Stanford Filbrick Pines, my old pal!
He didn’t even PRETEND to try holding back the wide grin that stood proud on his face as he stared at Ford, watching him back up with the gun. What a reunion, huh? This one’s for the books!
Increasing distance was being made between them so with a short (not taking away from the pure VOLUME of it, of course), amused laugh he just begun to close it, taking steps toward him, albeit slightly unsteady and stumbly.
Stanford spent thirty LONG years preparing for a moment just like this one. Dimension hopping, spending his every WAKING hour into building the one gun that could take Bill Cipher down, and take him own for good. It was his mission, his quest, and damn he was gonna do it. Buuut... he probably didn’t account that maybe he’d have to stare his nephew in the eyes while doing it, huh? Could he do it? REALLY? Look his nephew-turned-biggest-fan and pull the trigger?
That moral dilemma, to him, was downright hilarious.
“HAH! If you believed those words ya shoulda said them back at the OPERA HOUSE, Sixer!”
This wasn’t his first time running around as the Pines family’s newest, sweatiest ghost-hunting addition, and you know, Bipper wasn’t feeling too shy about that fact today. ‘’Just another thing to tie in the similarities between him and his favorite author’’ after all! You never really know a guy until you both get tricked by the same demon.
But he was preeetty sure Ford was out of that loop so he felt - snrk - no greater honor than to be the one to reveal it to him.
Rubbing his arm casually as he stared up at him, more than anything to bring attention to the fact that hey Sixer, whether he’s his or not doesn’t matter, he’s already left a mark. SHOWERS of scars, ranging from just a faint prick to digging oh-so deeply through the skin, red and slightly bloodly, scrapes and scratches and bumps and bruises- he’d been running around for at least a hot second here.
There’d been a loud bang early in the day, by the stairs. Dipper jumping up with a confident pleased laugh rubbing his head. Maybe with this context it wasn’t just Dipper tripping.
He narrowed his eyes at him. “Think you can do it, Sixer? Not even lookin at me with the gun- at that wide-eyed eager nephew of yours, and shoot?” He was asking, but Bipper had already decided his answer.
