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Chess had always been the favored game of Stanford Pines in his youth. On many an occasion, he had tried to coerce his twin brother Stanley to play with him, but the pedantic intricacies of the chessboard had appealed to him even less than Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons had. Stanley had thought it would perhaps make more sense for every piece to move like a queen could, or for pieces which had already been eliminated to have “take-back-sies”. And so, Stanford had taught the ways of the chessboard to himself, and when he had arrived at Backupsmore, he had practiced his skills on his roommate.
Fiddleford H. McGucket was good at chess, if not a bit predictable. But perhaps that was just formalities. In truth, Ford was running circles around him on the chessboard just a few weeks into their friendship. It never became any less entertaining for him, though, to just take some time off from the endless bores of his schoolwork (With 2 PhD's in 2 years, it’s like they were handing them out--) and pour his mind over the rules and complexities of the board.
Eventually, though, Fiddleford, always the competitive sort, got bored of losing. Or maybe it was Ford that got bored of winning. Either way, the board sat on the corner of Ford’s desk, gathering dust, until he was called to the pines of Oregon, and the chessboard was called to the thrift store.
And so that was that. Ford forgot about playing chess. He lived on his own, nobody to play with, and far too busy documenting the wonders of Gravity Falls anyways. There wasn’t room in his room for a chessboard, the desks covered in lanterns and compasses and maps and the floors covered in magical carpets. Perhaps he had room for it in the basement, but he hadn’t quite done anything with it yet.
Maybe he’ll make a study.
That would be nice.
When he wasn’t thinking about possible floorplans, though (his house was a bit of an architectural nightmare as is), chess was altogether forgotten for a number of years. But forgotten, Ford will eventually learn, never entirely means lost. It just means hidden away, tucked in the crevices of the brain like it’s been stuffed in a drawer. Not easily accessible, but as Ford will soon learn, not easily accessible does not mean inaccessible.
“So.” Ford swallows thickly. “How does one go about playing interdimensional chess?”
-
He gets a new board.
The new board looks a lot like the old one, except now that he has money to spare, the wood is mahogany and the pieces are built to last. Also, the new board is three-dimensional. Interdimensional chess is similar to regular chess, except instead of playing in two dimensions, you play in three. The concept is enthralling to Ford, because finally, finally the game he is so accustomed to has a new angle (literally!). Luckily, the concept also never seems to get any less enthralling to Bill, who seems to be fascinated with the third dimension in general.
“Pawn to E4Delta.”
“Aggressive.” Ford chuckles lightly. Bill seems to be getting more aggressive lately in his openings, which is…interesting. In all other venues, on and off the board, Ford could say he’s softening. “Pawn to E5Delta.”
“And you’re meek as ever, Fordsie!” Bill chirps. The nickname is a new one--this isn’t the first time he’s heard it, though it causes him to flush and avert his eyes all the same. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t go getting all flustered, now! Gets in the way of your playing. Knight to F3Epsilon.”
“If you’d like me to play more aggressively--”
“No, no, you do you!”
Ford considers for a moment. “Knight to C6Gamma.”
Bill laughs.
-
That’s the thing--Ford is always the competitive sort, but he never gets tired of losing. It’s good that Bill never seems to tire of winning, then. Ford doesn’t exactly dream of the day he’ll beat him; he doesn’t suppose that day will ever come. But he enjoys the challenge. He enjoys learning about chess through Bill, just like he likes the things he learns while they talk over the chessboard--about quantum physics and theoretical philosophy and, on one poignant occasion, hand-holding.
“See.” Ford mumbles. “They don't fit.” His extra finger sticks out like a sore thumb, cold in the air of the Dreamscape. Bill’s hands are warm otherwise, which comes as somewhat of a shock to Ford. He realizes, with sharp clarity, that the only other time he’d held Bill’s hand, it had been encased in a freezing blue flame.
“Well, sure! They’re a little large compared to mine, are they not?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ford punctuates, though he can’t help but smile, “And you know it.”
“You think too hard.” Bill yawns, leaning back. His hand slips a bit in Ford’s grasp, and Ford leans forward, trying to chase the touch. He feels his face heat hotter than the grip encasing his hand; that’s embarrassing is what that is. “Do you think all those little humans with their little human brains are going to care about things like that?”
“They do.” Ford argues. “They always do. They always have.”
“Well.” Bill fixes Ford with a one eyed, soul-searching stare. “That’s their problem.” He releases Ford’s hand. “Bishop takes-back.”
-
Ford makes a study.
He builds it in the basement of the new house. This one is much less of an architectural nightmare, albeit built in the same spot as the last (the Corduroys did not like that request much). Bill helps, of course, with the magical properties, and perhaps just a bit with the design. The study goes in the basement. Hardwood floors, nice carpets, and a little round table that supports the three-dimensional chessboard.
“This is nice!” Bill says when he sees it through the Dreamscape, floating around in a little circle. “Oh, I do so wish I could see it in person.”
“Well.” Ford answers, reserved. “The portal is coming along nicely. It should only be a few more months at this pace.”
“You could have completely redecorated by that time!” Bill huffs, dramatic as ever.
“I don’t think I can work much faster than this.” Ford sighs. “I mean--You have to give me the information here, in the Dreamscape, and then I have to write it all down when I wake up, and work at night in between our meetings. Unless you want to put a damper on some of our chess games--”
“That won’t be necessary!” Bill says, somewhere in between beautifully bright and terrifyingly temperamental. He eyes the chessboard currently sitting on the table, pieces strewn over from their last game. Ford’s first-ever victory, snatched with a queen at E5Epsilon. When he turns his gaze back to Bill, he can practically see a smile on his mouthless form.
“I have a better idea.”
-
Ford goes back to playing chess with himself. Bill shows him the best strategies from the inside out. Openings he’d never even thought possible and ways to maneuver the perfect Queen Takeover. Bill doesn’t know much about human chess, but Ford can’t find it in himself to care much. Interdimensional chess is far superior in every way, as are most interdimensional matters Bill shows him.
Upsides to their new arrangement; portal progress goes twice as fast, if not more. Bill has the confidence at the general store that Ford otherwise lacks. In the ensuing two months, Ford wins two more games.
Downsides to their new arrangement;
“Bill, what is this?” Ford asks in the Dreamscape one night, rolling up his sleeves.
“Aw, c’mon, Sixer!” Bill floats in a circle around Ford appreciatively. “Ask what you really mean.”
“Okay.” Ford says, closing his eyes tight to stave off the blushing that the nicknames always seem to bring. “Bill, is this a tattoo?”
“Don’t be so dramatic! You’re always so dramatic! It’s a stick-n-poke, you young ones seem to like those nowadays!”
“I'm twenty-seven.” Ford huffs. “Also, did you not think it would be best to ask me before you permanently modified my body with your image? ”
“Do you not think it’s pretty?” Bill asks. He seems deeply offended. Or maybe that’s just formalities. Ford swallows thickly.
“It’s very pretty, Bill.”
-
The night before Stanford Pines almost opens the portal to hell is unassuming. He’s playing chess.
“You play white.” Bill swivels the board in Ford’s direction. Ford blinks incredulously.
“But--you always play white.”
“I said what I said!” Bill hums. “Let’s take it up a notch. Things are going to get a lot more heated in the chess department tomorrow, I’ll tell you that!”
Bill has been saying things like this for months.
The quantum physics department is going to get a lot more heated,
or
Just you wait until the world sees our notes on string theory!
Ford is personally the most excited when Bill says something along the lines of
The multiverse is going to love getting a load of you, IQ,
though it’s a quiet kind of excitement. Ford wonders if the imagery of them being together in the physical realm would stir up something greater in him, or any of the other riveting conversations they’ve had over chess.
Ford has three tattoos. They’ve not held hands past the first night.
“Alright.” Ford says, six-fingered grip shaking around one of the pieces. He flicks it into the air. Will they still be able to play interdimensional chess when Bill is in the physical realm, he wonders? Physics don’t entirely work the same way here that they work in the Dreamscape.
He does suppose they can change that, though.
“Pawn to E4Delta.”
--
The day after Stanford Pines doesn’t open the portal to hell, he visits the thrift store.
It’s been half a decade, but perhaps he can find a chessboard there, collecting dust. Shoved in a drawer, but never forgotten.