur-lined boots, climbed the plush carpeted stairs and ended up inside her room. Almost automatically. As if her old status quo of pre-Summer was back. As if she was being brainwashed back into her old routine.

It caused a strange pit of nausea in her stomach.

She sat on her bed. It was perfectly soft, preened, silken and plush, much as it had been when she'd left it. No mayflies or woodpeckers or rogue stickers or cracked plaster or ripped wallpaper. Immaculate. Grandiose. Fanciful, egotistical, strictly monitored…

Was that her? Was that really what Pacifica Northwest was? She wrinkled her nose as she glanced around the bedroom. The hot pink walls - resplendent in gold leaf dollar signs - used to be her favourite. Now, somehow, they felt kind of repugnant. As did the artisan chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

She loved the comforts. She loved feeling safe, warm, and protected…

But somehow she didn't.

Somehow it all felt foreign to her.

She missed the rustic log cabin in the woods, that sort of careworn, tumbledown aesthetic that smelt of mature pine and oak. The smell of bacon that seemed almost permanently soaked into the building's fabric, along with the distinct aroma of old books and dust.

It wasn't perfect. Nothing compared to her so-called 'real home'. But that was kind of what appealed. It was… real. No facades. No fakes. No magazine covers or photoshoots or six thousand dollar decorators.

Now, as she sat there, looking up at the almost mechanically immaculate plasterwork and inhumanely perfect wallpaper, she found herself feeling like it was a distinctly out-of-body experience. It just didn't feel right.

A perfectly manicured hand rapped on the door. "Pacifica? Are you changing out of those stained clothes? Are you decent?"

More decent than this family, Pacifica thought. "Hi, mom. No, mom. Yes, mom."

"I had the butler bake you some violet water and cardamom cookies." Priscilla said as she entered, her botox-stiffened face fixed into a bizarre mockery of a friendly smile. "An excellent way to celebrate you coming back to where you belong."

"I don't think I do belong here."

"Oh, come now." The Northwest matriarch replied. "A-admittedly it's not the mansion but-"

Pacifica furrowed her brow and bunched her knees up below her chin. "Mom. Why did you bail me out instead of leaving me there?"

"You belong with your family. I know these little jaunts with Dippy have been fun, but Summer's almost over. It's about time we brought you back to the real world. Your father and I have been tolerating enough but prison? Prison, Pacifica? Of all things?!"

"Mom."

"Don't interrupt. Playtime is over, Pacifica. Your father and I have big plans for you. It isn't really fair to let those fall to the wayside for some kind of flighty adventure nonsense, is it?"

"Mom."

A much deeper voice chimed in unexpectedly. Preston was stood, arms crossed, his brow furrowed, in the doorway to Pacifica's room. He was seemingly treating the two's privacy as second priority to him getting a word in. "Do you really think being a teenager is about fun? Self-discovery? Finding yourself?"

Pacifica shot him a glare, which did little to halt him. She was just about to open her mouth - as was Priscilla, for that matter - when he strode in with his shoulders back, puffed up and typically over-confident.

His dark suit contrasted abruptly against the pink of the room's walls, his brown hair and square features only making him seem more and more out of place against Pacifica's life and surroundings.

"Pacifica Elise Northwest, we created a life for you that got rid of those distractions. You know your place. We built it for you."

"Dad, I didn't ask for any of this!"

The middle-aged millionaire snorted and raised an eyebrow. "That's simply not true. You asked for ponies, you asked for makeup, for glitz and glamour, for luxury clothing, for the finest. And you got it. You got everything you wanted. Don't tell me you didn't ask for it."

Pacifica pouted and looked to the floor as she ruminated on what her father said. It wasn't wrong. She had asked for everything. She had enjoyed everything. She had been spoiled and she had lived for it.

She looked up and swore she could see a little smirk on her father's lips. She felt her hands clench into fists. Not that they were particularly tough or capable hands, but…

"I was wrong ." She finally said.

"About Dippy and his misfit family? Good, we're making progre-"

"About how much all of this matters." She spat back, standing up and wordlessly approaching the wallpaper. "All of this… all of this crap!"

"Pacifica! Language!" Priscilla chimed up, angrily. "Really!"

Preston's eyes narrowed as his daughter crept closer to that $1,000-a-metre wallpaper, bright pink, gold gilded, perfectly laid by the finest of Oregon artisans. "What do you think you're-"

"Do you remember when I was a kid and I used to pick at the wallpaper?"

"You wouldn't."

Pacifica wordlessly dug a purple, manicured nail into one of the seams. "Guess I've still got growing up to do."

"Pacifica, if you dare-"

"Oops, sorry Dad, I think my hand is stuck, let me just-"

The ensuing rrrrrriiiiipppp was drowned out only by Preston's horrified yelling - and that was only drowned out by a sudden, rippling, thunderous explosion from inside the town's bowels. The delicate decor and crystal windows rattled as, from the town's high street, a bright flash erupted, like a lightning strike from sunlight.

For at least a moment, it seemed that the entire town was burning. As the flash cleared, it gave way to a thick, black plume of smoke that poured from the town's police precinct as if it was flowing from a giant, tarry cigar.

Pacifica yelled out loud and ran to the window, pressing her palms against the glass.

Priscilla did not have the most flexible eyebrows, but even hers managed to lift slightly as she peered through the panes. "What on Earth-"

"A gas leak, perhaps." Preston sniffed.

"At the police precinct?"

"You think those two know how to look after a stove? Easily."

Pacifica stared, white as a sheet. Her pupils shrank down into pindots. "The Pines were in there."

"Well then, a good job you weren't," Preston replied disinterestedly. "I suppose we've saved your life."

"If anything has happened to my family-"

"They aren't your family."

"They're more of a family than I've ever had from you. Let me GO!"

"You aren't going anywhere!"

Pacifica let out a guttural snarl and clenched her head in her hands.

"That's no sound for a lady to make," Preston added, still utterly disinterested in the turmoil taking place down the town's centre.

"I wish Bill had left your face screwed up forever!" She yelled back at him. "I don't like you, Dad! I don't like you, I don't like this family and I'm going straight out there to make sure my boyfriend is okay!"

"You'll stay here and like it." Preston snapped back.

"I'll - I'll break the window!"

"You really think we wouldn't upgrade security after that break-in escapade at the start of Summer? We aren't stupid, young lady. Now you can stay in here and simmer down." Preston said, flashing the mahogany-handled bell between his fingers. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Dad, please! You don't-"

Ting-a-ling-a-ling

Pacifica froze and looked to the floor. Her face was like thunder. She was sure that, at that point, she had never been so angry in her life.

The elder Northwests walked out of the room, the moustachioed megalomaniac glaring at the Pacifica with every motion.

Finally, he shut the door, fastened the eighteen locks to Pacifica's door, and strode away down the hallway. "Well, I think that went well, eh?"

"Quite." Priscilla said. Though she couldn't help but glance back to the door with a level of reservation. The plastic-pouted matriarch narrowed her eyes as she considered whether the traditional methods were really so useful.

If only there was a way…

Priscilla would ruminate on that matter for the rest of the day.