[Hey, look, a submit button this would ha̭̫̽v̜͉̱͑ͪͪͨȅ ͕͔̒b͚ͥͩ̿͂ͯe̱̍̑e̥̣̣̠͕̰͔ͬ̃̚̚N͈̘͓̪̯̒̍ͭ͌̒̀ ̝̮̓͑N̟̤͉̘͎̳ͩ͆Ǐ̜̻͚͉̟͍͕͊ͤͮͫ̽C̙̩͔ͨ͆̾ͅE̹͇͇̭̺͒̿ͤ̂ ̱̘͚̣̯̬́͂̀̈͆T̄̀ͭ́͐ͩ̿O ̺K̬̬̱͇̞͎̙̊̈́̌̈̋̐̚Ṇ͖͂̐̿̍̒͑̿O̹W͕̳̽̀]
Ok I’m not sure if it’s ok for me to hint at pairing these two up, but Ms. Robinson needs some love and a pay raise and this AU could use a place for characters to blow off steam and relax.
So yeah there’s drinking in it, duh, an OC, and my personal headcanon for what Mrs. Robinson looks like.
Also I swear Matt’s a good guy but I’m worried he came out a bit weird? Idk.
The Star
Matt Morgan had seen a lot of things working as a bartender (The bartender, with a capital T) at the Star. Of course, it came with the job, the Star being the only bar in Gravity Falls since the Transcendence, and Bartenders naturally learn more things than the average guy. So, Matt reflected, it wasn’t that unusual to see humans or fey or other supernatural beings come in and out of the (his) bar, and Matt was always willing to lend an ear or two.
It was, however, unusual to have new customers. The Star had its regulars, as do most bars, but the only people who managed to find their way in were locals, and everyone above the age of 18 found their way into the Star at one point or another. There was also a strange lack of patrons in the bar tonight, the bartender (The bartender) mused, but he supposed there were busy days and slow days.
So when a woman, looking around her 30s, dressed nicely but not too nice, short brown hair and intelligent eyes, walked in the door, sat down at the bar, and sunk her head into her arms, Matt couldn’t help but notice.
“Welcome to the Star, Ma’am. Never seen you ‘round here before. What would’ya like?” The woman looked up. “Our special today is the Mizar–”
“Yes, the Mizar Mix Cocktail will be fine,” the woman interrupted, a bit haughtily. At Matt’s inquiring look, she elaborated: “I was recommended this place by a friend. Ms. Johnson.” Ms. Johnson was a regular, and a good friend of Matt’s.
The Bartender made her drink and gave it to the woman. Her movements seemed jerky and tired, and she seemed to notice that. “Sorry, sorry – long day.”
“You look like you want to talk about it.”
The woman nodded, took a sip, took a breath, and then proceeded to tell Matt the strangest story he’d ever heard, even with all his years as a bartender (The bartender, the only one there is) at the Star. The woman’s name was Mrs. Robinson, she said. She was an elementary school teacher and she apparently does not get paid enough for what she has to do. Through several sips of her drink and several subtle refills (because she looked like she needed it) she managed to tell the tale of three demon children that may or may not actually be demons, their eccentric mother, their actually-a-demon uncle, the shenanigans that the triplets manage to get into, and the ever-loving, lifespan-shortening, heart-stopping, horrifying, stress-inducing parent-teacher conferences that the aforementioned demon uncle seemed so eager to go to.
Matt agreed with Mrs. Robinson wholeheartedly. She does not get paid enough for what she does.
The grandfather clock at the back of the bar chimed. “All right, you all know the drill.” Matt called out, and the patrons all said (or slurred, or tweeted) the closing time rhyme: “Ten-o-clock means time to walk.”
As the patrons all shuffled, floated, and/or crawled out the door, Matt Morgan started cleaning up the tables around the bar. He got two tables done before noticing something.
Mrs. Robinson was still at the bar.
Matt sighed, and walked up to her. Prodding her gently, he said softly: “Hey.”
A groan, and a sound of dis-assent.
“C’mon, you’re not that drunk, are you? The bar’s closed.”
“nnnggggghhh.” Matt wasn’t sure he could translate that, but he got the basic message.
“Don’t you have anybody to take you home?” She shook her head no.
Matt looked at her. He raised an eyebrow. Then, his expression melted into one of understanding and sympathy. “C’mon. I know your friend, she lives nearby. I’ll help you out.”
Matt helped Mrs. Robinson up, and helped her walk out the door. His assessment was right, she wasn’t that drunk, but she was tired and she had been drinking.
Mrs. Robinson seemed like she needed help. It was the right thing to do.
I’ll come back later to close up shop later, the bartender thought. For now, I’m going to help out a friend.
backup 