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yoursatanboyfriend · 8 years ago

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The Ninth Paradigm: chap 3.

Title: The Ninth Paradigm (X) Rating: M Warnings: Heavy themes such as: Non-con/dub-con, PTSD, Manipulation, Child Abuse, Gang Violence, references to depression and self-harm. Summary: ‘Those to whom evil is done do evil in return’ is a specious statement under certain circumstances- specifically ones involving Bill Cipher.

“So, what’re you wearing, Ford?”

“I’m always watching you.”

- Gaspard Giodarno.

Sixteen. The number of times Ford began punching the police department’s number only to end up chickening out at the very end, every single time. A comprehensible story was hard to formulate; for starters, what would he even tell them? Talking about Bill would inevitably bring to light the circumstances under which he’d been hired; the police would go digging and if they’d found out about Ford’s previous dealings with Gaspard Giordano, it would be over for him. Plenty of the police were under Gaspard’s thumb and if the impression he’d ratted the man out was given, he would be killed. He knew how this sort of thing played out. One of the few times fiction accurately portrayed reality.

And now it was already Thursday night, and as promised, Stanford’s phone finally rang. On the other end could only be Bill Cipher for Stanford rarely received phone calls anymore on account of the reclusive lifestyle he’d adopted since his split from Fiddleford. Not that he’d been particular social before that; he’d always been a bit of loner, with his youth primarily spent in the company of his pet dog, Stanley. Those were content days for him but that was such a long time ago.

Who cared about the past, anyway?

Apparently Stanford Pines did.

On the third ring and after rushed attempts at mental preparation, Ford took the call. Even with preventive measures, his hand still shook as it grasped the receiver.

“Hiya Fordster. Did you miss me? Of course you did!” Bill’s voice is clear on the other end and ripe with enthusiasm. Discomfort immediately set in and Ford’s thoughts could only go back to their last encounter, which still left the sticky residue of anxiety all over him.

“Hello Bill. Let’s just get straight to business.” Ford said, very eager to be done with this and found himself surprised at how confident his voice came out.

“Whoa, not even a bit of foreplay? Suit yourself, pal. So gonna assume you want me to give you the dirty details on what I was paid to do?”

“You said you had to tell me something. I can only assume that is what you meant.”

“Alright alright. It’s after-hours, my tie’s off, I can get a little wild with it. Ask questions, and I’ll deliver answers to your heart’s content.”

“Why did Fiddleford hire you?”

“Ah, right to the main course. Okay then. Your little country boytoy is sick with fear about your safety and what have you. Wants to know you’re safe but can’t meet up with you and no talkie walkies. He’s gotta avoid sharing any kind of personal information with you.”

“Why?” Ford had an idea behind his past assistant’s actions but the more he had considered it, the more farfetched it seemed. All this appeared too elaborate.

“You know why.”

“If I knew why I wouldn’t be asking! If this is—I don’t know what he told you about why we separated but, but it’s been enough time. I doubt anything’s going to happen. Especially now of all times.”

“Riiight, by ‘now of all times’, you’ve confirmed my suspicions that for a smart guy, you aren’t very smart. I’m revoking that nickname—and it’s gone, the nickname is gone.”

Getting impatient, Ford sought to realign the conversation at hand. “Elaborate, enough cryptic ciphers.”

“HA! Good one! No really, I really liked that one. A little word play on my name there. So, you know about that little deal you and Fiddleford got offered by the big kahuna?”

“So, you know about that.”

“Yeah, of course! He had to tell me so I’d know what I was getting myself into. Anyway, looks like you don’t know but he’s dead.”

“…What?!” Ford is not sure whether he’s relieved and happy, or even more scared than before. Monsters killing monsters meant monsters remained, regardless of the outcome.

“Oh, so you really didn’t know? Yikes. Entire family—or, most of his family—dead. Some weird freak house fire accident. Don’t really know the details—wait, don’t think it was a house fire. It was a fire something. A few folks who’d been affiliated with him ended up going missing too. All on the hush hush you see, gang crime top news never really…makes the news. Money makes people shut up.”

“…so he thinks whoever was responsible is going to come after us? But we aren’t affiliated with him at all!”

“Yeah well, it’s not like they care. They just know you dealt with the guy and had something he wanted. Also, going into hiding entails years, Stanford. Not 3 months. You need years to fall off the radar and disappear. Years. It’s only a matter of time before they do find you. In fact, I bet they have and are probably waiting to grab Fiddleford first.”

“If we are truly in danger, why does Fiddleford not want to meet up? We’d be safer and stronger together—he should, he should contact me, he should’ve been the one to tell me this. He should’ve—”

“Not so fast there, wise guy. You two staying separate is crucial to your safety. If the big bad guy catches you and tortures Fiddledork’s information out of you, then what? And vice versa. Besides, you two being both potential targets, being together is a bad idea, take it from me.”

“So, what now? I’m meant to just sit here?! I’m a sitting duck at this rate.” Ford frowned, his mind sorting and filing through both the information he’d been given and what he already knew. If they knew where he was, what could he really do? What was the point of Bill being here? What was one man to an organization of immoral men?

“Keep a low profile, just like you do now, and let me do my job, and all’s well, that ends well.” After Bill finished talking, a loud crunching sound broke Ford’s concentration; his nose scrunched up in response to the unexpected sound. “Are you eating chips?”

“Yeah.”

“I won’t tell you what to do but that’s rather rude.”

“It’s after-hours and I am under no obligation to be nice to you and you bet your ass I will take advantage of that. Anyway, something’s been on my mind and I wanna hear your side of the story. Why’d you say no? To the deal.”

Ford had already previously contemplated whether it was a good idea to tell Bill or not and concluded that if Fiddleford had entrusted this obscure man with the truth then Ford would, too. Even if the man was utterly despicable, the least he could do was show some respect for Fiddleford’s decisions. “We—I– wanted to say yes. And Fiddleford was against it. Eventually, we mutually decided to deny it. Science should not be at the exploitation and suffering of others.”

Bill laughed. “Everything is built of the ‘suffering and exploitation of others’, Ford, come on. How dense are you? Science the only thing you know anything about? Besides, scientists test on live subjects all the time. Helpless, defenceless animals, like come on, that moral bullshit you’re spewing is so lame. Not to mention tediously cliché. Why’d you really say no?”

Ford thought once more about it, and really, he’d said no because of Fiddleford. Sure, Ford thought himself a good man, but you had to make sacrifices in the name of science and he wasn’t one to be bound to a code of honour which existed only to stifle his growth and hinder his potential. He had been willing, more than willing, to wet his feet in the filth. Fiddleford, however, had not.

“I—I just, no you’re right. I claimed to have taken the moral high ground but I really…Fiddleford’s my assistant, I value his opinion. I said no out of respect for him.”

“That really worked out for you, huh? Whatever. I’m surprised you had trouble getting funding for your little projects. Aren’t you like a celebrity? With all these Ph.D.’s and the like.”

“Unorthodox projects are less likely able to gain and sustain funding regardless of the one behind them.” It had been a humiliating experience for him, the denial of his request for funding despite his tenacity. But he didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Aww, poor you. Hey, what was he like? The big guy.”

Ford thought for a second, and then assumed Bill was talking about Gaspard Giordano, the man in question who had offered the deal and was now dead.

“He was…polite, well-spoken, terrifying. Meeting him felt like…there was this whole world I knew nothing about. A world…some feared and avoided while others sought to gain entry. I could’ve gone my entire life never knowing anything about him and his organization. Is organization the right word? It was…it was just… something like out of a dream. You see it in movies, read it in books but when it happens to you, it’s just—just so surreal. I was so ignorant, so ignorant.”

So ignorant…

“Huh. Hey, some more Q and A. So, back then at the office, when I did the whole ‘alleged attempted rape’ thing, why didn’t you fight back?”

“You had a gun, Bill.”

“Well yeah, I had a gun but you could’ve pushed me off, made a run for it, called the cops and boom. Safety.”

“I don’t know. I was…afraid.” Ford had spent a lot of time reflecting on that…incident, while being torn between embarrassment and anger.

“So, no fight or flight for you huh? You just freeze up?”

“I had my reasons, Bill.”

“Time for me to hear them then, kid.”

Silence came between them for a few seconds, now only breathing being exchanged through the receivers. Finally, Ford speaks. “It’s such a little insignificant thing but seems to have imbedded itself within my mind. The tattoos—your tattoos. And, a few minor things, it just came together in my mind and I panicked.”

“My tattoos? Why did they freak you out?” Bill nearly sounds offended.

“Your tattoos…just reminded me a little of his—of Gaspard’s. “

“Oh I see.” A quick-passing silence intercepts the conversation. “What kind did he have?”

“I didn’t get a very clear look but they were intricate and covered his entire hand—even the palms, I think. I recall Fiddleford mentioning they were significant but I couldn’t for the life of me think why. Anyone can get tattoos.”

Shuffling caused by skittish movement could be heard on the other end and when Bill spoke, he sounded more excited than usual. “Time for a little lesson in history, kid. Some cultures, can’t name any off the top of my head, place lots of value on tattoos. They can hold lots of connotations and only certain few may be allowed to receive specific designs. Bringing this on back to the topic at the hand, in the Giordano family, those tattoos are pretty important. They mark one of the Giordano family, serving as an identity card, sort of. Like, you got your credit cards and shit, right? Well a Giordano would just show their tattoos instead. Like maybe a guy will go buy a shirt. He takes the shirt, flashes his hands, and they put it on the Giordano tab.”

“That sort of thing actually happens?” Ford was astonished that something like that actually occurred in reality. The very concept seemed like something you’d pull out of a crime novel.

“Yeah. They have their muddy claws in the roots of this place, Ford. You’ve been living under a rock.”

“But anyone can get tattoos. It’s a lous—”

“No, I told you. Those are special. Anyone caught imitating them gets punished, the 40 lashes kind. I’ve heard some sick stories but I can’t say what’s real. I just know no one’s stupid enough to try and steal a Giordano’s identity. Besides, there are not that many of them at a given time. Like, you’d have 2 sons, or a son and a daughter and whatever so the people will already have an idea of what to expect.”

“And yours, you haven’t gotten—you’ve never gotten in trouble for them? You know, with…with Gaspard?” Ford said.

“Maybe that’s why I wear gloves all the time. They really gotta learn they don’t have a patent on designs. I’ve been in New York for the past 5 years, I get back and people freak out over my cool new trendy finger tattoos.” An edge of annoyance coated Bill’s words, and it’s the first time he’s revealed personal information about himself. New York…

“I’ll show you my tattoos up close sometime. But since you’re sooo scared of me—”

The strange accent Ford heard slip through occasionally was a New York one then? Did Bill have family in New York? A likely possibility, he did say he left town the weekends. Perhaps he returned home? Ford put his thoughts on hold and mentally returned to the conversation at hand.

“I think your company is not, well, it’s not half bad when you’re not attempting to assert your pseudo dominance.”

“I guess I’m better when I’m not threatening you with a gun huh?”

“That’s hardly funny.”

“Wasn’t joking, Fordsy. And what happened to your ‘YOU TRIED TO RAPE ME’ spiel?”

“I’m not excusing your actions and frankly, I’d rather not be alone with you in the future.”

“I was going to stop. You must think highly of yourself if you think you can drive me to some mindless lust. I don’t like men in their sixties. God, you’re pretty old, aren’t you?”

“Did you miss my earlier statement about your poor attempts at asserting your dominance? The dominance part is important, don’t overlook it.”

“Poor huh? They seemed to be working. But get a load of you, in all your little bravado glory. It’s only ‘cause I’m not there in person, right?” Bill’s voice took on a challenging tone, and once again, Ford felt like he was being threatened.

“You know Stanford, if the bad guys do catch you, they’re going to do something similar what I did. Gang life isn’t what most people think it is. It isn’t like what you see in your 80’s Italian mob movies. I mean, sure, maybe in some places you’ll see that, but really, it’s a lot more…gritty, and with more dicks. Lotta dicks.” Bill spoke with conviction that slowly faded into the ghost of reminiscence.

“I really just wanted to see how you tested under pressure. I’m telling you, Ford…wait, I got a story for you. I knew a guy, let’s call him Ron, okay? So, Ron tells me he’s gotten an invitation to join this gang. I’m not going to give you Ron’s life details but it’s a step up from his current life. So, Ron is chipper, he’s happy, he accepts. So, he goes over to the meeting where they discuss his initiation. And guess what initiation he gets? Gang bang. I’m not fucking kidding you. The guy died 2 weeks later his internal organs so fucked, they couldn’t do anything for him. Looking back on it now, I don’t think they intended to let him join at all. They just wanted to fuck some poor guy to death for the hell of it.”

Whether Bill was attempting to justify and excuse his actions with this story, or whether he’s truly concerned for Ford’s safety didn’t matter. The story, whether it was real or not, was vile. Partially irrelevant, Ford thought. It seemed like a scare tactic. He had no intention of joining a gang, so why the story?

“They fuck you, Ford. When you’re new, when you’re low rank, as punishment, as reward, just for the hell of it. You’re a piece of meat until you get at the top. You’re just a dog who gets ordered around and fucked.”

Ford understood why now, the implication clear—it’s a potential outcome for Fiddleford and himself. Never would he ever have thought he’d one day be faced with threats of sexual violence of this nature. Insane, it seemed so utterly insane.

“You speak as though you have experience.” Ford said quietly. The shift in Bill’s voice did not go unnoticed by him, but dare he strike the bee’s hive?

“Ha. I’ve had enough people close to me fall victim to them. Let’s just say my life hasn’t been all roses, ice-cream and Kumbayah’s around the camp fire.”

Ford rethinks what he knows about Bill Cipher.

Then Bill added, in a tone Ford might’ve considered as frightened. “These people make me sick.” The words appeared to hold such sincerity, that for a second, Bill appeared vulnerable to Ford.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky with the next accident and be finally done with that family.” Bill continued.

“Would it fall apart then? Without Gaspard, surely there should be struggling, and fighting over who gets to be the new leader?”

“Without Gaspard? Gaspard isn’t dead.”

“What? You just said– you’ve just been telling me he died!”

“Oooh boy. You really know nothing, do you? I’m gonna need a drink because I’m about to lay on you life lessons. I’m going to fetch me a drink, don’t go anywhere.”

A series of noises passed through Ford’s receiver and finally Bill returned. “Now, let’s start from the beginning. Okay no, just the important stuff—okay wait. Let’s start with Gaspard Giordano.”

“Are you drinking alcohol?”

“No. Who drinks pure alcohol, Ford?”

“Is there a percentage of alcohol in the beverage you are about to consume.”

“It may have some alcohol content, yes.”

Ford rolled his eyes and removed his glasses, the frames now feeling heavy on his nose bridge. “Just get on with the story.”

“Okay so if you do a background check on Gaspard Giordano, you’ll find it’s a man in his hundreds. Gaspard Giordano has been alive for generations—the name. See, when the boss position is inherited, the inheritee—is that a word? It is now– takes the name Gaspard Giordano, the identity, everything. Their original identity is then erased—scrapped– and then business resumes as usual. So, Gaspard Giordano is always the person in charge, but it’s not always the same person. Cousins, brothers, sisters, daughters, wives, a whole damn farm has passed through the name Gaspard Giordano. I really feel for the women who got stuck with that name. Really, they could’ve picked a more unisex name. Moral of the story: everything started with Gaspard Giordano, and it will end with him, too.”

“So, who inherited the position?”

“His son.”

“So…his son is the one who’s after us?”

“Probably.”

“Why didn’t you say this in the beginning? You made it sound as if you had no idea who was behind this.” Ford said, suddenly suspicious of Bill. “You withheld information from me.” Bill was young, conveniently had hand tattoos, knew of Fiddleford and Ford’s deal and history with Gaspard Giordano—more and more, scepticism grew in Ford.

“I had to wait for the right time to reveal that juicy bit of information.”

“You’re treating this as more of a game. One would expect you to be upfront and straight-forward regarding matters that apparently affect your safety.”

“Apparently?” Bill asked, seemingly taken aback.

“I’d appreciate a more serious attitude from you in the future, regarding this.” Ford said, deciding not to voice his new found sudden distrust of Bill Cipher. He barely trusted the man before but now, more and more, the possibility of Bill being Gaspard’s son appeared highly plausible. Tattoos, friends in high places, a tendency towards violence and a sense of entitlement were good enough evidence. Not to mention the man was lying about his age, that was certain, and the fact he’d suddenly appeared after the supposed death of the ‘former’ Gaspard Giordano meant that Bill could be seeking to rectify a mistake his father had left behind.

Gaspard and Bill, however, looked absolutely nothing alike. Genetics weren’t necessarily ones to be trusted though, and Ford chose to let his suspicion rest but not die.

“I’ll give it a shot. So, in conclusion, we’re all in this together. I might get killed for having tattoos and you two might get killed because you once upon a time denied ‘Gaspard Giordano’ and he’s a fickle man who changes his feelings at a moment’s notice, if you catch my drift. We all lay low for a little while until we get a good look at what options we actually have.”

“Do you really think they’re after me?” Ford suddenly asked, wanting Bill’s opinion. The man couldn’t have such a devil-may-care attitude without reasoning—even he wasn’t that reckless and foolish.

“Nah. I think this drama is hilarious. Your buddy is damn paranoid. You’d be dead if they wanted you dead. Personally, I think you have nothing to worry about, but this is my job so I gotta ham this up as much as I can to ensure Fidd’s keeps paying me.” Bill’s honesty nearly elicited a smile from Ford, but he attributed it more to the reassurance of Bill’s words- be they true or not. This entire thing did seem messy, as though Bill could never get his story straight; him deceiving Fiddleford, to an extent, now made sense. Money.

“I’m surprised you answered that truthfully.”

“What makes you think I was being honest? Not every day you get to play a part in some conspiracy mafia cat and mouse. But really, play it safe anyway, Ford. Just like I am.”

Bill’s lack of professionalism stuck out; at 31, he should’ve been slightly more seasoned and less inclined to such immature antics. Another flag that Bill was lying; either about his age or his occupation.

“I’m going to bed now, Bill. Thank you for the call.” Ford hung up quickly before the other man could even manage a word of protest.

He had a lot of information to digest.

Bill frowned, dropping the receiver carelessly with the dial tone still blaring through it.

Well, that was rude.

Ford's little playing-hard-to-get act was fun though. Not to mention exciting, risque, dangerous–

And wow, when was the last time he showed someone his tattoos only for flat-out rejection to follow? Even if Ford didn't know...

He still liked the thought of having been denied. A little edging was nice on occasion.

It made the climax that much more intense.

Speaking of climax...Bill suddenly wonders what Ford's face would look like when he came. (he feels like he already knows?)

#billford #bill cipher #stanford pines #gravity falls #mystuff #guys there were so many bad typos and shit in prev chapters how did anyone get through it #I DONT WANT TO CHANGE IT TOO MUCH BC...I AM WEAK #the ninth paradigm #TNP chapters

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