…The whereabouts of president Trembley's body are unknown.

The video came to an abrupt end with the logo of a piracy company flashing on screen, accompanied by an irritating chiptune. This time, the townspeople looked substantially more bewildered. As if the town's origin story they had known for so many years being false was more of a shock than Ford building a little transdimensional portal.

Being fair, now that Pacifica thought about it, that kind of made sense. If there was anyone in a room you'd expect to build a ridiculously unsafe device that rips through time and space, it'd probably be Stanford Pines.

…Maybe Mabel.

Dipper continued through his slideshow presentation, though it was fair to say that most of it was a repeat of the video with slightly smarter-sounding words. And wordart. And transition effects. And a few extra star and love heart shapes added at Mabel's behest.

Unfortunately, he quickly realised the futility of his attempt trying to raise peanut brittle's virtues to the crowd. The makeshift army of townsfolk stared blankly - in a mix of fear, bewilderment and reverence - at the proud, pantsless man in the cravat.

It was a bizarre thing to be greeted with. He didn't just dress and sound old-timey, he genuinely was old-timey.

Dipper could understand everyone's confusion, naturally. But it was hard not to feel a little ignored when he had gone to all of that eff-

"Hey." Pacifica beamed. "great presentation, Dip."

-well, nevermind.

Dipper gave an appreciative little smile as he unplugged the memory stick.

Bud stared, slightly slack-jawed and raised an inquisitive finger. "So - the whole Northwest thing-"

"A tremendous lie promoted by my political enemies!" Quentin said.

"And you are-"

The mutton-chopped politician held a hand on his hip proudly, illustrating himself repeatedly with twirling fingers. "-Several decades older than your average president! Th-though not by that large a margin."

Susan raised an eyebrow at Stan, who just shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's uh - it's a bit weird, but-"

"I'VE SEEN WEIRDER." Dan replied.

Susan looked to Pacifica with her eyebrow raised. "How long have you known about thisss…?"

The emancipated heir nudged her boyfriend in the ribs. "Let's say a certain dork told me last summer."

Dipper cleared his throat. He had tried his best to forget the majority of last year's hostilities, but man - she was a pretty big jerk. He tugged on his v-neck and winced. "Y-yeah, kinda a big discovery-"

A big discovery you had basically wasted on getting revenge, Dipper. He cursed himself. Could've been rich and famous. Instead, you used it to upset a rich kid who looked super cute in that pioneer hat.

You didn't think that then obviously. No, you never once even considered how cute that pioneer hat and blue dress were. Of course you didn't. Never. Nope-

Oh god you've been quiet for too long. Oh no, please, someone say something!

Susan adjusted her hair. "This is- this is a lot to swaaaalloooow…."

Thank fu-

"Madame, I can assure you I have swallowed worse. Behold, as I swallow my own fist!" Quentin piped in return, before commencing with his promised spectacle.

Everyone decided it best not to interrupt.

"So what uh - what exactly is the relevance of this fella to our plan?" Bud asked, watching the unfolding fist-swallowing with his eyes wide.

"Quentin's a politician! He was president! He's the perfect lawyer!" Mabel replied, trying to ignore the gagging and mumbling from Trembley's ongoing demonstration. "And he knows just how fake the Northwests are!"

"Irrgreeb! Aghgr-" Quentin blinked and wrenched his - now damp - fist from his mouth. "Indeed! I knew Nathaniel Northwest first hand! And his second hand! A sinister fiend he was, clearly insane."

The irony was lost on the founding father of Gravity Falls as he wiped his hand on his sleeve. The townsfolk remained silent and somewhat unconvinced.

Dipper chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "He's also local, so he won't burst into flames, and-"

"And nobody else on Earth is freaking crazy enough to take up this crap." Stan said, firmly. "Quentin might be unstable, but he's the best chance we've got."

It was clear that admitting such a thing physically pained Grunkle Stan. Ford, standing bolt upright, was forced to nod in agreement. "We just have to get him to wear pants-"

"You dare challenge the Depantsipation Proclamation?!" Quentin snapped, preparing for fisticuffs and prancing around in his antique brogues. "How dare you, sir?! You bespectacled fiend! You must be a spy sent by the Irish!"

Ford huffed and tried to hide his obvious irritation with the prancing, pantsless president. "Quentin, you're going into the courtroom. Please, wear something fitting. Times have changed. The world is less tolerant of errant presidents these days. You need to be as professional as possible."

"In the spirit of this country's proud heritage of compromise, I will think about it. In the meantime, how shall we approach this case of the century?!"

"Well, that's kind of for you to work out." Dipper said. "We have all three journals, and my journal-"

"And my photo albums!" Mabel chirped.

"And I can provide evidence from the laboratory." Ford added.

"Then by the power of Washington's teeth, I'll provide the finest defence since the invention of the shipping crate. Worry not, Pines! I will become your legal saviour!"

A gust of wind billowed his coat tails, as if the very atmosphere of Oregon soil was giving its blessing. Or the Gooseliath was gently flapping its wings to provide dramatic effect.

"Just - just make sure you look over the case notes, Trembley."

"I shall pore over them like I did the cholera epidemic. That I may or may not have accidentally caused. Until next time, my friends, I shall bid you farewell! If you need me, simply grant me the powers of the honk!"

"Yessir, Mister President!" Mabel said, saluting with her tongue sticking out of her mouth.

"By the grace of goose, go I." He replied, backwards vaulting out of the window and disappearing in the gust of wing beats, a cacophonic goose call and the man playing his own fanfare, using his hand as a trumpet.

The tenement - indeed, the entire Crawlspace - was drenched in the silence (and goose droppings) that followed.

"Do you…still think this is a good idea?" Ford asked.

"I never thought it was a good idea. Just an idea." Stan shrugged. "At least it works, right?"

Ford looked down at the battered fire truck and huffed. "Sometimes, Stanley, it feels like very little works as it should in this weird little town."

Mabel bit her lip. "I hope not. If the justice system works, we are totally in jail."

The two Grunkles exchanged a glance, looked at Mabel and smiled. "Fair point, kid. Come on, let's go in and play poker."

"Now you're talkin' my language!" Bud grinned.

"Yeah, look, we can play bottlecaps, or - or I'll play bottlecaps, and you can all play cash. Or you give me a couple of bucks for playing. Or fifty bucks. Look, just gimme your wallets and-"

Meanwhile, crawling through any number of old Curzon shafts, pits and burrows, the Northwests were returning to home turf…