Roleplay

"Hey!" Bill snapped, stung. "I could sleep if I wanted! I just don't really see the point in it. It seems boring. Who'd want to watch the inside of your own eyelid for eight hours when you can sneak around watching other people live out their wildest and most secretive fantasies?"

Right—even if he could sleep (and he probably was protesting a bit too much, there), dream demon. Who shaves the barber ... ?

"Nightmares can be fun, too. Depending. Or you could just walk in, so to speak, on someone dreaming about eating peanut butter in their underwear." Briefly abstracted, he shuddered abruptly. "That was certainly a thing that happened. I don't want to talk about it."

Dipper rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say man." His sock feet hit the ground and he stood, adjusting the cap he had stuck on his head.

All he knew is that his nightmares were never fun and usually painful, whether that pain was emotional or physical. To be truthful, it sucked. But he just ignored it. after all, he just as often didn't dream at all. With the occasional good dream in there too.

He'd thought about asking Bill for help. but he hadn't. Not yet. The demon had so far proved (mostly) to be a fairly poor guardian. Except for that one time. But perhaps Bill was only good at fixing messes he himself caused.

Dipper didn't want to find out.

Seeming cheered by Dipper's reception to him—he'd expected the boy to be a good bit colder, all things considered; everyone really was being reasonable this morning!—Bill ceded the foot of Mabel's bed to Dot with a singularly maddening good grace, transferring himself to Dipper's less-decorated mattress and sitting demurely with his ankles crossed.

"Ah, ah," the demon corrected, after a moment. "Comb your hair before the hat goes on, Dipper. We've discussed this." They hadn't, but Bill was obviously enjoying his new quasi-parental role, trying it on like a coat he was thinking of buying. It fit nicely, he thought, extending the metaphor with no end of pleasure.

He radiated sunny smugness, rather similar to a cat that can't understand why you're upset about all the blood and guts in your shoes: it loves you! Look, it just proved it!

The boy grumbled, eyeing Bill before removing the hat and picking up a comb.

"Fine... But you're the hat rack." Before Bill could reply he hooked the hat over the top point of his triangular head and went to the mirror with the comb, also pulling on his vest.

Dot sighed, taking up residence at the end of Mabel's bed. "Morning."

"Good b—" The hat threw him for a loop, jumping the dubious tracks of Bill's mental train of thought and killing all passengers aboard.

His eye narrowed, as he tried without success to focus on the top of his head. "Well, if this ain't weird ... does it look good? Hey, look at me, I'm a huge nerd! Anyone? No?"

"You look stupid" came Dipper's voice casually as he fixed his hair. "Stick to your top hats." Dot was trying not to laugh under his breath as he waited for his charge to wake fully.

"Yeah? Yeah?" Bill struggled visibly with himself for a moment, before finally bursting out, "Well, your face looks stupid! God, never mind, I don't even know why I bother. Don't rush me. I'll think of something better in a few minutes."

You work with someone for a few hundred years, you start to recognize the spluttery noises they don't make. Bill's gaze drifted over Dot, his eye narrowing further. "Oh, don't you start—! It's not my fault you don't ever wake her up early enough. She ought to be used to it." After a moment, he added smugly, "Look at Dipper. Upright, breathing, sassy, his vest on the right way round ..."

Dipper snorted and ignored them except when he reached over to snatch his hat back.

"Mabel's breathing," protested Dot. "I've succeeded in that much! And hey, it was you who failed to wake her up. Not me." He crossed his spindly arms.

"Mabel was breathing while you were still farting around downstairs," Bill pointed out, leaning over to give Dipper better reach to his hat when the boy made to snatch for it. Maybe Dipper wasn't the only one that was well-trained ...

"Speaking of which, did you see if Stanley was still trying to cook? I'm curious if I'll be able to taste things. You know," he added, with entirely unnecessary significance. "With my new digestive system. Also, uh, the kids need breakfast. Most important meal of the day! Heh."

"Oi!" Stan shouted from the bottom of the stairs, scratching at his back. "Get a move on kids! We've got a bus load of chumps to deal with today!" He rubbed his hands together at the thought of the easy money for the day, and turned around to be met with his brother's face. Great, just what he needed at this time in the morning.

Ford frowned at him, "Putting them to work after what happened just yesterday."

Stan scowled right back. He personally thought that the kids and their demons would appreciate the normality (except Cipher. Stan could care less about what made that insane dorito happy.)

"Do you even have a good idea of what happened yesterday?" Stan asked him ruthlessly, watching as Ford narrowed his eyes at him. "After all you were off galavanting in the forest. Again."

"I'm surprised that you even know what the word galavanting means," Ford said back stiffly.

Stan grit his teeth, and shoved past Ford. He didn't have to deal with this. They should be focusing on the kids this morning anyways and not all the sh** between them.

"And I don't know what happened because none of you were willing to explain it to me," Ford continued, following him to the kitchen.

((So funny story :D Missed the ping to the start of this XD))