The sun was beginning to set on Gravity Falls; pimple of the American Northwest. The crickets began their merry refrain, the Question Quails returning to their nests. The town, as ever, carried a veneer of peace and comfort - a sleepy, quiet place, surrounded by cliffs and sharp, angular pines. The babbling brooks, roaring waterfalls and the warm summer winds providing the only disturbance to the almost perfectly peaceful atmosphere.

The town's lamps flickered to life, starting to glow in a warm, golden hue. Soft trails of smoke began to flow in curling, slinky trails from the chimneys and pipes that sit atop every clapperboard house and roof tile.

It was, beyond all else, a modicum of peace. Peace and unshakable fortitude - after all, no matter what happens elsewhere, or even what happened to it - Gravity Falls still seemed to stand, relatively unchanged, relatively unshaken. It seemed bizarre to use the word, but the town - for all of its weirdness, all of its strange citizens, all of its oddities - was stable. It was secure.

It was...home.

Stability could not be understated. Security and stability was one of those pleasures in life that people discounted. Something you couldn't buy. Pacifica Northwest felt stable and secure for the first summer of her life. She felt comfortable and happy, and she was proud to say it.

Her smile was no longer forced for the cameras - it was one that was genuine, enthusiastic, even a little excited. For Pacifica Northwest, Gravity Falls no longer felt like a prison. It felt like a place of wonderful people doing selfless things, helping themselves get by. Sure, they were all a little mental and some of them smelt - hell, she was pretty sure some of them ate asphalt as a hobby considering how black their teeth were - but they were good . They were good people who, through one way or another, took care of one another.

Gravity Falls' citizens could be crass, stupid and ridiculously odd. But they were welcoming, forgiving - compassionate. She had never seen it before Weirdmageddon. But she had grown to understand it, to love it, even felt like she belonged there.

Gravity Falls was special.

Of course, out of towners could be decent too…

She clutched Dipper's hand and smiled warmly as he squirmed uncomfortably in that velvet dinner jacket, trying his damnedest to get used to wearing a cravat and trying his damnedest to keep his cool. Not specifically in that order.

Dipper had offered to take her to any restaurant in town, and Grunkle Ford had thrown in a pretty substantial amount of money from the "Pines Pile" to make sure it was the sort of thing she liked. It had only taken him three days of arguing and a couple of punches to get Stanley to agree.

For Stan Pines to give up money so easily was a pretty fierce compliment.

Mind, the two Grunkles were probably millionaires thanks to the amount of treasure and museum artefacts they had discovered over the past year - though they kept it remarkably quiet. Pacifica was pretty sure that now Stan had managed to get his fortune, he was actually kinda unsure what he wanted to do with it.

He had spent a fair bit helping out Soos - rumour had it that The Awesome Express , the new Mr. Mystery's beloved train ride, was going to get an extension from Stan Pines' pocket for Soos's birthday - but otherwise, he had kept it stashed away. Stowed into some kind of trust fund where the amount would increase and his impoverished exterior remained.

Knowing Stan, it was probably to avoid paying tax on it. Was underwater treasure and ship salvage taxable? Even if it wasn't, he clearly had no intention of taking chances.

All the same, there he was, proudly drawing his newly repaired Diablo up to the sheltered drive-thru canopy of The Club, clifftop luxuriant lynch-pin (get it?) of Gravity Falls. The peak of cultured civilisation in the town. The only place, since the collapse of so much of the Northwest empire, that the rich positively flocked towards.

The themed edifice of the establishment seemed to loom over them in a mixture of intimidation and pure intrigue. It felt as exciting as it did commanding. Like a step beyond the ordinary. It was, after all, no ordinary venue.

It was The Club.

In truth, the place didn't feel that much like a restaurant. Not the way that Dipper envisioned one. No buffet counter, no acne-ridden teenager stood behind a till, no visible kitchen. He had only been there once before and he was, if nothing else, ridiculously curious about how the place was meant to work .

So he had agreed.

Dipper Pines and Pacifica Northwest were on a dinner date. A dinner date to The Club.

The nervous teen squirmed as they climbed out of the convertible and took in idyllic surroundings. The beautiful cliff top view of the town below, the little glade surrounded by pine trees, filled with only the finest automobiles.

No litter. Not a single crack in the pavement. Not a single out of place leaf in the decorative topiaries.

A weird… playing card motif, everywhere.

"You ready, hon?" Pacifica smiled, clutching his arm. "You sure you're happy with the suit?"

"Y-yeah. Why, does it not look right?"

"I mean, I'm not sure how well your colour choices match, but…"

Dipper gave her a nervous smile - then frowned to himself as he pulled that fine silk cravat a little further from his neck, fiddled uncomfortably with his pocket square - tried to work out if his cuffs were buttoned correctly. Adjusted his old timey white shirt.

"Yeah, you look great, hon." She giggled. "Promise."

This stuff never sat right with him. Dressing fancy wasn't in his strata, and dressing fancy for a dinner just felt… Weird. Like, grown up. Romantic. The idea seemed to get him more flustered than it did Pacifica.

He almost wondered if she was just teasing him, and there'd be a burger bar inside or something.

"You look great too." He replied with a slight stammer, a trickle of sweat running down his brow.

Though in his mind, that was a colossal understatement. Pacifica was wearing an evening dress, not dissimilar to that she had worn on the night of the Lumberjack. However, in place of sea-foam (or was it lake foam?) green, she was debecked in a rich, ruby red. It was opulent, finished with black gloves and a belt around her middle. Her hair still had hints of purple-pinkish highlights from their ill-fated photoshoot with Toby Determined, and… part of her seemed pretty resolute to at least carry an aspect of that rebellious, slightly punky aesthetic he had commented positively towards.

It hadn't gone unnoticed. Dipper was trying his hardest to stay subtle, but in the outfit he was wearing, he wasn't sure he could be subtle. Was it him or was it really, really warm? Was Pacifica holding him even closer than usual? Was she fluttering her eyelashes every time he looked at her?

They had been a thing for just over half of the summer, and things still felt so strange to him. He loved her, she loved him, but the worlds they belonged to, no matter how much they had fiercely collided, felt strangely separate and extraterrestrial to him. It still seemed so bizarre.

Almost as bizarre as the fact he was wearing a matching, dark red velvet dinner jacket. With a collar. And lapels. And silk internals.

This thing probably cost more than everything he had ever worn in his life. He was even wearing white dinner gloves.

Gloves. Gloves for dinner. How did that make sense?

He chuckled nervously as her lips pressed against his cheek, his hands firmly fixed to his sides - flat as a board. It felt as if the whole world was watching them and judging him for his lack of ability to respond to the situation at hand. And for apparently not matching colours correctly.

As it stood, only one person was watching and laughing. And he was having a whale of a time.

"C'mon kid, get in there!" Stan cackled from the car with his usual lack of subtlety. "If I don't see at least one hickey on your neck when you come home, I'm locking you both out! HA!"

The Diablo screeched into life and floored it out of the car park, veering in a handbrake turn and ramming one of the rare Cadillacs with its rear fin. The expensive automobile shifted forward, tipped its back and went plummeting down the cliffside in a dramatic roll, each crash, thump and crump becoming steadily quieter as it descended.

Pacifica and Dipper grimaced as the sound of a gas tank blowing up refrained from ground below. They decided to try and ignore the smoking hood ornament that flew skywards and landed on their feet.

It was tacky, anyway. Who'd miss it?

They turned to face the steadfast doorman, picked out from the red facade of the building in his perfectly white shirt, a black bow-tie done up so tightly it squeezed his already pencil-thin neck. His features were smooth, his stance similar to that of a guard from Buckingham palace.

Only with a crap combover in the place of a busby hat.

The tall, sleek figure only slightly tilted his head to face the visitors, his thin eyebrow lifting into a steep arch as his bulbous eyes pierced them.

Dipper flinched. Pacifica held his waist and smiled, confidently. "We've got a booking."

There was a pause, the man's smooth, oiled face lifting back up, seemingly trailing back off into his steadfast pose. His eyes gazed over the soft, glowing townscape below them, seemingly nonplussed with the diminutive couple before him.

Dipper wasn't sure if he'd even heard them, or if the strange, almost otherworldly waiter was making an attempt to ignore them. He moistened his lips and was about to say something, when the beanpole of a man spoke up, apparently having checked over his memory as opposed to any written guest list.

At least, that was how Dipper rationalised it. It was made somewhat more bizarre by the fact they hadn't given their names in the first place.

"Of course." the doorman droned in a deep, nasal tone, with a certain, tuneful flamboyance."Pacifica Northwest and Mason Pines. Our young socialite and her ghosthunting flame. What a pleasure ."

This stuff felt so weird. Is this how fancy people lived? Gross. This… posh restaurant person barely seemed human. In fact, Dipper was pretty sure he had never seen the bizarre figure in town, either - and in a place like Gravity Falls, you at least recognised familiar faces from the background.

This...ethereal waiter was not a familiar face. He was wrong. Everything about him seemed wrong .

Dipper's suspicious head was already clocking into overdrive. Was it aliens? Fish monsters? Was he possessed? Some sort of walking waxwork? He resisted the urge to clamour for the journal he had managed to stow inside his dinner jacket. Pacifica would go nuts if she knew he had brought it.

"Follow me, children." The waiter continued, turning on his heel and beginning to walk - or, perhaps more accurately, navigate the white and black tiled floor in a strange, rapid step that made him appear to glide across the disorientating, perfectly polished surface.

Dipper's eyes followed him suspiciously as he guided them between the dark, red velvet curtains into a large, circular room, tables arranged on far sides with uplighter lamps looming around them - all arranged in plush velvet, leather, mahogany and lace. There was no smell, seemingly no noise, save for the restrained chatter of the other distinguished guests.

Dipper almost tripped over his own feet as his attention remained fixed to their host. Pacifica caught him and giggled.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah. Just nervous."

"Don't worry, hon. I'm here. This is way more natural to me than it is to you, I guess."

"This is natural?"

"I mean, I-"

They were interrupted by the waiter bending down closer to them. "Your table, lady and gent. What would you like to drink while you go over the menu?"

"You uh- you got any Pitt cola?" Dipper asked, wondering if it was somehow an offensive remark.

"We stock Crystal Pitt here, Sir. Only the finest."

Dipper's eyes went wide. "I- I thought they stopped making that, like, fifteen years ago? There's been tons of campaigns on twitcher to-"

"They did, Sir. Two glasses of Crystal Pitt?"

"But I-"

"That's fine, thank you." Pacifica smiled, patting her bewildered boyfriend's hand.

"Very good, madame. Please, take your seats."

The man was joined by a near identical one - almost a perfect mirror image of he himself - and they pulled out the chairs for them, acting as if the teenagers were a fully fledged Duke and Duchess, gliding their backs back into their place with no shortage of precision.

The perfect distance from the table and each other's hands. Not too close to be uncomfortable, not too far to feel distant. The two exchanged a loving gaze as the waiters departed behind those velvet curtains, their silhouettes seemingly disappearing into the disorientating, structureless layout of the room.

"H-have you been here before?" Dipper started, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, seemingly fiddling with them as a nervous tick in place of any meaningful changes. "It's… nice."

"It's crazy, huh?" Pacifica beamed. "I visited when we were picking up my Dad from a Business dinner, when I was like, 6. I thought it was an interdimensional gateway or something. Can't remember why, but it made sense at the time."

Dipper nodded absently as he looked around, then to Pacifica's hand on the table.

He blinked, exhaled and clutched it firmly. "Is all of this normal?"

"I mean, the sweating, the rapid pulse, the fact you keep staring… pretty normal for you." She giggled, a red tinge appearing on her cheeks.

"H-hey!" He replied, flushing a deep red. "I meant the… the waiters and-"

She smirked. "Yeah, kinda. This sort of place is different, Dipper. It's not like Yumberjacks or Los Hermanos, y'know?"

"Do you not think there's something strange going on, though? I dunno, it just seems… paranormal." He replied in a hushed, conspiratorial tone - his hand plunging into his jacket to pull out the Journal.

Pacifica rolled her eyes, huffed, and grabbed his wrist, firmly. "Dipper, not everything is paranormal or supernatural, okay? I get it feels weird, but drop the monster hunting thing for one night. Please."

"You gotta admit I've got a sense for this stuff." He tried to protest admirably. "I'm just saying, it's odd here."

"You have, Dipper, and it's amazing. You're amazing. But come on, just you and me, in a fancy restaurant? I'd prefer if you didn't mess it up."

"Hey, hey, I get it. Sorry. I just... " He squirmed and, at last, swallowed his anxiety and pride in one large gulp. "You're amazing too, y'know."

The waiter filled their champagne flutes with that rare, perfectly clear soda as the two gazed at eachother, settling into a rathermore peaceful evening than they had become acclimated to.

No Curzon Cankerblight, no Preston, Northwest, no Bill Cipher.

It was damned right weird, far too fancy and a little bit uncanny, but even bug-eyed beanpole waiters and apparently extinct sodas felt much more ordinary than their past couple of weeks.

And, in a way, it was kinda… nice.

Soon Dipper was concentrating only on doing his best to keep his beloved girlfriend happy, and keep the evening peaceful, pleasant and… normal. Probably the biggest challenge of his entire damned life.

On the up side though, Crystal Pitt? Absolutely amazing.