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Current Poll

Who is your Favourite Guest Rebel?

Avalon - (Project Avalon)
Avalon - (Project Avalon)
18% [17 Votes]

Selma - (Horizon)
Selma - (Horizon)
5% [5 Votes]

Tyce - (Bounty)
Tyce - (Bounty)
14% [14 Votes]

Norm One - (Redemption)
Norm One - (Redemption)
2% [2 Votes]

Bek - (Shadow)
Bek - (Shadow)
7% [7 Votes]

Kasabi - (Pressure Point)
Kasabi - (Pressure Point)
19% [18 Votes]

Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
14% [14 Votes]

Hunda - (Traitor)
Hunda - (Traitor)
5% [5 Votes]

Deva - (Blake)
Deva - (Blake)
9% [9 Votes]

Other
Other
6% [6 Votes]

Votes: 97
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Started: 09 July 2016

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August Fanfic Challenge
clareblues1
One last funny...

Tarrant bristled. He couldn’t believe the nerve of the man! He stiffened his spine, threw back his shoulders and injected every ounce of arrogance he had acquired as a Federation officer into his voice.

"Vila!! Teleport me back up now!"

He jostled amid the crowd of giggling onlookers.

"Oh come on, stop quivering!" Vila replied.

"That was a perfect plan Avon," Dayna commented. These lady rebels are just the allies we've been looking for."

The crowd hustled Tarrant away, the air permeated with the sound of high pitched laughter.

"It would've been had you not taught Vila your teleport trouser accident trick," Avon replied.

"Now we'll be lucky if we see him until dawn."

Dayna grinned broadly.
The foolish reject what they see;
the wise reject what they think.
 
JustBrad
Well done, all. Ellen, so very Vila like.

AnnieW, knew there was a reason he is the way he is...

... and Travisina... so... that explains Sarcophagus... but... (checks to see if CB is in the room)... what a accounted for Tarrant being such a tool in City? (Spots CCool ... er... I man a totally handsome and charming tool, of course.... Grin
 
Hugbot
Nice one, Clare. Always interesting to read about the fantasies of our ladies ... Grin
 
clareblues1
Hugbot wrote:

Nice one, Clare. Always interesting to read about the fantasies of our ladies ... Grin


LOL I wouldn't get too close though...might put you off your breakfast!
The foolish reject what they see;
the wise reject what they think.
 
purplecleric
I'm very sorry I've not had time this month to give individual feedback but yet again you have astonished me with the imaginative, varied, entertaining and thought-provoking responses.

You guys rock!
 
purplecleric
Slipping in with 2 hrs to spare, here's my take on the scene:

Tarrant bristled. He couldn’t believe the nerve of the man! He stiffened his spine, threw back his shoulders and injected every ounce of arrogance he had acquired as a Federation officer into his voice.

“No! I’ve backed down time and time again but you’ve taken it too far this time, Avon.”

He held his breath waiting for Avon’s reply, steeling himself in anticipation of a scathing tirade. Avon glanced up from the console, quirked an eyebrow before returning his attention to the re-calibration of the long range sensors. Tarrant exhaled slowly, reigning in his temper and lowering his tone.

“I’ve accepted the Liberator’s not my ship – “

A smile twitched at Avon’s lips but that was not the reaction Tarrant was seeking. He forged on.

“ – and that Vila and Cally would rather follow the devil they know than one they don’t so you’ve got the backing of the crew.”

Avon nodded without looking up and Tarrant resisted the frustrated urge to stamp his foot.

“Dayna‘s young and naive but I’m not. You can’t tell me how to fly a ship or fire a gun and you certainly can’t tell me what to wear!”

Avon’s head shot up and his eyes flashed. He stepped slowly down from the flight console and, with his hands clasped behind his back, circled around the younger man. He eyed the dark blue leather tunic with its neat line of metal studs decorating the neckline and shoulders and running down the length of the arms. Tarrant’s stomach fluttered nervously but he stood his ground under the intense scrutiny. It was now or never.

“It looks much better on me...”

Avon turned on his heel and marched off the flight deck without uttering a word.

Tarrant was wise enough not to push the issue but occasionally, off-ship and out of Avon’s sight, he would don the leather tunic and savour the sweet memory of rendering Avon speechless.
 
purplecleric
And I've cheated with the word prompt, I'm afraid, due to time constraints so this is a re-working of a segment from one of my other fanfics:

Torture

The heat is searing and relentless, draining what remains of his strength and leaving him wracked with pain. Feeble and diminished, Avon doesn’t think he can endure another day. His infamous will to survive is withering under this latest assault on his body.

He grimaces as another blast of heat rolls over him and he bites back the urge to cry out. Beads of moisture decorate his brow with the effort. The droplets swell then run in rivulets down his face to gather in the three-day growth of his beard. Sweat darkens his hair further, flattening the strands to his scalp and soaking the bunk. His thin, clammy tunic clings to his scorched skin and the damp cover twists about his legs as he tosses and turns in a desperate attempt to find some respite from the sweltering onslaught. He is sodden but the moisture does nothing to cool the blistering torment.

He has descended to the seventh circle of Hell, he is immersed in a river of boiling blood and fire and his mind is ravaged with tortured visions of Inferno. His eyes are full of grit and feel too large for their sockets and his throat is raw as if he has been screaming for hours. He moans; the sound creating piercing reverberations in his head. It is a demonic counterpoint to the hollow nauseating thud already well established there and his skull continues its vice-like grip on his brain. He squints against the abrupt intrusion of harsh flourescent light that cauterizes his retinas.

“So, how are we today?”

Avon winces. The words are red- hot needles sending savage stabs of pain through his temples although his persecutor’s tone is light and airy. Her smile is sunny and wide, her clothes crisp and fresh and he hates her. Hot tears prick his eyes as he admits defeat. His tongue rasps over his cracked lips which split further as he utters a feeble croak that contains only a mere trace of his usually caustic wit.

“We... are dying.”

Cally’s retort adds to his torture.

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Avon. You’ve only got the flu.”
 
Anniew
Well I'm glad you made it PC with a very enjoyable couple of fics. I love the premise of the first story - though I dispute Tarrant's conclusion! And Avon with the flu doesn't bear contemplating- he'd be an awful patient - especially when he was getting better😀😀


And Claire! I have no idea HOW I'm going to get to sleep with visions of trouser teleport accidents firmly implanted in my fantasies. Phew!!!
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
 
Ellen York
Poor Avon with the flu. But I agree with Annie, he would be a horrible patient.
 
Hugbot
clareblues1 wrote:

Hugbot wrote:

Nice one, Clare. Always interesting to read about the fantasies of our ladies ... Grin


LOL I wouldn't get too close though...might put you off your breakfast!

I'm not squeamish. Wink
Edited by Hugbot on 01 September 2015 06:06:14
 
Hugbot
PC, thank you for the two funny pieces for breakfast ... made my day! The imagery of Torture would have been very apt for a Shrinker scene ... which made the punch line the more surprising and effective. And your first ficlet sheds some light on Tarrant's choice of clothing in Traitor.
 
Travisina
Thanks, PC, for two laughs to round off the month!

And a big thank you again to all of you for your submissions. In due course these will be assembled into a proper collection - look out for part two of the March collection, coming soon...

This thread is being locked, now - see you on the September thread!
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
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