the steady continental seventy — xii

It's late morning in Portland. The sun glares down from a cloudless sky, reflecting off mirrored windows with a brilliance like photon needles, practically necessitating the use of sunglasses. Dipper stands on the blistering blacktop, peering across the parking lot towards the set of doors which he'll be entering soon enough. The Gleeful Company bakes beneath the sky, its siding probably hot enough to fry an egg. The temperature is pushing ninety already and it's not quite noon.

"I vote we wait inside," Wendy says, holding one hand up to shade her eyes. "I'm a redhead, man, I'm gonna melt."

"I refuse to get sunburnt," Pacifica concurs, careful to keep every centimeter of her face sheltered beneath the awning of her sunhat.

For the moment, it's just the three of them. Mabel was delayed when Brendan ended up being later to the hotel than they'd agreed upon; she sent Dipper on his way with a promise to catch up. Dipper could have waited, seeing as his appointment isn't for a few more hours, but he's had a nervous pinch in his stomach ever since waking, and he can't seem to ignore it. Ever aware that surprise might be his only advantage, he decided to rush over to Gideon's business in an attempt to get in before the allotted time.

Now that he's here, it no longer seems like a brilliant ploy. He's assuming that Gideon knows who 'Mr. Mason' might be to begin with. He's assuming a lot, really. Is he thinking about this wrong? He's not in Gravity Falls. This is Portland; this is a different reality. Gideon can't throw them off a cliff or rampage through downtown in a giant robot.

His misgivings are interrupted when Wendy begins striding towards the door. "Come on, let's go inside. What's he gonna do, stop us from walking in? He's four feet tall."

She seems to have forgotten about the possibility of goons. "Take it easy," he cautions, hurrying after her. "If we end up in jail, we can't beat Durland at rock-paper-scissors to get out."

The lobby is as empty as it had been the previous day. Dipper approaches the receptionist with as much confidence as he can muster, trying to push down his previous thoughts. He's beaten Gideon before, and he can do it again.

"Well, you're just a bit early," the secretary says with a smile. "Need to reschedule?"

"No, actually I was hoping to see Gideon now," Dipper explains. "It's, uh, really important."

"Mr. Mason, right? Looks like we had a cancelation. One second." She picks up her phone and hits a button. "…Mr. Gleeful? Yes, I have a Mr. Mason here to see you early. Is that alright? …I'll let him know." She hangs up. "Mr. Gleeful says he can see you in a few minutes, if you'd like to wait."

"Sure," Dipper says. He backs away from the desk and turns to Wendy and Pacifica.

"Shouldn't we wait for Mabel?" Pacifica says.

"I think we should take the chance while we have it," Dipper says. "We're leaving tonight, so if he cancels, we'll lose our shot."

"What's the plan?" Wendy asks. "Tell him to knock it off or else?"

"We'll probably have to defeat him," Dipper says. "Watch yourself—this could be a trap. Also, keep an eye out for anything that looks like him, it might be a robot."

Pacifica takes off her sunhat and hangs it on the corner of a nearby chair, removing a favorite article of clothing from the possible line of fire. "We should have brought Stan and Ford."

"No. This is up to us," Dipper says firmly. "Besides, not having Stan here is our only chance to make Gideon see reason."

"Yeah, Stan would definitely start a fight," Wendy sighs wistfully.

Dipper frowns at her. "Didn't you get ticked off and me and Robbie because we were— er, because you thought we were fighting?"

"Yeah, 'cause it's lame when guys fight trying to be all macho when you're really just being dumb," Wendy says, rolling her eyes. "I don't feel bad dropkicking Gideon when the world was at stake."

Dipper sees her point. He's about to tell her so when a voice rings out behind him, familiar in the worst way.

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, if it ain't Dipper Pines!" Gideon says, loud and cheerful.

Dipper turns to confront his ex-nemesis, already picturing Gideon in his mind's eye, expecting the big-tent-revival getup and the snake oil charm. His expectations are dashed when he sees Gideon standing at the foot of the stairs.

Gideon is still short; looks like he hasn't grown much in the past year, but he's younger than Dipper and Mabel, so that makes sense. His hair is parted on one side, very business-like, and his fancy suit has been traded in for one in a much more sober shade of blue. He no longer looks like a sideshow attraction, excepting the novelty of seeing a child in such an adult mode of dress. Despite these changes, it's clear that Gideon still enjoys the finer things in life: he's got an expertly folded silk square sticking out of one pocket, his tie clip sparkles with a prominently displayed diamond, and Dipper is pretty sure his gold watch is a genuine Brolex.

"You know, when the sheet said 'Mr. Mason,' I got to thinkin'," Gideon says with a smile that matches the gleam of his polished shoes. "I thought it might be you! And who else did you bring to see li'l ol' me? Wendy Corduroy, in the flannel. Always a pleasure, and… Pacifica Northwest?!" Gideon's eyes widen. "Bless your heart, I almost didn't recognize you without all that hair. What brings you to Portland?"

"I'm vacationing with Dipper," Pacifica says aloofly. "We're dating."

For the first time since Dipper has known him, Gideon is struck speechless. He stares at the two of them. "You… You're a couple?" He shakes his head, apparently unable to comprehend that. "Goodness gracious, has the world turned upside down? Y'all are full of surprises."

"So are you," Dipper says. He pulls out the folded flyer from his pocket and opens it.

Gideon smiles widely, shaking a finger in Dipper's direction. "Why, Dipper, are you here as a customer? I knew the day would come!"

Dipper is about to burst Gideon's bubble when the doors to the building open again and Mabel comes running in with Brendan right behind her, both appearing out of breath.

"I'm here!" Mabel wheezes. "Ready to go! What are we doing?"

"Mabel!" Gideon's expression turns uncertain, perhaps even nervous. "What… what a pleasure to see you."

"Gideon," Mabel says in the one of the chilliest tones Dipper's ever heard from her. It's positively Pacifica-esque.

Gideon looks at her for a long, silent moment with something in his eyes that Dipper can't decipher. It passes, and his smile returns. "Isn't this quite the reunion! All we need is Stanford. Though I suppose it's Stanley, isn't it? I have to hand it to him, he really got one over on me with that twin business." He laughs. "Well, I don't have to tell you! Now who's this?"

Brendan raises and drops one hand in an awkward wave. "Brendan. I'm, uh… tagging along, I guess."

"The more the merrier! Gather 'round, y'all, I'll give you the grand tour." Gideon heads towards a set of double doors at the far wall, gesturing for them to follow.

Dipper should have expected Gideon to take the initiative. The younger boy is as smooth as ever, with his slick smile and easy prattle. Dipper can't tell if what Gideon is hiding, if anything. Had he been expecting them? Is this a trap? Or does he really just want to show off his operation (which Dipper must admit is equally in character)?

The double doors open to reveal a warehouse floor lined with tables. The back half of the room is dominated by high shelves packed with boxes, a forklift humming busily in the background. At the far-left wall is a set of stairs that looks like it leads up into an office area; the rest of the floor is filled with tables where workers are packing boxes and printing labels. Gideon spreads his arms in an all-encompassing indication (and pompous, leaderly benediction) as he walks down the middle of the aisle.

"Welcome to The Gleeful Company! We're changing lives, one personalized package at a time." Gideon hops up onto a convenient step ladder, ready as always to ascend whatever soapbox is handy. "When I went to prison, it was a terrible tribulation. But I saw the light, y'all, and now I'm helping others turn their lives around by turning the lives of others around the way I turned my life around!" When some confused muttering ensues, he adds, "I've dedicated myself to sharing the truest gift of all—the gift of self-improvement. Killbone, toss me one of them tapes, hon."

As the man at the nearest table gives Gideon a packaged VHS, Dipper realizes that many of the faces in the room are familiar. He spots Ghost-Eyes walking nearby, and a few of the other workers were definitely there for Weirdmageddon.

Gideon holds the tape over his head in both hands as if it's a holy artifact. "Each tape we mail out is a beam of light in the terrible darkness of modern existence! You can't put a price on hope, friends. But if you could, it'd be six easy payments of nine-ninety-nine. That's less than ten dollars a month! Who wouldn't pay that to become a better person?"

"People still watch VHS?" Pacifica says.

Gideon lowers the tape. "You better believe there's some backward folks out there, I tell you what. We offer DVDs for the more technologically inclined." He sets the tape on the table and hops off the step ladder. "But that's not all, y'all! We have a full line of programs, from our popular self-help seminars to more specific guides on personal communication, anger management, and inkjet printer repair! We're making a better world, one tape at a time."

He leads them around the tables, moving towards the stairwell along the sidewall. His change to a more businesslike appearance has done nothing to diminish his flair for showmanship, and he keeps up a steady stream of self-congratulatory commentary as he walks.

"Here at The Gleeful Company, we are an equal opportunity employer. Why, this facility employs over twenty ex-convicts, empowering them to create new lives for themselves! Includin' yours truly, as y'all are aware," he says, giving them an exaggerated wink. "I'm proud to say we practice what we preach."

The staircase leads to a large office with a peaked roof that overlooks the surrounding industrial complex. It's a considerable step down from the well-appointed luxury Gideon tended to immerse himself in last summer, but the desk in front of the wide window looks like it's solid mahogany, and the chair behind it is made from very plush genuine leather.

Gideon notices Dipper's scrutiny. "You like it?" he says, indicating the chair. "I bought it from The Club before I left. Couldn't leave without my favorite chair." He sinks into it as they gather near the front of his desk. "It ain't much, but it's good, and it's growin'," he says, waving one hand back towards the warehouse floor. "Couple more years and we'll be able to move to somethin' a bit bigger and well-appointed." He leans back and kicks his feet up on the edge of the desk. "But enough about that, how y'all been? How's Gravity Falls? Does Main Street still smell like you-know-what?"

"Uh, no, Mayor Tyler took care of that," Dipper says. He holds up the flyer again. "You didn't mention these tapes."

"Oh, you're here to inquire after our specialized line," Gideon replies, nodding sagely. "Since when were you sweet on magic? I thought you were all about them sciences."

"Magic is science," Dipper retorts. "Why did you start selling magic power?"

"Between you and me, 'power' is a bit much," Gideon drawls. "Most folks have 'bout the same magical potential as a tea pot. But, well, there's plenty out there that fancy themselves the 'spiritual' type, and the crystal crowd's money is good as anyone else's. Now, how'd you come by that flyer?"

"From a maniac that decided to use your seminars to become the 'Lord of Storm!'" Dipper says, slapping the flyer down on Gideon's desk. "Why would you ever teach something like that?"

Despite Dipper's accusatory tone, Gideon is unflustered. "Don't think I did," he says. "Storm magic? Nothin' like that in Journal 2. The tapes are just beginner stuff, like levitatin' a plate or banishin' a low category spirit. 'Course, I reckon someone could dig deeper if they mastered what we got on offer…"

Dipper came prepared for a confrontation. But while Gideon has been as self-important and grandiose as usual, there hasn't been a hint of animus, and Dipper is beginning to genuinely wonder if it just isn't there to be found. Gideon has clearly moved on from Gravity Falls; he's got a real business, warehouse and everything. This is unfamiliar ground.

"Look, man, you can't just teach magic to people. This guy nearly drowned us while trying to achieve his lame idea of godhood," Dipper contends.

Gideon sits up in his chair; the feet come off the table. "You tellin' me how to run my business?" he says in a tone that's far more familiar than the impersonal friendliness.

Dipper isn't intimidated. "I'm telling you to stop handing magic out like it's no big deal."

Gideon's eye twitches slightly, a recognizable tic that puts Dipper back on edge. Gideon leans forward like he's about to show some of that deep-seated rage that he frequently gave vent to last summer, the seething entitlement and barely concealed hatred for all the people and things that inconvenienced him. Dipper tenses, readying himself for the inevitable.

The eruption doesn't come. Gideon lets out a long breath and settles back into his chair again with a slow creaking of leather. He sizes Dipper up through narrowed eyes. "You got a lot of nerve. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. But I tell you what, I really thought I wasn't the only one doin' some changing around here. Did y'all learn nothin' after Weirdmageddon?"

"Yeah, jerkoid, we learned magic is stupid dangerous," Wendy says derisively.

"Seriously, what are you even thinking teaching stuff like summoning? You know what can happen!" Dipper snaps.

"Summonin'?!" Gideon says in disbelief. "There's specific words, Dipper, things you gotta say, and I ain't never saying those words again. You think I put that on the tape? That's the last thing I'd do!"

"Okay, maybe you didn't have exactly that, but—"

Gideon is shaking his head. "Doesn't this just beat all."

"You gave us no choice, man! We had to come and stop you, like always," Dipper says, spreading his arms in exasperation. "At least we tried to be polite about it."

"We made an appointment and everything!" Mabel says, backing him up.

"Oh my word—I do believe y'all don't even know why you're here," Gideon says.

Dipper just glares at him. "Give it up, Gideon, no one wants to hear it."

"But you're gonna." Gideon clasps his hands together on his desk and meets Dipper's eyes with an unblinking gaze. "You didn't come all the way out here because you thought I was backslidin'. You walked into my buildin' and threatened me in my office because you thought I was taking something that ain't mine. You think you're the King of Gravity Falls, boy, you and your uncle, and god forbid them commoners get ahold of your precious magic or weirdness or supernatural whatchacallit. 'Cause only you can handle it! 'Cause only you know how to deal with all this! So you saw my flyer and went runnin' halfway across Oregon to shut down my company and put twenty plus felons back to countin' down the days until the next parole violation for bein' outta work, but I'm the bad guy 'cause some idiot got it into his fool head to control the weather after I taught him how to light a candle with his finger. If you think that makes me responsible, I got some bad news about other legitimate businesses 'round here. Daddy sold a car last month to a lady who jumped the median and rolled through a townhome. Didja go see him first?"

"No! You're twisting this around, Gideon, that's not how this is!"

"If you can look me in the eye, Pines, and tell me I'm wrong, then I must be at least a little, because you have changed. It just ain't for the better. How about it, Wendy? You couldn't wait for the chance to kick me around again, is that it?"

"Whatever, man," Wendy scoffs, crossing her arms.

"What about you, Mabel? You think I'm wrong?" Gideon asks, and when he looks at her his voice loses some of its strength and certainty.

"Dipper knows what he's doing," Mabel says loyally.

"Tryin' to be the good sister for once. At least this time you're lookin' me in the eye when you—…" Gideon stops himself with visible effort, taking a deep breath. "Steel yourself, Gideon. You said you weren't gonna do this," he mumbles to himself. Addressing Mabel again, he says, "You do whatever you want, Mabel. That's what you're best at."

"Shut up, Gideon. You don't get to say stuff like that to her after what you did," Dipper angrily interjects.

"This ain't about me!" Gideon shoots back. "I could be anybody, as long as you get to play the hero! The Pines twins, here to save the day from Gideon Gleeful and his startup company. Lord knows I deserved it last time, I made my peace with that, but you don't even know when you're in the wrong anymore, you're so used to bein' right. Got a whole town to applaud ya every time you turn around."

"You would know," Pacifica sneers.

Gideon immediately rounds on her. "And so would you! You— wait, why are you here again? Oh right, the datin' business. Since when do you care about any of this? Heck, since when do you care about anything? You're always so above it all, Northwest—guess it's nice of you to notice li'l ol' me for once."

"No, you're still beneath me," Pacifica says icily.

Gideon looks like he's about to lay into her again, but he doesn't. He sighs and shakes his head, looking at Dipper again. "Mason Pines, Gravity Falls' own golden boy. Well guess what, boy? You ain't in Gravity Falls. You gonna call the police, tell 'em I'm teachin' people magic tricks? Maybe you wanna jump over this desk and beat the tar outta me instead'a thinkin' 'bout why you really came here. Bet that's what Wendy's thinkin' 'bout."

"You don't know me, man," Wendy mutters.

Dippers words are failing him. He can feel them wilting in his chest, sputtering out of his mouth half-formed like wisps of disappointing smoke. "I… I'm just, I'm trying to—…" To what? He's not sure he even fully buys into what Gideon's saying, but the doubt is impossible to ignore.

Gideon's expression is pitying. "You know what? I ain't even mad. That town just gets right under your skin, don't it? All those secrets. All that power! It's intoxicatin'."

"I'm not becoming you," Dipper says tightly.

Gideon just rolls his eyes. "Friend, you ain't got that kind of style. Now, if that's all, I'm gonna ask you to leave."

Dipper can see the others in his peripheral vision, looking to him for a cue. His plan (if he can call it that) went up in smoke the second Gideon came down the stairs. He doesn't have a backup or an alternative. It burns his very soul to admit it… but Gideon's right. He can't call the authorities; he can't start a fight. He's not sure what he's doing anymore.

He's not even sure he's right.

Numbly, he gestures towards the door. Pacifica seems willing enough to leave; he's not sure what she's feeling about any of this, as her expression for dealing with Gideon is as fixed and remote as the moon. Mabel and Wendy seem uncertain and concerned, but slowly turn to make their way out. The sole person eager to make an exit is Brendan, who has been on the fringes of the conversation the entire time, looking excruciatingly awkward and doing his best to disappear. Dipper can't blame him. He can only imagine what that conversation had looked like to an outsider.

Dipper is the second to last one out, holding the door out so Brendan can grab it. But Brendan stops when Gideon speaks again.

"Hold your horses, new kid."

Brendan turns back around with dismay in his eyes. "Hey, uh, Mr. Gleeful. Look, I don't really understand any of this, so…"

"She deserves the best." Gideon's right hand raises and clenches the knot in his tie. "…And it wasn't me." He slumps a bit. "Ain't that a hard pill to swallow? Heh, felt that down to my britches."

Brendan's hands are deep in his pockets, his body curved away from Gideon in awkward defense. "Might not be me, either," he says with a self-deprecating shrug.

Gideon straightens, his hand tightening on the knot again. "You give her your best, ya hear?"

"Yeah… no offense, man, but I don't know you?" Brendan says. "I'll try my best because she's amazing."

Gideon's hand drops back to his side. "My, my," he says with a chuckle. "I guess we know each other after all."

And that's it. They move back through the building and Dipper emerges under the blazing sun, feeling that same blinding heat and staring out across the parking lot at a world that had made sense not an hour before.

Wendy spreads her arms in incredulity. "Okay, what just happened? What the heckin' crap was up with Gideon being all mature? He's even creepier like this!"

"I almost missed all his weird little noises," Mabel agrees.

Pacifica is unimpressed. "So he's moved from being a showbusiness hack to just a regular business hack. Wow, what an upgrade."

Dipper doesn't know what to say. He starts walking.

Wendy notices first. "Hey, where you going? Dipper?"

He walks until he hits the end of the parking lot. The heated asphalt turns to grass and he ascends a small hill in front of the next warehouse, where a brick sign sits below an American flag rustling in the light breeze. He sits down on the edge of the bricks and watches a truck rumble past on the road. He feels overwhelmed. He has too much to consider.

"You alright?"

It's Wendy. She clambers over the back of the sign and scoots in next to him. Dipper can hear Mabel talking nearby; it sounds like she's trying to explain the whole catastrophe to Brendan.

"I don't know," Dipper tells Wendy.

"Yeah. Well, don't let Gideon mess with your head too much."

"I think he might be right," Dipper admits.

"You think he might be right, or you're scared he might be right?"

"…Both?" Dipper sighs. "I don't know. I… I need to think about this."

"Maybe he was right about some stuff, but there's no way he's right about everything," Wendy says firmly.

He hopes she's right. "I guess he is a conman."

"Exactly. End of the day, he's still a tool."

Dipper gives her a wan smile and nods, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his head—the voice which says that Gideon being a tool and Gideon being right are not mutually exclusive.

The Steady Continental Seventy by 100 Watt Halo (Goldenrod, 1996)