#somepointsomewhere

A map. He can see that, yes, but he keeps silent as he waits patiently for Stanford to continue his explanation. He doesn’t have to wait long-- a moment later, his heart is sinking with the realization that this innocuous-looking little map is going to send them on yet another exploration into the more eerie parts of town. After all, the only way they’d “get lost” with or without a map is if Stanford plans to delve deep, deep into the catacombs.

Fiddleford frowns. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy putting his life at risk in the terrifying and dangerous situations to which Ford seems unerringly attracted, but would it kill Stanford to let them have a nice quiet evening in one of these days? At least when they’re elbow-deep in salvaged parts for the Portal, the only potential danger comes from Fiddleford’s own miscalculations, not from beasts the likes of which McGucket has never wished to see.

He can quintuple-check equations and graphs to ensure that nothing goes wrong down in Ford’s lab, but there’s no real way of preparing for the unknown.

“Sure don’t.” Luckily, despite all of Fiddleford’s worrying, his friend always seems both eager and able to take on whatever comes their way. It’s... nice to be able to trust in Stanford and his abilities.

Frown softening into something a little more fond than concerned, McGucket gives a single decisive nod and looks down at the progress Ford has made so far.

Pacifica helps steady him, still angry at him. “Then why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

Dipper, what on Earth does this mean?

Fiddleford stormed down the hallway and toward the dorm room he shared with his partner, fuming. He slammed the door open without warning before pulling the remains of his banjo from behind his back and tossing it on the floor. The instrument’s neck was snapped, the strings broken, the body cracked into pieces. 

“Goddamnit!” Fiddleford yelled, slamming the door closed behind him before whirling back around. “I’m gonna kill that son of bitch, mark my words.” He turns away, wiping a few frustrated tears from his eyes and hating the fact he was so worked up over such a small matter. He dropped to his knees and began to dig around under his bed. He shuffled loudly around as he wormed the top of his body underneath the bed frame, metal clanking on metal as he shifted through the array of junk he had stored there. 

I’ve been really tempted to start up a comic/novel inspired blog but, i’m held back by being nervous about how people would take it.