MASON "DIPPER" PINES

[Dipper Pines]

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[attr="class","rcappleft"] [attr="class","rcapptop"] [attr="class","rcappimg"] [attr="class","rcapptop2"] MASON PINES [attr="class","rcapphov"] [attr="class","rcapphov2"] [PTabbedContent] [PTab= [attr="class","rcapptab"]CANON ] [attr="class","rcappleft2"] [attr="class","rcappleft3"] [attr="class","rcappleft4"] [attr="class","rcapplefttitle"]POINT OF DEPARTURE [attr="class","rcappleft5"] Just shy of three years after the end of the series. All relevant canon points are the same. Arrived here during a family trip with his twin sister MABEL PINES after a botched multiverse phase shift. Apparently super freaked out, to the point that government officials asked the poor kid to please not have a heart attack. Just imagine the length of their report if the interviewee died on the job. [break][break](But c'mon, can you blame him?) [attr="class","rcappleft2"] [attr="class","rcappleft3"] [attr="class","rcappleft4"] [attr="class","rcapplefttitle"]CHARACTER ABILITIES [attr="class","rcappleft51"] "Uh. Really, really bad luck?" [break] One way to say that nothing about him is super unique and/or awesome. [break][break] Special abilities? Listed off: amateur photography and cinematography, boss dungeonmaster, listening to high-pitched bubblegum pop sensations and subsequently rocking out, driving a golf cart and almost a car, multivariate calculus and an obnoxious drone-y explain-y exposition voice (Mabel's words and not his), terribad physics jokes in the jive of "Don't know, I feel pretty neutrino about it," sharp-shooting memes in the accurately titled Twin ESP uMessage chat, incredible lung power since he screams too much—wait, that came out wrong. Scares easily, much less incriminating. [break][break] "I have a totally normal, usual, not-supernatural book. Just, you know, a normal book. Yep. Real boring." [break] Which is capable of summoning the undead, communicating with horrors of the seventy-eighth dimension and de-gnoming your backyard for a small service fee! [break][break] ("Now only nine easy payments of nine-ninety-nine plus tax! That's right, just one hundred dollars and he'll toss your pesky lawn gnomes out on the curb! Wow, kid, you're making me a ton of money! And you and your sister get to blast each other with leaf blowers. It's really a win-win situation. Yep. I'm a great uncle — hah! And disclaimer: no refunds, direct any liability claims to my lawyers at Stanson, Douglas and Spruce. No, they'll call you. Signed, Stan Pines, 06/12/2014.") [break][break] . . . occasionally scribbles inside the margins, but his handwriting resembles a dead language so the commentary might as well be useless. [break][break] His journal is also assured to help scope out and/or discover everything and anything bizarre, much to his giddy excitement. In a phrase, he is best described as operating under the magic-science-fanboy laws of universal attraction, but everything that orbits Dipper's strange, superstitious head classifies as "funky occult weirdo fodder." [break][break] Or? He's your average human nerd boy, excluding UFO joy rides and secret societies and timeline shenanigans, but Dipper could pass off as a super-powered brother. Maybe. [/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:478px;height:612px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}] [PTab= [attr="class","rcapptab2"]BIO ] [attr="class","rcappleft6"] [attr="class","rcappleft61"] spoilers for the end of gravity falls. [break][break] HELLO, MY NAME IS: "GRAVITY FALLS" [break][break] ( Everybody loves family and its growing pains;[break][break] no matter if lost or if found;[break][break] because family's how we learn to be somebody else's backbone, their heartbeat. )[break][break] [break][break] — saying on a corny postcard from a strange hick country town [break][break] tucked in the spindly Douglas firs of the Pacific Northwest[break][break] and that now lives inside a boy's bedside drawer.[break][break] [break][break] HELLO, MY NAME IS: "THE NECRONOMICON" [break][break] Everyone likes the idea, the sound of it, the way it fits effortlessly into their mold. Twins, you know, should seem pretty same-y; that’s what it means to tumble out into the world with somebody else. Teachers pair them together in Elmer’s glue-smelling classrooms through elementary school. Family friends wrap cloned baby clothes in matching paper on the last, dwindling afternoons of August. [break][break] In Piedmont, California, there’s happy-go-lucky, “living toy vending machine bouncy ball” Mabel Pines— [break][break] —and then, there’s Mabel’s twin brother What’s-His-Name. [break][break] The Journal leaves a lump in his throat, heavy and tucked under his arm while he liquefies in the greasy Oregon heat. Obscure, something special and hidden and incredible, out of view and out of mind for everybody else. At least everybody else normal, anyway. [break][break] What’s cool about secrets. [break][break] Honestly, what’s not. [break][break] He feels the weight, its cover weather-beaten and tinged with this gross smell of dirt and musk. In the dead of night, Mason babbles in his head about the hows and whys and ways it came to meet him—and just him, and maybe he’s special too, somehow. [break][break] [break][break] HELLO, MY NAME IS: "THE GREAT OLD ONES" [break][break] And people talk, rattle out garbled word vomit like a disc scratch. Sdrawkcab — they can't make heads or tails, up or down. There's this thing called the hand of Mariam, the gaze of Horus, the all-seeing eye, and it leers blearily out at cobweb cracks of light. They crawl across dusty wood floors and their piano-wire shadows slither in his attic, like they have a mind of their own. [break][break] A peephole into something unknown, something sinister, something that devours sleeping children when the bed spits it out. Somebody's, the zigzag-antennae radio trills and hiccups over a wilder beat, watching me. [break][break] Special's a weird booby-trap boulder that lodges against a rock and a hard place, waiting to crush everything in between. Special's the bizarre, same-y destiny of an impatient little girl and a misfit little boy who joke that "my mom's your mom, stupid, so it takes one to know one." [break][break] But really, what's really, actually, two hundred-y percent special? [break][break] ( Special's just what you make of it and the thought becomes a discovery, like lazy summer days. ) [break][break] [break][break] HELLO, MY NAME IS: "WEIRDOCALPYSE ISN'T A CATCHY TITLE" [break][break] At a junction where the time stream splinters into jittery molecules and cosmic dust, the end of the world as we know it reduces to some shabby rock in an overgrown backyard. He saw this same scene in a vision once, his great uncle mumbled a handful of days after the collapse of Gravity Falls into demonic potluck soup. Right before he tried to claw out his face in the nuclear-winter-paranoia-fuel bunker of his (slanty, tripping off the forested hillside) log cabin. [break][break] It's the same as listening to bad news; sudden. The end of the world's a giant joke, and everything's bigger and messier than it looked four months ago when sweet May mutated into clammy June. Lopsided, camouflaged like a tree hidden in plain sight: "There's one dimension here, Dipper, and there's others somewhere else. But, for now, our's is safe. Bill's gone. At least, excluding that ugly lawn ornament." [break][break] It reminded him of a timestamp or a gravestone, and this strange heaviness choked the Oregon breeze. The sensation chilled the hair on his arms and spread out, reaching, silent. The Eyesore's freckled with mossy bruise-spots—but his joke's a great one, right, and laughter turns the Earth. As a mopey kid hiding inside a middle school bathroom, slouched back-bent towards his stomach like a kicked dog, Mason learned to laugh early. [break][break] Great uncle Ford hand-me-downs the journals to him as an explanation for why the old guy sucks at attending family parties. It happened later, and two years came and went in slow-motion, when he felt comfortable with the history that bogged down Mason's rite of passage. [break][break] (Maybe Ford's just not human enough to see the appeal—because the family tried to throw out the worst of two brothers, but still guessed wrong. Twins, you know. Easy to mistake one for the other. [break][break] No family's perfect. Even the greats deal with their own issues. It's life, everyone's earned some problems, and Ford's weird. That's the price paid to invite aliens over for afternoon tea time.) [break][break] Mason assured that, hey, this present seems way better than Aunt Shirl's Attack of the Creamcake Souffle Surprise anyway. [break][break] Looking down at fifteen, he noticed how thinly the grass inched into the rock's grooves, and that an eerie voice haunts his brain. Jagged, like rows of grinning wolf teeth, like a mouth without a body. Things changed since then, sort of, but he missed the absurdity. Symptoms of something greater than future college loans, bumbling words between him and a pretty girl or tabletop games. [break][break] At least the freaky time period leaps and multiverse blitzing shows up every now and again, his daily grind a broken clock with numbers gone haywire. Their pirate Grunkles love attracting anomalous six-fingered trouble, and old habits die hard. Only one memorable difference caught his attention: around their birthday, both Mom and Dad marvel at a slew of "coulda been the last one on Earth!" inside gags— [break][break]—but from the outside peeling in, everything's ordinary. [break][break] Thinking back, who would give up everything they worked for to help their dumb sibling. [break][break] Well, Mason rambled idly and slipped his hands into the pockets of washed out jeans, who's asking now. Not you, Rocks-for-Brains. [break][break] [break][break] HELLO, MY NAME IS: "AWKWARD NICKNAME" [break][break] "Wow," Mason thumbed the pages of Berlitz's 1974 conspiracy classic The Bermuda Triangle drearily, tugging the loose neckline of his undershirt. Sticky humidity clogged his throat, "Water. I've never seen that in California." [break][break] Their parents allowed for a visit to the Pines' Grunkles, who docked along the pearly beaches and fanned-out, kaleidoscopic reefs of Bermuda. Any respectable neo-hippie environmentally conscious organic-foods-only couple hoped their son and daughter might enjoy the majestic excursion into— [break][break] "—Family friendly marine biology!" Otherwise understood as that bald-faced lie Great uncle Ford chirped through the phone receiver. [break][break] Waddles, huddled against the soft edges of an inflatable pool lifeboat above ankle-deep water, seemed the least enthusiastic, "Isn't it cute, Dipper. Plus now he doesn't need to worry about falling! And I gave him water wings. Pfft, ignore that adorable pig look of terror, he likes them!" [break][break] "Uh, hate to break it to you Mabel but," Mason leaned an arm over the metal railing and half-grinned, lazily throwing out a hitchhiker's thumb, "Your pig was pretty much born a flotation device." From somewhere down below the deck, Great uncle Ford giddily called for them to expect another shocker phase shift. [break][break] Mason squinted then, dangling forward until he saw his reflection sputter in the ripples below him, and his vision tripled. The horizon broke, hiccuping; fragmented down to the static that buzzes across a crappy 1990's cable channel on the fritz, its colors flickering hazed-out green, red and blue. Whitecaps rewound near a rawboned cliffside, hard angles threadbare, spectral like dead tree branches, and he tasted warm air and a fishy tang. Left to explore a peninsula in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle that the government hand-waved as "registering a seven on the weirdness barometer" revealed two things about Mason. [break][break] One, expect that back-busting crack down his rib cage and neck to hurt in the morning. Squeezed below the wriggling stomach of a potbelly pig, the foggy ring in his eardrums like a tire screech, he grit his teeth and growled, "Thanks, but I'm not a cushion! You're way, way, way too fat for this!" [break][break] Dotted stars blinked into existence and Mason shook shaggy bangs out of the way, shoving Waddles—still wailing. A broken, infinite loop dog squeaker toy that kicked his stubby legs in horror—off his chest. [break][break] Two, he came equipped with a catchphrase and, suddenly aware that his sister crumpled face-first into dirt and rock, he yelped, "Mabel! You okay! Hey, hey! How many fingers am I holding up!" [break][break] Mason heard the brief, familiar hitch in his voice and ignored the early onsets of a blood pressure spike flying straight up-and-out of the roof— [break][break] —because hey, (sh)it happens. [break] ◬ Impish by design, he figured why not scare off some poor, innocent passerby with stories about his embarrassing baby names. [break][break] Mason spun the thousand-year-old-attic-smell dry erase marker in his fingers wryly, observing the fruits of his clever wit. A washed up one liner stared back, penned in a shade of (dying, someone put this old timer out of its misery!) black ink. The name tag resigned to his chicken scrawl, its inanimate resistance not exactly encouraging, and wilted when he pried it off that weird, sticky gauze film. [break][break] You know, the stuff manufactures glue to name tags to perpetuate everyday torture. [break][break] One tug of the label, a sloppy second with less confidence, and Mason noticed that his off-cream and blocky red print sticker looked downright mangy. The four corners sat crumpled and dripping, and he patted them flat for good measure. [break][break] Mason slapped it gracelessly on the breast pocket of his plaid shirt, flannel rusty colored and overused. "Well," he announced—to nobody, the receptionist titter-tottering her ink pen between her fingers—and rolled his shoulders in misery, "Now what." [break][break] "Great name," she droned, plucking a scraggly fluff from her blouse, "Do you have any other jokes lined up for your introduction to our tenants." [break][break] "Uh. I have a twin. Our parents used to call us M&M growing up?" [break][break] The pit of Mason's stomach curled, itching to lurch like a pressed down spring, and he ignored her squeal: "Aw, that's so cute!" [break][break] Stranded at a rickety front desk gatekeeping the bland, shoe box entrance way, her frozen smile aimed to unsettle. Sugary enough to remind him of a toothache sting, he crumpled under its half-baked candy apple charm. Stuck, Mason repeated, on some island in bumblefrick nowhere. He called that cruel and unusual punishment. If the laws of randomness ever managed the decency to please ask his opinion, then he might choose somewhere less— [break][break] —Earth-y. Already hung out on Earth before, please rerun those numbers. The crisp scent of a salt-dappled ocean breeze always ends up too old, too fast for a Californian. [break][break] Unimpressed with his dead fish reaction, she pushed the sound through clenched teeth, "All right, well, go meet your neighbors. You should also discuss house association rules with your renter, and check your account status." [break][break] "What!" Mason squeaked, his nervous pitch climbing, and crushed his hands against—fake (cheap plastic? Come on, for real?)—wood, "I have to pay rent?! The only furnished property I've owned was made of Legos! I didn't even ask to live here!" [break][break] She eyed him, a television debt collector hungering for the kill, and waved her manicured hand in dismissal. Pin-prick nails glinted deviously beneath the sunlight, painted in the milky violets and ivories of the galaxy. [break][break] "It's only ten dollars." [break][break] He felt his resistance topple like clumsy bowling pins, surprised. Mason waited in suspense, expression troubled and unsure, "Ten dollars? That's not too bad." [break][break] "Ten dollar increments. To pay off you and your sister's ten million dollar debt. This apartment needs constant renovation, so consider it part of your work as a good Samaritan and citizen." [break][break] "You know," he grumbled and clapped a hand against the desktop, struck by the unusual poise of his own deadpan delivery, "Why do I think that you're not taking my complaints seriously." [break][break] "That's fine," the receptionist scanned the lease contract for his bedraggled signature. One, two, wait for it, here's three and Mason squirmed in embarrassment. Satisfied, she rested his packet at the peak of a towering stack, "If it makes you feel better, Mister Pines, it's unfurnished." [break][break] Fantastic. Make a note to Fate here. [break][break] Dear Fate, it's Dipper Pines, that one dopey nickname dude who has earned an axe to grind. [break][break] Please stop laughing, okay. What's so funny about his life story and, with the excitement of a newly limping three-legged dog, he mustered up what he thought resembled a last word. [break][break] "Mister Pines is my Dad, but uh. Thanks. I guess?" [break][break] Desperation settled in, stubborn like an unwanted moocher who insists on no-strings-attached access to the fridge. He crinkled his nose and pictured his Grunkle; vein-thin wrinkles and the toothy grin of a geezer with graying hair, his thickly bounded cash buried inside a sinking mattress. How to Escape a Reality TV Rent Deal Gone Horribly Wrong 101, presented courtesy of 'I-Never-Paid-the-Government-Even-One-Dollar-For-Forty-Years' Stan Pines. [break][break] When in doubt, what would family recommend. [break][break] ( "Listen kid, you need two pickup trucks, ten pugs, pop cans, really shake them puppies up, and a jukebox, then you run like—yargh, but that's the problem with teenagers, you're so skinny. You sure you can handle running? Uh. Going out on a limb here, but. It won't kill you, right." ) [break][break] Actually, and Mason sagged when he reached for a key earmarked with a wispy tag bearing his apartment number, never mind. [break][break] [attr="class","rcappleft7"]CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY [/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:478px;height:612px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}] [/PTabbedContent={width:478px;background-color:transparent;height:612px;padding:0px!important;border:0px!important;margin-left:0px;margin-top:0px;text-align:justify;color:#494949;font-size:10px;}]

[attr="class","rcappright"] [attr="class","rcappright21"] [attr="class","rcappright2"] [attr="class","rcapplist"][attr="class","ion-chatbubble-working"] dipper, mabel's-twin-brother [attr="class","rcapplist"][attr="class","ion-leaf"] male-identified [attr="class","rcapplist"][attr="class","ion-cube"] he/him/his [attr="class","rcapplist"][attr="class","ion-android-calendar"] sixteen [attr="class","rcapplist"][attr="class","ion-android-favorite"] straight. . . laced [attr="class","rcapplist"][attr="class","ion-briefcase"] ghost tour guide/warehouse associate/student [attr="class","rcapplist"][attr="class","ion-android-pin"] human nerd [attr="class","rcapplist"][attr="class","ion-android-home"] gravity falls [attr="class","rcapprightld"]POSITIVES [attr="class","rcapprightld2"] dependable loyal curious determined casual patient sensible responsible...ish [attr="class","rcapprightld"]NEGATIVES [attr="class","rcapprightld2"] complainy pessimistic pretentious critical sensitive awkward lazy neurotic

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MASON "DIPPER" PINES[break]
FROM GRAVITY FALLS

PLAYED BY

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MAXIMUM

[Pharaoh Leap]

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