They were all kicked out. Mabel, Wendy, and Robbie, who hadn't done anything wrong. I guess knowing them was bad enough. I could see it from Candy, her sweet dimener stripped away completely, replaced with what I'd call 'The Real Candy'. Her hands were balled up into tight fists, her knuckles numbing white as she fomed over with swear words and insults, all pointed to Wendy and Mabel. I hated it. I hated her. I wanted to let her hear it. And she did. I know she did. I told her. I told Paz. I even told Grenda that I hate her. And, right now, I definitly do. I want her to die a terrible, terrible death.

But, Candy had other plans. Without any sign of warning, she yanked my bare wrist through the crowd, dragging me over to what looked like a mini-bar. "Sit down." She told me, an impassive expression plastered on her face. I complied, knowing what would happen if I didn't, the bar stool high as I jumped onto it. Candy watched me for a moment, my face overcast from the bar's burnt-yellow lights placed above me, only to hop atop a stool herself. There was a long pause from her, and I could hear it. She was counting. Breathing heavily. She was calming herself down before the real fire began. Her body spun in it's seat, her knees brushing the side of my thigh as she looked at me, her cheek resting on her palm as she pulled a pout. "You know, you're a real disapointment." She began, an indifferent tone to her voice, as if she truely were being let down.

I cracked a weak smile, a hum of a chuckle vibrating through my lungs as I spoke. "Wouldn't be the first time." I mustered, keeping my face pointed towards the bar tender, who seemed just as indifferent as Candy did. I dared to peak a glimpse at her from the side of my eye, but she looked just as flat as her tone, stone cold. "You don't like me very much, I'm guessing?" She questioned once again, which we both knew the answer to. I didn't bother to respond. Why should I? It was 'yes' whether I told her or not. I turned my head, tilting it upwords just slightly as I looked at her. Once more, indifferent. She seemed impossible to read.

"God, you are beautiful." This caught me by surprise. She had mummbled it under her breath, just below a whisper, as if to admire me. I turned my whole body towards her, our knees jumbled up together, looking straight at her. "Why do you think that? What could I be any use to you as other than a lie? You don't wanna hang out with me. You just wanna look at me." I spoke, which Candy gave an exaggerated sigh to, rolling her eyes as she soaked up what I had said. "Yah, well, you're not much for conversations either." She shot back effortlessly. I could see it in her eyes. She had something she needed to tell me, and she knew very well it may have power over me. "You know," She began, "I could tell your Great-uncle Stan what a terrible mess it's been. Your sister. Your attitude. Your personality. You have no idea how to treat a lady." She continued. I couldn't help myself, I had to say it. "Well, you have no idea how to act like one."

"Nonetheless, I think we both know what'd happen if he found out I was unhappy." I understood exactly what she was saying. She was blackmailing me. In exchange for obedience, she'd stay happy, making her father happy, making Stan happy, making me happy. And I had to agree with her. For the time being, she had me on a short leash, and I couldn't risk slipping up. Who knows what could happen if I do. "What do you want from me anyways?" I ask, resting my left elbow on the bar's slick surface. She doesn't say a word to me, turning towards the bar tender and giving him a look. He seems to know what she wants, because he comes back with two small shot glasses and places them infront of us. "Drink it." She demanded, pushing the cup towards me, and I had no choice but to down it just as she had asked. And we both knew it.

Pacifica's POV

I watched, but did not intervene. I could see it, as if everything he had worked to cover up was slipping away, revealed. He was loosing it so easily, his composure, as if it had simply been face paint, smugded and smeared from the simplest of touches. His hair spiked up in spots, making him look like some rabid animal which slept in the dirt. His face was downcast, depressed, lost in a rabbt hole that just went farther and farther, with no signs of stopping. I saw the glasses pile up at his side, Candy keeping the shots flowing.

Candy... She looked so different in this place. Like a monster. With every two shots the bar tender gave them, she slid one of the two towards him, as if it were a command. Perhaps it was. I saw Dipper, each time, hesitate to take the drink. He, if anything, seemed to loathe the drink as his brows came together and his eyes squinted close. It looked wrong, seeing him shake his head with a shiver each time the drink touched his lips. He looked sick.... No. He looked drunk.

I couldn't let this happen, no matter who it was. I brased myself, fixing my hair just slightly, prepared to cut in and stop this madness. I hope Candy won't hate-

And she's down for the count, Candy Chui. Her forehead bangs the bar's sleek top as she looses conscienceness, so drunk she can't even hold her own head up. I look to Dipper, nothing registering on his face, as if it hadn't happened. He seems, more or less, completely disconnected from the situation, as if he were wired to do only two things: Lift, and drink. Lift, and drink.

He sits very still, as if waiting for new instructions to be input on his hard drive. He blinks dryly, his eyes locked on her limp body, not sure what to do. What could he do? What should he do? More importantly, what should I do? He looked sedated, as if nothing outside of himself would register. Either way, I had to help.

My foot steps felt heavy, slowly shuffling towards him, hearing a low mumble from under his breath as I drew near. His words were soft, gentle even, as if the voice of a sober man. But his eyes gave him away, low and apathetic as the alcohol raced through his blood stream, stealing him away into the night. I reached the bar, standing right infront of him, yet he didn't so much as acknowedge me. I placed my hand on his knee, giving him a slight shake, startling him out of his strange hypnotized state.

"Heeeeey Dipper..." I said softly, looking into his eyes, a mixture of blue and brown swirling within them. He seemed neutral in my presence, which I suppose I should be happy about, since a couple of hours ago he hated me. He moves slowly, his lips parting as he udders these simple words: Evening Southeast.

His voice even sounded sober, eligante as always, but his hands still clung to the bar's table for stabilty as he spoke. He was still clinging to his composure, seeming capable to take care of himself, but I knew better. "Let's get you home Pines." I began, wrapping my arms around his waist as I tried to pull him off the bar stool. He put up a fight though, wiggling his arms through my strange bear hug, nudging me away with his elbow as I got closer to getting him off the seat. "I'm fine, thank you." He said, almost panic-y as I pressed my face into his chest, resisting his drunken pushes.

I felt kinda close to giving up, to be honest, but I guess he had a little less in him than I did. He gave up a short while before I was about to, sighing in a sorrowful defeat as I dragged him off the stool. He lost his ground almost instantly, his left arm wrapped around my neck, while the rest of him dangled limply at my side. He climbed me, gaining his feet again as his right arm clung to me with strength. I quickly rearranged him, placing my shoulder under his left arm to keep him stable as we began to walk out. As we left, I caught a quick glimpse of Gideon playing 'Dragons, dragons, and more dragons' with his new found group of friends.