exoficient:
Rick has been scouting alternative dimensions for a while now, determining which would constitute a decent plan B, C and D, should they be required. The relocation plan involves identifying versions of Earth which are as close to possible as their own and that, in turn, have a viable town to transport the Homestead to, should its current location become compromised in any substantial way.
The version he has found himself visiting today, is one he has visited on numerous occasions, mainly to check everything is still in order and that parallels between this version and his own continue to be maintained; it doesn’t take much to turn a perfectly good version of Earth into an absolute hellscape frankly.
After tasting the coffee here, he is considering bumping the dimension up from C to B, because admittedly it’s the best he’s tasted in a while. He always receives a few confused, apprehensive looks from the locals upon arrival, sure, but that that does not dissuade him, in truth it’s no different to how he is still received by some of them back home.
Pulling out a tattered old copy of ‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea’ he settles down to read while enjoying his coffee and some well-earned peace and quiet. It is however, short lived, mainly because a pig-faced child, dressed like a tv evangelist, has decided to slip into the chair opposite him and start questioning him, unlike the other patrons in the diner who have smartly sensed it best to keep their distance.
Looking up from his book, Rick studies the little boy for a moment, deciding whether or not to open a portal up underneath him and send him straight to a barren hell dimension for a day or so where he can reflect on the folly of bothering strangers in such a self-entitled manner. After a further moment of deliberation however, Rick determines such a course of action would only attract further unwanted attention so decides to begrudgingly tolerate the disturbance instead.
“You make it your business?” Rick repeats softly, calmly closing his book to place it face down on the table, before staring directly at the boy with an intensity that would intimidate most, but Rick has already suspected will have little effect on this self-assured little brat.
“So tell me….what makes it your business, hmm?”
The old man’s icy tone towards him does little to phase Gideon. If anything it just makes him the more interested. What with the way Gideon dressed and maintained himself, not to mention his family’s position of power in town ever since the Northwests hightailed it out of there, most folks round here did their very best to get within his good graces— and the blatant disregard for such was hard to come by. In many ways, such a contemptuous display— why, it was almost refreshing!
Gideon’s whole persona practically screamed wealth and notoriety, in a dark, underhanded way that even the Northwests could hardly hope to rival; and of the folks who bent to his whim, none were more likely to do so than those who had known him when he was young. Those who had seen him back in the days when he was a right proper terror; not above physical violence and the use of seriously screwed up intimidation tactics to get his every whim answered.
—But this man? He’s new in town, so Gideon can’t fault him too much for not knowing any better.
Don’t get him wrong, he could quite easily do that evil stuff nowadays too but... honestly? Being bad was at times exhausting. For the time being, he’s kicking back and taking things easy; living an ‘honest’ life as it were. At least until something came along to shake up his life. Be that a new romance, a new business opportunity, starting construction on Gideonland— or some fourth, greater thing.
And sure— faking the scope of his powers to a greater audience is malicious in a different way, but only in the sense that stupid fools who believed him would poor their very wallets into buying his merch, paying their tv subscriptions and watching his show on the Network. And was that such a bad thing, at the end of the day? At least that money was spent on a lesser evil than say...
Uhh... Anyways. Kinda got carried away there. Moral of the story: tv wasn’t evil, and technically neither was he.
And that was that.
Gideon chuckled, raising a hand in a sloppy, vaguely disrespectful gesture to draw Susan’s attention from the bar. She came right over with the orange juice he had previously ordered, and then left them without a word, pretty as you please.
“My daddy once ran for mayor, an’ lost— but only by the slimmest of margins. He told me if I ever wanna follow in his footsteps, ah should make it mah business t’get to know folks round these parts,” said Gideon matter-of-factly, favoring his new acquaintance an arrogant smirk. It was a likely story, his ‘wanting to know people,’ but then again— he couldn’t very well go round telling folks he planned on OWNING Gravity Falls either, could he? Nope. Better instead to tell only half of the truth.
And so— “If you’re gonna live ‘round here, then it’d be within our interests to know one another.”
“Reason enough, fer ya?” He took a healthy slurp of his orange juice and set the glass back upon the table with an exceedingly-loud clatter.
“Name’s Gideon Gleeful, but you c’n jus’ call me Li’l Gideon if ya want.” He has half a mind to prompt him again for his name, but he has a feeling that if the stranger felt inclined to tell him he’d have divulged it by now. Might even be better, he decided, to let the stranger come around on his own terms. Wouldn’t do to be overbearing when he was trying to maintain appearances now would it?
