I came across the first draft of the scene where Calhoun calls Freeman just before going to Xen in Stray Physicists. (I wrote it in my gmail inbox drafts) I still really like it. Rosenburg's characterization changed some between this and the posted draft and I felt like the scene got lost a little under Adams' introduction (he wasn't planned, I just wanted Calhoun to have her own moment analogous to Freeman pulling a gun on someone in Lambda just before his own Xen trip in Crowbar.)
"Hey," she said. His breath on the other end, rough, as if through his teeth. A suppressed cough. She wasn't usually at a loss for words but what could she say? What was there to say, besides good luck and hope we both live through this and I'm going through a portal to an alien world and I might not come back and hey that was a lot of fun, we should go stargazing again sometime maybe when all this is over.
So she closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the cold cement and said just that. "Thanks for coming last night." Only last night? Feels like weeks ago. "It uh. It was fun, and it meant a lot. To me. I hope you had fun too. I'm sorry the beer was cheap and I'll bring better stuff next time, I promise. There's this microbrew place out on Pine Street I think you'd like. It's run by a retired chemistry teacher. So like, not quite a physics connection but it's close, right? It's a very academic beer. There's a periodic table on the label."
A stuttered snort, Freeman's silent laugh, another cough. He sounded wet, labored.
"Listen, I'm going through this teleport thing. I didn't get all of what you said about your research last night but I think they used some of your work in this. I don't know if that makes me more or less scared here, Freeman. So I'll make you a deal." She lowered her voice to keep it from cracking in her throat, pressed her fist to her forehead to stop the burn behind her eyes. "If I make it both ways through this, then you come to the next bonfire night at my place. I'll buy the beer. Deal?"
She sat quiet, listening to the sound of him, until Rosenburg caught her eye and jerked his chin at the device. "It's charged; we're waiting on you."
"Hey, I gotta go. I'll see you, Freeman."
She flipped the phone closed to end the call, then took a long breath and stood. Lights flickered in front of her eyes. Dehydration, fatigue. Low blood sugar. Come on, pull yourself together Calhoun. Do your job. The portal shimmered poison-yellow and the hair on her arms prickled as she approached it.
"Get going, Calhoun. Every moment you waste people are dying."
She glared back at him but couldn't summon the energy to be truly angry.
People have been dying all day.
She took the thick stack of ID cards from her uniform pocket and handed them to him. "If I don't make it back, get these to the families."
He looked at the cards, at her, expressionless, and at the cards again, then set them down and turned back to the display panels. "I'm sure someone will handle it."
She set her teeth. Not my job to beat some humanity back into you. Unfortunately. And who was she kidding, she thought, as her scabs scraped against shirt and vest; he'd probably lay her out with his clipboard. Well, not like she was doing any of this for him, specifically.
Her palms itched and her scalp tingled with electricity. "Do I just step into it or what?"
"Yes, yes, just walk in. What are you waiting for, an incantation? It's a teleporter, girl. Not a magic spell."
Well alright then. She steeled herself, clenched her jaw, held her shoulders as steady as her injuries would permit, and stepped in.
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"Hello?"Â One word, sender unknown. She moved to delete the message, then stopped. Someone in town might have given someone her number. "Who is this?" she replied.
"Freeman. Dead mans phone sorry."
He was alive. He was alive.
-
Iâm still figuring out Freemanâs âvoiceâ in this kind of dialogue, without body / facial expression. But yeah, this is set ambiguously 2004, so everyoneâs got indestructible flip phones but âarenât supposed to carry them at work into top-secret laboratories and around sensitive electronics and explosive gassesâ etc. etc. so only squirrely local guards like Calhoun have them on their person when the Cascade hits.
I havenât figured out how to share a specific chapter through AO3â˛s share function, but chapter 15 of Stray Physicists is up: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620697/chapters/71487393
in which bulletproof vests are not a âget out of all consequences of being shot for freeâ card, not everyone is dead for once, cell phones definitely donât work quite that well from inside underground missile silos but I donât care, and Beth tries to not become her enemy, with varying levels of success.
Beth Calhoun Headcannons & backstory for Stray Physicists:Â
-23-24 ish years old.
-Small town, grew up in whatever little desert town is nearest Black Mesa, like 2k population, a main street and a half.
-Lost her biological dad in a workplace shooting, for which she was present, when she was a kid. Has a deaf older brother, whole family is fluent in sign language.
-Very social, loves people, is intentional, would definitely grow up to be one of those overly meddlesome small-town aunties. Down for pretty much any shenanigans.
-Generally not the tallest person in the room, can definitely be the loudest person in the room.
-Remembers everyoneâs names from like kindergarten on up. Remembers you, your dog, your 4th grade bday party, your cousinâs embarrassing prom story and that time your dad lit a mailbox on fire.
-Has no real aspirations towards vocation, has lots of aspirations towards just living life well. Two years of community college, decided it wasnât for her, got a job at Black Mesa. Lives in the dorms definitely not at home but is at home most weekends. Does laundry at home.
-Good shot, great with firearms because hanging out at the range is a social event and because sheâs never going to let her family get hurt by angry strangers with guns again.
-Long-term goal is a back yard with a fire pit, a couple friendly dogs and a pickup truck.Â
-Weaponizes social connections to get things done. Knows who knows whom and who is or isnât speaking and which hairdresser has the whole church directory on speed-dial.
-Never gives up on people, is still friends with her exes, doesnât see the point in holding grudges, doesnât get why sometimes people stop answering her but also never deletes their number.
Jacks' trailer and general attitude is a shameless hometown cameo in chapter 1; there is in fact a singlewide a couple miles away from my house that was parked on top of a ridge by, allegedly and likely, a Chinook because there's no way a semi ever hauled it up there, there's a guy who will draw a gun on you for simply being in sight (but once reassured you're friends he is super nice and loyal), and a guy who will take payment in alcohol for absolutely anything (until his family got ahold of him and made him quit cold turkey) and every. single. dwelling. that is more than fifty feet from the next habitation has its own junkyard. The junkyards range in size from a small orderly patch of spare parts or a project-in-progress to enormous seas of displaced trucks, tractors, fencing, fuel and other accumulations. All of these once did converge upon said singlewide on the top of the ridge, but that guy is actually long gone (having chronically drunk gun-toting neighbors with a very loose concept of private property can be an experience.) so he was relocated via large sums of money to please move away thank you so he wouldn't shoot into my neighborhood by accident. Then his general attitude was diluted enough to be normal neighborlyness - the former drunk is a great guy who now accepts payment in cookies, the gun-toting dude is consistently the first to call fire watch and will show up to help anyone, and I have built and repaired multiple furnishings and appliances from the junkyard. (The enormous amount of ammunition was not artistic license either)
(for reasons unknown someone decided to save the now-abandoned trailer from being burned down in the last wildfire so it's still there on cinder blocks and scissor jacks.)
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I'm writing "thumbnail sketches" of different scenes to see how I want to stage them. Usually these are drafted out in my gmail inbox lol because that feels very informal and an easy place to just plunk away at things.
It's a very useful writing tool IMO. I didn't used to do it much until I realized I was essentially doing it as part of the editing process, so I might as well start with it instead of doing all the same work later.
-For example, I'm working on a scene for Stray Physicists for immediately after the game narrative ends. We're basically in original fiction with some cannon character names at that point, so I can make up whatever I want. If my goal is "a very close, uncomfortably intimate look at the effects of Blue Shift on Calhoun and the logistics of its immediate aftermath," then how the scenes take place, where the characters are going, and who is with them is all very important.
So far those scenes have been written-
-Outside, in a jeep, in a van and in a motor home
-Stationary during a break in travel, and moving over rough roads
-With limited people and with privacy, and with a crowd of people and forced exposure
-With Calhoun still trying to take foremost responsibility and resisting help, and with Calhoun 'taking her boots off' for a minute and accepting the help
All the little variations change how the scene reads. I can't predict exactly how an audience will take it, because they'll only see the final version of it (and maybe it'll look how I think it will and maybe it won't!) but it's a useful and productive exercise to change how the scene is set and who is in it, and consider how it alters the tone, impact on narrative and characterization.
