Fisheye
To Dipper Gleeful, it’s an intriguing existence.
He looks the object curiously, eyes ghosting over its marble-esque surface and meandering up to the hollow bend and crack by its crown - the only imperfection in an otherwise smooth curve. But, it was the only way to obtain such an item as swiftly as they did.
“Still playing around with that skull, huh.”
Dipper jolts, eyes thinning and turning over to the direction of the voice.
“Something you need, sister?”
“I found a few…tourists wandering around back, pa’ wants us to take care of ‘em before dinner.”
He exhales, eyes fluttering back from his sister as quickly as they came. “Ah, yes. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Mabel stills, clearly unsatisfied by her sibling’s half-hearted reply. She crosses her arms, side leaning against the doorway as she exhales a sigh. She too turns her attention to the skull in her brother’s hands.
“It’s a shame - it was fun watching you interact with her,” she says, a lopsided grin forming at the memories. But, if anything, she’s very much relieved Dipper went through with it - after all, if things grew too serious between them, it could’ve lead to further complications. “Now, if you don’t mind I’d like you to, kindly, get your ass out of that chair and help me.”
“Now now, Mabel, there’s no need for such language - we must remain civilized.”
“We’ll see how ‘civilized’ you remain with my foot up your ass.”
“Charming.”
And Dipper can practically feel Mabel’s eyes boring holes through his head.
“All right, all right - no need to worry, dear sister - I’ll be down in a moment.”
Mabel hisses by the doorway - choosing not to contemplate why Dipper’s voice grew strained at the utterance of the two words addressing her - and stomps down the hallway with a profanity of some sort muttered under her breath.
Chuckling, Dipper sets the skull down by the corner of his desk, a light smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He walks over to the doorway, footsteps landing in steady thumps and fingers ghosting over the light switch. The voice that follows is smooth and low, the kind that spoke amidst the smoky silence of Hollywood mafia movies.
“Goodnight, Wendy.”
And there was no more light.
He looks the object curiously, eyes ghosting over its marble-esque surface and meandering up to the hollow bend and crack by its crown - the only imperfection in an otherwise smooth curve. But, it was the only way to obtain such an item as swiftly as they did.
“Still playing around with that skull, huh.”
Dipper jolts, eyes thinning and turning over to the direction of the voice.
“Something you need, sister?”
“I found a few…tourists wandering around back, pa’ wants us to take care of ‘em before dinner.”
He exhales, eyes fluttering back from his sister as quickly as they came. “Ah, yes. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Mabel stills, clearly unsatisfied by her sibling’s half-hearted reply. She crosses her arms, side leaning against the doorway as she exhales a sigh. She too turns her attention to the skull in her brother’s hands.
“It’s a shame - it was fun watching you interact with her,” she says, a lopsided grin forming at the memories. But, if anything, she’s very much relieved Dipper went through with it - after all, if things grew too serious between them, it could’ve lead to further complications. “Now, if you don’t mind I’d like you to, kindly, get your ass out of that chair and help me.”
“Now now, Mabel, there’s no need for such language - we must remain civilized.”
“We’ll see how ‘civilized’ you remain with my foot up your ass.”
“Charming.”
And Dipper can practically feel Mabel’s eyes boring holes through his head.
“All right, all right - no need to worry, dear sister - I’ll be down in a moment.”
Mabel hisses by the doorway - choosing not to contemplate why Dipper’s voice grew strained at the utterance of the two words addressing her - and stomps down the hallway with a profanity of some sort muttered under her breath.
Chuckling, Dipper sets the skull down by the corner of his desk, a light smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He walks over to the doorway, footsteps landing in steady thumps and fingers ghosting over the light switch. The voice that follows is smooth and low, the kind that spoke amidst the smoky silence of Hollywood mafia movies.
“Goodnight, Wendy.”
And there was no more light.