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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)
15% [14 Votes]

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

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Bek - (Shadow)
6% [6 Votes]

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

Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
14% [13 Votes]

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

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

Other
Other
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Votes: 95
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Started: 09 July 2016

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July 2016 Fanfic Challenge
Travisina
Catching up with more of this month's stories...

@ Brad - clever idea, nicely done.
@ the Avon ladies - I love your different riffs on the same scene! PC - gorgeous writing, as ever - conveying so much detail in such economic writing, as well as getting both prompts into one story (I haven't managed to do that this time). Littlesue & Lurena - nice to make his dark eyes the focus of the story, and Annie - very well done.
@ Paula - last July, Brad stole a march on an idea that I hadn't posted in time, and now this July you've done it! Must be something about your independence day that brings out the transatlantic telepathy. Happily, the character I'd picked wasn't the same as yours, even if the idea was similar...
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
Travisina
Room to Grow

Her hands shake with excitement as she opens the box. Carefully lifting the lid, she breathes deep the smell of leather and crisp new fabric. One by one, she takes each item out of its protective wrapping and lays out the ensemble on the bed. With a sigh of pure happiness, she begins to get dressed.

First, the shorts and long-sleeved undershirt. These are charcoal grey, soft and snug-fitting; comfortable thermal material that will keep her body temperature regulated, whatever the weather. She glances at the cupboard that holds the thin, patched undershirts passed down from her older brothers, and the baggy floral knickers donated by her plump cousin. She won't be needing those any more.

Socks, next. Long, black and luxurious, they stretch up over her knees and are comfortably padded at the heels - not like the pair she pulled off last night, which now lie balled on the floor, awaiting further mending. Her new socks have no lumpy darns to chafe and raise blisters as she walks.

Now the sturdy black coverall. It fits neatly at her wrists and neckline; the firm, flexible material moves with her as she turns to fasten it at the side. It's waterproof, weatherproof, resistant to wear and tear - perfect for field work. She fastens the cross-sash and belt – ha! this belt doesn't need extra holes punched to fit her slim waist.

Her face suddenly burns with remembered humiliation. Her cousin's cast-off dresses that had to be taken in at every seam – especially at the bust - to the sniggering amusement of her brothers, who teased her about 'not filling out, like Dina'. Her mother reprimanded them, but also snapped at her to stop crying. "Don't complain! These are nice dresses, with plenty of room to grow."

She banishes the memory. No more cast-offs; she now has new clothes, made to measure.

She picks up the boots and briefly holds them to her face, breathing in the smell of good leather. Then she pulls them on, threads the laces through the dozen eyelets and fastens them securely. Standing up, she realises that the thick soles and protective heels give her a couple of centimetres of much needed extra height.

She turns to view her reflection in the long mirror and likes what she sees. Black suits her; the uniform is a perfect fit. She adjusts the sash so that it doesn't obscure the Federation logo - the cadets' version, stitched in cloth over her left breast pocket. Before long, it will be replaced with the plastyl badge worn by Troopers, and then...

Her mother calls from downstairs, interrupting her reverie. "Hurry up, Arlen – the transport is here!"

She takes a last look in the mirror, imagining the logo embossed in leather. "I am a Federation Officer," she practises saying aloud, and smiles. She is only a cadet, but there is plenty of room to grow.

***

Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
purplecleric
There is something about men (and women) in uniform...

@BradPaula & @Travisina - you have neatly captured the idea that uniforms are more than mere clothing, that they embody hope,ambition,aspiration and sense of belonging - but also can symbolise terror and tyranny.

That your chosen Federation cadets took very different paths highlights the fact that, under the uniforms, we are all human.
 
Hugbot
@PC and AnnieW: Every now and then, someone says that Servalan’s appearance would have improved Blake. Normally, I am opposed to this notion; for me, the episode is perfect as it it, i.e. as a misunderstanding of Shakespearean dimensions instead of yet another cunning plan by lady S. However, I really liked the way you worked with this idea. Avon as an android or as a traitor are surprising extensions to the story as we now it. Instead of the mediocrity of another evil plan, you give us a really dark edge worthy of the darkness of the episode.

@LS & Lurena: A very intense and gripping tale, well observed. Telling it from the viewpoint of the dying Vila made it even more spooky. I hope it was not too cumbersome for you to study Avon’s eyes sufficently for writing this story and drawing the picture!

@Paula: Interesting and amusing to see how Tarrant tells the story of his life ... Tarrant in the footsteps of Käpt'n Blaubär? Strangest cross-over ever!

@Travisina: A great portrayal! It reminded me a little of a film where a complete underdog joined the Nazis, and in one scene, we see how he receives and dons his uniform, making him suddenly feel as a part of ‘something bigger’ and thus somehow ‘important’ ... and ultimately leading him even to betraying his Jewish childhood friend. All the details in your story are so well observed, so very convincing and natural. Did you have to wear the old clothes of elder sisters? And I guess that Sasha Mitchell’s fabulous entry at CA2 was a source of inspiration, wasn’t it?
 
littlesue
Hugbut wrote
@LS & Lurena: A very intense and gripping tale, well observed. Telling it from the viewpoint of the dying Vila made it even more spooky. I hope it was not too cumbersome for you to study Avon’s eyes sufficently for writing this story and drawing the picture!

It's a hard job...but someone has to do itGrin
Cold.....you don't know the meaning of cold.
Cold is when you have ice on the INSIDE of the window!!!


sues stories http://sjlittle.w...
sues youtube channel http://www.youtub...e54/videos
sues book shelf https://www.media...ne%20Shelf
rebel run video http://www.youtub...prqS-XZtLo
Lara and Sue's Stories http://lectorisal....webs.com/
 
Joe Dredd
Black

The very forgiving couple approached the counter and asked for two return flights to London.

The travel agent smiled. "And the surname is--?"
 
Travisina
Joe Dredd wrote:

Black

The very forgiving couple approached the counter and asked for two return flights to London.

The travel agent smiled. "And the surname is--?"


I'm sure this story was longer when I first read it an hour ago...
Either way, LOL, LOL, LOLLISSIMO!
GrinGrinGrin
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
Travisina
Thanks for the nice comments!

Hugbot wrote:

Did you have to wear the old clothes of elder sisters? And I guess that Sasha Mitchell’s fabulous entry at CA2 was a source of inspiration, wasn’t it?

I've been mulling Arlen for a while - I find her interesting, and I like contemplating her back story. This is my second ficlet to feature her, and I'm tempted to write a longer version. But yes, it was great to meet Sasha Mitchell at CA2, and I had her in mind when I wrote it!

As for clothes - actually, I'm the eldest of my siblings. My sister is one year younger, and we were more or less the same size growing up, so we used to share (and/or fight over) our things when we were teenagers. But I have 'inherited' clothes from larger cousins, and it's a bit of a dismal experience - I'm glad you found that vague memory convincing for Arlen!
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
Joe Dredd
Travisina wrote:
I'm sure this story was longer when I first read it an hour ago...


But hopefully there are no doubts that it involves a strong connection to B7.
 
trevor travis
Joe Dredd wrote:

Black

The very forgiving couple approached the counter and asked for two return flights to London.

The travel agent smiled. "And the surname is--?"


Grin Grin Grin
 
Mistletoe12
I had a different ficlet planned for this month’s challenge, and then this popped into my head last weekend. It’s a bit of a tenuous link to the ‘black’ prompt but you’ll hopefully understand the reason I couldn’t resist once you’ve read the story!Grin


Got To Avoid ‘Em All!


Avon ducked behind a screen in the ship’s kitchen; too late to grab his steaming morning tea, footsteps were approaching rapidly. He waited impatiently while Gan tucked into more food than most managed in a week. How much could the man consume?

He stretched a crick in his back once Gan finally left and abandoning his breakfast, Avon made his way to the teleport bay. He glimpsed Jenna seated at the controls and quickly hid in the shadows. She could be there a while and since he had other plans …

Avon retraced his steps hoping to avoid further encounters with the crew. Blake had demanded his presence on the flight deck, which these days could mean anything from hearing about a rebel leader he wanted to contact, through to sitting on the couch while Blake became highly excitable talking about a favourite cousin he hoped to visit in the foreseeable future.

Cally passed him in the corridor and Avon pressed a fingertip to his lips. “You haven’t seen me,” he said, ignoring the Auron’s voice in his head. He headed to where he knew Vila stored items in the hold that he wasn’t willing to share.

***


What should have took moments if he’d been able to retrieve his tool from the teleport bay as intended ended up taking more time than he liked. But he eventually cracked the lock on the storage case he knew contained the device he required.

Avon grabbed his prize with a satisfied smile and then he held his breath as Vila walked into the hold.

“Is there anyone there?” Vila asked nervously.

Avon blamed his creaky shoes.

“Is there anyone there?” repeated Vila.

Does he think he’s conducting a séance?
Avon thought, managing to tiptoe out the hold without exposing his presence. Feeling pleased with his progress, he was preparing to indulge in what he’d always categorised as a relaxing activity when a ship wide alarm suddenly demanded his attention.

The relentless sound forced him to pocket the device he’d borrowed and make his way to the flight deck.

***


“Where the hell have you been?” demanded Blake.

“Is there a problem?” Avon asked casually.

“We’re experiencing a relatively quiet period,” Blake started sheepishly. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt to conduct routine maintenance on the key systems.”

“And break the ship in the process,” snapped Avon.

“Well, if you’d answered when I called … ” Avon shot him a warning glare and crossing his arms defensively, Blake watched as the computer technician, with a series of instructions to Orac combined with a minor calibration at Vila’s station, managed to avert a potential crisis.

***


Avon sat on the bed in his cabin and pulled out the device. He’d recognised it in a haul Vila brought to the ship following a trip to what the thief described as a market specialising in antiques. The device contained a beloved augmented reality game Avon remembered from his childhood.

Virtémon Black!

He’d spent many happy days and weeks and months in the grounds at his family home hunting, capturing and training digital monsters. Avon had memorised the names: Snorlax, Poliwrath, Zapdos – he’d always expected to find a Zapdos every time there was a thunder storm. His favourites included Scyther, Entei, Zekrom – and the renegade Giratina. He’d relished the escapism.

Avon hadn’t expected to locate too many monsters in space, except maybe the impressive Deoxys with its orange and blue tentacles and hyperbeam attack. He’d simply wanted a day in which he didn’t have to engage in tedious conversations with anyone – a day where everyone didn’t rely on his skills to keep the ship running smoothly – just a single day that he could call his own.

At least today proved they shouldn’t take me for granted
, he thought, carefully placing the fragile device into a drawer. And the delay in playing the game meant he could populate the sector with pocket monsters, which he would be able to capture at Virté Stops any time he felt like escaping from his life on the Liberator.
 
littlesue
Oh no...not you as well Mistletoe???
I've had one of those creatures just outside my house! I wondered why there was a stranger at the top of the road with his phone....
Now, if a stranger dressed in black turns up...well, that's a different matter Grin
Cold.....you don't know the meaning of cold.
Cold is when you have ice on the INSIDE of the window!!!


sues stories http://sjlittle.w...
sues youtube channel http://www.youtub...e54/videos
sues book shelf https://www.media...ne%20Shelf
rebel run video http://www.youtub...prqS-XZtLo
Lara and Sue's Stories http://lectorisal....webs.com/
 
Hugbot
@JD: Brilliant! I haven't seen the longer version but it is perfect in its conciseness. And I am sure the couple will be forgiving - after all, you didn't mention the 'g' word.

@Mistletoe: It was really lovely to read about Avon's avoidance tactics, Gan's breakfast, Blake's preoccupations and all the other funny little bits ... really lovely until I realised what was going on, at which point I went,

littlesue wrote:

Oh no...not you as well Mistletoe???

Sometimes I think my favourite pub owner and I are the only people left on Earth who are still immune. I fear this is an alien conspiracy. They want us to focus on hunting virtual monsters so that we don't realise when they land! Even worse, when hordes of alien blancmanges roam the streets, people will think they are part of the game! That is when the Hugbot and a few chosen ones will become humanity's last line of defense! Mark my words!
 
Travisina
LOL, Mistletoe! A very tenuous connection to the prompt indeed, but nicely topical!

@Littlesue and Hugbot - yep, me too!
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
Mistletoe12
@ Sue and Hugbot: Your reactions made me laugh! Not, not me - I'm not playing the game. Though I am tempted to get the app. But it's everywhere, isn't it? And I couldn't resist the idea once it popped into my head. I'm glad you found the story funny. Grin

A quick RL story: Pokémon became a UK craze around the time my son started primary school. He became enamoured with the show like all the children - had all the toys, collector’s cards and watched the show on Sky 1. Because his school was literally a five minute walk from home, I used to let him watch Pokémon and then we'd hoof it to school just in time.

I always kept the TV on (since we were in a rush) and that's how I started watching Stargate. The show (repeats) were shown on Sky 1 following Pokémon and I'd come home, mooch a bit and ended up watching the entire run.

All thanks to the Pokémon craze.

I included Poliwrath in the ficlet because it was the first set my son collected. I may get the app; you never know, I could run into a certain computer expert out on a hunt!Wink
 
purplecleric
Hugbot wrote:


Sometimes I think my favourite pub owner and I are the only people left on Earth who are still immune. I fear this is an alien conspiracy. They want us to focus on hunting virtual monsters so that we don't realise when they land! Even worse, when hordes of alien blancmanges roam the streets, people will think they are part of the game! That is when the Hugbot and a few chosen ones will become humanity's last line of defense! Mark my words!


Don't worry, Hugbot - you'll have a purplecleric on your side Angry
 
Ellen York
I'll be with you too (luddite that I am, I don't own a smartphone, so couldn't play even if I wanted to).
 
Travisina
I was an early adopter (in every sense of the word) - hubby and I had the very first Pokemon game on our Nintendo Gameboys!
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
Anniew
Loved the story Mistletoe but am also, unreasonably, prejudiced against Pokemon. I have enough issues locating my glasses and shoes!
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
 
Anniew
The teleport took him at the moment the troopers opened fire and a second after his own sprayed shots had removed a good few of them.

"Right on cue, Orac," he thought as he materialised on Scorpio's barely functioning platform. It had been touch and go for a minute as to whether his pattern would stabilise and he was still left with a hollow reverberation in his ears as he stepped off the platform to locate the stash of gold and set of nondescript clothing he had hidden in a service locker before setting off for Gauda Prime.

He quickly stripped off his leathers, grimacing at the stickiness of the blood adhering to them - Blake's blood he acknowledged with a slight shiver. He shook his head. The hollow sound was louder now, almost like words if he could make them out. Strange: the teleport had never affected him like that before. He straightened. Clad now in some old clothes of Vila's, he looked very different. He pulled on a cap to hide his hair and opened another locker containing a small serviceable gun, some rounds of ammunition, a knife and a rough, hessian bag. He slung everything into the bag and hefted it over his shoulder. Time to go. He wasted a few moments seeing if he could find a container to hold water but was unsuccessful and then cautiously left the ship, slipping quietly among the dense trees that surrounded Scorpio, making for the shack where he'd hidden Orac. He'd just have to persuade it to perform its molecular reduction trick and then he could make his way to the nearest port and buy a passage off the planet.

By the time he reached the shack he was sweating and slightly nauseous. He put this down to dehydration. He'd have to make finding water his next priority and.... the hollow reverberating noise swelled suddenly in volume, increasing the giddiness that he was feeling and he sat down abruptly. Either he was going mad, or the sounds he could hear were words...a phrase...repeating over and over in his head. Swallowing the acid in his throat, he crawled over to where he had hidden Orac and pulled it out from under the pile of leaves that hid it from view.

Fighting his dizziness, he took Orac's key from his trouser pocket, inserted it and croaked,

"Orac...what's going on? Scan me..I need to know what's wrong with me... Now Orac."

When the precise, prissy voice had finished its analysis, Avon knew the worst. At the moment of teleportation, Blake's dying spirit had been caught up in the effect and lodged itself inside his brain. He leant back against the walls of the shack, laughing weakly as he registered the truth asserted by that hollow, reverberating voice: "We will never be free".

When he had finished laughing, Avon did the only thing left to him and took out and raised his gun.
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
 
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