I have a feeling this is going to be a dumb question, but what are Stan's thoughts on his object form?
He’s pretty okay with it, honestly. It’s just an object, and it’s a thing he can do that Ford can’t, not a twin thing.
He’s a grown man with a good sense of his own identity and self - he might have a small freakout the first time he does it, but as soon as he gets back to normal he probably goes “… well, that’s a thing I can do now” and tries to figure out a way to scam tourists with it. He also doesn’t have anywhere near the Bill-related trauma about colourful polygons with pipe-cleaner arms that Ford or Dipper would.
(Ford hits him with a broom the first time he sees it, stops when Stan asks him what the heck was that for, poindexter, I’m just getting a Pitt and haven’t broken anything lately???)
Hold onto your hats ladles and jellyspoons, because I accidentally wrote a 5 page fic to answer this one.
Summer was coming to a close, and with the twins’ birthday celebrations planned and ready to go, there was one more event on the calendar before the school year started up again.
“Stanley! What did you do with my tent?”
“... Sixer why do you need that. It’s in the attic. And why is it flourescent orange with green squiggles?”
“For Combusting Dude, what else? And they are not ‘squiggles’ it’s an energy direction array to ensure maximum rest from minimum sleep. Also a vomit repellant.”
“You. Want to go to Combusting Dude.”
“Of course, I used to do this every year! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me it was still going, I have 30 years to catch up on. Where did you put my giant self-propelling stag beetle?”
“Well I originally put it in the back room but then it set the curtains on fire so, uh… Part of it is in the flatypus, one bit’s holding up the toepher, and you’re sitting on the rest of it.”
Ford looked down, and admittedly the wooden structure underneath him did have certain stag-beetle-esque qualities.
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The desert was just as hot, dry and dusty as Ford remembered.
The stag beetle had been unfortunately beyond repair - or, more accurately, it was in use and unavailable to be a stag beetle, so this year’s transport was a rickety yet sturdy VW camper. The camper was actually going to be part of Dipper and Mabel’s birthday present, to help them visit each other during college and for Dipper to keep up his video series. Mabel was getting a motorbike, with a specially adapted pig-safe sidecar.
The grunkles hoped they wouldn’t come to regret the bike.
The camper, though, was getting a thorough test run as Ford maneuvered it across the rough terrain towards the sprawling mass of tents, stands and people. Bright costumes were everywhere, people on towering stilts and piloting strange mechanisms, people in beautiful home-made and hand-dyed outfits, and people wearing things they might later regret in this environment. It wasn’t always the sunburn, getting sand out of frondy decorations was always a nightmare.
Upon getting the tent set up and the van locked down he strode out into the popup metropolis, ready to see what was new and what hadn’t changed at all. The immense monolith of wooden pallets held centre stage, even bigger than it used to be, with a flashing laser array mounted on its forehead and surrounded by other wooden sculptures to go up in flames later on.
A many-legged contraption with an astounding number of brass instruments attached trundled past, and as he watched a string was pulled and the “mouth” of organ pipes opened to emit a sound that could only be described as
A group of people dressed in bright primary colours, with gorgeous lion head masks, seemed to be doing some kind of acrobatic display a little like a human pyramid.
At some point a very mellow young lady in a rainbow kaftan gave him a jar of what she called soma, which tasted an awful lot like a drink from dimension eleventy-three and made his knees feel like they were changing size at irregular intervals and the light glaring off the top of his glasses seem even brighter.
And then he saw it.
A whole group of people setting up for the Ritual of New Beginnings, just like he always used to. They each had kohl around their eyes, and were setting equipment into place in a circle around a little raised plinth for the fire. They all seemed rather young to Ford as he ambled closer, and as he approached he could hear them whispering and bickering about one of the aspects of the ceremony.
Someone had forgotten to bring a previously used pewter chalice to start things off. Well, Ford had one knocking around his tent, still there from last time. He jogged back to grab it, thankful that it wasn’t too far away, and meandered back to the group. His approach was met with some slight confusion on their part (what, was he too OLD suddenly?) but the chalice he was holding seemed to fix that, and soon enough he was wearing a borrowed robe and pouring something alcoholic from his chalice into the shiny new one held by the member on the outside of the circle, who poured to the next person in and so on until it reached the centre and was thrown over the plinth.
The group shuffled around, changing places for the next pieces of the ceremony as wood, then paper, then cloth was thrown onto the growing tower of flammable material. Finally Ford circulated toward the centre, just as the singing began.
And then things started to go a bit pear-shaped.
Ford caught a glimpse of the circle, and instead of the separate rising and setting suns of the New Beginnings ceremony, the symbols had been intertwined to make a spiralling star. This pulled Ford up short - suddenly a harmless cleansing ceremony could very well end extremely poorly, and as he looked again at the circle even more changes became apparent.
“Oh, oh dear, oh that isn’t good.” He stumbled back and turned to the robed figure next to him, “Stop, we have to stop, the circle’s wrong!”
His neighbour turned toward him, along with several others still singing - and wasn’t that sounding an awful lot like a chant instead of a song as well now - and smiled. “No, it isn’t.”
Ford stared for a second, then bolted for the circle. Or rather, he tried to bolt and was hemmed in on all sides by the other robed people. By the time he had shoved his way close enough to maybe scuff the circle and interrupt, he was being grabbed by at least 6 people and every time he shook one off another jumped on.
The weight finally dragged him to the ground, where he was promptly sat on by several more people, right as the chanting finished and a torch was thrown into the pyre with the final line - “Praeterita, praesentia et futura per ignem consumpti. Veni Malcon!”
The pile of offerings went up in smoke, and in a blinding flash of magnesium white, Malcon appeared. He looked like he was made of paper, and bathed in flames from head to toe in colours that shifted and crackled, occasionally throwing out showers of sparks that fizzed like iron filings.
The ringleader bowed and opened his mouth to speak, only for Malcon to notice the commotion that was Ford struggling and seven of the circle members holding him down.
Before Ford could demand an explanation, and before the leader could start speaking again, Malcon’s head was thrown backwards by an uppercut accompanied by a furious silver figure bursting from the ground beneath his feet. Malcon staggered back with a shriek of pain, rallying and launching himself at the shining winged person that had interrupted his summons.
Stan uncurled his claws from tight bunched fists and took a swipe at Malcon’s face, batting him down and sending a spray of fizzing sparks out as he ripped away a chunk of the papery body under all the fire. It sailed toward nearby spectators, burning out as it went until it fluttered to the ground as a charred hunk of parchment scraps. Malcon shrieked, and Stan bared fangs and snarled as he lay into the burning demon.
The fight was a blur of silver, fire and angry screeching, with Malcon heavily outclassed. Ichor and sparks flew in all directions. Shreds of burning paper scattered around, scorching black marks into the desert scrub. A few bystanders were admiring the spectacle, while most were criticising the “installation” for reckless fire management. The people holding Ford down were so engrossed that he was eventually able to work loose, and he turned and ran back towards his tent.
He got almost halfway there before he felt himself lifted off the ground, and the next thing he knew he was surrounded by darkness.
Ford panicked and flailed, which was completely ignored as he was picked up and turned every which way, hands patting him all over as Stan made sure he was unharmed.
“Sixer are you okay? Did he hurt you? Did he eat your memories?” Stan paused with both hands on Ford’s head, “Oh right, plate. But you’re ok right?”
Ford shook off Stan’s hands, only to get wrapped up in his wings. “I’m fine Stanley! How did you even know I was in danger in the first place?”
Stanley drew up short. “Sixer. Have you really not noticed? I know you drank that weird mushroom crap.”
“Noticed what?”
Stan gestured to Ford’s forehead, right where the light was still glaring off his glasses. Except, now Ford thought about it, he was in the shade. So what was causing that glint? Ford looked up, but it moved when he tilted his head, so he tried looking up without doing that and just moving his eyes, but that meant looking over the top of his glasses so he couldn’t see. Maybe if he tilted his head slightly...
After about 5 minutes of this, Stan took pity on his poor stoned brother and handed him a mirror.
Floating a couple of inches over Ford’s forehead was Stan’s symbol. The same one that Stan had carefully drawn out in the air, then driven his fist through and noogie’d onto Ford.
“I can see through the eye on that thing if I want to, and I can feel when you’re scared or hurt and stuff. Plus it’s like a big glowing demonic ‘keep off’ sign.” Stan rubbed the back of his head, “I mean, it didn’t work on that guy but when I have a bit more of a rep it’ll work better, and at least for now there’s lots of stuff that won’t mess with any demon even if they don’t recognise it…”
Ford was, for once, speechless, and simply hugged his brother.
TELL MY ABOUT THE TWIN SOULS OF THIS 'VERSE PLEASE
In Avarice, there is no Twin Souls. Stan and Ford don’t go on cultbusting sprees like Dipper and Mabel in Transcendence, and aren’t seen together nearly enough to begin speculation about their relationship like that.
There is, however, a book.
Just one book.
As part of a deal when the triplets are very young, Stan commissions a children’s writer/illustrator to create a book of short stories. Fairytales that teach the kids about the various magical creatures that live in the world now and how to get along with them, or at least avoid getting on their bad side. And every story features Mercuriat, the Quicksilver Fox, generally coming out on top by a combination of trickery, quick thinking, and being a bit of a jerk. A bit like the Brer Rabbit stories.
The book is adored by the triplets, and later by Willow’s Horde (which we haven’t yet got a name for) and they in turn tell the stories to their kids, the kids they babysit, and other people around them. Over the years the stories are collected and recorded many times, and there are thousands of iterations of each one. Eventually, any association with Mercuriat is completely forgotten - that happens fairly quickly, as whenever the stories are told outside of the Pines family they made sure to tone down the demon element - but the Quicksilver character remains.
Further down the line, Quicksilver is “known” to be a fairly powerful Sprite that generally takes the form of a fox. Something of a protector figure for children, a mischievous character who will absolutely abuse any loophole given and often pulls pranks on his summoners, but is generally amiable, especially towards novices. As Sprites are useful creatures but nowhere near as powerful or dangerous as Demons, Quicksilver’s summoning details are not hard to obtain, and are often part of summoning or magical creature study courses.
So now Stan has two sets of summons to answer - his regular Mercuriat work, and summons for “Quicksilver”, which are 40% students and 60% kids, and to maintain that cover he has to show up as a bouncy silver fox.
And he has only himself to blame.
(By the time someone researching ancient fiction and the story origins realises the connection, it’s far too late and the stories are as well engrained as Mother Goose)
This took entirely too long and I apologise for the delays.
As you can see, when a Mercuriat is ticked off, the main indication of exactly how boned you are is a manifestation of dripping mercury, running from clawtips, horns, and any horizontal surface along the torso. The more angry he is, the more mercury pours off him. The droplets fade out of existence before they hit the floor generally, unless he’s really making a point and deliberately maintains them in which case they disappear when he does.
Teeth and eyes also turn silvery, and instead of his regular red his fire burns blue.
(Science of the day: Mercury burns red, but mercury gas shines bright blue when electricity passes through it - eg in a discharge tube)
Similar to Alcor, he is void black - angry level dictating how far along this goes from tar-black to hole-in-space - and particles of this manifested form break away and float upwards. Rather than bricks floating away, Mercuriat has rounded bubbles that seem liquid, like a very angry lava lamp.
In this universe, it isn’t Henry that ends up making the deal with Stan to protect Willow, but Mabel. The result appears as a child, the rainbow-colored silhouette of a prepubescent girl with a tiny roiling sun for a heart, and just as dangerous as her more imposing counterpart. Occultists name her the Star Child, Mabel’s soul eternally glowing with the change. When Mabel departs, she stays, a force of benevolent chaos and protector of the innocent. Stan’s not sure how to feel about her, to be honest.
Probably a stupid idea, I admit.
This idea is great and we’ve decided that it’s canon ;D Though Mabel is in her late 20′s early 30′s when it happens so it would have the form of an adult woman. It’s only when she dies and the Star Child becomes an entity unto its own that it takes on a prepubescent form. When the Star Child punishes someone, she burns them with her light, and they have permanent burn scars for the rest of their lives.
In the meantime, the heart glow is constant and is convenient for when there are power outages in the shack! Usually she covers it up with some sort of patch so as to not attract suspicion, though. Her reincarnations gain the glowing soul as well as rainbow streaks in their hair, but these are only visible by those with the Sight.
What does Stan look like when he's pissed/completely demon'd out? Does he still have the brick and eye like Alcor does or something different?
Stan gains horns and enormous wings that emerge as if having been folded over his coat when he goes full demon. The 3rd eye is still there but instead of bricks, he has rivulets of glowing lines, like quicksilver, running down his horns, his claws, and his wing joints. As well, instead of pixelly bricks emerging from his body, he has amorphous beads of silvery black floating from, and flowing in and out of, his form. Here’s my take on a bust of him; expect more art of this form soon!
