Work Text:
Bill clicked his tongue along to the tune of Dipper’s typing. He tapped his gloved fingers upon the scuffed leather of his partner’s armchair, then reached for his cane, intending to use it as a drumstick. As Bill heard Dipper’s distracted sigh, he quashed a grin.
“Would you stop fidgeting?” the younger man demanded, swivelling around in his computer chair and pouting like the least threatening Bond villain ever.
“I’m bored!” said Bill with a pout of his own, grabbing his cane and vaulting out of his chair. He didn’t even have to use his arms for the motion to propel him halfway across the room. Dipper found himself wondering for the billionth time if demons, even quasi-human ones, had a normal centre of gravity.
“And you have to amuse yourself by being as noisy as human - as inhumanly possible?” Dipper shot back.
Bill drew himself up in mock outrage, making a slashing motion with his cane as if he’d just challenged Dipper to duel.
“Noise?! Firstly, that’s rich coming from the detective who plays the trombone at all hours!”
Dipper’s rebuttal of, “You sleep even less than I do at night anyway!” was swiftly cut off by Bill’s next point of indignation.
“Secondly, you forget I have an encyclopedic knowledge! I could play any instrument in creation like a regular virtuoso! [Bill dragged out the syllables of this last word in his trademark insufferable smug tone] Why, you should be so lucky to hear me at my best.”
“I’m sure I would. But forgive me if tongue clicking and finger tapping while I’m trying to find a link between these attacks don’t exactly bring me to my knees,” teased Dipper.
There was a brief moment of silence while the partners reflected on the rather wonderful implications of the latter part of Dipper’s sentence. Bill (of course) had to break the moment. Besides, at this point a suggestive ‘on your knees’ comment would have been old hat, and Bill was nothing if not creative.
“Very well, very well,” said Bill, throwing his head back and pressing a clenched fist against his temples in a tortured ‘no one understands my genius’ pose. “I’m unappreciated in time.”
“My.”
“What?”
“The saying goes ‘I’m unappreciated in my time,” corrected Dipper, reminded of the many times Mabel had muttered this after someone was less than ecstatic about receiving their annual Christmas jumper.
“Doesn’t apply to me,” replied Bill dismissively. “As if I were allocated a meagre segment of the universe’s timeline the way you humans are,” he muttered. Feeling the weight of the cane in his hands, Bill remembered that he was supposed to be miffed.
“Well, fair consulting detective, I bid you adieu,” Bill exclaimed, bowing. His top hat materialised in his hand and he doffed it to Dipper, who merely rolled his eyes.
“I have a yearning to follow my true calling.” Black elbow length gloves appeared on Bill’s hands. Oddly feminine articles, but then everything about Bill’s dress code screamed ‘dandy’. A silk scarf with yellow triangles and a close fitting black coat completed Bill’s ‘running away’ outfit. Last of all, his cane materialised into a stick with a red polka dotted bundle on the end.
Dipper couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Very fashion forward.”
“Please. You wear the same things every day,” huffed Bill with a wave of his gloved hand. “Best of luck. No more shall I play second fiddle [Bill chuckled at his own cleverness] to an amateur sleuth. I’m going into the world to seek my fortune, as the heroes say. Who knows, perhaps in twenty years time you’ll be invited to a Symphony, and as you watch you’ll realise that something about the handsome blonde conductor looks very familiar.”
At this, Bill’s Dick Whittington-style bundle transformed into a conductor’s baton, which Bill used to conduct an imaginary (but no less vocal for that) orchestra. As Dipper listened, he finally placed the strains of Taking Over Midnight, the cheesy karaoke number rendered almost high brow sounding by Bill’s invisible violins.
Dipper snatched the tip of the baton, holding it between his fingers.
“You’re throwing off the melody-”
Dipper gave a yank, pulling Bill’s face close to his, the baton clutched in both their hands.
“Stay. I promise I appreciate your skills, occasional irritation aside,” Dipper entreated.
Bill wrenched his ‘baton’ free. As it transformed back into a cane, the demon ran it up his partner’s side, eventually tracing the line of Dipper’s collarbone with the tip.
“Word as a gentleman,” Dipper added, trying to hide the raspiness in his voice.
Moving the cane to Dipper’s chest, Bill used the stick to manoeuvre Dipper into the armchair.
“You’ve persuaded me. I won’t abandon my prospects to join the circus.”
“I thought it was an orchestra you wanted,” said Dipper, running a finger beneath the strap of Bill’s eye patch.
Bill used his gleaming teeth to take his gloves off.
“Like I’ve always said, it’s funny how stupid you are. I’ll show you what I want.”