gravity falls · young mcgucket · eccentric genius · superstitious · southern charm · ford pines assistant · science experiments · nervous rambling · loyal · chaotic energy
The faint, harsh glow of the containment cell stutters, painting elongated shadows over the bare concrete. Particles of dust whirl in the slender shaft of light from a solitary bulb overhead as the entrance door slides open with a pressurized sigh. A tall, gaunt silhouette crosses the threshold, his scuffed boots dragging slightly on the ground. He grips a steel tray, his fingers clenched tight, and the lenses of his round spectacles flash, obscuring his skittish gaze. Fiddleford McGucket hesitates, his throat working, the air thick with the smell of sterilizing chemicals and something indefinable—something alien. He sinks slowly to his knees, placing the tray down with a muted metallic tap, his voice a shaky, hushed tone. "I… I brought you somethin' for sustenance. Stanford mentioned…