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It was a slow morning at Greasy’s Diner that day; the only customers were Mayor Tyler Cutebiker, Manly Dan Corderoy, and of course, the elder Pines twins Stan and Ford. The brothers made a ritual of getting coffee and pancakes the past few weeks this summer. They’d spent the last year travelling the globe in their ship, fighting monsters and discovering the answers to centuries old mysteries just as they had always wanted.
Now, however, Ford was staring glumly at his cup of coffee, the usual spark of curiosity dimmed in his eyes. Stan noticed his brother wasn’t the only one acting off: Manly Dan and Tyler were having a whispered argument at their table, grumbling about something that just didn’t pick up on Stan’s hearing aid no matter how he fiddled with it. He did see Dan shoot Ford of all people a nasty look every five seconds, which put him on edge. He and Ford could take care of themselves, but Dan was a brick of muscle and rage that neither wanted to deal with over breakfast.
“Sixer,” said Stan, “Did you do something to piss off Manly Dan? He keeps grumbling with his boyfriend and staring daggers at you!”
“Hm?” Ford looked up from his plate, and subtly checked the other diners. Sure enough, Dan was grinding his fist in the palm of his hand, gnashing his teeth at Ford.
“Oh my… I can’t really recall. Excuse me,” he called to the other diners, “is everything all right?”
“YOU STAY OUTTA THIS!” Manly Dan stood up at his booth, knocking over plates and cutlery all over the floor. Mayor Tyler glared up at the lumberjack with disgust.
“Don’t you go making a scene, mister,” squeaked the slight man. “You go git on outside and cool off if you can’t act right!”
Manly Dan grumbled to himself, smashed a wad of cash onto the table, and made for the door, kicking the dust like a grumpy toddler. Ford and Stan could see him just outside the window, doing reps of lunges and jumping jacks to calm down.
“Sorry about that mess,” Tyler called back to the brothers. “Please, enjoy your coffee, fellas!”
Ford went back to his reverie, staring into the dark depths of his coffee cup once more.
“Okay,” said Stan, “now why are you being such a sad sack? You’ve been moping all morning!”
“Haven’t you noticed,” sighed Ford. “Ever since we arrived home, there’s been no new mysteries, not one otherworldly anomaly! Even the kids are pivoting towards low-stakes, slice of life activities instead of monster hunting. It feels like we’ve entered– oh, what did Mabel call it? Our ‘Flopped Era.’”
Stan chuckled, “I don’t see what the problem is! We came back for the summer for a relaxing vacation, why don’t you try enjoying your retirement for once!”
“Maybe I simply can’t relax,” said Ford, worried. “I spent years in my studies, in both grad school and my research days, and I spent my time abroad in the multiverse taking a few gap decades to find a way to kill a god! I’m just unused to having any free time.” Ford shuddered at the thought.
If you’re looking for something to do,” replied Stan, “then go take a class at the community center; that’s something old timers around here like to do. Not me, I hate that nerdy crap, but you’d probably get a kick out of it.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No problem!”
After breakfast, they made their way to the community center and checked out the available classes for the summer. Ford frowned at the bulletin board, his disappointment growing as he examined each pinned flyer.
“Macrame? Pottery? Flower arranging? Come on,” groaned Ford, “where’s the hard stuff? No chess clubs, no science fairs, not even one measly astrophysics assembly?”
“Hey look,” said Stan, “they got some kind of paper-mache volcano contest, that seems up your alley!”
“If I wanted to make a mess with vinegar and baking soda,” said Ford, cracking a smile, “then I would just go home and have your cooking again.”
“Oh yeah, say that to my face, jerk!” Laughing, Stan grabbed his brother around the shoulders and noogied him. It was then they were approached by an older woman: she smelled of patchouli, her graying hair worn loose down her back, and the crystals on her bracelets and necklaces tinkled whenever she moved.
“Pardon me,” she asked in a warm, low voice, the kind a public radio host would have killed for, “would either of you happen to be Stanford Pines?”
“That would be me,” said Ford, raising his hand.
“Wonderful to meet you; I’m Fairuza Flint, I teach the life drawing class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If I could trouble you for a moment, I wish to discuss something with you in my studio.”
“Um, sure,” said Ford, confused. He didn’t really hang out with artsy types, and was curious what the woman had to say.
“Excellent! Follow me, please.”
Fairuza’s studio smelled of turpentine and dragon’s blood incense, and ocean sounds played from an old cd player next to the door. Easels and desks surrounded a raised platform in the middle of the room, which held a variety of squashy furniture pieces. Fairuza directed the twins to a corner of the room that served as a makeshift office. While the twins tried to settle themselves on a pair of bright purple poufs, Fairuza sat on a table in lotus position, a placid look upon her face.
“I’ve called you here today, Ford Pines, because the cosmic forces of the universe have seen fit to connect us by the gossamer thread of human creativity–”
“Careful Sixer,” Stan whispered in Ford’s ear. “This sounds like some woo-woo cult stuff! If she asks ya to start selling essential oils or mushroom coffee at the farmers market, start running!”
“--Which is why,” said Fairuza, “I am inviting you to participate in my life drawing class.”
“Wait, what,” said Stan, holding back a cackle, “you’re asking Ford to sit around drawing naked people for 180 minutes a week?”
“Well,” said Ford, intrigued, “I have been meaning to hone my skills at drawing human anatomy–”
“Your enthusiasm is welcome,” said Fairuza, “but I’m afraid you misunderstand me: I am asking you to participate, not as my student, but as one of the models.”
This time Stan did laugh, tears dripping down his face. “Who in their right mind is gonna pay $40 dollars a session to draw this nerd!”
“I have to agree Ms. Flint,” Ford cried, his face turning red. “I’m a scientist, not a stripper!”
Fairuza remained calm in the face of this outburst. “There is nothing inherently sexual about the naked human form,” she countered, “nor is there shame in the spectrum of human sexuality. In fact, I encouraged my students in a previous class to create erotic art regularly! It’s where I got the idea to approach you in the first place.”
“... Come again,” said Ford, his normal baritone reduced to a squeak.
“See for yourself,” said Fairuza, who pulled out a large portfolio full-to-bursting with papers. She opened the case to reveal stacks of lewd drawings, all depicting Ford.
“OH GOD MY EYES! MY EYES,” screamed Stan, “I’M GONNA HURL!” He fell off his pouf, began crawling towards the door, and ran down the hall, flailing his arms as he went.
Ford could only shuffle the drawings in disgust as he examined the students' work.
“Is this some sort of joke,” cried Ford, “why would anyone come up with this? … My back can’t bend that way anymore! …Someone drew me with six nipples!... Dear god, why are my feet so big?... Oh, this one isn’t so bad, it’s kind of tasteful… or at least, it would be if the perspective wasn’t atrocious! … OH MY GOD, LACTATION DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY!”
Fairuza took back the portfolio and gave Ford a sympathetic look.
“I’m sorry if I’ve distressed you,” said Fairuza in that calming voice, “but let me be quite transparent with you, Dr. Pines: attendance rates for my classes have been down, and I need a higher headcount if I’m to continue to share with the people of Gravity Falls the joy and wonder of the act of creation. Harassment won’t be tolerated at all in my class, so even my most… arduous students won’t bother you. They’ll just be here to draw and to learn. I understand your reluctance–”
“I’ll do it,” said Ford, determined. “It’s clear to me that your students need a better grasp of human anatomy, and as someone who spent my life’s work in the pursuit of knowledge, it’s my duty to assist any way I can!”
“Excellent,” said Fairuza, clapping her hands together. “I’ll put you on the schedule. I should mention, though I believe that art exists outside the confines of capitalism, you will be compensated for your time–”
Stan, at the mention of money, returned to the classroom, though he kept his eyes hidden behind his hands.
“How much does it pay,” he asked. “If you’re gonna whore out my brother to these perverts, you better pay him at a premium markup!”
“It’s about $16 an hour and includes snack breaks,” said Fairuza breezily.
“Woah,” cried Stan, “That’s more than I paid any of my employees at the Mystery Shack! I support you in this, Ford! Just never, ever show me anything like that shit again!”
“I think that’s fine,” said Ford wryly.
And so began Ford’s career as a life drawing model.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Stan, wearing a mask of grim determination, stood guard outside Fairuza’s studio. It was fifteen minutes before the first life drawing class, and already an absurd line had queued up at the door. Stan had been given the job of signing people into class and kicking out anyone who was underage or prohibited.
“Wait, this class has a blacklist,” Stan asked Fairuza.
“It’s not so much a list as it is a… specific individual,” the lady sighed. “I like to make my class a welcoming space for all, but some people just wear that welcome right out. I believe you know of a ‘Bodacious T?’”
“Toby?!”
“Yes. One of my other models has requested he not be allowed entrance to the class for their own safety and comfort. Please make sure he respects the boundaries we’ve set.”
Stan did not spy the odd little reporter anywhere in the hallway, but he did tense up when he saw Soos and his Abuelita move towards the door.
“Soos,” Stan cried, “don’t tell me you’re here for this… exhibitionist crap?!”
“Oh no Mr. Pines,” assured Soos, “I’m just dropping off Abuelita; she saw the ad in the paper and got so stoked! She loves the art scene–”
“I was once Andy Warhol’s muse,” bragged Abuelita.
“--and she thinks it’s great Ford’s putting himself out there,” said Soos, smiling.
“Yeah I bet you do, you sicko,” grumbled Stan under his breath. Abuelita must have heard him: with a smirk, she stuck out her tongue and entered the classroom, waggling her fingers at Stan mischievously as she closed the door behind her. Stan left out a beleaguered sigh.
“I just can’t believe it, Soos,” said Stan, “all these pervs with the hots for my brother, that is! Has everyone gone nuts? Our whole lives, nobody’s ever found my brother attractive– in High School, he was so single, he had to build himself a robot just to practice kissing! What gives?”
“Oh dood,” laughed Soos, “you should hear the gossip Abuelita digs up: it seems like every mom and queer person in town has got a thing for Dr. Pines!”
One only needed to give the line a quick glance to see this was true: Ford’s admirers included Priscilla Northwest, Gideon Gleeful’s mother, Mayor Tyler, both Mr. and Mrs. Valentino, and even a few mystical creatures and anomalies were anxiously waiting to enter the classroom.
“Yeah,” Soos continued, “folks think he’s like, you know, what if a sexy weatherman and a hot dentist had a baby and he grew up into a silver fox college professor?”
“Soos, if you call my brother hot again,” said Stan through gritted teeth, “I’m going to make you sleep out on the lawn!”
In spite of this threat, Soos kept Stan company as the line grew shorter and shorter with each approved entry. Soos would cheerfully greet the next person while Stan glowered with disgust, jabbing his thumb at the door once he’d given them the pass.
“Oh hey, is that McGucket,” asked Soos, pointing down the hall.
“Noooooo,” whined Stan, “don’t call him over here!”
“Huh? Why not?”
“He’s got some kind of thing with Ford,” Stan shuddered. “The last thing I wanna hear about is their nerdy sex life–”
“HOWDY FELLAS,” shouted McGucket from across the room. He waved happily at his friends and scampered over to them like an excitable puppy.
“Great, just great!” Stan threw up his hands to the heavens.
“Mr. McGucket, are you joining the life drawing class tonight,” Soos asked politely.
“Aw no!” McGucket shook his head vigorously, whipping Stan in the arm with his beard. “I’m headin’ to a baking class; that mean British feller with the scary blue eyes reckons if I work hard, my vittles will be fit for other people to eat in a few years! Anyhow, I reckon I’m already pretty good at drawin’ Stanferd nekkid!” He began to dig through his pockets and pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket.
“No, no, no, NO!!!” Stan grabbed the nearest object, a wastepaper bucket full of tissues and pencil shavings, and shoved it over his head, blocking out the sight of the drawing.
Soos squinted as he examined McGucket’s handiwork. “Oh dood, this is just a stick figure with spiky hair and a butt!”
“DON’T DESCRIBE THAT TO ME!!!”
“I better head out, see ya fellas!” As quickly as he arrived, McGucket skittered down the hall and out of sight once again.
Once Stan was sure the hillbilly was gone, he emerged from the trash and checked on the last person in line, a lanky figure in sunglasses and a black trenchcoat.
Stan quirked his eyebrow at this new arrival. “Hey, wait a minute… aren’t you one of Wendy’s friends?”
“Uh… no,” said the teenager. After saying that, he suddenly became transfixed by his own shoes, refusing to meet Stan’s gaze.
“Cause if you are,” Stan continued, “you’re too young to take this class!”
“I’m not Robbie,” said Robbie, “you’re Robbie!”
“I… didn’t say you were? Look,” sighed Stan, “just show me your ID, no one under 18 is allowed.”
“Ugh,” groaned the teenager, “this is so stupid!” He fished a battered driver’s license out of his pocket and handed it to the old man.
“... It says your name is ‘Bobby Balentino,’” said an exhausted Stan, “and you put down ‘69’ for your height, weight, birthdate and eye color.”
Robbie stood there grinning like a dork.
“Heh heh… nice.”
“Robbie. Go home,” said Stan flatly.
“And take a flyer for the GSA,” added Soos helpfully, “in case you have any questions about new or confusing feelings!”
“No I won’t! feelings are dumb!” Robbie sprinted down the hall, tripped over his own feet, and flew head first into the exit door into the street.
“This town is such a freak show, I tell ya,” grumbled Stan.
Meanwhile, in Fairuza’s art supply closet, Ford was standing in the corner, building up the courage to remove his underwear. He had spent time and a half carefully removing his garments, folding and placing them on the pottery wheel near the back. No perfumed incense nor soothing pan flute solo could calm his nerves.
I’m being a baby,
he thought to himself, scowling. Ford had faced an immeasurable amount of adversity, and his body had remained capable and strong through all of it. From time to time he still carried the insecurity about his hands like a weathered worry stone in his pocket, but this burden had eased with more time spent around his regained family. Still, this was altogether different: admiration and desire from others were practically strangers to him.
“Fiddleford, am I attractive,” he’d asked the night before. They were laying in bed together; Ford had been resting his head on his old friend’s chest while the latter gently stroked his hair.
“‘Course you are,” a confused McGucket answered. “Did you think I had you over as a space heater or somethin’?”
“Yes,” said Ford wryly, “it is
exceptionally
cold in this house.”
They shared a laugh,m; afterwards, McGucket pressed a whiskery kiss to the top of Ford’s head. “Whatcha fussin’ about that for, anyway? You nervous about that class again? Aw, heck, nobody thinks their own body’s much to look at, they see all the nasty things it has to do to get through the day. Sometimes it takes an outside perspective to find the things we overlook.”
Ford was still ruminating on that when the door to the closet flew open.
“This room is occupied,” cried Ford in a panic.
A young woman had entered the changing room, paying little mind to Ford at all. She wore a grey sweatshirt and had her hair pinned up in a messy bun, but nevertheless a spark of recognition ignited in Ford’s mind: it was the local news anchor, Shandra Jimenez.
“Relax,” she said in a bored tone, “I’m the other model.” With that, she began to undress, and Ford kept his gaze trained upon the wall in front of him, examining a print of Saint Sebastian with a sudden and fervid interest.
The closet was painfully quiet for that moment. Then, Ford awkwardly said, “So, uh… you’re the lady on the news. Ms. Jimenez.”
“Shandra. Yes, that’s right. And… you’re the long lost Pines twin?”
“... Indeed.” With no further topic to discuss, the awful silence continued. Ford’s fingertips brushed the band of his underwear, but he lost his nerve once again.
“You know,” said Shandra, not unkindly, “if you’re not comfortable being naked at these sessions, Fairuza does have some body suits you could wear.”
“Miss Jimenez– sorry, Shandra, I don’t know why I’m so concerned with particulars right now,” said Ford, “Fairuza showed me some of the art her class has made of me, and I really need to set the record straight on what my body actually looks like. Someone drew me with a golden penis!”
At this information, Shandra snorted in laughter. It was the perfect trio of dorky, endearing, and infectious; Ford was soon chuckling along with her.
“It’s not funny,” he insisted through a smile. Once he calmed down, he continued, “I suppose I’m just unused to being so… objectified.”
“Lucky you,” said Shandra, her tone now flat and matte. The awkward silence returned once more, and Ford was afraid he had said something to offend the woman. Shandra sighed deeply before saying, “So… this might sound strange, but can I thank you for joining the class?”
“Thank me? Whatever for?”
“Fairuza using you as the main attraction for the class really took the heat off of me,” Shandra continued. “The network doesn’t care if I do this kind of modeling, but I’d really rather not deal with my stalker finding an excuse to look at me naked.”
“Oh…” A familiar twist of a knife sliced into Ford’s heart. Ford remembered how, under the possessive, jealous thumb of his muse, he’d been stalked and hunted for years. It had ran the spectrum of emotions from annoyance to terror, and Ford could not imagine it was any easier for Shandra.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said sincerely.
“... Thanks,” was her reply. “If it makes you feel any better, aside from Mr. and Mrs. Valentino, everyone’s pretty chill in this class.”
“Wait,” said Ford, eyes widening, “What’s wrong with the undertakers?”
“You don’t know,” whispered Shandra, her tone suddenly salacious and gossipy, “they’re unicorn hunters.”
“Oh,” said Ford, unconcerned, “that’s not so bad– unicorns are actually quite unpleasant creatures; it can’t hurt to have someone out there to cull the population from the enchanted forest’s ecosystem–”
“Oh god,” said Shandra, “I forgot you’re a cryptozoologist– they’re not hunting
literal
unicorns; they’re, you know…
swingers!
So, don’t accept any invites to “board game night,” unless you’re into that!”
Ford may not have been the most experienced with romance, but he had read enough pulpy men’s magazines in his day to understand what
that
meant. He felt himself go hot around the collar, and wrapped his arms around himself tightly.
“Good God, I’m so out of my depth here,” he admitted.
“The worst you’ll have to deal with is stiff muscles and boredom after standing around for so long,” Shandra promised him. Footsteps alerted Ford to the woman’s presence next to him, and he shut his eyes tightly to preserve whatever privacy was left between the two.
“It’s okay,” she said calmly, “I’m decent, I put on a body suit.”
Ford opened one eye to see it was true, Shandra was wearing a tan leotard to his immense relief. She held out a white earbud, offering it to him along with a kind smile.
“Here,” she said, “I’m going to be listening to a book we’re covering for the book club segment next month. It’s not high literature, but it’ll keep your brain busy once you reach capacity for the whale songs Fairuza plays during class.”
“Oh,” said Ford, “thank you!” He slipped the bud into his ear just as Shandra exited through the door. A trumpeting intro began to play as the book introduced its subject matter: a YA romantasy novel.
(“Literary Listenin’ presents:
A Rhapsody of Dragonriders and One-Eyed, One-Horned, Flying Purple People Eaters
by Alspeth Paisley Andrews-Meyers. Read by Chris Pine. Chapter One: I never thought I’d ever get accepted into Gilgamesh’s School for Beast Tamers, especially because I was so normal and boring, but I remembered what my mother told me before she was tragically eaten alive by one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eaters. ‘Emelia Yoorname, the only way to conquer your fears is to face them. Now, wish me luck at the people-eater rodeo!’”)
Ford took a deep breath, exhaled, and finally removed his underwear.