It had taken Mabel some time to accept participating in Ford's campaign.

"I know the kind of games that Dipper enjoys," she'd told him at first, "it's always strategy this, or character build that, and there's like, all those dumb little things I'd need to remember and I'm not sure I could do it?" Mabel had given a little nervous giggle. "I mean, you and Dipdop are like, super ultra smart, and I'm just—I suck at maths and I have all the attention span of a hamster in a ball pit—"

"Mabel," Ford had interrupted her, "you are one of the brightest individuals I've ever met, and if someone ever made you think the opposite, then I'd like to meet them so I can pistol whip them until they recant their words."

He had been rewarded with a belly laugh from his niece. "Oh, you," she'd said, taking on an affected air, "flattery and a threat of violence against those who would wrong me? What a gentleman you are, Grunkle Ford!"

"I wasn't lying when I said this game is perfect for people with a lot of imagination." Ford had then smiled at her—rather sappily, in fact. "And I've yet to encounter someone with an imagination more active than yours."

"Alright, then! You've won me over, you honey-tongued devil, you!"

"Splendid!" Ford had clapped his hands. "Now, first off we need to build your character. And I know just the class for you!"

"Bard?" Dipper had just walked into the living room, carrying the binder where he kept all of his materials for the game. "It's bard, isn't it?"

Mabel squinted at her brother. "Bard? Like some weird medieval guy wearing purple tights and a floppy hat?"

"A bard is someone who casts spells by using music," Ford explained. "Their songs have all kinds of magical properties."

"Oh!" Mabel said. "That sounds like me!"

Ford's lips nearly twitched into another smile. "They also have an ability called inspiration. They cheer on other players, giving them a boost on their rolls."

"Oh, oh! That sounds even more like me!"

This time, Ford could not help but grin. "More often than not, the bard is the heart of a party. They're charismatic and skillful and—"

"Wow! Is there, like, a picture of my face beside that description?"

"Humble much, Mabel?" Dipper said, dryly.

Mabel pushed at him, grinning like a loon. "Hark, what's this? I hear malicious slander! I shan't listen to those poisonous words!"

Ford chuckled. "So, I guess you'll play that character class, then?"

She had put her hands on her hips, cocking her head in a rather impish manner. "If I'd known that karaoke was a thing in your nerd game, then I would have played with you guys sooner!"

Ford had blinked. "Karaoke. Right, of course." He hadn't exactly expected that she would want to sing for real. Oh well, was all he had thought. As long as she had fun...

Forty-two impromptu performances later, Ford was starting to wonder if that had been a good idea.

It wasn't that Mabel's singing was bad, oh no. Ford would gladly beat to a pulp anyone who would dare to insinuate that his niece was lacking in talent. It was just…

"This calls for a training montage! And a training montage calls for a song!"

"So, we gotta persuade that air djinni to give us a wish? How 'bout I do it through music?"

"No, no, no, no, no! We don't need to fight, we can still be friends with those bandits! C'mon, I have the perfect soundtrack for the occasion!"

And so on and so forth. According to Dipper, it was a strategy she also used even in real life. Ford didn't quite have the heart to tell her that ballads about the virtues of love and friendship weren't always the answer, especially when the problem was an angry kraken trying to make a meal out of you. Still, Mabel remained undeterred by her failures to befriend all manners of beasts and creepy crawlies.

The party had come upon a chained dire wolf in a forest sanctuary. Ford took great care to describe its fur—dark and mysterious as midnight, with silvery specks shimmering across his body like stars in the heavenly canopy. The party remained still before his fiery gaze, enthralled, enchanted, entranced

"Oy, get on with it!" said Stan, interrupting Ford's foray into his thesaurus. "We get it, it's a big beastie, yadda, yadda, yadda."

Ford glared at him. "Right. It's a wolf. It's chained to these columns you see at the temple's entrance. And it's very, very angry."

"Oh, can I see if it's evil and stuff?" asked Soos.

"It is very evil," Ford said. "A threatening aura comes off the beast in waves, making your hair stand on end. You have a feeling it would easily make a meal of your soft flesh…"

"Cool, cool, cool," said Wendy. "At least the chains'll make it easier to kill it."

"Nooo!" said Mabel. "It's a puppy! We can't kill a puppy! Maybe I can sing to him and pet his cute widdle head. That would make him less sad, right?"

Ford opened and closed his mouth in quick succession. Mabel's idea was a horrible one, but he couldn't exactly tell her, could he? "I…. I don't think…"

"I roll for persuasion!" She offered Ford a brilliant smile. "See, I'm starting to get the hang of your dumb nerd game!"

"No, Mabel," said Dipper. "It's a beast, it wouldn't understand you. You gotta do an animal handling roll."

"Huh." Mabel checked her sheet, frowning. "My animal handling stat isn't as good… oh, well! I'm sure it'll work out and we'll sing and dance under the moonlight!"

"Dipper's right," Ford said with a wince. "You do have to roll for animal handling. But, listen, Mabel…"

She threw her die in front of her, then made a face. "Oh… I've only got a two… with my bonus, that only makes five in total…"

It was nowhere near enough to safely approach such a dangerous beast, let alone tame it. Across the table, the same expression of horror showed on every face… save for Mabel, who was looking innocently at Ford.

Ford kept his face expressionless, pressing his lips together to keep himself from making any sound. Still, despite his efforts, a noise reminiscent of a deflating balloon escaped his mouth. Stan had the decency of giving him a sympathetic look.

"It's gonna attack her, isn't it?" Dipper said, voice going squeaky. "Oh god, oh god, oh god…" He rummaged through his stack of papers, probably hoping to find a handy list of spells to save his sister from being mauled to death.

"He doesn't want to be friends with me?" Mabel said, big brown eyes even larger than usual. "But… but…"

Ford got out of his chair so quickly he nearly sent it tumbling behind him. "In an amazing turn of events," he said, "the wolf seeks your hand, the tenderness of your touch turning the flames of his rage into quiet embers."

Mabel laughed like a supervillain. Ford wondered for a split second if that should worry him.

"He is mine, yesss!" she said. "I mean—who's a good pupper? Who's a widdle guy?"

"He is, he is!" Soos added. "He is the best of pups!"

"Wait," Ford tried to intervene, "I haven't said—"

"I think I'll call him… Captain Moonbeam Glimmer!"

"Captain," Ford repeated. "Captain. Why, exactly…?"

"Well, duh! He's a vet with traumatic memories. From the war."

Ford was at an utter loss. "War. What war?" He had built an intricate backstory for his universe, and there had been no war where wolves had participated as soldiers.

"I dunno, does it matter?" Mabel said. "He went to the war, had all sorts of bad things happening to 'im. Oh, oh, and he lost his beloved! That's always a source of good, delicious angst."

Ford stared dumbly at her, before suddenly remembering that he had a story to tell. "Right." He cleared his throat. "So, where were we?"

"The wolf was guarding a temple?" Dipper said. "In the forest?"

"Ah, yes," said Ford. He fought a brief scowl as he remembered how he'd spent hours building up that encounter with the wolf—hours sent down the drain because he was too soft-hearted to say no to Mabel. "The temple. You stand before a grand structure—granite columns covered in moss, sculptures eroded by the ages, crumbling—"

"There!" Mabel exclaimed, holding a piece of paper in her hands. "I finished it!"

Ford opened and closed his mouth in close succession. He was seized by a sudden sense of dread. "F-Finished what, my dear?"

"Here, that's what Captain Moonbeam Glimmer looks like!"

She'd drawn the wolf in purple crayons, except for his eyes, which were bright red flares. A scene of chaos unfolded behind him—there were explosions and rainbows and sparkles, so much sparkles—and on the wolf's back Ford saw…

"What… what are those red lines coming from that grey thing on his back, sweetie?" he asked, one eye twitching.

"Lasers," Mabel answered. "McGucket thought it would be cool if he could shoot lasers."

"Lasers—" Ford scowled at Fidds. "No. That level of technology is not possible in my universe."

"Aw, Fordsie," Fidds said sweetly, "they're not laser lasers. They're magic lasers." His eyes were twinkling. It was the infuriating smug expression he always wore when he assured Ford that leg warmers were God's given gift to humanity or that Carl Sagan's fashion sense was an abomination unto this world.

Ford stifled the urge to rant that his universe had clear rules that he'd spent hours defining. Still, Mabel was smiling. Surely there was no greater reward… right? "Well, it's… amazing, sweetheart," he said, faking a smile of his own. "Truly stupendous."

Wendy looked up from her phone. "Dude. Did you really use the word stupendous? In a normal conversation?"

Ford made a noise like a boiling teakettle. Stan patted his back.

And yet Ford's torment was only beginning.


In the following games, Ford's party breezed through every challenge.

Mabel's wolf, despite being 'the goodest of pups' (in her own words), turned out to be a rather efficient and ruthless killing machine. Captain Moonbeam Glimmer tore through goblin armies, used Beholders as chew toys, and even helped toppling an evil church through the careful and calculated use of a box of herrings.

By the fourth game, Ford was about to tear his hair off. Before their next session, Dipper took him aside from the others, looking slightly concerned.

"You don't what to do with Mabel's wolf, do you?" the boy said.

Ford's shoulders slumped forward. "Is it so evident?"

"Maybe you could ask around on a forum?" Dipper suggested. "On the Internet I mean?"

"Oh, oh!" Soos had just sprung out of nowhere, and Ford nearly jumped high enough to hit the ceiling. Where had that boy come from? How was he so sneaky? "I can help you with that, Dr. Pines, dude! I set up McGucket's Youtube channel, after all!"

"Fidds's… what?" Not for the first time, Ford cursed his inability to understand the modern world and especially youth culture.

"Youtube channel. Where he plays the banjo and stuff." Soos grinned. "His covers of anime openings are really popular, I tell you! He also makes videos teaching kids how to fix things at home. For people who didn't have their parents teaching them that stuff, I mean."

Ford found himself returning Soos's smile. "Oh. That does sound like him."

"Of course, most of the time his answer to any problem is to build a robot." Soos made a strange face. "But only most of the time. Like, 84% of the time. I really think he's healing, you guys."

Not long after, both Dipper and Soos had set up a laptop for Ford, directing him to an online community about tabletop games. Following their instructions, Ford created an account for himself (he chose "AdAstraSix" as his handle) and started a new thread to ask for help.

GREETINGS, FRIENDS, Ford wrote, I AM RUNNING A CAMPAIGN FOR MY FAMILY AND I HAVE ENCOUNTERED A STICKY SITUATION. I HAVE ALLOWED MY NIECE TO KEEP A GREAT DIREWOLF AS A PET. IT IS PURPLE AND IT SHOOTS LASERS AND IT COMES FROM THE MOON. IT BREAKS STORY IMMERSION GREATLY AS WOLVES DO NOT COME FROM THE MOON IN MY SETTING. HOW DO I GET RID OF IT? THANK YOU.

I really hope he means in DnD and not in real life, lol, someone commented.

Man, I'd love it if some guy went around handing direwolves to people, how sick that would be? another person replied.

Learn to let go of the capslocks, dude, one commenter wrote.

Your niece outsmarted you. Why are you punishing her for it? Let her keep the wolf!

LET HER KEEP THE WOLF! someone else responded.

You heartless uncle! Let her keep the wolf!

Soon, all the comments were a variation on that theme. Ford groaned, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. In a matter of minutes, there was one hundred Internet strangers telling him that he was a terrible person for wanting to take his niece's 'bestest boi' away. One person had even made a poorly made edited image of a wolf, making it purple and putting a laser gun on his back. The same person enjoined Ford to show his niece this 'masterpiece', saying 'it all taken all of five minutes to make'.

Dude, you're the DM, do what you want, someone eventually wrote. But, everyone else is right, don't punish your players for being smart. Rank up the difficulty to account for her wolf. Or make up an interesting storyline about your niece's wolf leaving the party—with her approval, of course. Cause otherwise, all the others are right: you really are quite the douchecanoe.

Ford squinted at the screen, irritated at being called a douchecanoe—whatever that meant. THANK YOU FOR YOUR WISE COUNSEL, INTERNET FRIEND, he replied. HAVE A NICE DAY. He remembered Soos saying that young people used 'emojis' and 'memes' to communicate. Ford put a picture of a cat after his comment. Above the feline was written, in bold letters, U CAN HAZ ALL THE THNX.

A few seconds later, the same commenter wrote, Oh my god, how old are you?


Captain Moonbeam Glimmer thus became a constant fixture of their campaign.

Mabel was thrilled. She was even more enthusiastic when Ford showed the surprisingly large number of drawings that people had made of her wolf. thank you! she'd written in response, u guys r great, i lvoe u, ure my people! 3 3 3

And so Captain Moonbean Glimmer continued to destroy every foe Ford sent his way, to Mabel's great glee. To everyone's greet glee, in fact. Ford was not surprised that Stan and Wendy enjoyed such wanton violence, but he was a bit concerned that Soos and Fidds took great joy as well in the brutal deaths of their enemies. Perhaps Soos had spent too much time in Stan's presence—and perhaps Fidds had spent too much time in Ford's presence. Those poor, pure souls, corrupted by the twisted influence of the Pines brothers…

Finally came a moment that Ford had taken great care preparing. The party had spent the last hour fighting a skeletal dragon to protect the kingdom of the dwarves. Brave Captain Moonbeam Glimmer had suffered grievous wounds while defending his mistress. Around the table, eyes were misty as Ford described the wolf's last moments…

"No!" Mabel cried. "I rush to pet his head!"

"Captain Moonbeam Glimmer raises tired eyes to you," Ford narrated. "The light of life is leaving their red depths… but not the warmth of his love."

Soos blew his nose loudly into a handkerchief. Fidds was dabbling at his eyes. Stan had crossed his arms over his chest; he was looking at everyone like they'd all gone off the deep end.

"Ohhh," said Mabel. "Rest, sweet prince, rest. You did so great. You really were the bestest of good boys."

"Indeed, he was," Soos said, raising his phone. A tinny little song was coming out of it—a cover of a popular movie song, played on the recorder. Whoever was playing was obviously not very talented.

Fidds removed his hat, putting it over his heart. He elbowed both Dipper and Wendy so they'd do the same. Stan was mouthing to Ford, 'please kill me now.'

When the song was over, Ford cleared his throat to continue. "For the last time, Captain Moonbeam Glimmer seeks the warmth of your hand. Then he opens his jaws to say—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Wendy interrupted. "He can talk? He's a talking wolf?"

"He can shoot lasers from his back and he comes from the moon, why is that the one detail that sticks out to you?!" Ford exclaimed, feeling like he was nearing a mental breakdown.

"Well, duh," Stan said, smug as can be, "you need to be consistent with your bull—crap, y'know? You've never established that wolves could speak in your universe. Now look what you've done, breaking our immersion an' stuff."

Stan's smirk grew bigger as Ford flailed his arms around in inept rage. Finally, after two swigs from his hip flask (which, contrary to what he'd told the children, did not contain any water), Ford sat down, feeling… well, not exactly calm, but not on the verge of committing fratricide, at the very least.

"Anyway," he said gruffly, "Captain Moonbeam Glimmer turns to you, Mabel, and says—" (Ford deepened his voice, making it even more gravelly) "—'dear one, it has been an honour to serve at your side. But now, I must go back, to my—'"

"To your people, yes!" Mabel jumped out of her seat, whipping her arm in the air and nearly hitting poor Fiddleford in the nose. "The moon needs you, oh brave furred warrior!"

This went on for quite a bit. Apparently, being on the verge of death didn't negatively affect Captain Moonbeam Glimmer's penchant for long, dramatic speeches. Finally, Ford described the wolf's ascent to the heavens with suitably flowery language. Mabel was all too eager to show her acting skills, loudly lamenting her friend's passing. Again, many tears were shed in the audience.

Afterwards, Ford asked his niece to stay at the table with him while the rest of his players left. "Sweetie?" he asked. "Are you alright? You're… you're not mad at me, aren't you?"

"Mad?" She blew a raspberry. "Oh, come on, that was fun and epic! Fun 'cause it was epic!"

"So, the fact that your wolf is gone doesn't…?"

"Of course it makes me sad! But he still lives!" Mabel patted at her chest in a comically exaggerated manner. "But he still lives in my heart… forevermore." After a while, her grin returned full force—that is, brighter than a hundred watts lightbulb. "Also, that opens up the opportunity for a storyline where he comes back from the moon to save us in our hour of need. That's what you were planning, right?"

Ford blinked. "Nooo…" he said, glancing aside.

"Aww." Mabel patted his arm. "You've got the same tells as Grunkle Stan when you try to lie. You're both so bad at this, it's almost cute."

Ford felt indignant, but he forced himself to smile. It was almost a compliment, after all. Almost.

"Hey, Poindexter." Stan was standing in the doorway, sipping from a can of probably-not-soda. "Will you help me clean up the mess we left in the kitchen when we made dinner? I'm not exactly looking forward to being murdered by Soos's grandma tomorrow morning, yeah?"

"Of course," Ford said, standing up. "Thank you for being so understanding, my dear."

Mabel waved a hand around, in a very Stan-like manner. "Psh! Water under the bridge, good sir, water under the bridge.

"I'm surprised it took you so long to get rid of that thing," Stan said when Ford joined him.

"Well, I didn't want to make Mabel sad."

Stan snorted. "Got you wrapped around her little finger, that one."

"I'd rather that she stays happy," Ford said with a frown. "Is that so wrong?"

"Nope." Stan slapped Ford's back with a chuckle. "It's just funny how naïve you are. She shares blood with me, y'know. That should tell you something."

Ford met his niece's eyes from the other room. She rested her chin on her hands, her grin taking a wicked quality.

Ford grimaced, suddenly understanding Stan's point. "Ah! I've been had!"