Quentin Trembley was called many things during his short, tumultuous time in office. A lunatic. A cretin. A maniac of insane patriotism. Wendell.
But one thing that Dipper had never banked upon was him being a hero. The over 100 year old president showed barely a whisker of trepidation about the task ahead of him. The Pines family stood, their mouths agape, as he silently stepped up to the leviathanic bird that loomed over them all, his dukes raised, his trenchcoat sashaying with every step, the woodland breeze blowing through those ever-prodigious sideburns.
"I have to insist that you get out of here." he said to the family, glaring up at the bird."
"We aren't going anywhere." Ford replied. "We aren't leaving you to fight the thing alone."
"This has been a long time coming. This bird is my nemesis, Stanford."
"You've only known about it for what, an hour? If that."
"And the tension is already palpable ."
"What are you going to do?" Dipper asked, somewhat fearful that their eccentric ally might be planning something particularly unstable.
The 8th and a half president of the United States cracked his knuckles and whipped out a length of rope from his seemingly bottomless pockets, tying it into a particularly outsized lasso, his eyes still fixed upon that enormous creature.
Pacifica was momentarily impressed by the man's ability to tie a perfect lasso without even looking at the rope. She knew a few basic knots when it came to looking after her ponies, but-
"How many of you chaps have seen a president ride a bucking bronco?"
"Quentin." The boy in the lumberjack cap replied, his patience teetering. "That's a goose. Not a Bronco."
"No, let him try." Stan smirked. "It'll be funny!"
Ford elbowed his brother in the side and tried to appeal to Quentin's greater sense of reasoning - but this is something particularly difficult to do when your opponent is a man who preserved himself in peanut brittle.
"You can't seriously think this is a good idea."
"No, Sir. But I think it is an idea , which is a damned sight more than I think the rest of us have!"
The kids glanced at each other. It was… pretty difficult to deny, even with the somewhat bizarre circumstances that Trembley was shooting for.
The goose, tiring of the staring contest, shot out one of its beams of shrinking light with a bellowing shriek, seemingly growing only more angry and unstable as time went on. Quentin rolled out of the way - with surprising agility - and, behind where he had been stood, a fallen log was shrunk down into a small caber.
Trembley lifted the hefty chunk of lumber - not without effort - and tied it to his lasso. "You there. Stanley. You look like you'd have a good shot-putt arm."
"Huh?"
"I need you to throw this," The lanky man in the trenchcoat said, holding up the miniature log, "Up there."
Stan looked up at the giant bird, back at the kids, then at his brother. "This better be some show, slick. I try not to get involved in crazy."
There was a pause.
"How's that working out for you, Stan?" Pacifica snarked, rolling her eyes and picking another tiny goose out of her hair.
"Not so well, Blondie." Stan sighed.
The Grunkle reeled one of his burly arms backwards and flung the thing as hard as he could with a grunt. Quentin's suspicions, at least, were correct - Stan's arm was more than ample enough to send the wood flying skywards, the rope trailing behind it, now tied around Trembley's waist.
The weighted lasso slipped over the beaked creature's head, something the creature reacted to rather predictably; immediately, it began to thrash and struggle back and forth, whipping the man off of the floor and onto its back. Trembley, as good as his word, began to fight the bucking bronco with fierce abandon, holding onto the creature's neck as it continued to battle its strange, trenchcoated assailant.
The Grunkles pulled the kids back as the bird continued to thrash wildly, its powerful blasts of light and manic sounds of avian protest continuing to desecrate vast swaths of forest.
"Down there, Bessie! Down there!" the president shouted; but this was no mere battle between man and beast - no mere act of animal husbandry. It was a threatening creature with every intent of causing injury and destruction. It showed no signs of tiring, no signs of weakening - no glimmer of the creature backing down from its resolute argument.
The goose howled as Quentin tried to scale the animal's neck, looping the rope around it as he climbed it like a lumberjack would a mighty pine. The shrinking beams continued splashing out wildly, flying out over the Oregon sky.
"What on Earth are we supposed to do?" Ford cried, holding the sides of his head. "That thing is dangerous!"
"Do you think that could, like… shrink a Jumbo jet?" Pacifica asked, worriedly. "That's gotta be pretty dangerous, right?"
"Oh man." Dipper gulped. "I'm too young to go to prison!"
"Relax, kid. You think I've been using fancy batteries in that buggy? I stole them from the Tent of Telepathy's fire alarms. I'm surprised the damned things are still working. We might get jailed for petty theft, criminal damage, vandalism..."
"Okay, Stan, I get it-"
"Destruction of public property, libel, negligence, trespassing…"
"Grunkle Stan."
"Underage driving, burning down the Tent of Telepathy-"
"Stan! Enough!"
"...And let's not forget the identity theft. But not for shrinking a 'plane. Not this time… wait. What were we talking about?"
Ford tackled Stanley out of the vicinity as another beam of light shot from the goose's mouth. "We're talking about what to do with the giant goose that now has a maniac riding it like a horse !"
"Hey, the guy said he had it under control, let's see how it goes."
"I most certainly do !" Trembley said, proudly, raising his wide-brimmed hat to the heavens and jeering as the goose flapped and floundered against him, honking and roaring in - it must be said, fairly righteous - fury.
The goose then opted to try and protest by ramming itself back against everything from pine trees, to rock faces, to particularly prickly bushes, continuously trying to throw off the strange man clinging so fiercely to the fine down upon its neck.
Stan sat down on one of the logs nearby and watched as the screaming goose - and screaming 8th and a half president - thrashed and flew back and forth, wildly, sending a rain of enormous feathers across the clifftop glade and into the breeze.
A cacophony of honks, squawks, hisses and screams seemed to echo in ear-straining volumes from the top of those floating cliffs, attracting the attention and fear of everybody in the town.
"Geez. How can people stand being so loud?!" Grenda complained, her iguana slipping into her shirt to escape the noise.
"I bet it's something to do with Pacifica." Candy replied matter of factly. "And Mabel, and Dipper. Those three have trouble follow them around."
"Yeah, they're real oddballs, huh?"
"Yes." Candy replied, before glancing at her latest, boldest fashion ensemble in a shop window. "Do you think the otter costumes are - ah - too much to be out in public?"
"Naw girl, you're slayin'! " Came the typically voluminous reply. "N obody expects the otter twins!"
The two giggled as they went about their way, otter tails swaying with every step - they, like the townspeople around them, trying to go about their day to day - albeit, intrinsically strange - routines without acknowledging the seeming chaos that was erupting high above their streets.
Back up in the cliffs, however, there was no going without acknowledging a 60 foot tall goose with a man clinging onto its throat.
"Yup. He's got it under control." Stan grinned, watching the increasingly dishevelled figure hanging on for dear life.
"Aren't we going to like… help him?" Pacifica asked.
"He said he's got it under control, Blondie."
Another beam of light flashed upon the ground with a blast of air, sending increasingly shrinking debris flying skyward.
"I take it back! I do not have this under control!" Quentin finally shouted at the top of his lungs. "This is going wrong. Very wrong!"
"What was the plan, Quentin?! This isn't looking like much of a plan!" Dipper shouted up at him.
"My plan was to tame the gooseliath, Dipper!"
"And failing that?"
"I was quite convinced it would tire!"
"And failing that ?!"
"You may need to give me a moment to consider!" Quentin shouted in response - half drowned out by the hollering gander as it stomped through the trees.
Pacifica was suddenly tackled out of the way by Dipper as the creature made a change of direction, the pair landing with a hollow thud in a pile of toadstools - a giant webbed foot landing where she had stood only momentarily before.
"J-jeez, Dip, when did you get reflexes like that?!"
"You pick it up in this family."
Pacifica smiled and gently placed a hand on Dipper's cheek. "Well, my hero."
"I mean, I kind of owed you one."
"look, as crazy as all this is - and as much to blame as you kind of are - I missed you, you dork."
"Yeah, well…"
The momentary bliss of being together was very suddenly ruined by the giant bird returning to their collision course. They were forced to run out of the way and duck behind a boulder, with the rest of the family.
Pacifica swore to herself at the gooseliath's poor sense of timing.
The feathered fiend was surprisingly fast for what was, in the end, a bird so enormous it probably outweighed the Mystery Shack. As selfish a thought process it might have been, she was resenting the thing most at the moment for being so inconvenient .
All she wanted was to be with her damned boyfriend and get away from this crazy stuff for a while. When was the last time she just got to sit with him and drink a coffee?!
She sighed as they both sat with the rest of the family, Mabel giving her a wide, knowing smirk.
The bird continued ravaging the area mindlessly, Quentin still holding onto its feathers with surprising dedication.
The president scanned the area for an idea; any idea. Anything that could finally defeat the only menace he had encountered beyond that of the Irish.
His brow furrowed as his eyes met the edge of the cliff face, and the several hundred foot drop beyond its grassy peninsula..
So be it.
"Pines! I have a plan! I need you to get the goose off of the cliff! Preferably without it realising!"
"A valiant plan, Trembley, but need I remind you that you're tied to the goose?" Ford countered.
"I am duty bound to this goose and my country, Sir! It is a worthy sacrifice!"
The family recoiled. It was a solid act of bravery, for sure - but they weren't really used to a situation that involved sending a man to his almost certain destruction.
"I'm pretty sure the goose will break his fall, right?" Pacifica asked, not particularly convinced by her own reasoning.
"I mean, it's a possibility…" Ford grimaced.
"Wh-what if it kills him?!" Mabel gulped. "And what if it kills the goose?"
"Pretty sure killing the goose is the point." Stan replied, watching the increasingly menacing bird.
"That's awful!" The hyperactive Pines twin snapped.
"But what other option do we have? Sweetie, if that thing gets into town, we'll be knee deep in goose crapola. Literally."
"But it doesn't know it's evil!"
"It's a goose, Mabel. They're all evil." Pacifica replied. "I don't like it either, but if that's what he thinks is the best option-"
Mabel watched fearfully as the goose hissed and shrank down a passing flock of ducks. It was a bit hard to deny that the gooseliath was a dangerous creature that actively threatened the world around it - not to mention her beloved brother, his girlfriend and their Grunkles.
It pained her to admit it. But outside of doing something like setting fire to it or shooting it or something otherwise bloody and unpleasant, she didn't have an answer.
After coming up with several less than practical plans - including creating a 60ft tall lady goose out of lumber, she admitted defeat. Her animal loving, peaceful side was forced to resign. "Fine."
The plan was as swift as it was brutal. Mabel ran with her grappling hook and shot it point blank at one of the biggest pine trees on the clifftop, ducking out of the way as thick shards of wood splintered, the claw biting into the tree trunk with a hefty thunk, sinking deep into its side.
"I'm sorry, tree." She whispered, stroking it reassuringly.
Pacifica just stared blankly and figured it was probably best to let them have their moment.
The reality of tripping a giant goose was as brutally simple as it appeared to the layman; simply reel out the Grapple line and hold it taut, followed by baiting the goose. In the absence of a sixty foot loaf of bread, it was clear that one of them would have to act as bait.
"Quentin, are you absolutely sure about this?!" Ford finally shouted before opting to pull the reel straight. "Once this happens there's no way out of it!"
"I'm quite certain!" Came the reply in a typically old-timey tone, drowned by struggles and the crazed bird's continuing honks and hisses. "All in the name of America! Now come! Trip this demented duck to the edge of the Earth!"
The family glanced at eachother, shrugged, and did as they were told - at least, within reason. It was a bit difficult to follow those orders to the letter.
"We need somebody capable of irritating the animal beyond all reason."
"Sounds like a job for you to me, Ford."
"Very funny, Stanley. You're the only one capable of throwing hard enough to hit its head; perhaps you should be flinging rocks at it."
"Not a chance."
It was only a few minutes later that Stan Pines had taken position ahead of the tripwire, a selection of rocks in his hands, his eyes wide and his back stiff.
"Are you ready?"
"This is the dumbest thing I've ever done, Sixer."
"I highly doubt that."
Stan rolled his eyes, twisted his lip and took aim as the bird tried to slap its own neck against a tree, still viciously attempting to crush Trembley like a stray gnat upon its skin. The family held their breath as the old man's throwing arm peeled and threw the rock as hard as it could - launching it skywards, straight on target.
They pulled the line tight, stretching it with a metallic creak as the coiled cable tensed, ready to disrupt the animal.
Pacifica just held Dipper's hand, glad of the momentary solace to be close to him.
Dipper chuckled awkwardly as she wrapped her hand over his, gripping the cable firmly. "You ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be." Pacifica sighed, giving a shrug.
The rock hit the bird with a hollow knock, startling its fairly dim avian mind from the task at hand. With a snort, it turned to face its new assailant; and focused all attention on attacking the man who had just hit it with what felt like a mosquito bite.
"Come at me, you grotesque son of a bi-"
"Stanley, watch your catchphrases around the children!"
"Eugh."
Stan held his ground, his eyes widening and his face dropping as the thundering slaps of the creature's webbed feet rumbled closer and closer, the cliff rattling like the Gravity Falls Railroad had been brought back to life and sent an entire year's timetable through it at once.
"I shoulda become a dentist." He sighed, the bird's enormous shadow casting over him, hollering in a combination of Trembley's voice and demented, insane honks - with the rattling of feathers and flapping of webbed toes.
However, if there was one thing that could prepare a Pines, it was just under a year at sea punching giant fish and Scottish sasquatches. Technically, it was just their distant Great Uncle Douglas, but that was neither here nor there.
Stan Pines was more than capable of a supernatural face off.
He held his ground like a champion, so steadfast that even Grunkle Ford's heart was in his mouth before that split second dive out of the way.
The Gooseliath struck the cable hard, the entire family wheezing as it almost pulled their arms out of their sockets - the colossal bird flying flipper over throat with Quentin still aboard. Within only a moment, where there had once been a 60 foot tall bird, there was now only a cloud of feathers.
Quentin held on tightly and, at the top of his voice, screamed 'America', shrinking away as he fell down the enormous cliff face with that screaming, hissing creature.
The family grimaced, Pacifica almost instinctively throwing herself at Dipper and squeezing him tightly as the reality - and silence - of what they had just done set in.
And remained.
Remained completely, and utterly silent.
There was no thump, no splatter, no colossal bang of that gigantic goose hitting the floor.
The Pines dare not look over the cliff to see what had happened; they just blinked and waited.
But that impact never came.
"Wait." Dipper piped up. "Geese-"
WOOOMPH
A gust of air suddenly blew off his lumberjack's cap as a huge, soaring silhouette, wings akimbo and neck outstretched, flew above them at incredible speed, soaring over the clifftops and towards the Oregonian mountain ranges.
It was spellbinding. A sleek, flapping shape of strength and grace, any sign of its unhinged anger now gone to the wind, lost to the creature's sudden beauty and strength.
Atop its back, Quentin Trembley triumphantly proclaimed his supremacy, his arms outstretched in pride and self celebration as he hollered, his tattered tailcoat flapping in the wind, like a man who had only just discovered the power of flight for the first time.
Which, technically, considering his age, he kind of had .
"Geese fly ." Dipper stared. "How the heck did we forget that geese fly?"
"I dunno, but I think it's taking Quentin with it…" Pacifica gulped. "You think he's gonna be okay?"
"Hey, he survived this long, blondie." Stan replied. "If anyone is going to survive that, he will."
A slightly beaten silk cravat floated down from the animal, landing at Mabel's feet; joined by a single feather. She picked it up and stared up at their departing ally. "Farewell, Mr. President."
Pacifica blinked. She was looking forward to learning what all of the president stuff was about. Right now she was feeling more confused than ever about the old timey stranger; as if the coffee and bacon fat hadn't been enough to bewilder her.
There was a pause as the silhouette of the Gooseliath disappeared into the hills, the family all so moved and awe inspired by that bizarre, beautiful sight that they had fallen silent.
Pacifica felt Dipper's hand around her waist as they both watched. She pretended not to notice.
For at least a moment, everything felt perfect . Until, at least, she started thinking. Her eyes widened...
Stan rubbed his chin and glanced back at the kids. "... What the hell are we supposed to do with his bison?"