Girl by Moonlight: A DMing Check-In
It's been a solid three months since I last weighed in on my Girl by Moonlight experiences. The game continues every other Sunday evening. I haven't quit, I've kept enjoying it, and (apparently) my players continue to enjoy it as well.
That said, I think there was a part of me that believed I'd hit a point at which I'd "understand" GMing and then we'd just roll from there. Which of course is foolish — that's not true of anything anywhere. In retrospect, I think it's because I witness a degree of confidence and creativity from the GMs I admire (in my own life and onscreen) that I just figure they've hit that point.
Then again, I'm sure there are people who are convinced I am a confident and self-assured writer just because I have books in print. And boy do we all know that's not true.
The big thing I've noticed is that I never go to bed (because these games end at 10 or 11pm for me, so I go straight to bed) thinking, Damn, I nailed that one. Well done me. There's always something: I paused too long here to come up with something when a player went in an unexpected direction. I didn't define a point well enough, or make it enticing enough, to send players after it, and instead we went on a long rabbit trail to get to what I thought was a straight-line result. I fumbled here or here during combat. I forgot the rules here; I fudged the rules there.
It's like when I used to act. It's like when I write now and hit "Send" on the draft. There's always, always something I could have done better. Which is kind of a crappy feeling when your brain is running counter to what your players are saying. But it's also a bit reassuring: it's another way that GMing is like the style of writing I'm accustomed to. And the truer that is, the less alien it feels.
In fairness, it's not all double-edged swords. I like to think I am picking up tricks along the way. Friends have been helping me tackle aspects of the game mechanics that are rough for me — things like how to guide combat and know when a combat is "done" in a system bereft of NPC hit points and initiative. But I've also had to tackle things that are more "quality of life" for the player... things they want that are both narrative and mechanical in nature.
For example, this particular playbook of Girl by Moonlight, "On a Sea of Stars," has giant robots. As with fellow player characters, you can have Links with your robot (or Engine). Links let you shake off stress, get an extra die, and other such abilities. I will occasionally have the players do feet-on-the-ground missions, either because it fits the story better or as a bit of a challenge. Technically, this means that they don't have access to Links with their Engine. But they have expressed wanting them.
I didn't like saying a flat-out "no," because everyone in this game is doing amazing things with their characters and it doesn't feel like a desire to optimize solely for the sake of optimization, so the task became figuring out a way to make it both narratively and mechanically feasible. How can I create long-distance links between pilots and their mecha while still making it clear that they're more vulnerable out of their robots? To that end, I'm homebrewing items that require gathering materials and finishing projects. When complete, these items (I'm still deciding what they are) will enable use of at least one link per combat, with an increasing risk of the item "burning out" after each use in a single session. (I took inspiration for this risk from the Arcanist's Lens, an item from the Griffon's Saddlebag.)
It's also worth mentioning that getting to the point of making them required some actual "talking" with the Engines: getting to know the personalities inside these machines. (I can't say much more because I'm pretty sure all my players read my blog.) With these moments under the characters' belts, it felt much more likely that this long-distance bond could exist — and, moreover, that it was something the players would actually play narratively, rather than just using to boost a dice roll.
Just the other night, I had to make my first ruling between two conflicting player decisions. Fortunately, it wasn't a dire matter. One player was about to make an Eclipse roll ("Eclipse" being a mechanic where the character's darker, more vulnerable side is explored), and it was very very clear that this player wanted to go there. However, before making an Eclipse roll, another character can prevent it by taking on stress themselves. Player 1 was pushing for the Eclipse to happen during the Fallout phase, as cumulative stress is wiped at the end of each session and it might be a while before this opportunity would come again. Player 2 is playing a character who not only hinges on communication and understanding due to their playbook of choice, but also has a Promise (an interpersonal mechanic) dedicated to helping this specific character.
Letting Player 2 intervene would have meant not letting Player 1 have a specific moment that, by design, could (and probably would) come again. Not letting Player 2 intervene would have meant artificially closing off an aspect of the game's mechanics and denying Player 2 the ability to act according to their character's nature — which is an even bigger deal in a game where experience is primarily gained by doing exactly that. In the moment, I chose to let Player 2 intervene. Player 1 and I talked about it later to ensure everything was okay, and I revealed Player 2's Promise over the table to explain why I chose the way I did. Even when I knew I was making the best choice as the GM, I didn't enjoy not letting a player do something they were gunning for. (I'm a very narrative-driven player myself, so I get it.) However, the player ultimately agreed with me that it was the best choice, especially after re-reading what Eclipse looks like for this playbook and realizing that they were actually acting opposite to it. While there's still a very real desire to explore the Eclipse mechanic, we both agreed that it should be both narratively and mechanically next time, and not just a build-up of stress points on the sheet.
For what it's worth, I'm fortunate that the first conflict between two player choices was between two long-time friends over something that ultimately had a pretty clear ruling by the book. I've seen, and been part of, much less clear-cut conflicts. I'd like to think I'll handle them well when they arise, but I'll still count myself fortunate that I got to come in on the ground floor with mitigating this sort of thing.
There's now a longer gap between this session and the next one as one player goes on vacation, meaning I get more time to plan. Do I feel confident as a GM now? No. I don't think I ever will. Do I enjoy the process? Absolutely, and a lot of that is down to building a group of players that I know will both work with me and occasionally test me. I still struggle with split-second decisions, and I still hate knowing those long pauses exist while I'm cooking something up to account for an unplanned side road. But even if I do go to bed at night feeling uncertain, the amazing things the players are doing make it worth it.
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