Crack alert!
Have some half-assed metafic I wrote when I was supposed to be studying. At least it's out of my system. The sad thing is, this is totally an accurate portrayal of the inside of my head right now. Multi-universe crossover ahoy, yo.
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Finals are approaching all too rapidly, carrying with them a distinct sense of doom, and I’ve got a little bit of a problem. I’m absolute rubbish at studying. I’m used to learning material by looking at it or hearing it just once, maybe twice, and getting it immediately, so this whole concept of sitting down and trying to pound an unwilling concept into my brain is not something that comes easily to me. You see, my mind tends to shoot off in all kinds of random and infinitely more interesting directions instead of cooperating and just doing those practice problems. That’s why I’m presently going to harness my raging escapism and take a little trip to the Hatch, which seems to have become a multi-dimensional study hall overnight.
Some low-key explanation, for those of you unfamiliar with this weird little sector on Craphole Island -- the Hatch is an outpost of the Dharma Initiative and is officially called the Swan Station. Basically, it’s a research facility set up to study the effects of a peculiar source of electromagnetic energy nearby. It’s essentially a glorified bunker buried in the rainforest floor, though its former residents tried their best to make it feel homey in a 1970’s sort of way. I could go on and on - the place is fascinating; it’s got blast doors and record players and mysterious graffiti written in blacklight-sensitive ink - but the Hatch itself doesn’t matter as much as the set of people who currently inhabit it.
At the moment, the Hatch is overrun by a group of more than a dozen people. They’ve appeared from various locations in time, space, and reality, but they’re all specialists in one field or another. All have signed up, with varying degrees of willingness and/or demands for compensation later, for tutoring.
The man preparing to leap onto the countertop and begin a lecture, for instance, is Mr. Keating, better known as “Oh Captain, My Captain.” He’s your best resource for anything English-related aside from authors themselves, who will occasionally swing by and then disappear back into the jungle. Ray Bradbury and Jules Verne are common guests of honor, though Sappho’s been showing up more and more frequently. Edgar Allen Poe used to be a regular until he overheard someone refer to him as emo, and we haven’t seen him since. I think Tim O’Brien’s in today, starting up a book club with a couple of clone troopers. We’ll have to look into that later.
Anyway, you can find a tutor for just about any subject you need help with here. Foreign languages got you in a bind? Go find C-3PO, fluent in over six million forms of communication. He’ll probably be in the computer room, attempting to reason with the system as to why it feels the need to issue numerical death threats every 108 minutes.
For history of any kind, look for a dark-haired guy with glorious eyelashes. That’s Richard Alpert. He’s a history buff for unknown reasons, but we suspect that he’s actually some kind of immortal and speaks from real experience. In other circumstances I’d suggest talking to Jocasta Nu, but being out of her home galaxy cramps her style a bit. She’s still your go-to lady for any kind of reference book or study guide you might need.
Maths and sciences are ruled by the unholy trinity of Tony Stark, Rodney McKay, and Daniel Faraday. They’re all brilliant physicists, but dealing with them takes a little finesse. Tony’s the most entertaining but prone to get sidetracked, and will maybe try to look up porn or poker programs on your laptop if you don’t keep an eye on him. McKay will berate you for making idiotic errors, telling you that you’ve switched the co-efficient there and now your answer will be wrong, and if that was a space station, congratulations, you’d have killed everyone on board. Faraday will probably be the most straightforward and patient, though he’s liable to get distracted by the other two and wind up staring into space with a baffled look in his Labrador-puppy eyes. Try bringing the three of them offerings of caffeine before asking them for help. Scientists cannot resist a good cup of coffee. You may or may not accomplish anything by talking to all three of them, but at least you’ll be entertained.
For philosophy or psychology, go to the computer room. Ignore the somewhat ominous countdown timer on the wall - one of the John Lockes is taking care of it. (There are two of them: an older bald fellow with a vertical scar over one eye, and the wig-wearing Enlightenment thinker the first was named for.) Stanley Milgram is watching bald!Locke discreetly, and has been keeping a log of his button-pushing habits and behavior in regards to the countdown timer, which requires a certain string of numbers be entered periodically to prevent a possible catastrophe. (Apparently he does what he’s told.)
Ignore the sounds coming from the supply closet, by the way. That’s just Benjamin Linus, the resident manipulative murderer with an IQ of roughly 300. Do not listen to his offers of answer keys for your final exams, pet bunnies, or delicious baked hams in exchange for freeing him. If you agree, you will end up confused and quite possibly dead. Um, yeah. Moving on…
You’ve got everything you need here - there’s a pantry of food and plenty of coffee and tea, a spare bunk to crash on, company, and most importantly, study material. I suggest you make yourself comfortable. We might be here for a while.
What? You didn’t get the memo? Apparently the Powers That Be have decreed that this studying is ~*~destiny~*~, and we don’t get off the island until we’ve fulfilled it. Or something along those lines. Regardless, I’d rather chill here than face smoke monsters, killer polar bears and certain failure on the exams if I try to get out.
It might be kind of crazy around here, but it somehow makes finals review seem a little more fun.