Pay Through The Mouth

Ch. 3

Bill doesn't usually have guests over; it complicates his business. Most of his home is renovated as storage for various contraband- weapons, machinery, illegal substances; things the upper-class are willing to throw a couple hundred-thousand his way for. There's not much room to offer someone a seat in his home, but he doesn't mind the clutter so long as he's flying first-class to the Bahamas, maybe Austria (if it doesn't snow).

Gravity Falls is nice like that. It's not a fruitful place for business, but it's just incompetent enough for him to move his products around, accept concerning packages, have over some of the richest (and poorest) company known to this side of the globe, while getting no more than a glance from the police. Working in the black market is a dangerous payroll to be on most places, but in this hick town? He's more-likely to end up on a watchlist for jaywalking. It's easy living out here, business is booming, everyone keeps their noses out of things.

Most of them.

He'd never spoken to Dipper before their agreement, but he'd certainly noticed the kid. It was hard not to. Very hard. Most people in Gravity Falls have hobbies like fishing, knitting, maybe setting stuff on fire, but Dipper specifically makes a habit out of getting into things he shouldn't.

There's the time he exposed the ice cream parlor down on West st. for adding alien tears to their recipes to make the scoops smoother (no one cared), or when he realized the local radio host was actually one of thirty-seven crows in a traveling circus act, one with a convincingly human caw. If he's not crashing into something, or getting stuck somewhere, or forgetting his polaroid camera on the bus stop second to his home, he's doing everything in his power to be as much of a nuisance as possible.

Part of the reason he knew who Dipper was before any of this happened was because Dipper knew who he was, and knew exactly what kind of operation he was running. Getting caught rummaging through someone else's trash isn't a flattering first impression, nor is scampering off into the night, but that's half the thrill, isn't it? Yeah, yeah. It's all thrilling. Too much curiosity, more like it. Makes keeping things under lock and key a bit of a hassle. Bill could've killed him for it. Hired a few guys to scare him off, or dump his body someplace private. He certainly would've, if only the boy weren't-.

Well.

Cute.

Never say Bill Cipher doesn't have his weaknesses.

He expected Dipper to blab his mouth over whatever he'd found- if he'd found anything- but he kept a surprisingly low profile after that one encounter, all until things got messing, and Dipper came to need his services. Smart move. Whatever he found, he realized long before anyone else that Bill was a dangerous man; it doesn't do you any good, screwing them over. It's important to keep on their good side; to know they're around, and what you'll need to get an audience with them, should you need their assistance anytime soon.

Most-everyone who does business with Bill knows to bring the money upfront, or at the very least, proof that they have money to spend. Sometimes, there are bodyguards. Other times, they ride in luxurious cars, fancy private jets. Once, an ostrich; that didn't go well, but it got a nice laugh out of Bill when the creature kicked its rider in the ballsack. The point is, if you need something from him, you've gotta be worth your weight in gold. So, what did a cutie like Dipper have to offer, asking for prices on an Arkillian Heart-motor of all things, wearing an old, worn down hat and a hand-me-down t-shirt?

A lot of things, actually.

Bill swings his bedroom door ajar, undoing the tie around his neck to hang off his shoulders. He sighs, unbuttoning one, then two slots in his shirt, letting his chest breath without the constraints of his well-tailored suit jacket, discarded on a chair by the bed. It's a bit hot in the room; summers in Gravity Falls can be hell without an air conditioner, and while he has one stocked in his basement somewhere, he prefers cracking a window most nights (it's good for the lungs).