▲ UVQQRA. ▲

This was his chance! His chance to “ be smooth ” and “ go get ‘em, tiger ”!! The waiter was hanging around, seemingly a bit anxious to have something to do. It was the perfect opportunity! Stanford offered a little smile (smiling, he found, was the first step to flirting) and thought on his plan.

FIRST, he’d ask the waiter how he liked his coffee. THEN, he’d ask his name in an altogether suave and not desperate way. FINALLY, he’d order the coffee for the waiter and they could have a conversation together. And perhaps, if Stanford was particularly lucky, the waiter would forget his sad, old wrinkly face and become enamoured with his intellect. Oh, it seemed foolproof!

“Yes, actually. How do you like your coffee, Mr. … ah, sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

Bingo.

       “How do I like my coffee?”

Why would Ford ask something like THAT? The customers at Greasy’s didn’t USUALLY ask questions of that nature to the waiters. He didn’t even SEE why Ford would WANT to --

-- WAIT A SECOND.

If Ford was asking Ozzie how he liked his COFFEE, then the only LOGICAL progression would be to assume that, at some point, Ford would buy the waiter coffee ( or, at the very least, save this information for FUTURE REFERENCE ).

Confidence RENEWED, Ozzie gave a BRIGHT SMILE to the customer.

      “YOU KNOW, I’ve always liked my COFFEE         with just a LITTLE bit of sugar. Nothing else.         By the way, name’s -- uh, OZZIE.”

It was working. It was working! Norman tried not to let the glee show on his face, instead looking at the demon with an expression that he hoped was akin to concern. Mind racing, he searched for an answer to the demon’s questions. He needed to sound confident. Guesses wouldn’t work on this guy. He didn’t want to risk this guy refusing because Norman didn’t sound sure enough about his answer.

He found himself anxious; he mentally reviewed his plan. He had to get this demon guy out of his body, take some Tripto, and fucking run to that address– what was it? 852 Theodore Roosevelt Road. 852 Theodore Roosevelt Road, and then he’d save Shaun Mars and go the fuck home.

“Shit– it’s the retina scanner,” he responded, ghostlike hands rising to his lips as he floated towards the bastard. “ARI’s revolting against you, and it’ll continue to revolt against you. You have to complete a successful retina scan to stop the shaking.”

Please don’t take any Tripto. Please don’t take any Tripto.

It was HARD for Borman to THINK or SPEAK or do much of ANYTHING in the state that he was in. The experience of WITHDRAWAL ( though he didn’t know that was what it was ) was the CLOSEST thing the demon had ever come to MORTALITY, and BOY, did he NOT LIKE IT.

Still, he tried hard to THINK of a potential SOLUTION. He had to complete a successful RETINA SCAN. What did that even MEAN?

        “-- WAIT, but these retinas are DIFFERENT from yours!”

The realization hit him like a TON OF BRICKS. In order to stop the SHAKING, he would have to LEAVE THE BODY. That would mean, essentially, that Borman would have LOST. And Borman  N E V E R  lost.

He STUMBLED away from the ghost of the vessel’s previous inhabitant, and struggled to RISE to his feet.

Bill couldn’t help but reply with a genuine smile at the other’s laugh, but became aware of himself again with a clearing of his throat. Time to test his theory.

“Alright… scratch that. All of that. If I can’t get an uncooked hamburger, I might as well get something that I actually like cooked.” Holding his gaze on the other, his brow furrowed.

“How about a steak made from the radioactive pig-cow-lambs of Dimension 786-L.”

His cards were laid on the table.

THEEERE it was. Ozzie had his SUSPICIONS, of course, and expected the information to be REVEALED through different means, but now that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this customer was from another DIMENSION, it wasn’t a FAR STRETCH to assume that the two of them were ONE AND THE SAME.

The grin on the waiter’s face was EXTREMELY TELLING -- as if the customer was suddenly let into a SECRET CLUB that only consisted of the two of them. When Ozzie spoke next, his voice was QUIETER than usual.

Danny was rash, and Danny didn’t think things through. He had a temper that flared up and a vindictive streak a mile wide. When he was riled up, the world became little but white noise, everything becoming fuzzy and loud. Maybe there was a tactful way to do this, some clever twist of words that would proclaim him the victor and minimise collateral damage, but hell if Danny was going to see it past the static in his vision.

He sneered, putting his hands on his hips and bending forward; this guy was nowhere near his height and boy, was he using that to his advantage. “What,” he laughed, “are you scared? Tough guy like you, I thought you’d have more balls than that.”

In the confusion, Henry placed some coins on the counter and began to leave.

Ozzie didn’t KNOW why he HESITATED -- the PLAN had already been set. He was going to CALL HENRY OVER and watch as that pitiful Northwest made a  F O O L  of himself. However, a FEELING had come over him, a feeling that told him that maybe this wasn’t the BEST thing to do.

If he were around DIFFERENT company, then perhaps he would have LISTENED to that voice. But, since Danny was outright  A S K I N G  Ozzie to go through with his plan, well -- who was he to DENY a poor soul in NEED?

      “Hey, HENRY!!        YEAH, I’m talking to YOU, kid!”

One of Unity’s assimilates shook its head, staring at Bill unblinkingly as it tried to figure out how to communicate. It wished desperately to assimilate a human or a creature with vocal cords that could effectively communicate with the demon. However, it thought, this was not possible.

It attempted to use a hoof to gesture to Bill, but quickly lost its footing and toppled over. A squirrel chittered in frustration, bounding over to Bill and tapping against his foot in an attempt to get him to look down. It motioned with its stubby hands towards him and then shrugged.How have you been? That was simple enough, wasn’t it?

Ozzie  L A U G H E D  out loud as he watched the deer TRIP and fall over its own hooves. He still didn’t UNDERSTAND what Unity was trying to tell him, but  B O Y , was it HILARIOUS to watch!

He felt something TINY tap against his foot, and looked down to try and identify its source. It was the same SQUIRREL who had tried to chat with him earlier. Perhaps it wanted to try again? He watched INTENTLY at the squirrel’s gestures, speaking out loud after each one in an attempt to PIECE it all together.

      “ME...              I DON’T KNOW.”

A gesture towards OZZIE,        and then a SHRUG. What else COULD it have been besides that?

He looked over at Unity for a brief second, and then the demon-turned-human’s face LIT UP.

“Actually, uh, I usually try to… not do that.”

Whatever this demon triangle guy was seeing, Robbie wasn’t really feeling it. He didn’t THINK of himself as manipulative, but now that he was really thinking about it, he GUESSED his overzealous care in his stereotypical appearance was, in a way, manipulating people to think about him in a certain way. But weren’t ALL teenagers kinda like that? Constantly searching for a place or a role in life to the point where they tried out stereotype after stereotype just so they could fit in?

“I mean– humans are weak. I’d be an idiot if I tried to exclude myself from that. They’re weak. I’m weak. It’s kinda ENGINEERED into us. I guess it’s easier to manipulate people when you don’t really have that human socialization.”

BILL, at first, didn’t notice the sudden DEJECTION in the human’s tone, the QUIETNESS that enveloped the area. Instead, the demon L A U G H E D , putting his ARM around the teenager.

        “ O H -- you got THAT right, buddy!          Humans are WEAK!          Tell me something I DON’T know!”

It was then that he noticed Robbie’s FACIAL PLANE. It was CONTORTED in such a way that wasn’t always NORMAL for the teenager. The demon HOVERED closer, curiosity overtaking him.

Robbie let out a hiss of a sigh, closing his laptop and putting it aside. He stared off into space for a moment, trying to think about what the best course of action would be. It was hard trying to figure out what Bill needed; he knew FULL WELL that he was just a kid trying to fill shoes that were WAY too big for him. But he also knew that if HE didn’t make an effort to understand, then NO ONE WOULD. Which was why he tried hard to teach Bill about human culture, and make sure his jokes were well-intentioned. But he fucked up. Jesus H. Christ, he fucked up bad.

He drew his knees into his chest, hugging them close as if it would protect him from the weight of his mistakes. “Nothing. Look…” and here he let out another sigh, resting his chin on his knees, “wanna watch one of those cheesy old romance movies?” He bit his lip. “Or– or call Ford or something?”

UNFORTUNATELY, all Ozzie could think about at the moment was STANFORD and his INEVITABLE DEATH. Everything that the man had said, despite their GOOD INTENTIONS, were all just a pack of  L I E S . And there was NOBODY who understood lies better than BILL CIPHER.

He let out a SIGH that seemed to ENCOMPASS his whole vessel and SAT DOWN dejectedly. He needed a DRINK.

That SPLIT SECOND of panic that appeared on the waiter’s face revealed a piece of very interesting information: whatever he was, he was in hiding. Now, why would a seemingly NORMAL male be hiding? Bill’s curiosity was eating him away at the inside like a corrosive acid. He had to know MORE.  

Hell, this wasn’t even HIS Falls.  ( in order for the dimensional repair-man to meet, they had to do outside of the demon’s home realm. Something about home-front advantage? Bill was too eager to meet to ask questions. )  The Bill of this dimension had perished during his Weirdmeggedon by the hand of Stanley Pines. The Patrocinar had absolutely no obligation to know anything about this dimension AT ALL.

“ Problem? Oh, no no no, my good man. I’m just a CURIOUS guy. Is that so bad?!  ”

But, boy was he itching to know this guy’s DEAL!

“ The name’s Cipher. Bill Cipher! Don’t worry; I ain’t the nut-job who tried to take over a few month’s back. I’m from Dimension 417; I’m more of a watch-dog of my Falls. It’s a long story, kiddo… ”

He paused and cocked an eyebrow.

“ … You know about alternate-universes, right? ”

At the mention of the name BILL CIPHER, the waiter STRUGGLED to keep his face as CALM as possible. So, this guy was HIM but from a different DIMENSION! Finally -- things were starting to make SENSE!

Despite this fact, Ozzie was starting to get a little NERVOUS. After all, what was a Bill from another dimension doing HERE? There must have been a REASON -- and something told the waiter that he wouldn’t really LIKE this reason.

He had to PLAY HIS CARDS right. As far as this guy knew, Ozzie was just another RESIDENT of Gravity Falls, and the waiter intended to KEEP IT that way.

Sapph was about to argue, but she figured him thinking of her admitting as a joke would be good enough. She sighed in relief when he questioned her no further, nodding. All she would have to do now was get the food home to Juliet, and she could get her own food. Or at least something edible for her. She started to rummage around in her purse for some money to pay.

Ozzie  H U N G  around as the customer RUMMAGED around in her purse, discreetly LOOKING over her shoulder to see if there was anything else about her that could give him a HINT to her STRANGENESS.

Unfortunately, he could find NOTHING. Ugh, why did this all have to be so  F R U S T R A T I N G ?! If he’d only had his ALL-SEEING EYE, he would have been able to figure out what this chick’s deal was in an INSTANT!

Maybe the best course of action was to keep making PLEASANT CONVERSATION with her.

Stanford stared down at the hands tightly clasped in his lap, an old habit of his that spurred from his HATRED of his own anomaly and how it set him apart. Was it not enough to be freakishly intelligent? Was it not enough to have a twin brother? No, he had to have six fingers on each hand– and six toes on each foot, but no matter. He didn’t want to be special (but oh, how he did), yet he was and it branded him a freak.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the waiter was gone. Hesitantly, he pulled a napkin from a dispenser and withdrew his pen from his pocket. The phone number to the Mystery Shack was written discreetly, and the old man didn’t quite know what to do with the napkin now that he’d been so bold. He folded it in half and placed it nearby, worry creasing his forehead as he waited for the waiter to return.

It wasn’t LONG before Ozzie showed up again with the coffee. After all, it wasn’t a TOUGH order by any means -- a BLACK COFFEE was SHOCKINGLY EASY to prepare. It was almost  T O O  quickly that the waiter returned to the table. He placed the CUP down on the table and looked almost EXPECTANTLY at the customer.

“Ozzie, huh? Alright, Mr. Crazy Train. Hmm…”

Bill really had to try and figure this guy out. It was going to kill him if he didn’t.

“I can start with my order, actually… get me a plate of… cheese. Just cheese. One uncooked hamburger placed ever so nicely on top of that, and….. water. But not in a cup. In a plate. And you know how they slice the lemons and stick it on a glass? I want a tomato, sliced and stuck on the side of the plate, just like that.”

He slapped his menu shut. “Welp, that’ll just about do it…”

It was then that Bill gave his most discreet side-eye, scanning this ‘Ozzie’ for a reaction.

Ozzie’s face LIT UP at the guy’s REQUEST. Boy, this was  E X A C T L Y  the kind of FUN he needed to make the slow work day EXCITING! The waiter LAUGHED without thinking -- the laugh itself HARSH and ABRASIVE -- and pulled his pen and notepad out of his shirt pocket.

Norman could barely hide the smile lighting up his eyes like the fucking Fourth of July. He looked down, chuckling softly to himself. “Jeez, and here I thought you did your research.”

Realizing that that MIGHT not have been the most tactful thing to say, Norman quickly composed himself, looking up. “ARI has a retina scanner. It must realize that your eyes aren’t… normal. It’s probably revolting against you because it knows you’re not me.”

Unfortunately, it was TOO LATE by that point. Borman had already picked up the clue that he was WRONG; that he DIDN’T KNOW. And, of course, since Borman was an ALL-POWERFUL DREAM DEMON THAT KNEW EVERYTHING, the fact that there was a crucial piece of information he had OVERLOOKED only served to make him even MORE furious.

The man took a  S T E P  forward, the movement SHAKY and UNBALANCED. His vision was so blurry, he could barely see his own HAND in front of him.

       “W H A T ?!         A -- A RETINA SCANNER?!”

He didn’t remember hearing about a RETINA SCANNER. The thing was HIGH-TECH enough to potentially contain one, he supposed, but Borman wasn’t quite sure of anything at this point. His MALFUNCTIONING FLESH SACK was keeping him occupied enough as it was.

Hands DESPERATELY clawed at the glasses, nearly RIPPING them off his face. His entire body seemed to be falling apart; DISGUSTING FLUID dripping down his face and pooling at his armpits.

At first, Bill is  S H O C K E D .  He had made himself COMFORTABLE in Stanford’s mind for a LONG TIME, and there was NO EVIDENCE to suggest that Ford would ever VERBALIZE that brand of THOUGHTS -- least of all, to BILL CIPHER himself.

However, though the dream demon is CONFUSED, he isn’t so quick to SHOW it. He instead  L A U G H S in that ALL-TOO-CONFIDENT way of his.

Stanford had to remember that it was Bill who had inhabited his mind, not the other way around. This conclusion was nothing short of utterly TERRIFYING; it limited his chances of survival substantially and vastly decreased his sense of hope. But he knew that it had it merits as well. This realization would prevent him from getting too cocky, remind him to stay in tune with Bill’s emotions, his reactions. There was no such thing as no way out. Stanford had to cling to his intellect.

Though, in this case, it was necessary to channel his own emotions. Once, a lifetime ago, he’d harboured feelings for this vile creature. Though it seemed that he’d matured far beyond the impressionable young idiot who’d fallen for Bill’s tricks, he knew that THIS was the Stanford Filbrick Pines that Bill KNEW. It was imperative, then, that he remind Bill that he was still, regrettably, the same person.

Trickery would only go so far. Stanford had to tell the truth for this to be a believable performance. He closed his eyes, thought hard on what he’d lost. He’d lost his home, his research, his partner, his family. He was thrust into an unknown world where the only rule was to SURVIVE. He’d been forced to develop instincts that no sane man would, and it was all because of the wide-eyed dream demon before him.

When he opened his eyes again, they were teary.

He said nothing, unsure of what to say. If he willingly stayed, then Bill would be appeased now but realize his trickery once he sobered up. If he resisted, then Bill would understand that he didn’t like to be chained but consequently might NEVER let him go. So he stayed silent save for a soft, shuddering breath, signifying his discontentment and unwillingness to play the game.

Hopefully, that would be enough.

Bill had  S E E N this before -- this STRANGE phenomenon that seemed to go on with HUMANS. And the demon had never thought to QUESTION it; to ask what it had MEANT. It was just something he had always  L A U G H E D at. 

         HAH! Those humans have          LIQUID leaking out of their facial planes!          That’s HILARIOUS!

But there was something about the particular way the liquid was leaking out of STANFORD’S facial plane that put Cipher ON EDGE. In his BARELY-COHERENT state, he suddenly felt the compelling  N E E D  to find out WHY the liquid was coming from Ford’s eyes. Subconsciously, he floated CLOSER to the man, eye  W I D E .

One TWIRL of his finger was all it took for the liquid to RISE from Stanford’s cheeks and FLOAT into the air in one clean, orderly line. It settled into a small bubble of liquid in front of Bill’s eye, and he EXAMINED it. He was SILENT for a few moments, and then an abrasive  L A U G H  suddenly burst through his system.