entrancelogs | 'cause you thought you'd escaped

Entry tags:

'cause you thought you'd escaped

Who: Alex Kralie and anyone/everyone
Where: All around Gravity Falls
When: February 5th-9th (specify which day in the subject header)
Rating: Let's say PG-13. Alex is a foulmouth
Summary: Fairies and gremloblins and tourist traps, oh my!
The Story: beneath the cut!

February 5th and 6th; Mystery Mansion

God, he is so bored.

Alex thinks he might be starting to have an allergic reaction to how much obnoxiously fake stuff there is scattered all around this place. And people actually buy this crap? He turns over the price tag on one of the dubiously-named "attractions" and snorts. What a scam.

But man, he can't remember when he last had two hundred bucks in cold hard cash to just spend however he sees fit. Ordinarily that'd go to a savings account, or to chip away at those student loans, or would be added to his private stockpile devoted to the Production-Level Movie Equipment Investment Fund, but he sincerely doubts the money will linger past the event's end. So, with a sigh, Alex submits to the thrall of capitalist purchase. He might put forth some money for a tour just to see what all the fuss is about. He might even buy something other than a disposable camera, just to shake things up. He's gotta use up this cash somehow, right?

February 7th; Fairies

Of course, what should he walk into within five minutes of venturing into the woods but a swarm, a literal swarm, of winged little pests? He swats at them furiously, stumbling blind through the semi-thick woodland, practically snarling under his breath as those bright fluttering pains in the ass dodge every clumsy swipe of his hand. This place had better not have poison oak, or Alex will have words. He'll have angry words, furious words, as soon as he gets - these - things - off - his -

Crash.

That's roughly the point in time where Alex trips over a root and faceplants, possibly onto a rock or sharp object of some kind. You might trip over him as he lies there, surrounded by a dancing halo of colorful chirping lights, wondering where in his life he went so wrong.

February 8th; Gremloblins

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, HOLY SHIT - "

Running at breakneck speed through the woods. Yep, this sounds familiar. Only instead of some ghostly-thin spectre-like faceless nightmare, this thing is a hulking, lumbering, snarling...well, he doesn't really have a word for it. He just knows it apparently doesn't like cameras or bright flashes, and it's currently fixated on him and mad. Oh, joy. Too far, Alex. You went too far, and now you're going to suffer for it.

He barely manages to duck a swipe of the thing's massive claws just as its jaws part in a furious roar.

"For the love of - help! Can anyone - " The rest of that sentence is lost as Alex once again has to devote the rest of his attention to keeping those wickedly curved claws from taking a sizable chunk out of him. No other choice here but to keep running and hope he crashes into someone who knows how to kill or maim or otherwise get rid of this thing. Dignity be damned. Pride be damned. He lost all claims to pride the minute he started shrieking to help at the top of his goddamn lungs.

Speaking of which -

"Help!?"

Alex Kralie, the only man who can manage to make a desperate entreaty for aid sound utterly and deeply sarcastic.

February 9th; the Hide Behind

He's been camped in the same spot for hours. His palms are slick with sweat, his tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration, hunched in scattered underbrush as he waits for the telltale rattle-hiss of the thing he knows is after him. Stalking him.

"Come on," he whispers, eyes narrowed at the empty air in front of him. "Come on, you stupid son of a bitch. I know you're out there. I heard you. I heard you. Come on out."

And so it goes, a quiet, ongoing litany as he waits and waits and waits and waits for the thing behind him to show its goddamn self. He's had enough of things he can't see. He's going to chase this one down, wallpaper every tree in the forest with its ugly mug.

There it is. The rattle. The click-clack-click of the beast drawing near.

Alex grins faintly, poised to spin around and catch it in the click and flash of a shutter. 1/500th of a second. That's all it'll take. Come on. Not so mysterious now, are you, Mr. Monster?

[ooc: prose or brackets are good, will match accordingly]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ah-ha. Gotcha.

Wait. What?

Alex stares blankly at none other than - Dr. Telepath? He hadn't realized anyone else would be this deep in the woods, which is kind of an absurd oversight now that he thinks about it.

"Uh," says Alex, for the moment lost for words. He recovers admirably as his stare falls upon the duo of instruments Philip is apparently toting around, and his confused frown deepens. "Did you, like, possibly join a mariachi band in the past few days, or something?"

So hey, what's with the covert nature photogra-- all right, sure, that question can wait. And hey look, the black spots in his eyes are disappearing already.

"Actually, I got them just this morning, and they're more than just instruments."

Philip grins lopsidedly. Oh, this will be good.

He'd held off on the gift shop at first. Sure, it all seemed neither beneficial nor harmful at first glance. But Wonderland's events sometimes liked to save a few surprises for later down the road, so Philip waited. Turns out nobody ended up cursed from their purchases. Turns out obtaining a novelty puma shirt didn't prove vital to their survival either. And after so many days it was really just exactly what it seemed: A tourist trap, which they could either take or leave.

Philip took it, in the end. He gives the prize in his hand a good shake, letting the rattle sound again.

"With these I'll be able to not only raise, but also control my own army of the undead, can you believe it?" Gosh, he can barely contain his completely genuine enthusiasm! "And that at only 180 dollars for the pair, what an incredible bargain!"

Alex packs as much raw scorn as he can into the incredulous look he shoots him. Undead-raising maracas. This is what Stan's entire shtick is. If Alex had any respect for him before (he didn't, but it's the principle of the thing), it's evaporated by now.

"Jesus Christ." He shakes his head. Unbelievable. How cruelly, stupidly incidental. "I bet that cost you every penny on top of it, huh." Considering Alex would've gotten seriously overcharged for a couple dozen disposable cameras, that's not really so surprising.

Maybe it doesn't really matter. Philip's a right old events veteran at this point, so he probably has a fair handle on what works and what doesn't. So maybe knowing the two hundred bucks might as well be worthless in the grand scheme once the event is over makes all the difference.

"I've got twenty left, thought I might haggle for a jar of eyeballs when I get back. What's that saying? You can never have too many human eyeballs."

That's definitely the saying. Definitely a thing. Granted, probably he'll hang on to the last of his magical event cash, just to see if it'll disappear the way he expects. Usually should, though who knows, perhaps it'll keep, and the moral of the story will be that he could've had 200 dollars to his name.

Eh. Not worth the grief, not here. Wonderland's got them more than covered, and he's got his own resources to barter with the merchants if and when need be. Right, but enough of that now. He scales down the chipper shopper's pitch in the transmission of his voice.

"So, what are you doing out here, anyway?"

--Other than the usual perhaps, but he decides not to add that. It's been-- long enough since their last meeting, right? He's probably checked the regular forest out by now. And the previous event's forest. Annnnd this one now.

...Looks like it's theme season again, huh?

Assuming they literally are human eyeballs. At this point Alex wouldn't be surprised if they happened to be marbles painted over with ~spooky designs to look like human eyeballs. Still, he did buy the camera from the Mystery Mansion in the first place, so it's not like Alex has a moral high ground to stand on.

"I thought I was checking out a, uh, a thing." He gestures vaguely with one hand. "Something that keeps making a rattling noise, 'cept it's not a snake. You haven't been following me for the last couple hours or so, have you?" he adds casually, because it would be just his luck if he was inadvertently stalking a maraca-toting Philip this whole time. Alex is usually much better at this, all right? Well, no he's not, but he likes to think he is.

"Right, obviously, a thing."

He huffs a small laugh. No, no, not to worry, he knows better than to press.

"You were skulking around with a camera again, thought some music might brighten the mood."

Too much? Too much. Philip shakes his head.

"--No, I haven't been. At least not deliberately, or with music. Came from the 'Mystery Mansion'." Damn right you're getting air quotes, you ridiculous thing. "Just wanted to see how far I could walk here."

And which fun and exciting and allegedly harmless creatures he might raise an eyebrow at along the way.

"I mean, it's not like it's done anything," he's quick to add. Because it hasn't. It's just been real damn annoying, is the thing, and reminiscent as it might be of certain other horrors that will remain nameless, nameless damnit, it's seemed pretty much harmless. But snap a pic he wants to, and so snap a pic he will. Probably. Hopefully. "It just keeps following me, driving me up the wall."

Maybe.

"'Course you came from the Mystery Rip-Off, who hasn't?" Yeah, Alex still isn't over the fact that he had to fork over ten whole bucks for a shitty disposable camera. Fuck you, Stan.

Rattling noise, rattling noise. Philip goes over the monster collection in his head, as much as he can remember by heart, but rattling noise doesn't ring a bell. Because obviously it'd shake a rattle. Ha. Ha. Ha. --Anyway, nothing familiar he can recall.

"Haven't heard anything myself, so I guess it likes you more. Did you get a look at it, or was that why you went into ambush photography mode?"

"Nope. It's like it's always just behind me." Maybe that's what he'll call it. The "Right Behind You." Or, mmmm...nah. Doesn't have the right ring to it.

And because it's Philip, Alex shoots him a dry look. "And you can understand why that might be a problem for me."

Gotta say, it's refreshing knowing a guy who already knows the worst thing about you - or one of them, anyway. No stepping around the subject. Just honest, frank discussion. Mostly.

"Right, not the good kind of nostalgia."

Philip looks around. Not much he's seeing now, and not much he's seen or heard on the way here. As far as events go, this one's been tame to him, and if his new wallet stays the only victim-- But you never know about going out with a grand finale, and it probably doesn't hurt to check.

He pulls out his communication device. No static sound there, not that he'd expect it, but how's that for some vague sense of reassurance? ...Probably not much, not to worry, he might be able to do better.

"Hang on then, I know a guy who knows this place better."

And then he quickly starts typing a short message.

Alex is considerably less enthused to be consulting one of the Gravity Falls residents for help, mostly because a) he hates asking for help just like any young adult with an overdeveloped sense of masculine independence, and b) he's not really on the best terms with any of them. Except Mabel. Mabel's cool, though. Anyone who beats up unicorns is cool.

"Which guy? Mini-detective or sleazy salesman?" Kralie shorthand for Dipper or Stan. If he really has to choose he'd go with the former, since he's actually managed to keep a full conversation with him that didn't spiral down into trading barbed jibes and petty overcharging. "I mean, how many people are actually from here, anyway?"

Or sleazy-- Christ, come on now, that is just insulting. With the fake rattles and the- and all of the-- Philip huffs out a short breath.

"Even if I thought the latter could help, I doubt either of us could ever earn the money it'd take to get him to say something that's actually useful."

He shakes his head.

"Dipper. The mini-detective. It's--" Wait now, let him think about that for a second. "--Four, I think? There's him, his sister, the old guy, that guy's brother. Four that I know of. Guess they sell them in pairs."

Well, they're agreed on the former point at least.

"Stan has a brother?" That's news. God but Alex feels sorry for that family. It hasn't really occurred to him that Alex might be the truly difficult one in this situation. "Jeez. Wonderland must really dig the location."

Or he'd assume so, given that they're apparently in Gravity Falls right now. It's not helping Alex's case that the thing tailing him has elected to stay pretty silent, which just makes him seem aggressively paranoid.

"I think so. Could be off about it, but there's some scientist guy, didn't get here too long ago, said his name was Pines too-- and actually I thought that guy was called Stan, and the other--"

His comm device beeps. Just as well. He checks the message with an arched eyebrow.

"Whatever the old guy's name, he might be selling to the local wildlife, too..."

He tosses the phone at Alex, so he can get a look at the message. To think Philip might have to share his incredible death raising powers with an owl? A travesty! A complete and utter travesty!

How many Stans can one family have? How many Stans is too much? How much do you Stan - no, that's beside the point. Alex regards the response (ah yes, of course it's Dipper, of course it is) and arches an eyebrow, skeptical. An owl? Seriously?

"The Hide-Behind," he says dryly. "Real creative. Yeah, that's bullshit." He knows something has been following him. He can feel it in his intuition. He doesn't neglect his intuition. Usually. "There's something else out here. I haven't even seen an owl since ending up here."

Again his eyes fall on Philip's maracas, but he's not paranoid enough ~~yet~~ to assume the other guy's been lying to him about that one.

"Maybe Stan swiped their maracas for the resell value, and they migrated out of protest."

Philip gives the instruments a very solemn shake rattle rattle shake. See? He puts away his communication device. All right, fine, and the rattles too, they can stay at his belt.

"All right, so what's the next step in finding this thing?"

Because he's broke with absolutely nowhere to go, and nothing better to do whatsoever.

Maybe this is a two-man job. Alex looks at Philip speculatively.

"Well, I can already tell you that trying to catch it when it sneaks up behind you doesn't work." He's tried that about five times, and still zilch. Nothing but a crick in his neck and crushed dreams.

Maybe if he strapped the camera to the back of his head -

Which would look fucking stupid. Now, if he strapped the camera to the back of Philip's head?

"You feel like maybe duct-taping this to the back of your head?" He says dryly, jiggling the camera in his hand.

Philip stares at Alex wordlessly for a long time.

( A very long time. )

Then he shrugs, turns around, and straightens his sweater.

"All right, if that's your brilliant plan, knock yourself out."

"Woah, what, really?" Alex blinks in surprise. After that lengthy silence he'd expected some kind of deadpan retort or impending snark-off, but nope.

"Well, uh." Haha, fun story, Alex has nothing on him but the clothes on his back and his stupid little camera. "Do you...have duct tape? Or anything?"

Either way, having duct tape in your hair doesn't sound very fun. Like, at all.

Philip glances over his shoulder.

"Really?" He turns around, eyebrow arched all over again. "Really?"

He crosses his arms.

"You come up with a plan like that, and then you can't even spring for the bloody duct tape? I'm giving you a D- in your conspiracy journalism class, just so you know."

Philip shakes his head. This would be a good moment to drop it, but he still hasn't got anything better to do, and now he might as well be in it to win it. He very unceremoniously reaches underneath his sweater, and rips off part of his shirt. Twists and knots the tatters into as thin and durable a piece of rope as he can.

"All right, so here's the back-up plan: I make this into an unfashionable communication device necklace, and hang it from the back of my neck. I'll start the feed, and you can watch it on your end while we walk."

"Stan doesn't like me," Alex says easily. "He was overcharging. Like hell I'm gonna spend a hundred-ninety on a fucking roll of duct tape."

Never mind that this money is probably some kind of impermanent fixture for the duration of this event or some shit. It's the principle of the thing, okay? Conceding to Stan's stupidly outrageous prices is like acknowledging he wins, and you can pry Alex's pride from his cold dead fingers.

"Hey man, if you're cool with it, I'm cool with it." Dr. Phil can fiddle around with his disposable shirts all he likes. He clicks on his own device - aw shit, it's still futzing around with the stupid static like a pain in the ass - and gives it a couple shakes. The picture'll clear up. Eventually. Maybe.

It's a liberating feeling, the first time you realise that Good Quality Menswear At A Reasonable Price can go screw itself, because magic will let you stock up as often as you need. Philip ties the abominable contraption around his neck, and walks a few experimental steps.

"You getting a decent picture with this?"

He walks around some more, just to see how the device sits and fits - which is well enough, for a makeshift surveillance necklace.

"By the way, if it does turn out to be just an owl with maracas, then you owe me. Big time."

"Good as it's gonna get." He has to squint, but he's used to that. He has to shake it from time to time, but he's also used to that. Living with an electrostatic field around yourself is a fucking pain, but he is also used to that.

"I'll be sure to fork over all of my not-money if that's the case," he says dryly. "You can buy yourself some ghoul-raising panflutes and start a band."

'cause you thought you'd escaped

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oh my god

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annnnnd fade again?

let us fade into the night you and i