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thegoodomensdumpster · 4 years

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ALL THE OMENS

I keep seeing people confused / discovering one or several iterations of Good Omens, so here is a masterpost of everything Good Omens that officially exists (and that I could gather, so there might be mistakes):

WILLIAM THE ANTICHRIST (1987)

The original draft of what would later become Good Omens, written by Neil Gaiman before he teamed up with Terry Pratchett. It notably features a demon called Crawleigh who would then be split into Crowley and Aziraphale. The draft exists in a book form included in the Ineffable Edition of the illustrated Good Omens.

LINK TO A WTA RECAP (by @fuckyeahgoodomens)

BOOK (1990)

The core material of Good Omens, written by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Exists also as an audiobook read by Stephen Briggs (for the English speaking crowd of course). There is also some audio of David Tennant reading part of the book during the recording of Playing in the Dark: Neil Gaiman and the BBC Symphony Orchestra in November 2019. LINK TO DAVID TENNANT’S READING (by @merinathropp) @good-omens-covers is a blog where you can have a look at book covers from accross the world

MOVIE SCRIPT (1992)

The script for an aborted movie project. Attempts to write a movie script were made by both Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, but this is the one Gaiman ended up tackling on his own after Pratchett wisely decided to step away. The conflicted requests from the producers lead the way to a story that was related to Good Omens only in name. The movie script is only available in few numbers on specialized websites for a very high price.

THEATRE PLAY (2013)

An adaptation by Amy Hoff made with the permission of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, that was played by the Cult Classic Theatre for the Glasgow International Comedy Festival. As far as I know, no footage or script is available anywhere. I know nothing about this play besides the fact that Crowley looks wild. Amy Hoff’s website mentions that GO is currently unavailable for stage production or adaptation. LINK TO THE (BROKEN) PAGE OF THE THEATRE PLAY LINK TO A PHOTO GALLERY OF THE PLAY

RADIO DRAMA (2014)

An audio adaptation originally broadcasted on BBC4 in 6 episodes, adapted by Dirk Maggs and directed by Dirk Maggs and Heather Larmour. It is however available in an 8 episodes longer format (including bloopers) on CDs and such. The cast includes, notably, Peter Serafinowicz as Crowley, Mark Heap as Aziraphale, Josie Lawrence as Agnes Nutter, and a cameo from Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

LINK TO THE BBC4 PAGE FOR THE GOOD OMENS RADIO DRAMA LINK TO AN IMAGES GALLERY

TV SERIES (2019)

A six episodes long TV series, produced by the BBC and Amazon, that premiered on Amazon Prime in June 2019. Directed by Douglas Mackinnon. The script was written entirely by Neil Gaiman as the whole project was the achievement of years of struggle trying to get a video adaptation of GO, and as promised by Neil Gaimand to the late Terry Pratchett that this would get done.

The cast still includes Josie Lawrence as Agnes Nutter, David Tennant as Crowley, Michael Sheen as Aziraphale, and many other talented actors and actresses that would be too long to list here but are worth watching.

As derivative products coming out of the making of the TV series, the script book of the entire show (including cut scenes that were never shot) is available, as well as some storyboards that depict, without a doubt, the least expected looks for Crowley and Aziraphale. The TV series is available for streaming on Amazon Prime, in DVD and in BluRay. The soundtrack composed by David Arnold can be found in CDs, vinyls and mp3 sets. Additionally, there is a TV Companion book for behind the scenes and interviews that can be purchased, and very few official goodies such as enamel pins, and, of course, the very necessary Good Omens Nail Polish. A Q and A with Neil Gaiman and David Tennant is also available on Amazon Prime, broadcasted live and recorded in May 2020. In 2017, Neil Gaiman made a reading of cutscenes in Austin, Texas, for the Long Center event.

LINK TO THE DVDs / BLURAYs MASTERPOST (by @fuckyeahgoodomens) LINK TO THE SCRIPT BOOK MASTERPOST (by @fuckyeahgoodomens ) LINK TO SOME STORYBOARDS VISUALS: PART 1 and PART 2 LINK TO NEIL GAIMAN’S READING OF CUTSCENES

THE LOCKDOWN VIDEO (2020)

As a direct result of the TV series (and a direct result of a worldwide pandemic and a several months long lockdown...), Neil Gaiman wrote a little script for a short video that is, actually, mainly audio, in which David Tennant and Michael Sheen reprised their roles as Crowley and Aziraphale.

LINK TO THE LOCKDOWN VIDEO ON YOUTUBE LINK TO THE LOCKDOWN VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

MUSICAL (still in developpement as far as I know on this date in June 2020)

An Australia based project that has been years in the making, developped by Vicki Larnach and Jim Hare. So far, what has been officially released on the internet are a few videos of a reading by the actors, a sizzle reel with footage and audio of several moments from the show, as well as promotional pictures. The musical has been played on stage in front of an audience a few times these past two years in a version that is probably rather close to what the end product will be, and hopefully, once the final version exists, it will be made available for the widest audience possible.

LINK TO THE MUSICAL WEBSITE LINK TO THE MUSICAL SIZZLE REEL LINK TO THE MUSICAL INSTAGRAM LINK TO A REVIEW OF THE MUSICAL (by @seraphofshadows) LINK TO A GALLERY OF PICS FROM THE SIZZLE (by @crunchy-goblin)

OTHERS THINGS THAT ARE (AND THINGS THAT AREN’T)

668—The Neighbour of the Beast AKA the sequel that doesn’t exist. Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett talked about writing a sequel to Good Omens, came up with a few things (the most infamous being Aziraphale watching a porno in a hotel room, but only catching glimpses of it and trying to figure out the plot by writting it down in a notebook), but it was never written. LINK TO AN INTERVIEW GIVEN TO THE LOCUS IN 1991 MENTIONING THIS SEQUEL LINK TO A POST ON GAIMAN’S BLOG MENTIONING THE PORNOGRAPHY BIT LINK TO A RECAP OF THE SEQUEL + COTTAGE THING The movie directed by Terry Gilliam Before GO became a TV series, it got stuck for years as a movie project meant to be directed by Terry Gilliam. For various reasons it never happened, and the rumors about Robin Williams being cast as Aziraphale and Johnny Depp as Crowley seem to have started from there. The cottage “canon” The widespread concept of Crowley and Aziraphale sharing a cottage originated from a blog post made by Neil Gaiman, reporting a conversation between him and Terry Pratchett regarding the whereabouts of their characters. Gaiman has since offered the precision that this cottage sharing thing would happen way after the events of the sequel that was never written, so years after Armageddon, and that the location would be Devil’s Dyke in the South Downs. LINK TO THE ORIGINAL POST ON GAIMAN’S BLOG LINK TO A COMPREHENSIVE EXPLANATION (by @irisbleufic) LINK TO A TUMBLR ASK FOR GAIMAN ABOUT THE SOUTH DOWNS LINK TO A SCREENSHOT OF A TWEET BY GAIMAN The New Year Resolutions List (made for Harper Collins, now taken down from their website) A list of resolutions written by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett on request of the publisher in 2005, one list for Crowley, one list for Aziraphale. LINK TO THE LIST ( by @ladylier )

LINK TO AN INTERVIEW WHERE NEIL GAIMAN TALKS ABOUT A FEW OF THE THINGS MENTIONNED IN THIS POST And as an ultimate bonus, as I was gathering all the informations for this masterpost, I found back Michael Sheen’s Spotify Good Omens Playlist. EDIT (02/08/2020): Someone mentionned (in a post I can’t find anymore ?) that on the list of existing merch that was absolutely unexpected, there was a whole collection of Good Omens perfume oils. It was made around 2007 with the approval of Pratchett and Gaiman and was apparently updated when the series came out in 2019. The profits of the oils go to different charities.

I was also reminded of the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl, a group of singers promoting the TV series before its release in 2019. Their Youtube Channel has a playlist that was last updated in June 2020. There is one video clip of the song Brand New Baby Smell that features a cameo by Neil Gaiman. And I found back @fuckyeahgoodomens‘s masterpost about the merch, even though I mentionned most of these in this masterpost, I’ll include the link for convenience sake.

#good omens #masterpost #all the omens #book omens #scrip omens #shitscript #william the antichrist #tv omens #radio omens #musical omens #merch #fandom #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #long post

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asimplemercenary · 4 years

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Meeting Them.

Nova meets her favorite ranked team.

"Shyness" was a word that described what Nova felt. She wasn't immune to it, not immune to the embarrassment of approaching the signing table where all 5 of them sat. The chitter chatter and laughter spouting from the group mortified her in secrecy.

Were they laughing at her? What jokes were they telling to one another? Shyness. It sank to the bottom of her stomach like a rock in the sea as she swallowed thick.

"It's just a turfing team, Nova." She reasoned in her head. "You have killed countless others, seen horrors no one can imagine. Chewed up and spat out by the machine of war. Why are you being like this"

She stood out like a sore thumb among the group of 15 or so people in line, her immense height wasn't doing her any favors. But as she boiled in her brain, the line began moving, signatures and pictures taken like no man's business. Her turn was coming up quick, and she didn't even realize.

Not until a sharp lisp cut through the air "hey! You! Itsch your turn!"

Nova's heart almost jumped out of her chest. Oh no, were they speaking to her? She looked around, and realized that everyone in front of her was gone.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." Her face flared a cyan tinge, she could feel her ears burning up as she stared almost shell-shocked at the voice enticing her.

To say that her obsession wasn't bordering on a fanatic crush is a disservice to her passion for the group. "Uh." Spoke the tallest of the 5, their black tendrils so effortlessly resting over the side of their face, red eyes looking down at the leader of the group. "I feel they might be scared."

"What, seriously?? She looks so tough" responded the second tallest, affixing the front of their black beanie. "She looks like she's seen wars."

"Uhm...maybe one of us should...uhm, approach her...?" Spoke the shortest if the 5, her voice soft, heart shaped pupils staring pitifully at Nova.

"Hey you like scared or somethin'?? We're not gonna bite!" The bowl cut seemed to almost shimmer in perfectly cut excellence as he spoke. "C'mon my mom is gonna be wonderin' why I'm late!"

"Stop, everyone. Juscht---SHUT UP OKAY JESCHUS." spoke the leader of the pack. "You're embarrasching her in front of everyone scho juscht....stop. okay? You."

Nova was in shock the entire time, her eye peeked over her branded notebook that contained a bunch of pictures she'd taken herself of the few ranked battles she'd been able to witness.

Now she had HER calling her? Her heart was doing a hundred in a 60 mph zone. "...yes?" She responded sheepishly, her face dense with blush.

"We won't bite! C'mon! Whatsch your name?" The leader asked.

"N....Nova."

"Nova, huh?" The leader gave a big, crooked smile, the jagged beak reminded Nova of her own, and she would be lying if it didn't make her heart melt ever so slightly.

"You probably know who we are though! Leascht you look like you do....I'm Woomy. Well, my name isch really--"

"Ankou. A-Ankou Pikua. Y-you’re ranked 6th on the top leaderboards for this year's ranked competitions. Your team i-is well known for your unmatched speed and aggressive playstyle." Nova stuttered out.

"...yeah!" Ankou have another grin to Nova, but Nova was too busy fantasizing about being swallowed whole by the earth. How embarrassing it was to just drop everything you knew, and in such unprofessional manner.

Nova prided herself in being cold, collected, calculating. But here, three feet from the table hosting Ink'N'Dip, she couldn't contain her excitement. She felt like a young greenhorn all over again.

"Hmph. Looks like you've got quite the fan here, Woomy." The tallest, Zach, spoke. "Are you bitter I got fans and you don't, zachie boiiii?" Woomy replied.

Both the second tallest, Amiga, and the shortest, Eno, rolled their eyes as Zach and woomy began going at it with each other.

Nova stepped closer to the table amidst all the jokeful in fighting and slowly, nervously placed her notebook on the table. "I-id be deeply honored if you all would sign this for me, please!" The deepest bow one could give was given by her, bordering on almost disrespectfully brutish.

She wanted, deep in her heart, to run, run away, maybe change her name again, remove her kneecaps, change her hairstyle, or maybe even bury himself in the dirt. But above all this, she was a soldier, and this was her very own mission, and no good soldier ever went home empty handed. A good soldier finished the mission, no matter the cost.

Woomy and Zach cut their fighting short, looked at Nova, and went quiet. The leader grabbed her notebook, and began flipping through it, in an attempt to find a page she could sign. The clippings and photos she had taken left woomy impressed. Every little detail that was known publicly was gathered here, neatly. Plays and scores, famous moments and infamous mistakes all kept here.

"Wow...." Woomy whispered in amazement "This is impressive...you did thisch all yourschelf?" She raised her gaze from the notebook towards Nova, who didn't respond, and didn't move from her bow.

"Wow, you even got the time Eno got her hair caught in that custom splosher..."

"D-dont remind me of that!" Responded Eno as she grabbed for her ponytail. "That was that one time!!!"

Zach scoffed, woomy continued to page through. Encouraging words were written in the frames, "they'll do better next time, you'll see!", "Ink'N'Dip #1!", "Sloppy but awesome!". Every page was laden with love and respect for the team. Then, she came across a specific page, a page reserved for their signatures. All 5 had their own respective place marked with their names, each area styled to match their aesthetics.

Woomy couldn't help but smile. "Hey, this isch...really really good." She grabbed a pen off the table, clicked it open, and gave her sloppy, rough signature, making sure every letter was bathed in her personality.

She passes it to Zach, who, after paging through the notebook himself and quietly being impressed, also signed. Then Amiga, then Oliver, and finally Eno, who giggled as she paged through all the nice moments and pictures. Woomy finally took it back, and, grabbed the pen again, writing something indistinguishable at the bottom of the page.

She placed the notebook in front of Nova, and have a laugh.

Nova was sweating, her neck was growing stiff from the anxiety. She slightly tilted her head upwards, a bewildered look in her eye.

"Do you want a pic too or?"

Nova recoiled. She was sure her chest just burst open and her entire entrails dropped on the floor. Her face flushed, pupil shrunk, she responded "s-sure."

After that, everything went by, quick as a blur. She was sure she took several pictures, at least one with each of them, much to the irritation of the 20 something other people waiting in line. She was also sure on the metro bus on the way home, and somehow managed to get off at her stop.

Nova had never experienced being a mess before, at least not in a reasonable manner. She stood at the entrance to the scrapyard for what seemed like an eternity. She scrolled over and over, every single photo making her eye swell with tears.

It was strange to her, being so excited for something as mundane as meeting someone she thought were cool. She had escorted her fair share of famous octorian figures, political embassadors and military colonels, but none of that had ever really struck her as special.

She went home and sat at her work desk, paging through her notebook until she got to the dedicated signature section. She admired every single one, she sure could tell that everyone had put care in her signature.

But there was something else at the bottom of the page, something that caught her attention. Her eye shot wide, she scrambled for her transceiver and rammed it in her ear upon the sight. The device crackled to life, and she was welcomed by a long, tired yawn.

"Talk to me babe." Extra responded. "What's up? I don't remember giving you contracts this--"

"She gave me her phone number."

"Uh....oh."Extra chuckled. "You went after all, huh?"

"Yeah." Her finger crossed over the digits Woomy had written at the footnote of the autograph page. "I...should I text her?"

Extra took a second, letting out a sigh. "Y'know, I'm nothing but like....your contractor. I don't think I got any say in this."

"You're my only real friend, Extra." Nova responded "and your opinion matters to me....now, should I call her, or not?"

"Well I'd text her first." A bag of chips could be heard being ruffled around before Extra began crunching away. "But that's just me."

"Yeah."

There was a pause between them for a second.

"Hey kid."

"Yeah, Extra?"

"I got you some tickets for the ranked battle next week."

#buzzing #i missed writing #like serious writing

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spinach-productions · 7 years

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Kale, chapter 1

Summary: Our story begins in the middle.

Wordcount: 4375

Hello again, dear readers! I’m proud to bring you the third and final arc of the Spinach Project: Kale! This chapter takes place towards the beginning of Wilted Spinach, but the rest of the arc? Who knows~

(i know)

As always, thank you for sticking with me. This will hopefully be a 3 or 4 part epilogue to the rest of the story. Thanks for reading!

201x (minus 2 years): after two centuries of use, the Underground’s hydroelectric system begins to fail. Maintenance crew work frantically to repair the dams while the Capital draws power from its emergency backup generators. Two days later, the backups also fail. Power fluctuation rock the city. Monsters who already have so little now have even less; waves of unease spread across the Underground. The Royal Danger Clock, which sits attuned to the moods of the general populus, ticks further into the red zone than ever before.

Scientists are pulled from all non-critical projects to work on creating a new energy source. Doctor Gaster is one of the many people on the Emergency Power Restoration Committee. They work in three eight-hour shifts, ensuring there’s always someone available if anything else goes wrong. Ideas are proposed, analyzed, discarded. Another day goes by and the Capital city blacks out entirely.

Sans balances his phone against his shoulder while he lights a candle. He’s been pulled in on the committee, since Gaster was hardly going anywhere without his favorite coworker. “It’s okay, buddy,” Sans says into the phone, “We’re working as fast as we can. Yeah, we could use all the help we can get, come on down here.”

“Tell him to bring paper,” Gaster says from where he’s pouring over yet another notebook.

“Dings says-- yeah, good. Thanks. See you soon.”

Gaster pulls the candle closer and makes a mark on his calculations. “You never call Papyrus ‘buddy’ unless you’re worried.”

“Me, worried? Nah,” Sans says as he lights another candle, “We’re going to nail this thing to the wall.”

“Your lack of inflection doesn’t make you inscrutable. This the greatest threat to monster mental health since we were locked Underground, and you are on the team keeping the general population from dissolving into so many piles of dust. ”

“That’s--” Sans stutters, “Of course I’m not-- It’s going to be--”

Gaster continues scribbling without comment. He seems to be waiting for Sans to finish a thought. Any of them. He’s patient like that.

Sans sighs heavily and sits in his chair. A second desk was moved into Gaster’s office when San became an official Royal Laboratory employee, roughly eighteen years ago. He slumps forward onto it now. “Yeah, okay. I’m pretty concerned about this. I might even say that I’m worried.”

Gaster absently pats Sans’ shoulder. “If it helps, I am too. But I really do believe we’re going to make it through this. After all, we have each other.”

Sans peers over his own arm to see Gaster smiling at him. Despite reminders and complaints from both his sons, Gaster’s head remains cracked in two places. Sans makes a mental note to increase his bothering about it and tentatively smiles back.

“Thanks da--”

The door, closed for privacy, bursts inward. Papyrus comes stumbling in, his arms laden with paper stacked higher than his own head. “Hello I am here, I have the thing you wanted!”

Sans feels his eyebrow tick upwards. He and waves the papers over to Gaster’s desk as Papyrus’ gulps down air. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I ran,” Papyrus gasps, “A lot.”

Gaster has drifted across the room with a glass of water. Sans doesn’t know where he got it. “Easy, Papyrus, deep breaths.”

“How can I take deep breaths when everything is dark?!”

Sans pulls Papyrus down into a hug. He knows he isn’t talking about the absence of light in the powered-down buildings. The feelings hanging over the city are uncertain and angry and scared, any one of which could be enough to make an unstable monster Fall Down. Papyrus, Gaster, and Sans are all doing pretty emotionally well, but there are others who aren’t so fortunate. Who knows how many of them are going to make it through this?

Gaster presses the water into Papyrus’ hand. “Easy there, it will be alright.”

Papyrus holds the drink with an unsteady hand. He peeks up from Sans’ shoulder. “You’re going to fix this, right dad?”

Gaster smiles and gestures at his desk. The stack of paper has lost structural integrity and sent sheafs all over his space. “With your help, I believe I already have.”

To Sans’ surprise, Gaster’s calculations actually extend over most of the paper. They’re absolute chicken-scratch, but the end product is beautiful in its simplicity: geothermal electricity, produced from Snowdin’s ice reserves and Hotland’s natural lava flows. The steam resulting from their combination will then be combined with excess magic runoff collected from the population's negative emotions gathered at various points in time (though Sans has no idea how Gaster managed that part). He plans to use available resources to light the city. Sans is grateful, impressed, and inspired, all at the same time.

Plans are made, blueprints are drawn up and followed, the Core is constructed. Gaster supervises the process with his usual eye for detail. Sans handles the big picture ideas like how big did you say the radius was and where should this bypass valve go, and Papyrus helps with general administration and organization. The Gaster family (which, according to the adoption papers issued twenty years ago, is the last name all three of them share) is efficient under normal circumstances and brilliant under difficult ones.

The Committee, which consists of most of the lab, comes together two days later to celebrate the Core’s completion. King Asgore himself makes an appearance to pop open the first bottle of champagne. Everyone is over the metaphorical moon and, before long, just a bit drunk.

Sans skirts the edges of the party to sit with Alphys, the newest employee of the Royal Laboratory and his oldest friend. She looks as uncomfortable with the crowd. “So,” he says, sliding into the chair next to her with what he considers his best slouch, “We’re not going to die today.”

“Nope,” Alphys agrees, clicking her champagne flute against Sans’. “D-doctor Gaster d-did one heck of a job.”

“Just because you work here doesn’t mean you have to fall back on formalities,” Sans points out, taking a sip of his drink.

Alphys draws her fingers around the rim of the glass. “It d-doesn’t feel right just calling him Gaster. I d-don’t want to give anyone the impression I got here because of anything other than my own ability and hard work.”

“No one thinks that, but I do get it.” Sans looks across the room, to where Gaster and Gerald are chatting with the king. Gerald is holding up cup that, unless he’s planning to dump the contents into his respirator and drink through his breathing system, probably doesn’t have liquid in it. Asgore laughs heartily and slaps Gaster on the back hard that he lurches forward and his drink sloshes out of his glass. Gaster, whose body was designed for rough impacts, doesn’t seem to mind.

Sans sits in comfortable silence with Alphys as the idle chatter continues around them. He can’t remember the last time the lab came together like this. Sans isn’t one for crowds, but knowing all these people are here to celebrate a rare monster victory. Realistically, this just puts them back to square one, but emotionally, it feels like a long awaited step in the right direction.

“How are you doing without Papyrus?” Alphys asks.

Sans fiddles with his glass. This morning marked the day Papyrus left the Capital to go train for the Royal Guard with Captain Undyne. Personally, Sans suspects the training program is a ruse to keep Papyrus off the Guard roster, but his brother is capable of making his own decisions and if this is what he wants to do, Sans isn’t going to get in his way. If anyone else had asked about him, Sans would have shrugged the question off, but he and Alphys have survived twenty years of friendship and shared childhood trauma, so he says, “It’s going to be tough going back to an empty room tonight.”

Alphys nods sagely. “He’s going to call, right? Tell him you miss him.”

Sans watches Gaster to keep from looking at Alphys. Gaster is excusing himself from conversation with the king and pulling his phone from his pocket. “I don’t want him think he needs to come back.”

“I think he’ll appreciate it,” Alphys disagrees, “I think hearing that you’re proud of him, but that you miss him, will make him feel good.”

“That would mean talking about feelings,” Sans whines.

“How will you survive,” Alphys says with heavy sarcasm.

Sans finally looks up to meet her eye. He grins slightly wider than he usually does. “Speaking feelings and the lady my bro is training with--”

“D-don’t you d-dare,” Alphys snaps. She turns away from Sans to sip at her champagne, but not before he notices a faint blush rising up in her face.

“I think she’ll appreciate it,” Sans teases, slinging an arm around Alphys’ shoulders, “I think hearing that you like her will make her feel good.”

Alphys shoves him good naturedly. Sans laughs and lets her remove his arm. He glances across the room to see what Gaster is up to, but finds him missing.

“Hey,” he asks, “Did you see where Dings went?”

“Sans,” says Gaster, who’s suddenly right next to him.

Sans, who’s had many years to acclimate to Gaster appearing out of thin air, doesn’t startle. “Ah, there you are. I was just looking for you.”

“Hello D-doctor,” Alphys says.

Gaster doesn’t look good. If he weren’t made of non-organic materials, Sans might says he looks ill. “Hello Alphys. If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to Sans.”

“I’ll catch up with you later, Al,” Sans says, hopping off his chair. He follows Gaster as he weaves through the crowd, politely declining invitations for more drinks and conversation until they’ve made it into the hallway. “Everything okay?”

Gaster places a hand on Sans’ shoulder. “No, I can’t say that it is. I just got a call from Donahue, who just got a call from one of her old friends on the force. Apparently there was a jailbreak during one of the blackouts.” He gently squeezes the bones under Sans’ jacket. “You’re father is missing.”

A short humanoid monster escorts them home from the lab and stays for the first watch, courtesy of the Royal Guard. Sans doesn’t remember how they get back to the apartment. He does remember his magic thrumming nervously through his system, sparking against anything that gets too close. Gaster handles the minor displacements like a champ. His durable body makes him good, indestructible company when Sans is too agitated to properly control his magic. He makes them all Hot Drinks (decaf tea, neither of them need a stimulant right now) and lets Sans sit in silence as he processes the fact that his dad could be en route to their house.

This man brought Sans and Papyrus to life via a murdered human child’s soul, kept them locked in a secret basement under the Royal Lab for eight years, spent three months tracking them down after they ran away, and fought Gaster in an extremely violent battle that utterly destroyed said secret basement. He’s clever, difficult to track, and probably pretty angry. Sans sips his tea as his brain spins out a colorful variety of scenarios, each more horrific than the last.

Gaster clears his throat. “I assume by your complete inaction that you’re as worried about this as I am?”

“Probably,” Sans says.

They sit at the kitchen table with their tea as Gaster searches for words. The clock, which is still the dumb little space clock Gaster’s coworker found in the dump a year before Gaster found found two children in a bush, ticks along. “I want you to know that I believe things will be alright.”

“How can you know that?” Sans asks the clock.

“I suppose I don’t. It’s possible that I’m projecting my own wishes for your well-being onto my sense of the future, but that doesn’t necessarily make it wrong.”

Sans watches the second hand move. It helps to focus on something outside of himself. “It’s been twenty years, Dings. I’m an adult. Why am I still so goddamn scared?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Gaster treats it with gravity anyway. “You learned some very good survival skills at a young age. They served you well. That kind of education doesn’t evaporate overnight, or even over a series of decades.”

“You been talking to Anne?”

“Many times, over the course of twenty years,” Gaster replies. The corners of his mouth turn up just enough to suggest a smile. “There’s nothing we can do tonight, why don’t you go to bed? Things might look clearer in the morning.”

“He’s right,” says the guard in the livingroom, where she’s guarding the door and drinking her own tea.

“Oh, well then. Who I am to challenge the popular vote?” Sans mutters under his breath. He dumps out the last of his tea in the sink and heads towards the room he now has to himself, pausing by the doorway to thank the guard for coming. “You really think we’ll come up with something?”

“There’s a higher chance of coming to a valid conclusion once the shock wears off.”

Good enough. Sans sighs heavily and slouches off to bed.

Everything is screaming. Sans knows this isn’t the first time he’s been here, but he also knows he’s never seen this space before. Countless events flash past, seemingly from the future? Or possible futures? He catches a few commonalities between them: an explosion, some kind of child--?

Sans wakes with a start. His bones are chilled and his teeth are on edge, and the sheets are snarled in his fingers. He takes a moment the breath, then slowly unclenches his hands.

His phone is ringing. Apparently, it’s what woke him up.

He taps the menu button. When Gaster’s picture lights up the screen, he slides the phone open. “Hey, Dings, where are you?”

“We’re in Hotland.”

Sans feels the world drop out from under him. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep at night and he’s feeling particularly masochistic, he’ll lie awake and try to remember details about his father: what color he was, how he held himself, how he sounded. The details have become fuzzy over the years, but Sans still recognizes his voice.

“I wanted to let you know that your dear Doctor Gaster is having some difficulties with the Core. You may want to get here before anything else goes wrong.”

His right eye begins to ache. He doesn’t answer.

“Do hurry.”

The line goes dead. Sans sets the phone down. He breathes for several long minutes, fighting his own shock to try and come up with an answer to this. His dad found him, he found Gaster, and something is happening in Hotland. There’s no other way he could get Gaster’s phone.

Finally, he pulls himself out of bed, pulls on a hoodie and shoes, and throws open his door. The gingerbread guard starts at the sudden noise.

“Is Gaster here?” He asks on the off chance this is a bluff.

“No,” the guard says, straightening back up her chair, “He got a call from the lab and left about an hour ago.”

Sans takes a deep breath. His jacket tries to slip off one shoulder, so he straightens it back out. “We have to get to Hotland.”

It’s still late enough that the Capital streets are empty. Sans and the guard sprint out of the apartment and skid down to the river. By some stroke of luck, the Riverperson is available at the Capital dock. Sans throws enough gold for three people into the jar and scrapes together enough manners to keep from swearing when he asks the Riverperson to gun it.

“It doesn’t matter how fast we go,” the Riverperson says as they cast off, “Things won’t play out until you get there.”

“What?” Sans asks.

“You’re about to take a trip. Try not to throw up.”

“What?”

“I mean. Tra-la-la.”

Further badgering doesn’t get the Riverperson to elaborate. Sans wheedles a bit longer, but when the Riverperson continues to hold their peace, he slumps down in his seat next to the guard. “What is the point of giving out mysterious clues if they don’t help the person you’re giving them to.”

The mineral stars glitter overhead and on the surface of the water. Sans rests his arms on his knees as the guard pulls out some knitting to pass the time. The fake stars haven’t changed since monsterkind was forced Underground, just stayed up there and watched generations of people live and die. No plans, no cares. Sans isn’t sure if that sounds good or unbelievably boring.

They make it to Hotland and hurl themselves off the skiff. The Core lies over one of the largest lava flows in the region, not far from a river that runs parallel to the main Underground waterway. The front of the building doesn’t look different from when building completed the day before. Sans pulls the keys from his pocket and slots them into the doorknob, but hesitates..

Endless testing on top of caring for a new infant; sleeping on park benches and stealing leftovers from the trash; two enormous hands hoisting him into the air by his shirt, shaking him until his eyes rattles in his skull and one goes out entirely--

The guard pulls Sans out of his memories with a hand on his elbow. She’s at least six inches shorter, so she may have been aiming for Sans’ shoulder. “We’ve got this,” he says.

“How do you know?” Sans asks, staring at the door ahead.

“Because I’m not willing to believe anything else,” the guard replies simply. “So there’s no reason to dwell on any other possibilities.”

Sans lays his hand over the guard’s, then unlocks the door. The guard smiles at him, gently moves Sans aside so she can take point, and kicks the door in.

“Shouldn’t we, uh, try for stealth?” Sans asks as they rush past the main lobby and start the long descent into the Core.

“There’s no point. Your father already knows we’re coming.” The guard takes the stairs three at a time, careening around corners and kicking off the walls to gain speed.

The control booth is almost two-hundred feet below the building. It has a large switchboard, two microphones, and several computer monitors for keeping track of the various aspects of Core maintenance, and an enormous pane of magic-infused glass. Sans finds himself thrown into the booth as he passes it, knocking over one of the two chairs as he sails inside.

“You stay here,” the guard says, standing just outside the booth with one hand on the door.

“No,” Sans disagrees, straightening himself out.

“Your best offense is that your magic can counter your father’s, and you can do that from here. Taking you into the core would be a liability.”

She’s right, and Sans hates that.

“Plus, you can use the intercom as a distraction so I’ll have time to get in there.”

There isn’t time to argue. Sans grits his teeth and spits a few choice threats around bodily safety, but doesn’t contradict him again. The guard gives him a thumbs up and darts past the doorway towards the main reactor.

Sans climbs to his knees, still muttering complaints under his breath, and carefully peers over the control panels. The booth overlooks the main floor of the reactor in all its glory: towering metal pipes and boilers on a raised platform, plugged directly into the Hotland central lava flow. It’s supposed devours steam and bad feelings and spits back useable electricity, but something is wrong. Steam and emotional magic gathered from various points in the past and present are hissing from several overstressed joints, and the entire system seems to be buckling outward. Sans doesn’t dare risk using his own magic in such a heavily charged environment.

Gaster and Gerald are standing by the main valve. They seem alright, but Sans’ attention is drawn to the man standing by the platform’s edge. He’s in what Sans assumes is his first form (not the natural one, he’s always shifted depending on his needs and wore each form as naturally as the others), dressed in a Royal Penitentiary tunic. A prisoner number stitched into the back. He’s saying something to the others, but Sans can’t hear it without turning in. He has a walkie-talkie in one hand, and is using the other to hold a small, armless child over the lava. She’s crying silently, tears dripping off her face into the molten rock. This is a hostage situation, and Gaster and Gerald have stayed to try and diffuse both it and whatever malfunction is affecting the Core.

For just a moment, Sans hates them for putting themselves in danger like this.

The moment passes. Sans scans the control panel, positions himself in front of a microphone, and hits the button to activate the intercom.

The wall-mounted speakers screech to life. Gaster covers his ears, but the man in the prison only tilts his head in what Sans assumes to be interest. After all this time, his father is going to listen to him. Sans calls up all the imagined conversations, all the discussions with Doctor Snowdrake, everything he’s ever wanted to say to the man currently holding most of his family and a small child hostage.

“Hey, it’s me, the kid you ruined.”

“What the hell gave you the right to do this?”

“Guess who remembers you? Not your youngest son, because I found him a better dad and never told him you exist.”

“Did you ever even care about us? At all?”

Sans evaluates the situation and discards each of these options in turn. Finally, he clears his throat. “Hi, Dad.”

The man looks up into the control panel. When his eyes land on Sans, he smiles widely and brings the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Hello, Sans,” he says, voice coming through the speaker next to the microphone, “How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” Sans answers truthfully. “Wanna tell me what’s going on here?”

“It’s quite simple, really: if either of your guardians move in any way that suggests they’re plotting against me, this young girl is going into the lava.”

Sans tamps down his rising panic, falling back on the nonchalance he uses to cover unpleasant emotions. “I should have been more specific. Why are you doing this?”

His father’s grin widens. “My observant son. Always looking for details so he can best understand the situation. I’d say I was proud of you, but we both know that would be a lie.”

“I guess I didn’t turn out exactly how you wanted,” Sans agrees. “Want to monologue about why you’re doing this?”

The grin trails off. “You’ve developed a nasty sense of humor, Sans. I have to say, that’s something of a disappointment. Perhaps this is endeavor is a waste of time.” He lowers the monster kid another precious inch closer to the lava. She opens her mouth, but Sans can’t hear her scream through the glass.

Gaster, who has been using Sans’ distraction to fiddle with the few controls on the Core itself, takes a furious step towards Sans’ father. Gerald, who has been helping, holds him back.

“No,” Sans says quickly, before anyone can get hurt, “Sorry, I won’t do it again.”

His father studies him. “You’ve gone soft, too. Another disappointment, but it works in my favor today. I would like a chance to explain myself.”

“Explain away,” Sans says. He keeps his eyes on his father, to makes sure nothing will draw attention to Gaster and Gerald as they resume work on the Core.

His father begins pacing, swinging the monster kid in one hand as he walks along the edge of the platform. “I’ve been in prison for twenty years, Sans. Do you know what that’s like? It’s hell. Every day, all the concentrate hopelessness threatens to drag you down into dust. There’s no escaping it.

“But that’s not the worst of it. No, the worst of it was watching you and Papyrus, my most cherished experiments, my sons, run away. You were destined for great things, and you ran away. I loved you, Sans.”

Sans swallows thickly. It takes everything in him to keep from responding.

“And you turned your back on everything we achieved together.” He sighs and sets the monster kid down, but keeps a firm grasp on her shoulders. “I am beyond disappointed. We could have achieved so much together. We could have been a family.”

“I wish it could have been different,” Sans says quietly.

His father sighs. “So do I.”

The watch each other for a long time. Gaster and Gerald manage to keep the Core from overloading for another minute.

“But,” Sans’ father says, “It didn’t turn out that way. We live in a world where you made different choices. We have to live with that.”

He begins to turn back towards the core, where Gaster and Gerald are not being model hostages.

“Wait,” Sans says, desperately hoping to buy them more time.

At the same moment, the gingerbread guard comes hurtling across the room with a scream. She tackles Sans’ father, sending them both sprawling across the platform. The monster kid shrieks and sprints towards the Core, looking for either shelter or an adult to protect her. Gerald opens his arms to catch her; the gingerbread guard draws back a fist as she pins Sans’ father in place; Sans’ father summons a handful of blue magic.

“No!” Sans yells. Gaster says something he can’t hear without the walkie-talkie, but Sans suspects it’s a similar expression of alarm.

The already magic-saturated air catches on Sans’ father’s spark. It accelerates the expansion of energy outwards from the Core and initiates a cascade failure of the various safety protocols. Sans catches a glimpse of what could be fire or some kind of explosion. He has just enough time to wonder why they hell they thought they could contain different types of energy in one system before the room is blacked out and the building disappears from the Underground.

#Spinach Productions #kale #undertale #undertale fanfiction #undertale fanfic #sans #gaster #papyrus #alphys #gaster's followers

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pengychan · 7 years

Text

The Mind Cage - Epilogue

Title: The Mind Cage Summary: In another world, Stanford Pines places a metal plate in his skull far too soon. In another world, Bill Cipher is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Characters: Bill Cipher, Ford Pines, Stan Pines, Fiddleford McGucket Rating: T COMPLETE. Click here for the first chapter, warnings and links to all chapters up so far.

A/N: And here’s the epilogue - if you read the Journal, you’ll definitely know which scenario it’s based on! (If you haven’t: it’s from a parallel reality where Stan left with Jornal 1 when told to, Ford reconnected with McGucket and together they made interdimensional travel possible without allowing Bill access to their world. Happy ending for everyone… except Stan, clearly. So I had to fix that.)

***

The Astonishing Anomalies of Gravity Falls

Fiddleford H. McGucket, PhD Stanford F. Pines, PhD

– To Stanley Pines, without whom none of this would have seen the light of day.

Introduction

Nikola Tesla once said that the history of science shows that theories are perishable; with every new truth that is revealed, we get a better understanding of Nature and our conceptions and views are modified.

Much of what is written in this paper defies what most believe to be real; research on the cause of these phenomena is still ongoing. Only by keeping an open mind on the scientific evidence presented in this work, and abandoning all preconceptions…

***

Stan had seen it coming from a mile away.

The not at all subtle mention of ‘ongoing research’ was a first hint, as was Stanford’s decision to wait for McGucket to come pick his car up before publishing the revised thesis paper. ‘To discuss a few matters’, he had said, but Stan knew it wasn’t the paper he wanted to talk about: for that, a phone call would have sufficed. If Stanford wanted to wait for a face-to-face chat, there had to be a lot more going on.

The third big hint wasn’t so much something his brother did, but what he did not do. He got rid of the rather creepy amount of Bill-related stuff he kept in his basement, including a golden statue Stan would have rather melted to keep the gold; everything in any way connected to Bill Cipher had to go, and go it did. Except for the one thing his brother did not dismantle.

So really, when Stan went in the kitchen one night to find the door to the basement open and his brother downstairs, staring in silence at the deactivated portal with his arms behind his back, he was not surprised in the slightest.

“So, lemme guess. You’re thinking of firing up this baby and see what’s beyond.”

His words caused Stanford to wince and turn. He looked amazingly guilty, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar - something that had never happened when they were kids, really, because that was usually Stan’s role. And he’d never felt guilty when caught, anyway.

“Stanley, I… I hadn’t realized I had woken you up.”

“You didn’t. I woke up on my own,” Stan said with a shrug, and walked up to stand by his twin’s side. “So. Am I right? Is this what you want to discuss with Nerdy?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but truth be told I haven’t made up my mind yet. It’s… just an idea.”

“An expensive one, huh?” Stan guessed, and grinned, elbowing his brother’s side. “That’s where the money from the paper is gonna go, huh?”

Stanford’s guilty expression melted into a laugh. “Only my part, no worries. And only if Fiddleford believes what I have in mind to be feasible - only if he agrees. If he says no, then that will be it,” he said, then paused for a moment and turned to Stan. “… What do you say?”

Okay then. Stan hadn’t been surprised to find his brother there, but now he sure was. “Whoa there. Are you telling me that if I say ‘nope, don’t do it’, you’ll just scrap this whole thing?”

“I am,” Stanford said, no hint of humor left in his voice, and Stan knew he meant it.

“… Okay. I ain’t saying no just yet. What’s your idea?”

Stanford turned back to the portal. “This is a gateway to other dimensions, and in a way it feels… wrong to keep their existence hidden from mankind. I would never dare activating it with Cipher still around, but now he’s gone.”

“Yeah, but if Nerdy’s rambles are anything to go by, this thing kinda leads into the tenth circle of Hell.”

“It does, as things are. Cipher tricked me into building this portal so that it would lead into his own dimension - the Nightmare realm. However, I think that a dimensional vortex neutralizer might allow us to entirely bypass it, giving whatever dwells in it no opening to come through and leaving other dimensions accessible for us to explore.”

That sorta made sense, in a very sci-fi sort of way. And really, it sounded like an amazing chance: as kids they had wanted to explore the world, but had always been a little put off by the fact explorers had already been pretty much in every corner of Earth, leaving no unknown waters left to map. But what would it be like, to explore dimensions - and be the first ones to ever do it? Also, getting unbelievably rich and famous in the process would be a nice cherry on top of the cake of awesome.

“Oookay. Let’s say I’m intrigued. Can you build a thing like that? A neutralizer-something?”

Stanford shook his head. “No, not me. If anybody can create something like it, that’s Fiddleford.”

“Looks like we’re gonna have to ask Nerdy, then,” Stan said, then shrugged. “Okay. If he says yes, we go through it together. If he says no, we dismantle this whole thing - wouldn’t even be the first of your inventions I break, huh? - and use the money from the paper to buy, like, a research cruise ship or something. You do the research, I enjoy the cruise.”

The idea made Stanford laugh again. “That sounds tempting,” he admitted, then sobered up. “It might just be what we’ll do. Fiddleford almost lost his sanity to whatever he saw on the other side. I can’t say I truly expect him to agree giving the idea a go.”

Stan shrugged. “Hey, you never know. The guy’s got bigger balls than one would think. I mean, figuratively. Didn’t look myself. Did you?”

Stanford raised an eyebrow. “… Really now?”

“Hey, you were college roommates. Never even got a glimpse?”

“Stanley. He is married.”

“Nope. Was married. Might be your chance, Poindexter.”

Another laugh. “I’ll pretend to have never heard any of this,” he said, turning his back to the portal. “As for the project, I’ll ask next week when he comes for his car. He’s likely to bring his son with him, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat any of this in front of the child. Or at all. Let’s go back to sleep.”

Stan made a dramatic gesture towards the door. “Ladies first,” he said, earning himself light punch on the arm. He rubbed the spot, watching Stanford walk away, and grinned. Not so much because of the joke, but because he had noticed something most wouldn’t have even thought of.

As he left the basement, Stanford didn’t turn to spare another glance at the portal. It was enough for Stan to be certain that yes, if he or McGucket said no, Stanford would just dismantle the portal and never bring it up again. His brother strived to go forward, as he always had, but no longer all on his own.

Never again all on his own.

***

… The inauguration of the International Institute of Oddology in Gravity Falls, Oregon, is undoubtedly the greatest leap ever made in history - not only proving the existence of worlds outside our own, but even allowing mankind to make contact with them.

“The Dimensional Vortex Neutralizer makes the activation of the portal perfectly safe, but for time being only specialized teams of experts can travel through dimensions for limited amounts of time. We do however have high hopes that, in the future, interdimensional travel will be open to all,” said Dr. Stanford Pines, founder and CEO of the Institute, who took the scientific world by storm last year with the publication of his amazing discoveries.

According to Chief Operating Officer Dr. Fiddleford McGucket, the team has successfully made contact with a dimension known to its inhabitants as Dimension 52 during its latest expedition.

“We documented every step, and are looking forward to share all we’ve gathered in a press conference at the end of the month,” he added.

Both declined to comment allegations that one Stanley Pines, whose title and role in the Institute are still unclear, attempted to sell the Brooklyn Bridge to a seven-eyed alien lady in the course of the expedition. They also denied Mr. Pines’ earlier claims a souvenir shop and guided tours of the Institute are in the works, to the disappointment of local children.

On other news…

***

“Guys! GUYS! I found another door and it’s all brand new! He explored another dimension!”

“Cool! Let’s go now! I want to see it!”

“Wait, let me take my notebook…”

“Who’s got a camera?”

“I’ve got seven!”

“Oh! I want one!”

“No. You’d just finish all the film to take pictures of noses.”

“I wouldn’t! Liam, tell him!”

“… He’s right, actually. You do that all the time, Billy.”

“Hey! That’s not true! I also take pictures of ears! And teeth!”

“C’mon, Stanford, don’t be a stick in the mud! Let him keep a camera and let’s go.”

The new door wasn’t a long distance away; Stanley and Stanford ran all the way to it, while Bill and Liam hovered right behind them. Really, why did they even bother walking and running when they could fly so easily in the Mindscape? Stanford had said something about a ‘force of habit’, and it sounded really boring, a bit like staying in one place all the time.

Because sure, the beach was great and a lot of fun, but it was just so much better to go out and explore all of the new memories that kept popping up… especially the ones of different dimensions. So far they had met a bunch of warrior piglets with octopus arms - Stanford had gotten a really cool tattoo there - then they had found a dimension where it was mandatory to gamble. It had been a lot of fun, until they had caught him and Stanley cheating, so they had to leave really quickly. Stanford and Liam had been really annoyed at them, because they’d been only halfway through taking notes and snapping pictures of everything they could see and now they were pretty much banned from going back in that memory.

Then there had been the other one - a world called Exwhylia that had looked a lot like the Second Dimension - but they hadn’t explored that one. When Billy had found it, one look had been enough decide he would never, ever take Liam there. They would hate him there, just like at home. They would call him Irregular. And they would try to kill him, just like at home.

But it wasn’t really home, was it? Because home is supposed to be a place where you feel welcome, and Liam had never been welcome back there, not at all. No one less than Regular had been.

I’m glad it’s gone, Billy had thought when he had slammed the door shut, and right there and then it hadn’t even mattered that it was probably what the other Bill had felt like, what he had thought after destroying it. Because they deserved to be gone.

I’m glad they’re all gone. But I am here, Liam is here, and we’re free.

“Here! This is it!”

The door Stanley had led them to was made of very dark wood, with a brass plaque on it. Most doors seemed to have one: Stanford Pines’ mind was incredibly well-organized.

Dimension 52.

“What do you think is in here?” Liam asked, floating closer. His eye was wide and almost sparkling, a notebook and a pen already in his hands. Billy thought, not for the first time, that their world just hadn’t deserved him. It hadn’t deserved either of them. “Maybe a new color?”

“Hot alien girls! Or… or the Toffee Peanut Dimension!” Stanley immediately piped in.

“Eldritch abominations!” Stanford exclaimed, holding up a camera. Billy, who was kinda hoping to find a dimension of endless candy or something like it but would also settle for abominations, shrugged and hovered to the door, reaching out to grasp the handle.

“Hey, only one way to find out. Kings of New Jersey?”

“Kings of New Jersey!”

Bill pushed down the handle. The door opened, and they stepped into the unknown.

***

June 2012

Ah, summer break. A time for leisure, recreation, and taking it easy… unless you’re me.

My name is Dipper. The girl about to puke is my sister Mabel. You may be wondering what we’re doing in an interdimensional shuttle-cart, fleeing from a creature of unimaginable horror. Rest assured, there’s a perfectly logical explanation. Let’s rewind.

It all began when our parents finally allowed us to spend the summer at our great uncles’ International Institute of Oddology in Gravity Falls, Oregon…

***

(For the record: in the end, Stan totally wins the argument and there IS a gift shop in the Institute. Soos and Wendy will obviously work there. Because I say so.)

***

[Back to Chapter 14]

[Back to the beginning]

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #fiddleford mcgucket #bill cipher

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myaekingheart · 7 years

Text

Even more weird dreams in the past two nights. I had one Friday night, too, but at this point I can't even remember it unfortunately, but I remember Saturday and Sunday nights' dreams as clear as day.

Saturday night started off with me being in this really weird school (another school dream, big shocker) that was like a combination my high school and my middle school. I remember something about having lost my backpack so I was running around searching for it everywhere, which proved to be way harder than expected considering my backpack is custom painted. Turns out I wasn't the only one with a painted backpack, though, as I remember running into oe person, a girl I actually went to high school with, who had the exact same backpack. I did end up finding my backpack, though, in some weird room in what I can only assume was the engineering building of the school just by the design of the interior itself. The scene then transformed from the school to this massive mansion that was perhaps the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in a dream before. Downstairs, there was a candy shop with assorted candy apples and gummy candies and the entire place was dark wood with nice ambient lighting. It kind of reminded me of the bakeries in Seaworld and the Norway pavilion at Epcot. The rest of the place, however, was fucking stunning. Everything was white marble and regal and elegant. It was like being in Cair Paravel itself. I distinctly remember, just before waking up, a scene where I was walking up this winding marble staircase in a flowing pink dress (or at least a pink skirt, I couldn't see the top portion though now I'm getting the feeling that maybe it was a dress? I recognized the skirt as this pink chiffon maxi skirt that I do, in fact, own in real life but then the more I think about it, the more I remember the top looking the bodice of this dress http://little-angel-secret.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=730&search=disneybound). But anyways, I remember walking up this winding marble staircase with that skirt and a pair of heels on (which I felt but couldn't see) and there were all the long tree branches with pink flowers hanging over top of the staircase so low that I had to either duck beneath them or part them to get past. And then when I reached the top of the staircase, I hesitated but dared to look up to the ceiling to find the most beautiful crystal chandelier hanging from it. And that's about the time that I woke up.

Unfortunately last night's dreams weren't nearly as beautiful as they were bizarre and discomforting. The first half had me and my boyfriend in a kitchen almost exactly like my parents' except the coloring was different, specifically the cabinets. These were white and plain and kind of cheap compared to my parent's medium toned wood ones. The lighting was pretty shitty, too, like someone stuck an incandescent bulb from the 80's into the socket. But so my boyfriend and I were standing in this kitchen and we were meant to do something but then I don't know how she got there but my boyfriend's dead ex showed up and was standing at the counter doing something, but she kept sneaking sideways glances at us as if she was offended. And I don't know why but I remember her wearing a white hoodie and her hair was dyed a reddish light brown, straightened, a little past her shoulders, with her thick side bangs across her forehead like how I've seen in certain pictures. I remember feeling really competitive with her and frustrated that she was there, afraid my boyfriend was going to dump me for her. She kept shooting me near-offended sideways glances meanwhile I kept glaring back at her, mostly when she wasn't looking, and before this segment of the dream ended I remember standing up on tiptoes and wrapping my arms around my boyfriend's neck and being all cutesy flirty and bullshit and he wrapped his arms around my waist and seemed completely oblivious to the silent rivalry me and his ex were having and it was just fucking lovely. Guess I'm not as over it as I thought I was or something. Fuck. Anyways, the second half of the dream spared no expense in being bizarre as fuck. I was led to this massive room that kind of reminded me of the music room at my elementary school with high ceilings and white walls and dingy gray carpeting. Along the back wall were these tall rickety shelving units (if you can even call them that) where young men and women were hanging up and storing various costumes. I was apparently there to audition for a spot in Disney's theater group, even though it was like a combination of a theater group and a classroom, and the specifics of "theater group" were never clear. And the woman leading this whole production was none other than my US History teacher from last semester, who did recognize me. The only difference was that this time, she had a haircut. I don't know why I remember this, either, but she was wearing a coral blouse with short sleeves and a scalloped hem. But that's not relevant to anything. So anyways, she basically told me to gather up a costume or something and get changed and then everyone was forced out through these double doors onto a dance-floor-turned-ice-skating-rink in the middle of what I can only assume was some sort of hotel ballroom. There were countless chairs surrounding the entire thing with thousands of people watching. Many of the people on the rink were already seasoned performers and knew exactly what to do, unlike me who was basically floundering. I started panicking because I knew full well that I can't ice skate and I was terrified that was going to cost me my spot on the team. When I brought this up before going "on stage", however, Mrs. US History Teacher said it didn't matter if I couldn't skate or not, what mattered was my acting, that she apparently wanted to see personality despite a low skill level or whatever, so that's what I kept in mind stepping foot out on that rink. The way it went was that people were in full-on makeup and costume, some of which aboard large contraptions like I distinctly remember a Marie-Antoinette style Queen of Hearts type character on a massive chariot being pulled by other performers shouting at people to get out of the way, and the ice skating rink was treated like a cat walk of sorts. Everyone would skate down the length of it in a procession giving it their all and then skate back up the length to the double doors we came through doing the same. Everyone was wildly expressive and even acrobatic meanwhile I skated down that rink trying to be as extroverted as possible but feel I failed in really expressing that. I remember just skating down the rink trying not to lose my balance, being kind of straight-backed and blank expressioned even though I was trying my hardest to really do a good job. When we all got back to the big classroom, Mrs. US History teacher instructed us to change our costumes yet again for another round, this time it was just straight-up dancing, no ice involved. For some reason I remember what I wore this time as opposed to the first time around, and there were other girls wearing the same thing: hot pink high waisted shorts, a white t-shirt with some childish floral design (I'm pretty positive I had that exact same shirt when I was like, six? I think it was from Target) and plain white sneakers. I distinctly remember having a hard time finding the second half of my pair of shoes, like I had one that was the right size and style but every other shoe I grabbed either was too big, too small, or not even the same shoe. I don't remember what happened with that, I think I might've just resorted to grabbing a shoe that was a half size too small. The dancing portion of the audition thing was wild and definitely more overwhelming than the ice skating part, but I also think I certainly did better? I remember dancing down the dance floor with two other girls in the same outfit as me, and then one of them grabbed this table from seemingly out of nowhere and started scooting it all the way across the dance floor behind me, basically forcing me to go with it. It wasn't until we reached the end of the dance floor that I realized she was pushing the table too fast, though, and I had no choice but to somehow backwards jump on top of it. Even when we reached the edge of the dance floor, however, that wasn't stopping this chick. She pushed that table past the audience (who were all staring at the two of us in awe like we were fucking crazy) and all the way to the wall at the back of the room, where I remember she ended up backing it up against a door. I had no idea what to do then so I ended up doing perhaps the most terrifying thing ever: I pressed my back against that door, facing the audience and the dance floor, and started crunking hardcore. I don't even know why. I just...I don't even know why. I forget what really happened after that in regards to the dancing but I do remember that when it was all said and done, we went back into the classroom, putting our costumes back into our shelves/cubbies/whatever (for some reason my teacher gave me the short one at the end of some shoe rack that's far too short to hang anything up on??? Meanwhile everyone else had ones taller than themselves from which they hung a couple mermaid Ariel costumes and even a village Belle) and seating ourselves at these round and rectangular gray tables like the kind you'd find in an elementary school classroom or cafeteria, respectively. I remember sitting at the table with some purple notebook in front of me and the teacher going around and passing back graded papers, which I got mostly 100's on and some really positive marks about "super confident writing" or some shit. I don't know, I remember something written on paper about "super confident" something. As I started trying to file my papers into the folder pocket at the front of my notebook, however, I realized two things: 1) the folder pocket was only half the width of the notebook, meaning I'd have to hot dog fold all my papers in order to fit them in and 2) half of the stack of papers I got back weren't even mine, they belonged to other people. Once I separated mine from the others, I went up to the teacher's desk at the front of the room and told her what was up, asking her to take care of it, but then she seemed offended and almost like she didn't understand what I was telling her as she told me to just hold onto them and not worry about it or something. This caused a minor uproar from the other half of the room which was mainly filled with the owners of the papers I had accidentally received. I remember one girl, specifically, standing up in her seat and protesting that they worked hard on those papers but the teacher didn't really seem to care. It was all so strange and bizarre, and I don't really remember what happened after that except for just placing the papers on the corner of the teacher's desk and heading back to my seat, and then I vaguely remember something about packing my things as class was dismissed and thinking to myself about how it was super late and I'd need to either take the bus home or ask my boyfriend to pick me up if he was off work already or something, and questioning how this would work in the future if he can't leave work to pick me up or something. Or at least I'm pretty sure I remember thinking that, probably because my boyfriend mentioned something about me potentially having to take the bus to campus for orientation in a month. I don't know, either way, it was all really strange, both last night and the night before, and in certain regards I would've much rather preferred to just not have dreamed anything at all.

#ramblings #weird dreams

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frankmiller1 · 5 years

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Market Your Data Science Like a Product

A 7-Step ‘Go-to-Market’ Plan for Your Next Data Product

Why do internal tools need marketing?

Have you ever developed a great solution that never gets used? Accuracy, statistical significance, model type: none of these matter if your data product is not put into action. Positively impacting your organization as a data scientist means developing high quality data products and successfully launching those data products.

As a product scientist at Indeed (product science is a team in data science — learn more here!), I think about launching both business products and internal data products. This has helped me see that marketing techniques for launching goods and services can also be applied to launching data products internally. With this perspective, I’ve helped the tools I developed become among the top 10% most used at Indeed.

I have broken down what I do into seven steps:

Naming/branding

Documentation

Champion identification

Timing

Outreach

Demoing

Tracking

1. Get an MBA name

Your product needs a name that’s MBA: Memorable, Brandable, and Available.

Indeed runs over 500 IPython notebook web applications for internal reporting each day. We’ve developed and deployed over 12,000 IPython notebook web applications. In this rich reporting environment, data products need a way to distinguish themselves from one another. It’s hard to summarize the months you have spent exploring data, developing a model, and validating output into just a few words, but it also can shortchange your work to go with “The model” or “The revenue/ job seeker behavior/ sales thing I have been making!”

Identify your high quality data products in ways that signal your past and future investment in the work.

Memorable

Apple and Starbucks are two of the most valuable brands in the world. Still, only 20% of people in a study by Signs.com could draw the Apple logo perfectly and only 6% for Starbucks. This points to the power of the name. People do not need to remember exactly how a logo or your data product looks and works, but they need to be able to recall it by name.

Memorable names are often:

Pronounceable. They start with a sharp sound and roll off the tongue. Research on English speakers suggests names with initial plosive consonants (p, t, k) are more memorable, but also see research on word symbolism.

Plain. They frequently repurpose common words (e.g., Apple or Indeed), which help you combine rich mental images to your product. Be aware that discoverability through search may be limited when using common words. Slightly modifying the word can help overcome this (Lyft) as long as it’s memorable.

Produced. They can even be entirely new. Making up a new word is also a strategy (Google, Intel, Sony, or Garmin), but this requires substantially more initial seeding to establish the name. This may not be in line with the audience and timeframe of an internal data product launch.

Brandable

You want your name to consistently represent the identity of the data product and reflect an overall positive attitude towards it. This way it can be incorporated seamlessly into the tool and documentation.

Available

Make sure no one else has called their data product the same thing!

Once you have picked the name, you can dress it up with a logo. The logo can simply be your MBA name that’s been stylized following the same MBA principles. A shortcut like Font Meme Text Generator can quickly create a sufficient design.

For example,

2. Document the product

You know what your code does. But what if you’re not around to answer questions, or give a demo when the CEO or a curious new intern ponder to themselves “What does this thing do?”

Documentation is not only good practice as a data scientist/developer, it is also an opportunity for your work to be found. When one business wants to know if another business has the products and services it needs, 71% start with a simple Google search. Similarly, in addition to being valuable for your user group, wiki documentation and code comments create searchable content that helps your work get discovered.

When writing your documentation, identify:

the main problem your data product is solving

key features and how they solve the problem

key definitions

key technical aspects that need to be explained

Documenting your product’s journey can also help build trust in the product. Use consistent messaging by including your MBA name and logo within the documentation to further establish your brand.

3. Identify champions

Who else ‘gets’ the problem you are trying to solve and how the data product delivers a solution?

Seek out people who are affected by that problem, and share your work with them. Also, look to your own team members who have participated in the build or know your work. These champions can recommend your work to others who would also appreciate the solution.

Identifying champions is analogous to customer advocacy in consumer business. Word-of-mouth is a leading influencer across continents and generations for ~83% of consumers (according to a study by Nielsen) when making a purchase decision. Your data product champions will be your top sales reps, lending credibility to the tool and answering questions when you are not around.

4. Timing is everything

Before each launch, consider the current business environment, and time your launch accordingly. The moment you have finished working on your data product is not necessarily the best time to launch it. For example, a product team may be in the middle of fixing a major bug and not ready for a new idea. Conversely, an upcoming related communication activity (e.g., blog post) could be an opportune time for a release with cross promotion.

Look at other recent data products: when were they released and how were they received? Stakeholders can feel inundated with too many new dashboards and models and this may even contribute to ‘analysis paralysis.’

5. Know your audience

If your champions are not happy, your product can lose its luster in a Snap. Developing positive working relationships with your champions and users is important for the early and long-term success of your data product.

Identify and reach your audience — those who will be using what you’ve made and can benefit from it. With this target audience in mind, comment on tickets, post on Slack, chat, send emails to relevant groups, or go directly to talk to your audience.

Use your audience’s preferred channels to communicate development progress, releases, and feedback. Establishing this communication will build early confidence in your data product. As iteration requests come in, you will have the opportunity to build this confidence with thoughtful acknowledgement of requests.

In 2017, Indeed’s Data Science Platform team — software engineers who built a machine learning deployment framework — went on a roadshow to Indeed’s multiple tech offices to share the data science platform framework. This was a great example of engaging with an audience across offices.

6. Go live!

Only you can see the picture in your mind of how something works. Demoing is a powerful way to communicate what your new data product does. A great way to do this is by getting a minimum viable data product, a prototype, out early to your champions.

Examples include creating a working application with minimal data, sketching a mockup of a dashboard, or taking screenshots. See more examples of consumer products on Forbes. As a demo to explain a sales lead qualification machine learning model to the Sales organization, the product science team built a simple interactive web app that returned the model results when a user changed the value of the model features with sliders.

7. Own the results

“It’s not that I’m so smart, it’s just that I stay with problems longer.” — Albert Einstein

You may love the theoretical foundation and implementation of your data product, but ultimately the success of a data product comes down to the user. Long term marketing and retaining users depends on how much you can ensure reliability. Reliability is key to building your data product’s brand, your reputation and your technical credibility. This affects the marketing for your other current and future data products as well. It’s worth noting that this doesn’t mean perfection — it often just means dealing with problems quickly, fully and transparently.

Monitor key metrics of your data product to see how it’s working and what its impact is. Actively seek and be responsive to feedback. Evaluate if your data product is achieving its intended objectives and determine if features can be improved to better suit your audience.

If you are not achieving impact or the tool is not being used, revisit your initial assumptions about the problem you thought you were solving. Then, talk to your users (and non-users) about what might not be working. Be willing to destroy and start again, and create something even better with a new perspective. The initiative to iterate and improve your data product tools requires persistence but will raise the quality of your data products and enhance the rest of your marketing efforts.

Final thoughts

Teams outside the analytics community depend on your marketing efforts to learn about your data products that can make them and the company more effective. You don’t have to wait until the product is finished to start letting other teams know about the product. The marketing can start with documentation, champion identification, and outreach as soon as initial requirements are being gathered.

That being said, creating a data product of quality is a priority over marketing for data science, so choose what you market. A data scientist’s credibility is essential for people to trust your data-driven recommendations and act on them. Ensure that you’re investing it wisely.

If you are passionate about both developing great data products and making sure your data products have impact, check out product science and data science at Indeed!

Cross-posted on Medium.

from Engineering https://engineering.indeedblog.com/blog/2018/12/marketing-data-products/

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ber39james · 6 years

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8 Honest Reasons Why You Didn’t Make It Past the First Interview

You breezed through the phone screening and your first interview went surprisingly well.

But weeks go by and you never hear back. If you do end up getting a rejection email, you’re left staring numbly at an auto-response with too many clichés and not a single explanation of why you didn’t make the cut.

And so, the vicious circle continues. How can you improve your interview game when no one is telling you what you’re doing wrong? While there are may be different factors at play, Glassdoor Senior Talent Acquisition Partner Jamie Hichens sheds light on eight red flags that can knock job seekers out after the first interview.

1 You were unprepared.

Before speculating on a whole host of things that you could have done wrong, ask yourself honestly if you did everything you could to prepare for the interview.

According to Hichens, coming to your first interview unprepared is an immediate red flag. “While some things like personality and culture fit are harder to control, anyone can look up interview questions on Glassdoor, check out the LinkedIn and Twitter profiles of your interviewers, and do a Google deep dive on all aspects of the industry.”

“Arriving to your interview at least 10 to 15 minutes early and bringing extra copies of your resume are also a must,” adds Hichens.

2 You didn’t convey enough passion.

The first interview is an incredibly important way for an interviewer to gauge whether you are truly interested in working there as opposed to just looking for any old job. That’s why Hichens says it’s “crucial to prepare a solid explanation as to why you are interested in the company and position.” Ask yourself: What first attracted you to this company? What about the company’s mission/industry resonates with you? How does this position fit into your professional journey and your career aspirations?

Visit the company’s press page and see what big news it’s featuring. Look up the profiles of key leaders in the company and see if the specific work they are doing inspires you. If you have mutual connections that are company employees, reach out to them and get to know more about why they love working there. “Showing that you have gone above and beyond to make sure this company and position is the one for you will definitely set you apart.”

3 You were too passive.

Along with preparation and passion, make sure to stay proactive throughout the entire interview process. Interviewers want to see you walk the walk, and asking insightful questions and sending thank you emails are great ways for you to show them just how interested and responsible you are. Hichens is always impressed when candidates ask interviewers questions that help them better understand the job. Bring a notebook and take notes on their answers.

After you finish your first interview, Hichens says it is vital to send a thank you email to your interviewers within 24 to 48 hours. “Hiring managers always share a candidate’s thank you email with me when they receive one.” Handwritten notes can go far as well, although only as a supplement to thank you emails.

4 You were too aggressive.

If being passive is not your problem, then be wary of having too much of a presence during the interview process. Acting too eager or arrogant will give the interviewer the impression that you are hard to manage.

During the interview, your hyper-excited or know-it-all tendencies may compel you to cut the interviewer off mid-question, but avoid interrupting at all costs. It says a lot more if you take a moment to develop a well-thought-out answer with concrete examples.

“Avoid saying like and um repeatedly,” Hichens further advises. “If you get flustered, take a minute to gather your thoughts and start your answer again.”

As for emails, quick response times and occasional follow-ups are a plus, but make sure not to overdo it on the communication, Hichens warns. “When a candidate emails too much, it’s a turn-off.”

5 You failed the physical first impression.

According to Hichens, first impressions are everything. “Eye contact is very important, as is a firm handshake. Don’t slouch or cross your arms – you can keep your hands folded on your lap or right in front of you on the table.”

As for interview attire, Hichens recommends always dressing a notch up from the dress code (and cleavage is never appropriate).

“Avoid distracters such as large amounts of makeup/jewelry, strong perfume or flashy hair so that the interviewer can truly focus on what you’re saying.” And lastly, always practice proper hygiene protocol.

6 You didn’t show them you’re here to stay.

During the first interview, it’s really critical for an interviewer to assess a candidate’s long-run potential for the position. It’s always a hiring manager’s worst nightmare to invest time and resources on an employee who doesn’t intend on sticking around. Be prepared to answer questions such as Where do you see yourself in 2/5/10 years?

According to Hichens, questions like these “help the interviewer understand what your career aspirations and progression plans are and if that fits into what they can offer you as well as if you’ll stick around long term.”

7 You were a poor culture fit.

When it comes to personality, different types of companies are looking for different types of candidates. “For example, at a more formal company (i.e., a bank or law firm) a big personality and sense of humor might not go over as well as it would at an ad agency,” Hichens says. Make sure to do some corporate culture research to see how your social skills fit into the picture. It will save time and energy for both parties involved and help you get closer to the job that is best for you.

It’s also important to learn more about the social dynamics of the specific team you are applying for. If your interviewer says that communal efforts are critical to the team’s success, your independent work habits may not be considered a big plus.

8 You had a less-than-positive attitude.

Hichens notes that being rude or having a bad attitude can be a huge red flag in the first interview. Avoid badmouthing your current company or manager/peers. Treat everyone you encounter at the company – whether it be the front desk manager or the CEO – with friendliness and respect. It definitely won’t go unnoticed.

Moreover, always be gracious and appreciative of the interviewer’s time, even if you decide halfway through the interview that this isn’t the best position or company fit. Hichens explains, “Making a positive lasting impression will help you not only in this situation but in the future if you cross paths with these people again, even if you don’t get the job.”

A version of this post originally appeared on Glassdoor’s blog.

The post 8 Honest Reasons Why You Didn’t Make It Past the First Interview appeared first on Grammarly Blog.

from Grammarly Blog https://www.grammarly.com/blog/8-honest-reasons-didnt-make-past-first-interview/

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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14. I remain at the window long after the woods have swallowed up the last glimpse of my home. This time I don't have even the slightest hope of return. Before my first Games, I promised Prim I would do everything I could to win, and now I've sworn to myself to do all I can to keep Peeta alive. I will never reverse this journey again. I'd actually figured out what I wanted my last words to my loved ones to be. How best to close and lock the doors and leave them sad but safely behind. And now the Capitol has stolen that as well. "We'll write letters, Katniss," says Peeta from behind me. "It will be better, anyway. Give them a piece of us to hold on to. Haymitch will deliver them for us if ... they need to be delivered." I nod and go straight to my room. I sit on the bed, knowing I will never write those letters. They will be like the speech I tried to write to honor Rue and Thresh in District 11. Things seemed clear in my head and even when I talked before the crowd, but the words never came out of the pen right. Besides, they were meant to go with embraces and kisses and a stroke of Prim's hair, a caress of Gale's face, a squeeze of Madge's hand. They cannot be delivered with a wooden box containing my cold, stiff body. Too heartsick to cry, all I want is to curl up on the bed and sleep until we arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning. But I have a mission. No, it's more than a mission. It's my dying wish. Keep Peeta alive. And as unlikely as it seems that I can achieve it in the face of the Capitol's anger, it's important that I be at the top of my game. This won't happen if I'm mourning for everyone I love back home. Let them go, I tell myself. Say good-bye and forget them. I do my best, thinking of them one by one, releasing them like birds from the protective cages inside me, locking the doors against their return. By the time Effie knocks on my door to call me to dinner, I'm empty. But the lightness isn't entirely unwelcome. The meal's subdued. So subdued, in fact, that there are long periods of silence relieved only by the removal of old dishes and presentation of new ones. A cold soup of pureed vegetables. Fish cakes with creamy lime paste. Those little birds filled with orange sauce, with wild rice and watercress. Chocolate custard dotted with cherries. Peeta and Effie make occasional attempts at conversation that quickly die out. "I love your new hair, Effie," Peeta says. "Thank you. I had it especially done to match Katniss's pin. I was thinking we might get you a golden ankle band and maybe find Haymitch a gold bracelet or something so we could all look like a team," says Effie. Evidently, Effie doesn't know that my mockingjay pin is now a symbol used by the rebels. At least in District 8. In the Capitol, the mockingjay is still a fun reminder of an especially exciting Hunger Games. What else could it be? Real rebels don't put a secret symbol on something as durable as jewelry. They put it on a wafer of bread that can be eaten in a second if necessary. "I think that's a great idea," says Peeta. "How about it, Haymitch?" "Yeah, whatever," says Haymitch. He's not drinking but I can tell he'd like to be. Effie had them take her own wine away when she saw the effort he was making, but he's in a miserable state. If he were the tribute, he would have owed Peeta nothing and could be as drunk as he liked. Now it's going to take all he's got to keep Peeta alive in an arena full of his old friends, and he'll probably fail. "Maybe we could get you a wig, too," I say in an attempt at lightness. He just shoots me a look that says to leave him alone, and we all eat our custard in silence. "Shall we watch the recap of the reapings?" says Effie, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a white linen napkin. Peeta goes off to retrieve his notebook on the remaining living victors, and we gather in the compartment with the television to see who our competition will be in the arena. We are all in place as the anthem begins to play and the annual recap of the reaping ceremonies in the twelve districts begins. In the history of the Games, there have been seventy-five victors. Fifty-nine are still alive. I recognize many of their faces, either from seeing them as tributes or mentors at previous Games or from our recent viewing of the victors' tapes. Some are so old or wasted by illness, drugs, or drink that I can't place them. As one would expect, the pools of Career tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 are the largest. But every district has managed to scrape up at least one female and one male victor. The reapings go by quickly. Peeta studiously puts stars by the names of the chosen tributes in his notebook. Haymitch watches, his face devoid of emotion, as friends of his step up to take the stage. Effie makes hushed, distressed comments like "Oh, not Cecelia" or "Well, Chaff never could stay out of a fight," and sighs frequently. For my part, I try to make some mental record of the other tributes, but like last year, only a few really stick in my head. There's the classically beautiful brother and sister from District 1 who were victors in consecutive years when I was little. Brutus, a volunteer from District 2, who must be at least forty and apparently can't wait to get back in the arena. Finnick, the handsome bronze-haired guy from District 4 who was crowned ten years ago at the age of fourteen. A hysterical young woman with flowing brown hair is also called from 4, but she's quickly replaced by a volunteer, an eighty-year-old woman who needs a cane to walk to the stage. Then there's Johanna Mason, the only living female victor from 7, who won a few years back by pretending she was a weakling. The woman from 8 who Effie calls Cecelia, who looks about thirty, has to detach herself from the three kids who run up to cling to her. Chaff, a man from 11 who I know to be one of Haymitch's particular friends, is also in. I'm called. Then Haymitch. And Peeta volunteers. One of the announcers actually gets teary because it seems the odds will never be in our favor, we star-crossed lovers of District 12. Then she pulls herself together to say she bets that "these will be the best Games ever!" Haymitch leaves the compartment without a word, and Effie, after making a few unconnected comments about this tribute or that, bids us good night. I just sit there watching Peeta rip out the pages of the victors who were not picked. "Why don't you get some sleep?" he says. Because I can't handle the nightmares. Not without you, I think. They are sure to be dreadful tonight. But I can hardly ask Peeta to come sleep with me. We've barely touched since that night Gale was whipped. "What are you going to do?" I ask. "Just review my notes awhile. Get a clear picture of what we're up against. But I'll go over it with you in the morning. Go to bed, Katniss," he says. So I go to bed and, sure enough, within a few hours I awake from a nightmare where that old woman from District 4 transforms into a large rodent and gnaws on my face. I know I was screaming, but no one comes. Not Peeta, not even one of the Capitol attendants. I pull on a robe to try to calm the gooseflesh crawling over my body. Staying in my compartment is impossible, so I decide to go find someone to make me tea or hot chocolate or anything. Maybe Haymitch is still up. Surely he isn't asleep. I order warm milk, the most calming thing I can think of, from an attendant. Hearing voices from the television room, I go in and find Peeta. Beside him on the couch is the box Effie sent of tapes of the old Hunger Games. I recognize the episode in which Brutus became victor. Peeta rises and flips off the tape when he sees me. "Couldn't sleep?" "Not for long," I say. I pull the robe more securely around me as I remember the old woman transforming into the rodent. "Want to talk about it?" he asks. Sometimes that can help, but I just shake my head, feeling weak that people I haven't even fought yet already haunt me. When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It's the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he's offered me any sort of affection. He's been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lover? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said good-bye to Gale. I'll never see him again, that's for certain. Nothing I do now can hurt him. He won't see it or he'll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my shoulders. The arrival of the Capitol attendant with the warm milk is what breaks us apart. He sets a tray with a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on a table. "I brought an extra cup," he says. "Thanks," I say. "And I added a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice," he adds. He looks at us like he wants to say more, then gives his head a slight shake and backs out of the room. "What's with him?" I say. "I think he feels bad for us," says Peeta. "Right," I say, pouring the milk. "I mean it. I don't think the people in the Capitol are going to be all that happy about our going back in," says Peeta. "Or the other victors. They get attached to their champions." "I'm guessing they'll get over it once the blood starts flowing," I say flatly. Really, if there's one thing I don't have time for, it's worrying about how the Quarter Quell will affect the mood in the Capitol. "So, you're watching all the tapes again?" "Not really. Just sort of skipping around to see people's different fighting techniques," says Peeta. "Who's next?" I ask. "You pick," says Peeta, holding out the box. The tapes are marked with the year of the Games and the name of the victor. I dig around and suddenly find one in my hand that we have not watched. The year of the Games is fifty. That would make it the second Quarter Quell. And the name of the victor is Haymitch Abernathy. "We never watched this one," I say. Peeta shakes his head. "No. I knew Haymitch didn't want to. The same way we didn't want to relive our own Games. And since we're all on the same team, I didn't think it mattered much." "Is the person who won in twenty-five in here?" I ask. "I don't think so. Whoever it was must be dead by now, and Effie only sent me victors we might have to face." Peeta weighs Haymitch's tape in his hand. "Why? You think we ought to watch it?" "It's the only Quell we have. We might pick up something valuable about how they work," I say. But I feel weird. It seems like some major invasion of Haymitch's privacy. I don't know why it should, since the whole thing was public. But it does. I have to admit I'm also extremely curious. "We don't have to tell Haymitch we saw it." "Okay," Peeta agrees. He puts in the tape and I curl up next to him on the couch with my milk, which is really delicious with the honey and spices, and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called. By the time we get to District 12, I'm completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids going to certain death. There's a woman, not Effie, calling the names in 12, but she still begins with "Ladies first!" She calls out the name of a girl who's from the Seam, you can tell by the look of her, and then I hear the name "Maysilee Donner." "Oh!" I say. "She was my mother's friend." The camera finds her in the crowd, clinging to two other girls. All blond. All definitely merchants' kids. "I think that's your mother hugging her," says Peeta quietly. And he's right. As Maysilee Donner bravely disengages herself and heads for the stage, I catch a glimpse of my mother at my age, and no one has exaggerated her beauty. Holding her hand and weeping is another girl who looks just like Maysilee. But a lot like someone else I know, too. "Madge," I say. "That's her mother. She and Maysilee were twins or something," Peeta says. "My dad mentioned it once." I think of Madge's mother. Mayor Undersee's wife. Who spends half her life in bed immobilized with terrible pain, shutting out the world. I think of how I never realized that she and my mother shared this connection. Of Madge showing up in that snowstorm to bring the painkiller for Gale. Of my mockingjay pin and how it means something completely different now that I know that its former owner was Madge's aunt, Maysilee Donner, a tribute who was murdered in the arena. Haymitch's name is called last of all. It's more of a shock to see him than my mother. Young. Strong. Hard to admit, but he was something of a looker. His hair dark and curly, those gray Seam eyes bright and, even then, dangerous. "Oh. Peeta, you don't think he killed Maysilee, do you?" I burst out. I don't know why, but I can't stand the thought. "With forty-eight players? I'd say the odds are against it," says Peeta. The chariot rides - in which the District 12 kids are dressed in awful coal miners' outfits - and the interviews flash by. There's little time to focus on anyone. But since Haymitch is going to be the victor, we get to see one full exchange between him and Caesar Flickerman, who looks exactly as he always does in his twinkling midnight blue suit. Only his dark green hair, eyelids, and lips are different. "So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" asks Caesar. Haymitch shrugs. "I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same." The audience bursts out laughing and Haymitch gives them a half smile. Snarky. Arrogant. Indifferent. "He didn't have to reach far for that, did he?" I say. Now it's the morning the Games begin. We watch from the point of view of one of the tributes as she rises up through the tube from the Launch Room and into the arena. I can't help but give a slight gasp. Disbelief is reflected on the faces of the players. Even Haymitch's eyebrows lift in pleasure, although they almost immediately knit themselves back into a scowl. It's the most breathtaking place imaginable. The golden Cornucopia sits in the middle of a green meadow with patches of gorgeous flowers. The sky is azure blue with puffy white clouds. Bright songbirds flutter overhead. By the way some of the tributes are sniffing, it must smell fantastic. An aerial shot shows that the meadow stretches for miles. Far in the distance, in one direction, there seems to be a woods, in the other, a snowcapped mountain. The beauty disorients many of the players, because when the gong sounds, most of them seem like they're trying to wake from a dream. Not Haymitch, though. He's at the Cornucopia, armed with weapons and a backpack of choice supplies. He heads for the woods before most of the others have stepped off their plates. Eighteen tributes are killed in the bloodbath that first day. Others begin to die off and it becomes clear that almost everything in this pretty place - the luscious fruit dangling from the bushes, the water in the crystalline streams, even the scent of the flowers when inhaled too directly - is deadly poisonous. Only the rainwater and the food provided at the Cornucopia are safe to consume. There's also a large, well-stocked Career pack of ten tributes scouring the mountain area for victims. Haymitch has his own troubles over in the woods, where the fluffy golden squirrels turn out to be carnivorous and attack in packs, and the butterfly stings bring agony if not death. But he persists in moving forward, always keeping the distant mountain at his back. Maysilee Donner turns out to be pretty resourceful herself, for a girl who leaves the Cornucopia with only a small backpack. Inside she finds a bowl, some dried beef, and a blowgun with two dozen darts. Making use of the readily available poisons, she soon turns the blowgun into a deadly weapon by dipping the darts in lethal substances and directing them into her opponents' flesh. Four days in, the picturesque mountain erupts in a volcano that wipes out another dozen players, including all but five of the Career pack. With the mountain spewing liquid fire, and the meadow offering no means of concealment, the remaining thirteen tributes - including Haymitch and Maysilee - have no choice but to confine themselves to the woods. Haymitch seems bent on continuing in the same direction, away from the now volcanic mountain, but a maze of tightly woven hedges forces him to circle back into the center of the woods, where he encounters three of the Careers and pulls his knife. They may be much bigger and stronger, but Haymitch has remarkable speed and has killed two when the third disarms him. That Career is about to slit his throat when a dart drops him to the ground. Maysilee Donner steps out of the woods. "We'd live longer with two of us." "Guess you just proved that," says Haymitch, rubbing his neck. "Allies?" Maysilee nods. And there they are, instantly drawn into one of those pacts you'd be hard-pressed to break if you ever expect to go home and face your district. Just like Peeta and me, they do better together. Get more rest, work out a system to salvage more rainwater, fight as a team, and share the food from the dead tributes' packs. But Haymitch is still determined to keep moving on. "Why?" Maysilee keeps asking, and he ignores her until she refuses to move any farther without an answer. "Because it has to end somewhere, right?" says Haymitch. "The arena can't go on forever." "What do you expect to find?" Maysilee asks. "I don't know. But maybe there's something we can use," he says. When they finally do make it through that impossible hedge, using a blowtorch from one of the dead Careers' packs, they find themselves on flat, dry earth that leads to a cliff. Far below, you can see jagged rocks. "That's all there is, Haymitch. Let's go back," says Maysilee. "No, I'm staying here," he says. "All right. There's only five of us left. May as well say good-bye now, anyway," she says. "I don't want it to come down to you and me." "Okay," he agrees. That's all. He doesn't offer to shake her hand or even look at her. And she walks away. Haymitch skirts along the edge of the cliff as if trying to figure something out. His foot dislodges a pebble and it falls into the abyss, apparently gone forever. But a minute later, as he sits to rest, the pebble shoots back up beside him. Haymitch stares at it, puzzled, and then his face takes on a strange intensity. He lobs a rock the size of his fist over the cliff and waits. When it flies back out and right into his hand, he starts laughing. That's when we hear Maysilee begin to scream. The alliance is over and she broke it off, so no one could blame him for ignoring her. But Haymitch runs for her, anyway. He arrives only in time to watch the last of a flock of candy pink birds, equipped with long, thin beaks, skewer her through the neck. He holds her hand while she dies, and all I can think of is Rue and how I was too late to save her, too. Later that day, another tribute is killed in combat and a third gets eaten by a pack of those fluffy squirrels, leaving Haymitch and a girl from District 1 to vie for the crown. She's bigger than he is and just as fast, and when the inevitable fight comes, it's bloody and awful and both have received what could well be fatal wounds, when Haymitch is finally disarmed. He staggers through the beautiful woods, holding his intestines in, while she stumbles after him, carrying the ax that should deliver his deathblow. Haymitch makes a beeline for his cliff and has just reached the edge when she throws the ax. He collapses on the ground and it flies into the abyss. Now weaponless as well, the girl just stands there, trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring from her empty eye socket. She's thinking perhaps that she can outlast Haymitch, who's starting to convulse on the ground. But what she doesn't know, and what he does, is that the ax will return. And when it flies back over the ledge, it buries itself in her head. The cannon sounds, her body is removed, and the trumpets blow to announce Haymitch's victory. Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while. Finally Peeta says, "That force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to jump off and commit suicide. Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon." "Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too," I say. "You know they didn't expect that to happen. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!" I can't help laughing, really laughing, for the first time in months. Peeta just shakes his head like I've lost my mind - and maybe I have, a little. "Almost, but not quite," says Haymitch from behind us. I whip around, afraid he's going to be angry over us watching his tape, but he just smirks and takes a swig from a bottle of wine. So much for sobriety. I guess I should be upset he's drinking again, but I'm preoccupied with another feeling. I've spent all these weeks getting to know who my competitors are, without even thinking about who my teammates are. Now a new kind of confidence is lighting up inside of me, because I think I finally know who Haymitch is. And I'm beginning to know who I am. And surely, two people who have caused the Capitol so much trouble can think of a way to get Peeta home alive.

#CatchingFire

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