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Current Poll

Who is your Favourite Guest Rebel?

Avalon - (Project Avalon)
Avalon - (Project Avalon)
22% [41 Votes]

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

Tyce - (Bounty)
Tyce - (Bounty)
14% [27 Votes]

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

Bek - (Shadow)
Bek - (Shadow)
7% [13 Votes]

Kasabi - (Pressure Point)
Kasabi - (Pressure Point)
15% [28 Votes]

Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
16% [30 Votes]

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

Deva - (Blake)
Deva - (Blake)
12% [23 Votes]

4% [8 Votes]

Votes: 188
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Started: 09 July 2016

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March 2015 Fanfic Challenge
Joe Dredd
Scant minutes after everyone had left, the door to the last showerpod opened by the tiniest degree. Sensing no one about, Soolin emerged fully clothed from her hiding place.

"Just wait until I post this on the Trevor Travis fan forum!" she thought excitedly. "I've seen him for real!!"
Joe Dredd
- or -

Sitting in the crew lounge on Xenon base, Vila poured himself another glass of wine.

"So you say this Tractor Travis was a fan of ours, but now he's gone?"

Dayna shivered. "Yes, but a creepy one if he goes lurking around the washrooms to find us."

"Well, you know how it is," said Vila, raising his glass to his lips. "Every shower room should have an ex-Tractor fan."
@ Paula - that's wickedly funny. Raised a huge smile!

@ Joe - I love your pun-tastic second sequel!

Happy Monday, everybody!
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
A statement of fact cannot be insolent
trevor travis
Paula, haha, I was chucking out loud to that Grin Grin

I think that's a double whammy, it completes the word challenge and it's mad at the same time Grin
Spaceship Dispatcher
Paula, excellent! The dialogue was spot on, especially trevor travis for whom you don't have any actual episodes to use for reference. As far we know that is, although a cameo in The Adventures of Jane is rumored to have happened at some point...
trevor travis
BradPaula wrote:
The members of Xenon Base looked on with exasperation as he disappeared from the shower room. It was obvious now to Trevor that the Orac he had seen on Mat Irvine’s table at the Return to Gauda Prime Two convention had truly been the genuine article- and really worked as it did on screen. He soon was back standing in the middle of his living room, only a bit disorientated by the effects of the teleport. He took the teleport bracelet off his wrist and stared at it. “This thing goes back to Mat tomorrow morning!”


However, another thought then came into Trevor's head.

"Orac", he stated, "please teleport me to Servalan's dungeon".

Sadly, Trevor Travis was never seen again.
@ Anniew: Bit of Fluff was a really great idea. I am translating yet another book on computer security but in all the years I never came upon such an intriguing idea for a security device. I really enjoyed that.

@ Paula: Wonderful new version of the song (thanks for the links - I thought I didn't know it, but it sounds familiar) ... and the story is just brilliant. But what are Tarrant and Dayna doing under the bench in the shower room? And ... erm ... what are they wearing? Pfft
One spooky coincidence: In February you told me that you had a similar idea to Citizen Og ... and this time I had an idea for completing the scene along similar lines as you!

@ Joe: Brilliant additions ... in particular Soolin as a member of the Trevor Travis Appreciation Society! Grin
Ah Hugbot.. Thank you. I suspect the inspiration came from Victorian mystery novels! More a sketch than a story but I did enjoy trying to capture Zen's tone of voice at the start of the series before contact with Jenna and Vila had humanised him.

Paula - did enjoy the shower scene. Shame it wasn't AvoN under the bench and me transporting in. The parody is very clever; that's not an easy song to riff on - the rhythms are so complicated.
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
Thank you everyone. I'm glad TT didn't mind a bit of lampooning on my part. Honestly- we're good friends!

@Hugbot: Hmm... I never gave it much thought as to what Dayna and Tarrant were wearing at the time. Probably each other's clothes upon being interrupted by TT.
Zil: Oneness must resist the Host.
trevor travis
BradPaula wrote:

Thank you everyone. I'm glad TT didn't mind a bit of lampooning on my part. Honestly- we're good friends!

Paula, I don't mind at all.

I didn't get hit by any Welsh street signs during the story either, so that's a plus Grin
Spaceship Dispatcher
Still waiting for TT to produce this photograph though. Grin
This was my take on the Dayna/Tarrant scene. As I said before the basic idea is similar to Paula’s masterpiece. I have to admit that the story is completely silly and unconvincing, but there are one or two gags that I really like, so here goes ...
As Blake’s 7 always conjures up images of quarries I interpreted the ‘bench’ as the geological term. I hope that was not another blunder.
Oh, and I just hope that I did not upset my involuntary heroine ... Grin

Beyond the Horizon

They crouched uncomfortably under the bench. Dayna opened her mouth to speak but Tarrant silenced her with a long finger held to his lips. Her eyes widened as she heard the noise. Ears straining, holding their breath, they listened to the sound of footsteps drawing near.

They relaxed when the two strangers strolled around the bend. These two people were obviously not dangerous. The middle-aged guy wore black trousers and a black coat but you could tell by his casual walk that he was not a trained Federation soldier. He sported a grey beard that once might have been red. His companion was a young woman with short curly hair who looked at the flora with expert eyes. Her violet raincoat shone brightly in the sun.

Tarrant and Dayna broke cover. Guns threatening, they challenged the two strangers.

"Who are you?" Tarrant demanded, "where do you come from?"

The newcomers eyed the rebels with a strange mixture of surprise and anticipation.

"I thought we might meet you," the black-clad guy said with a funny accent, "we were on a location visit and somehow managed to cross the Horizon ... and then we found ourselves here."

But Tarrant had already lost interest in the explanations. He had only eyes for the woman. Now this was really the girl next door. He felt the urge to move.

The woman smiled at him encouragingly. "Myosotis," she said.

"I won’t," he promised, "Polygonum orientale."

She blushed and her smile deepened.

Her companion turned to Dayna. "Well, it looks like there is something going on," he said, "why don’t we all settle down here? One house for these two lovebirds ... and another one for us?" His smile was ... well, whatever it was, it was more genuine and reassuring than Avon’s. Dayna looked the stranger up and down. It was hard to tell what she thought of him.

"Why should we do that?" she asked.

"If you stay with Avon, you’ll be dead in a few weeks," the black-clad guy answered, "he’ll get you all killed. Here we could all live in peace." He looked back to Tarrant and the botanist who were feasting their eyes on each other and exchanged sweet nothings.

"They seem to like the idea," he commented, "she will love to plant a garden. We can live on its fruits ... or vegetables ... or whatever."

Dayna was still not convinced. "And you?"

"Oh, I am afraid I am useless at weapons," he admitted, "my expertise is more in hugging. But when you come back from your dayly routine of killing and blowing things up, I will have a wonderful meal ready for you and tell you some stories ... and if you have any little chores for me in the evening ...?"

Dayna pondered the thought. It brought back memories of her childhood idyll, of peace and security. Maybe this was really better than running around the galaxy and chasing Feldon crystals, black gold, teenage crushes and other things that inevitably turned out to be fake and worthless.

But now the black-clad guy frowned. "There’s only one snag," he said, "we don’t have any tools for building houses and gardens."

Dayna produced a spade, a pair of secateurs and a wheelbarrow. "We could start with these," she suggested.

The black-clad guy loughed out loud. "So that’s where you hide them! I’d never thought of that!"

And so they built two cosy cottages and a big garden upon the river bench and lived happily ever after.
Hugbot - it's lovely. I think I might be tempted to leave Avon for a great meal, a lot of hugs and a good listener. ( actually I did - my husband is lovely too) And I love the final joke. Such a nice start to the day.
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
What a lovely read.
I'm sitting here, drinking my tea and then off to take daughter no. 2 to the Doctor.
That little story has set me up for the rest of the day................
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...
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Lara and Sue's Stories http://lectorisal....webs.com/
I think you will have made a certain Clarrant have a huge smile on her face!
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.
Oh dear. I'm a bit obsessed with Mrs Avon. This is a little Mills and Boon but I enjoyed writing it.

The Cage

Sometimes she remembers clearly the feeling of being understood completely so that, frequently, there was no need for words. She remembers the passion she felt when he touched her, the thrill and pulse of blood flushing her face when his eyes met hers. Cliches, all cliches - words are a pale communicator of her feelings yet how else can she express how completely satisfied she had felt then, for the first time in her life; the sensation that she was full to the brim displacing all the yearning, the irritated dissatisfaction, of her life before she met him?

Her fingers drum ceaseless against the wooden arms of the upright chair she sits in, a futile attempt to still the emptiness that crawls under her skin.


She had married young. It was a privilege that her hand had been sought by a member of the Avon family, or so her father told her and she'd been glad to obey him and escape his domineering presence. The Avons were wealthy, well placed in the financial services and often employed to advise the President. While she had not been old enough to understand what marriage was, fortunately, Trac Avon had proved an adoring husband and she had thought she was happy. What her life lacked in excitement, it made up for in luxury. When Tareg was born, she found that she enjoyed being a mother, especially as a Wet-nurse and Nanny dealt with the more visceral aspects of raising a child. But even Tareg was not enough. There were days when a cloud of restless longing would envelop her like a cloak. She had no name for the longing; the nearest she could get to it was that her life tasted like a meal served without seasoning. And she longed for salt.


They met at one of the President's parties, the spoiled, inexperienced beauty and the stranger, not really handsome but arresting in the confidence he exuded. He had taken her hand with only the warmth that the occasion prescribed, yet she had tingled from head to toe as his blunt fingers brushed against her skin. He smelled of ginger and nutmeg and his mouth had a quirk of knowing amusement as he briefly met her gaze. Those dark, dark eyes seemed to speak to a hither-to undiscovered core of her being and she had felt childish and exposed and determined to deny the unspoken invitation she sensed in them. She had refused him more than a glancing exchange throughout the evening although he was an important guest and Trac had spent much of it in conversation with him. When they left, he had bent once more over her hand and this time he had allowed his thumb, unseen, to stroke her inner wrist and she had felt the leap of some animal response, reckless, primitive, not to be denied.

His name? You want to know his name? She'll not tell, never tell. She has promised she won't speak it ever again, even though her throat aches with the urge to cry it aloud. It's the price Trac demanded for forgiveness and she gave him her word without any understanding of the way such a little thing would burn and twist in her brain; just as the foetus that had stirred in her womb had twisted and destroyed their intimacy, thrusting its way between them even before her belly had swelled.

He had not wanted to know. She had begged he acknowledge their child, take her away with him and he had laughed at her, as you would laugh at a fool, an idiot; thrown her back to the charity of her doting husband, whose forbearance and pitying understanding made the nausea rise and rise.

The pain of its birth was nothing to the pain of losing delight. It had entered the world reluctantly, as if sensing it was not wanted, a pale, dark haired scrap with nothing at first to remind her of him. It was only when the eyes focussed, changed from a milky blue to a darkness she grieved for every moment of her days, that she knew she couldn't bear to look at it, acknowledge it; that she would scream and scream if they tried to place it in her unwilling arms again.

With a cunning she had not known was hers, she had, little by little, constructed a cage of madness to contain time; the memories of those moments when she had been alive, when she had been with...

Oh no! You'll not trick his name from her lips. That secret is all she has left of him.

She could have loved it, that mewling scrap, cherished it, fed it gladly, wiped away its mess had it not reminded her too much of what she no longer had. Post-natal depression, they labelled it, her refusal to care; made it acceptable, something Society could pity and excuse. The thought of the reaction had she broken her word and given the child its proper inheritance roused a wild laughter and she had retreated further into her cage.


She rejects them all now, all but Tareg, using him to parody the intimacy she has lost. How they all flinch away when she kisses him, smearing the dark red of passion over his unwilling lips. It is a punishment she doles out to them all, even to herself, for this banishment to the barren wasteland where she spends her days.

As the antique time piece on her dressing table tolls out each minute of her reluctant existence, the whirling anger tightens, escapes in screams, writhing, even the urge to claw and strike. There is nothing here in this room she can use to end her days, every potential weapon protected by its own force field, shut away from her as effectively as sanity and hope is from her mind. She has lost the key. The cage she constructed so carefully around the treasure of memory is now a trap.

Emptiness crawls once more under the wrinkled skin and she drums her fingers frantically, willing the pain that, for a second, banishes the horrid sensation of its velvet grip.
Edited by Annie on 11 March 2015 17:14:34
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
@Anniew: Great. Really great. I am not a big fan of action stories but are more inclined to the psychological aspects of a story. Your piece has it all: convincing psychological insight, a gripping style and effective metaphors. Don't mind the washing, keep writing! Grin
Ah thank you Hugbot. That's a relief. I've been posting a lot of fiction and I worried that people might be thinking ' give it a rest, Annie'!
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
Another excellent piece, Annie!

I'm well behind on this... must get writing...
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
A statement of fact cannot be insolent
Real life is currently proving more of a challenge than this thread, so I've been woefully negligent in keeping up-to-date.

@JoeD - I love your MAD cartoon; it had crossed my mind when I thought about this month's word but I'm not an artist. I'm glad you were able to bring it to life so brilliantly. And I really enjoyed your pun- laden mini-sequels Smile

@AnnieW - That grey button is a great concept. Did someone press it already? Because the world sure has gone mad. And I've never really thought about Avon's mum in depth but thanks to your two recent ficlets she's becoming a real person in my mind.

@Paula - it's tricky getting a song rewrite to scan properly and you made it look effortless. And yes, TT turning up on Xenon Base meets both the challenges in one - what a fun story!

@Hugbot - Awww, you big softie. That story gives as big a hug as you do. Happily ever after in B7? Now that is a mad idea...

Really must get on with my ficlets, but I'm distracted by the twin temptations of breaking into TT's house to steal his bracelet and the dodgy story that's lurking along with me while Avon takes a shower... Cool
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