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Current Poll

Who is your Favourite Guest Rebel?

Avalon - (Project Avalon)
Avalon - (Project Avalon)
22% [44 Votes]

Selma - (Horizon)
Selma - (Horizon)
4% [8 Votes]

Tyce - (Bounty)
Tyce - (Bounty)
14% [29 Votes]

Norm One - (Redemption)
Norm One - (Redemption)
1% [2 Votes]

Bek - (Shadow)
Bek - (Shadow)
7% [15 Votes]

Kasabi - (Pressure Point)
Kasabi - (Pressure Point)
15% [30 Votes]

Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
17% [34 Votes]

Hunda - (Traitor)
Hunda - (Traitor)
4% [8 Votes]

Deva - (Blake)
Deva - (Blake)
13% [26 Votes]

4% [8 Votes]

Votes: 204
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Started: 09 July 2016

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February Fanfic Challenge
After such an incredible response to the first challenges, are you ready for more?

The word for February is... RED

Perfect for writing a Valentine fic, but for those less sentimental, it is also brings to mind danger, blood and that final scene. It could also be an acronym - or just a colour.

If that fails to inspire or you're eager to write more, have a go at completing this scene:

Blake’s feet scrabbled in the loose shale, trying to gain purchase on the slope as he attempted to escape from the strong arms pulling him down.

“You don’t understand,” he protested.

I can't wait to see what you come up with... Grin
Joe Dredd
purplecleric wrote:

The word for February is... RED

Perfect for writing a Valentine fic

I can just picture Travisina racing to post a screengrab of Servalan in that red outfit, holding the red flower.
Red Leather perhaps, Purplecleric?

(Boys, Jenna also had one!)

Lara&Sue's Blake's 7 stories and *my PD as Kerr Avon Tribute*
*No, I am not. I am not expendable, I'm not stupid, and I'm not going.*
Lurena wrote:

Red Leather perhaps, Purplecleric?

Ooooh, now there's a thought...
purplecleric wrote:

Lurena wrote:

Red Leather perhaps, Purplecleric?

Ooooh, now there's a thought...

Please, don't get her started!!!
I've only just gotten over Resolution....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/
Joe Dredd wrote:

I can just picture Travisina racing to post a screengrab of Servalan in that red outfit, holding the red flower.

How well you know me, JD!

My views are my own.

VILA: I'm entitled to my opinion.
AVON: It is your assumption that we are entitled to it as well that is irritating.

Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Spaceship Dispatcher
Last month in SD's Blake's 7 fanfic epic...

Avon stared deeply into the screen of his computer terminal, the glow illuminating his face in the subdued lighting of the flight deck. The dimmed lights were an experiment being carried out by Jenna, based on her knowledge of space travel. Knowledge gained as a smuggler, but any kind of experience of living for months in space was more than he or any other member of the crew could offer. She had explained that, even when you live your life in space or shut up in a living dome, the human body still needs natural cycles of day and night to function properly. Therefore, the lights on the Liberator had been set to a timer. Not so that they would switch off altogether, but there would be periods of lower light levels to help the crew relax at the same time every few hours. Of course, that would make ‘night watch’ more challenging as it would be harder to stay awake and alert. But the computer aided flight systems of the ship would help sufficiently to alert the crew if the vessel came under threat. Avon was currently on this so-called night watch, but sleep was far from his mind. He was studying information taken from Federation systems by their resident super computer, the transparent box of genius and flashing lights known as Orac.

The project had Avon completely fascinated, so incredible and unique was the premise, but it would also be difficult to reach. The research station was located on a privately owned and funded satellite, officially neutral and the property of two businessmen. Orac had thrown some doubt on their actual neutrality since these wealthy men, the billionaire media mogul Artie Gypie III and his partner in crime Steven Tunn, both had most of their money invested in Federation controlled banks. The machine being developed under their protection was worth any effort to procure however, in Avon’s opinion. It was the personal achievement of a scientist called Dr. January Chalinj, one of her generation’s leading physicists, and went by the ambiguous acronym PaGenT. Finally, Orac had managed to uncover the meaning of the project’s curious title. Now Avon was sure of two things: he must have the new technology for himself, but also it was of vital importance that the Federation not gain it. And when Avon said he wanted it for himself, that was exactly what he meant. Nobody else in Blake’s band of rebels would appreciate the opportunities, least of all Blake himself. How could he enlist their help without letting them know what they actually doing? Blake managed that particular trick all the time, but Avon was not Blake and it would take some planning to get his hands on the Pan Genre Transition machine. Suddenly, there was a sound behind him and he spun around to see Jenna staring down at him…

The tap-tap of heels heralded Jenna’s arrival on the flight deck of the Liberator. Hastily, Avon cleared the display on his terminal, and as a cover for his guilt, went on the attack.

“You’re late” snapped Avon, the light vanishing from the computer screen.
“What were you looking at?” asked Jenna, suspiciously; “the looked like Federation data…”
“Yes” replied Avon simply; “but don’t let that put you off. This project is not Federation”
“Neutral?” asked Jenna; “so what do they have that you… we need so desperately that you will try and get inside somewhere that even might have Federation connections?”
“They have developed… well now, how can you describe a new technology that is nothing like anything we have ever seen? It’s so advanced that it makes the Liberator seem like a space hopper…”
“Now I know you’re exaggerating!” cried Jenna; “there’s nothing that advanced out there!”
“Can you be sure?” challenged Avon; “can you be sure enough of that to decide not to try and take it from them?”
“Okay…” replied Jenna slowly; “tell me more. I’m not saying that I’ll back you against Blake, but I’m interested enough to want to know what it does that’s so fantastic. If you’re right, we probably won’t need to use much persuasion to get Blake to join us”
“But I don’t want Blake to know what we’re really going for” cautioned Avon, “he would use it for his own ends, and that could be as destructive as the Federation having it…”
“So that’s why you asked to see me here alone” said Jenna; “but you took quite a chance! Blake might have been here too, and you know he stays up here for hours…”
“Why do you think I supported your plan to set fixed sleeping times for the crew?”
“Oh… I see” said Jenna, slightly annoyed that Avon’s support of her improvements to the crew’s routine was actually a subterfuge; “and how do we reach this research centre with the Liberator without Blake knowing about it? As soon as you suggest going somewhere, but don’t have a good reason, he will suspect you’re up to something!”
“That’s why I’m not going to tell Blake to go there” said Avon; “you are…”
“Me, how?” demanded Jenna; “I have no reason to ask for the ship to be diverted!”
“Then lie” said Avon coldly; “preferably to him, but I don’t care. Just get us to satellite OG-4”
“No Avon, unless you tell me right now what the project actually is. I’m not going to go into a mission blind…”
“Why not?” asked Avon; “you do every time Blake sends us on one. So… you want to know what we’re looking for? It’s a door…”
“What sort of door?” asked Jenna; “a door to where?”
“Everywhere” answered Avon in a level, matter of fact voice; “it’s a door to everywhere and every when. Now do you see why tyrants and idealists should never see it opened?”
“It sounds like Orac has come across something important, so…”
“So, will you help me?”

As Jenna agreed, full lighting returned and Blake approached the flight deck.

“Blake…” said Jenna; “I have received information from an old contact…”

“You press the big red button” said Doctor Chalinj, flashing a charming smile at the two men that had just appeared in front of her and picked up the new PGT or Pan Genre Transition machine from her workbench. She flicked her blonde hair over her right shoulder as she continued “or I can press this big red button just here!”
Doctor Chalinj thumped the button, Avon and Vila vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. Her smile widened, then faded as a door opened to allow a familiar figure to enter the room.

The advanced scientific laboratory was replaced by a dazzling display of bright multi-coloured light that blinded Avon and Vila, forcing them to shield their eyes. They stumbled as the gravity holding them to the ground changed slightly and lifted their hands, still holding the sealed grey box between them. The single blue light on the casing stopped flashing and their journey was over. Looking around, they found themselves standing in an area of woodland.

“Please don’t ask me what just happened…” said Avon
“What just happened?” asked Vila
“She pressed the big red button, apparently…” growled Avon
“What do we do now?” asked Vila
“Try and get back again, obviously” replied Avon
“How?” demanded Vila, a note of panic creeping involuntarily into his voice
“Ah…” said Avon, “you know… I have absolutely no idea”
“Where do you think we are?”
“It looks like we’ve been transported to Earth, but…”
“But that was light years away! I mean, that’s impossible!”
“Not… with this machine” hissed Avon, lowering his tone as though protecting the secret of the device from an unknown listener to their conversation; “it can take you anywhere… absolutely anywhere. Let’s look around and find out where we are…”

Beyond the trees was a clearing, and beyond that lay a large country house with elaborate stonework and what appeared to be turrets in the corners. Avon determined that a look inside was needed, for if this was Earth then a house like this might contain something of value to the rebellion. Not that Avon especially cared much about the rebellion, but a success over Blake would improve his standing on the Liberator. He and Vila ran swiftly across the gravel drive, hoping not to be noticed and searching in vain for the obligatory cameras. As they neared the impressive front doors, they almost ran into a man and woman walking down the steps. He was the older of the two, with short grey hair and an approachable if proud demeanour. The woman beside him was younger, perhaps his daughter, and had a haughty air. It was impossible to avoid them.

“Who on Earth are you?!” demanded the man.
“Well” said Avon, “that answers one question…”
“We’re here by accident! It’s this machine!” babbled Vila; “we’re not really here to rebel, honest! I mean, we are part of the rebellion but what I mean is…”
“Goodness!” cried the young woman, arching one eyebrow; “Don’t let Granny hear you say that!”


Blake’s feet scrabbled in the loose shale, trying to gain purchase on the slope as he attempted to escape from the strong arms pulling him down.

“You don’t understand,” he protested.
“Understand what?” shouted the man sarcastically.
“My name is Blake!” shouted Blake dramatically, “It’s Roj Blake!”
“Is that supposed to impress us?” said the man, giving a final tug that brought Blake crashing down next to him; “and you are?”
“Well… yes” said Blake, hurt; “I’m leading a rebellion against the Federation, and I was led to believe that you are too. You might have heard of me?”
“Oh yeah…” said the man; “yes, we’ve heard of you alright. You’re the terrorist.”
“No…” explained Blake patiently, “I’m actually a Freedom Fighter…”
“That would be Freedom Fighter with two capital Fs I take it…” sneered the man.
“Well…” faltered Blake; “well, yes if you like. But I’m no terrorist…”
“You know that attack on the communications base on Saurian Major? My brother was in there fixing the air conditioning. Never held a gun in his life, and you killed him for it. My sister was on the Space Command satellite applying for a job as a secretary, and you killed her too. You say you’re a freedom fighter? If you want your freedom from us, you’re gonna have to fight for it…”

With that, the man and those with him dragged Blake protesting along the gulley towards their camp. Where was Avon? He and Vila were supposed to follow down to the planet’s surface, but Blake was starting to wonder where they had gotten to…


Jenna looked anxiously at Cally, wondering if they had done the right thing to allow Blake to go down to the planet expecting Avon and Vila to follow; in reality, they were going to the satellite first to steal the secret project before joining him. Besides which the promise of an ally on the planet that she had given Blake was spurious anyway. Making a decision, she filled Cally in on the deception and headed for the teleport room.


“That has got rid of Avon and Vila…” smirked Servalan, standing in the laboratory; “do we know where Blake is?”
“No…” replied the young woman using the alias of Doctor Chalinj; “but I have received a signal from the planet surface, from one of our agents, that a man answering his description has been seen down there trying to make contact with the rebel leaders”
“And has he been successful?” enquired Servalan icily.
“Sort of…” said the young woman; “he made contact, but I understand they don’t like him much”
“Oh dear” said Servalan, smiling; “neither do I…”
“Is my work here done?” asked ‘Doctor Chalinj’
“Yes, my dear” replied Servalan; “but I have another mission for you. I need you to infiltrate the operation of a man called Dorian…”

To be continued...
SD - if this was a speed writing contest, you'd be the winner!

It's clever the way you're incorporating all the individual challenges into one over-all story and throwing in some word play and 'in-jokes' as well.

The painted nails, red as blood, sharp as pikes, close on his ear.

"Oh Avon, lying down on the job? Don't tell me you regret what you have done? It's time to wake now! You and I have things to discuss."

Painfully he rises, aware of pain but refusing to let it overwhelm him. The warmth he has leeched from the dying body, leeching in turn from his, he barely represses the shivering cold that racks him. Instead he focusses on the red of the pulsing lights, the red blood splashes on the walls, floors, his hands. The red of her dress.

"Avon!" She smiles charming and false as sin, from those full red lips. "You look well. No. No that's not true". Theatrical. Insincere. "Actually you look a little worse for wear. I'm afraid our discussions may be a problem for you."

He doesn't answer. He might if he cared about living. If he wasn't sick of it all.

"Avon." Indignant disapproval colours her tone. A beloved mistress reproving an ungrateful slave. "Avon. I may be forced to hurt you if you won't co-operate. I really regret the necessity but if you won't talk nicely to me...."

The hand with its blood- red nails wanders seductively over his shoulder, down his arm. Stops at the hole burned through the leather of his jacket. He tenses but the pinch on the open, raw wound forces a gasp as the pain from it radiates. His dead, he sees, lie slumped carelessly on the dirty floor, their blood mingling with that of the Federation Troopers he has killed. Friends, enemies, they are indistinguishable in death. "Did they feel pain as they died," he wonders?

Now as she pinches again, harder this time, he allows himself the luxury of bending over, crying out the agony she is causing. He senses her relaxation, the arching satisfaction of a cat as it senses a weakening in its prey.

Swiftly he uncurls, stabbing up with the tiny probe he's secretly taken from his belt, slashing the column of throat, so whitely contrasted with her dress.

And now he notes, imbued with the same, shiny, luminous red.
Space ship despatcher.

What a clever, funny absorbing piece of plotting. Enjoyed it very much.
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
I see you went for the less sentimental option, Anniew, and what a fabulous result!

I really enjoyed the nightmare imagery and bittersweet revenge, thank you.
Spaceship Dispatcher
Like it Annie! Red as a theme more than merely inspiration or a starting point, and very dramatic too! Happy
Spaceship Dispatcher, really enjoyed your piece. It felt just like B7 ought to. More, please!

Anniew. Awesome. You really know how to capture the essence of the characters along with their thoughts/emotions
GARETH THOMAS: Paul is a very generous man, as a human being and as an actor. The programme couldn’t have been made if we hadn’t got on. Our working relationship was magic.
Ah thanks guys. Glad you enjoyed it. Am so loving writing for Blakes 7 and I am , (sadly ) a bit obsessed so expect quite a bit more. Hope to learn to vary my style a bit as well by going for the challenges. May have to try completing the scenes so I'm forced to do a bit of plotting. I am amazed by the originality of the visions you all have for constructing stories.
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
You knock out the prompts-I'll keep them coming!

Red to Vila is a nice Merlot
served at room
in a crystal glass
as often as possible.

Gan finds the red
mist descending less
frequently now
but always when
his limiter malfunctions

Pink is Jenna's
although she does
love her red
leather suit
and hopes that Blake
does too.

Blake sees red whenever
he thinks of
The Federation. A
hot rage burns
when he
recalls those
terrible fake charges

Sunsets remind Cally of
raining from a red sky;
The red of
Vinni's tunic
Tarrant's sleep still. Dayna
dreams a
red revenge
And Soolin
painted the town
red after her
last successful
if that rundown
collection of random
builds could be classified
a town.

Avon always chose
black. His brief
flirtation with red
ended when
he killed
Anna. He never guessed
that red
would signal
his Epiphany.

“I’ll have an imperial palace with solid diamond floors and a bodyguard of a thousand handpicked virgins in red fur uniforms. Vila’s Royal Mounties.”

Even by his own standard of flippant remarks, that had been a particularly stupid thing to say. Luckily, Avon had ignored it; preoccupied as he was with more important matters. But now Vila couldn’t shake it from his mind as he crouched in hiding. The cubby hole was small, the walls pressed against him. Vila drew his knees to his chest, listening intently. So far he could hear only the whine of the shuttle’s straining engines and his own ragged breathing. May you die alone and silent went the Auron curse. Well, right now being alone and silent might just preserve his life a bit longer.

A thousand women. Ridiculous idea; they’d all just gang up against him. Two women were bad enough, he got enough teasing from Dayna and Soolin. Besides, the thousand would probably prefer Tarrant and Avon to him. Like Dayna and Soolin.

Vila had loved – properly loved – two women. But Cally was dead, and Kerril… he had quietly clung to the hope that somehow they would meet again; that a way would be found to the planet they had discovered together. That would have been proper use of the power the Tachyon funnel granted them - not a stupid palace, not a thousand red-clad virgins. What was he thinking?

Ah. Here he comes. Vila held his breath as he detected the sound of footsteps descending the rungs of the ladder. Avon would be carrying the gun he’d hidden in the compartment on the flight deck. Should have thrown that out first. Together with Orac.

The last of Vila's hopes that Avon had solved the problem and found a way to save them were dashed as soon as he heard the familiar voice calling him in an unfamiliar way; soft, kind, cajoling. Avon never talks like that – not to anyone; especially not to me. He really is going to kill me.

Vila pictured what it would be like. There would be the sound of the shot, and the immediate sensation of a punch in the chest - only worse, much worse - pain that would stop his heart, stop his breath, stop everything... a red bloom spreading like spilled wine across the front of his tunic. Pain turning to cold; cold to nothingness. No more Vila. He drew his knees in tighter and wrapped his arms around them. Now he can’t shoot me in the chest, he thought childishly. But then he’ll just shoot me in the head… A flare, a flash of pain, and then… nothing? Or would he feel the blood spilling down his face, into his eyes, turning the whole world crimson before fading to black?

The footsteps were approaching; Avon’s wheedling voice getting closer. There was a pause. He’s found the plastic trolley. He knows I’m here. Vila squeezed his eyes shut, tasting the tears. Not long now. Not long before the salt becomes saltier; not long before tears turn to blood.

Red. The colour of a love lost, a life diminished. Vila wept silently for Gan, for Cally, for Kerril. For the man he’d felt safe with, who he’d thought was a friend. The one he’d made that idiotic remark to. A thousand virgins in red fur uniforms. Such a stupid thing to say. He would have swapped all of them for the one woman who genuinely loved him. If there was time, he would try to explain this to Avon, before he pulled the trigger.


My views are my own.

VILA: I'm entitled to my opinion.
AVON: It is your assumption that we are entitled to it as well that is irritating.

Twitter: @TravisinaB7
I'm really impressed with the host of writing talents we have among us! Another lovely piece Travisina.
GARETH THOMAS: Paul is a very generous man, as a human being and as an actor. The programme couldn’t have been made if we hadn’t got on. Our working relationship was magic.
meegat39 wrote:

I'm really impressed with the host of writing talents we have among us! Another lovely piece Travisina.

Thank you Smile
My views are my own.

VILA: I'm entitled to my opinion.
AVON: It is your assumption that we are entitled to it as well that is irritating.

Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Spaceship Dispatcher
Fantastic Travisina, completely convincing as what Vila would be thinking during that scene and well broken down thought by thought as the perception of peril escalates. Nice, effective, graphic but not OTT descriptions of weapons fire too.
Thank you, SD!

And may I say how much I'm enjoying everyone's contributions!

I'm now working on turning the January ficlets into an article and will let you know when it's up.
My views are my own.

VILA: I'm entitled to my opinion.
AVON: It is your assumption that we are entitled to it as well that is irritating.

Twitter: @TravisinaB7
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