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blakes7-d Digest Volume 99 : Issue 70
Today's Topics:
[B7L] Flat Robin 29
RE: [B7L] Zine Scene
Re: [B7L] Flat Robin 29
Re: [B7L] Re: Blake's XI v Babylon XI cricket match at Redemption
[B7L] Flat Robin 30, by Arkaroo, I Swear
[B7L] Flat Robin 31
Re: [B7L] Too much caffeine
Re: [B7L] Fannishness
Re: [B7L] Too much caffeine
Re: [B7L] Flat Robin 29
Re: [B7L] Avon's background-- speculation
Re: [B7L] Flat Robin 32
Re: [B7L] Avon's background-- speculation
Re: [B7L] Avon's background-- speculation
Re: [B7L] Avon's background-- speculation
Re: [B7L] Re: Blake's XI v Babylon XI cricket match at Redemption
Re: [B7L] Too much caffeine
Re: [B7L] Constructive Criticism (was re: Fannishness)
Re: [B7L] Plotting
Re: [B7L] Fannishness
Re: [B7L] Fannishness
Re: [B7L] Flat Robin 32
Re: [B7L] Fannishness
------------------------------
Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 00:20:59 +0100
From: Jacqueline Thijsen <jacqueline.thijsen@cmg.nl>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: [B7L] Flat Robin 29
Message-ID: <39DCDDFD014ED21185C300104BB3F99F10FB36@NL-ARN-MAIL01>
Content-Type: text/plain
Vila stood looking at Binkie as Death climbed on its back. "I don't like
this at all", he complained, "the last time I was on top of that thing its
stabilizers weren't working and I fell off."
"THAT IS NOT UNUSUAL WHEN YOU TRY TO RIDE WHILE DRUNK."
"I wasn't drunk, I was in good spirits. I only drank some totally harmless
indigenous drink with apples in it. You can't get drunk on apples."
"IT WILL BE A SMOOTHER RIDE THIS TIME."
"I've heard that one before. All right, hold your horses, I'm coming
already."
"I ONLY HAVE ONE HORSE WITH ME."
"I'll wait for you while you get the other one, then. Whoaaaaaaa!!!!!!
Ouch!!You didn't have to do that!"
"IT SEEMED TO BE THE FASTEST WAY TO GET YOU ON THE HORSE."
With Vila still grumbling and rubbing the newly acquired tender spot on his
hind quarters, Death turned Binkie around and started it of towards home.
As they disappeared, there was suddenly the sound of hundreds of tiny feet.
The luggage stopped for a moment to get its bearings. It had always been
able to home in on its master, but for the past few hours it had been
thoroughly confused, as it was suddenly drawn in two directions at once. For
a while, the two 'signals' it used to home in on had been in the same place,
but just as the luggage had come near that spot, they split up again.
The luggage considered the situation. On the one hand, one signal was now
much closer than the other and so would be easiest to investigate. On the
other hand, that signal was coming from the relatively safe (for a wizard)
confines of the Mended Drum, while the other one was rapidly heading for an
utterly impossible spot, making it almost certain that this was Rincewind.
Having arrived at this conclusion, the luggage started running again.
------------------------------
Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 00:29:33 +0100
From: Jacqueline Thijsen <jacqueline.thijsen@cmg.nl>
To: Blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: RE: [B7L] Zine Scene
Message-ID: <39DCDDFD014ED21185C300104BB3F99F10FB37@NL-ARN-MAIL01>
Content-Type: text/plain
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Helen Krummenacker [SMTP:avona@jps.net]
> Sent: Saturday, February 20, 1999 10:34 PM
> To: Blakes7@lysator.liu.se
> Subject: Re: [B7L] Zine Scene
>
> Jacqueline Thijsen wrote:
> >
> > Avona said:
> >
> > > > You light three candles and stand in front of a mirror in a darkened
> > > > room and chant "I believe in Terry Pratchett."
> > >
> > > WHo of course, appears _outside_ the magic octogram and asks if we
> > > really wanted him, why don't we use paper and a stamp like everyone
> > > else. Then looks us over and asks which one's the mother, which one's
> > > the maiden, and which one's the crone. I'll take dibs on crone.
> > >
> > > --Avona, the 29 year old crone.
> > >
> > You're not calling me a mother, are you? I'm 31 years old (32 in less
> than
> > two months), and unless I'm very much mistaken about Penny, that makes
> me
> > the oldest member of this bunch.
>
> I had a vague notion she had children. Alright, but I've been married 10
> years. I guess since my cat gives me mother's day cards, I can be the
> one in the middle. But let it be noted, a mother to _cats only_!
>
Alright, in that case I'll be the maiden. Now what are you guys laughing
about?
Jacqueline
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 16:01:46 PST
From: "Penny Dreadful" <pdreadful@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Flat Robin 29
Message-ID: <19990221000147.21673.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
Very good, and you know I'm not just saying that for fear of incurring
your wrathful sulk.
______________________________________________________
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------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 19:01:56 EST
From: Mac4781@aol.com
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Re: Blake's XI v Babylon XI cricket match at Redemption
Message-ID: <485ce501.36cf4cf4@aol.com>
Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII
Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit
Harriet wrote:
> Well, that's probably up to Chris...
Er... Chris... :) Even a short summary would be appreciated.
> Hey, it was only an MBE... or do you have secret access to future
> announcements?
Dang, I let the cat out of the bag... ;-) Okay, so what I really did was
presume the minimum honor a Queen would confer would be a Sirhood. What
exactly is an MBE?
> >I hope this is Sheridan when he wasn't sporting face fuzz.
>
> I certainly hope it's with. The beard improved him no end.
Well, I shall be picturing him furless. Perhaps I've seen one too many
baseball player with hair on his chinny-chin-chin of late.
> Did you not see any pictures of W. G. Grace when you were at Lord's?
If he had a hairy face and I saw his pic, I probably skimmed over it with
great speed. I generally prefer clean shaven. Except maybe for Sean Connery.
Carol Mc (picturing how lovely Tarrant is going to look in his white uniform)
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 16:07:38 PST
From: "Penny Dreadful" <pdreadful@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Cc: arkaroo@hotmail.com, egomoo@geocities.com
Subject: [B7L] Flat Robin 30, by Arkaroo, I Swear
Message-ID: <19990221000741.25915.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
Arkaroo claims to have a "life" or some such and bids me once more pass
this on With Warmest Wishes.
------
>...making it almost certain that this was Rincewind.
>Having arrived at this conclusion, the luggage started running again.
***
The foot traffic in Lord Beaversmasher's [1] Square had dwindled down
into a few drunken (or dead) souls since the grey drizzle of semi-liquid
material that Ankh-Morpork called `rain' had started its daily visit. A
solitary vendor stood in the center of the increasingly dampening square
manning a push-cart. A vaporous cloud swirled around the cart as the
water-like droplets from the sky encountered the deep-fat fryer, the fat
of which was said to have remained unchanged since the Great A'tuin's
last bowel movement [2], and steamed into horrified non-existence. The
sign hanging from the business-end of the gently sizzling
food-conveyance read `Dibbler's Foodstuff Adventure'.
'Deep-Fried-Preserved-Bog-Meat-onna-stick,' cried Dibbler, waving what
appeared to be a leather mitt speared on a soiled kebab in the air.
'It's like a One-Hundred-Year-Old egg, only...' He examined the lump on
the end of the stick. '...slightly older than One-Hundred-Years.'
The rank smell of roasting gloves wafted over the marketplace from
Dibbler's stall and drifted into the adjoining thoroughfare, halted in
its tracks only by the palpable olfactory emissions of the Ankh-Morpork
Gristle Reclamation Plant [3]. No matter how busy the area he set up his
stall was originally, after experiencing the subtle yet unstoppable
smells of his cookery for a few hours, the crowds would dissipate,
unaware of why the powerful urge to flee began to form in their stomachs
and/or wallets. Dibbler would have gotten the impression that nobody
liked his food if the greed center of his brain hadn't brutally
smothered his logic center in a fit of pique many years ago.
Dibbler sighed deeply and pulled the collar of his eel-skin jacket up
higher. The lovely wads of jerkied flesh coated with peat that had
tumbled down from the sky earlier that day had proved a more unsaleable
product than usual. The crowd of ravenous drunks he'd managed to corner
but an hour ago in Lord Tumbledown's Square had gone into strange
convulsions after trying his `Preserved-Bog-Meat-in-Foliage' wraps, and
he'd been forced to quickly remove himself from the scene when the Watch
was called in. The crowds that drifted by his current position were
employees of the Assassins Guild, and thus a lot less drunk and a lot
more suspicious of what they ingested.
He was preparing to pack up his push-cart and head to greener pastures
(or, rather, the somewhat Excrement Brown pastures outside the `Mended
Drum') when his opportunity gland sensed an impending event and squirted
avarice-extract into the base of his spine. Through the fog came a five
stumbling forms, muttering to themselves with odd accents. He was barely
able to see their silhouettes through the mist, but atop those
silhouettes he could see outlandish hats.
Hello, though Dibbler, big hats and odd accents mean Tourists. He
slapped a fresh (comparatively speaking) batch of bog-meat into the
fryer and began sharpening extra kebabs. `Getcher fresh official
Ankh-Morpork-Local-Delicacy-onna-stick here! Cheapest in town! All sales
final!' He stared into the mist at the approaching forms.
Through the fog stepped a disturbing sight (one which the local drunks
saw nightly, thanks to the extra ingredients in `Professor Gubbin's
Not-So-Lucky Lager (For External Use Only)'): five fully-matured pigs
walking on their hind legs and conversing amongst themselves. Dibbler
would have thought of that as unusual had his coffers not been throbbing
in anticipation. The pigs all wore hats, in various states on
cleanliness. One of the swine was holding a rusted steel cauldron
brimming with green liquid.
`I say, Captain, rather a stroke of luck finding these creatures to
possess, wot?' said the pig holding the cauldron.
`Not quite wizards, but they'll do for now. `Ere, this bloke roasting
those road-apples seems to be at the center of things. Maybe he knows
where this bloody University is,' said the largest pig, a gargantuan hog
wearing a garish glod-braided Captain's cap. He trotted towards Dibbler,
awkwardly balanced on his little hooves.
'Excuse me, vendor of questionable foodstuffs,' the enormous hog said.
'Have you seen any garishly-robed and/or obese humanoid specimens ripe
for probi... possessi... chatting with around here?' Dibbler noticed
with detached curiousity that the pig was clutching a riding crop. `Most
likely they will be weaing pointed hats and performing feats of what you
people would call "magic".'
Dibbler looked at the robust pigginess of his potential-customers, made
a mental calculation, and then gave the Captain of the swine a smile so
toothy and helpful that even a ravenous wolverine would make sure to
count all appendages before fleeing. 'I may have seen such people,
possibly, possibly. Please, step into this secluded alley while I
attempt to rally my thoughts,' Dibbler said, surrepticiously removing a
sharp knife from within his cart. He gestured towards the mouth of the
alley helpfully. `After you, my dear sirs.'
'This chap's very helpful. Shame we'll have to reduce him to his
component atoms,' said the Captain, edging his way past a heap of peat
and bog-meat. `Oh look! Apples!'
`Rather nice alley, this. Reminds me of the Royal Palace. Same basic
layout.'
`What's that chap got in his hand, anyways? Oh, Bugger.'
>From within the darkened interior of the alley came squeal after squeal
of porcine invective: `Bloody cheek! Stop that! Get away from me with
that apple, you... Ooooch!'
None of the remaining denizens of the square looked at all suprised by
this racket. Anyone who'd lingered near Dibbler's place(s) of business
long enough knew of his proclivity for turning any living (or formerly
living) creature into a source of protein, available `onna-stick' for a
small fee.
Two pigs emerged from the mouth of the alleyways, panting for breath.
`Bloody hell, Captain,' the First Mate wheezed, sprinting for safety.
`That bloke's just butchered our entire clerical staff.'
The Captain followed at his hooves, dragging the cauldron behind
him.`Right. *That* bugger is going to get it when I get our ship
functional again. Try and stick an apple where only an Andromedan should
dare venture, will he?'
***
[1] A military leader from lower Maul, infamous for unsucessfully
putting down the Maulish rebellion and for his last words, `Those filthy
savages couldn't possibly hit the broad side of a barn from that far
away, let alone me, with those puny little arrows', uttered just seconds
prior to his unfortunate impalement by approximately two dozen arrows,
proving once more that while a barn may remain untouched in a atomic
blast, a bombastic wanker is like a magnet for ironic death.
[2] The Year of the Rumbling Weasel, 75 years previous. Notable for the
many earthquakes and the remarkble plume visible just above the horizon
in Rimward lands.
[3] The interaction of smells in Ankh-Morpork had led to a separate
field of study at the Unseen University known as Olfactoromany, wherein
it was posited that if two stinks of equal but opposite odour of
sufficient power were smashed into each other at high speeds they would
form fascinating new stinks that would only exist for a few femtoseconds
in the Stinkotron Chamber but would linger in the halls outside the
laboratory for years and make the cafeteria unusable.
______________________________________________________
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------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 16:43:22 PST
From: "Penny Dreadful" <pdreadful@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Cc: arkaroo@hotmail.com, egomoo@geocities.com
Subject: [B7L] Flat Robin 31
Message-ID: <19990221004324.9276.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
>'Try and stick an apple where only an Andromedan should
>dare venture, will he?'
***
The scraping of the cauldron full of Andromedan Surprise (Surprise! It's
a mess of angry live Andromedans!) over the cobblestones above brought
on another shower of debris. Thus it was with an eye full of grit and a
mouth full of what is best described, for the sake of the more delicate
souls amongst our readership, as rich soil, that Travis regained
consciousness just as the rats had succeeded in prying off his other
boot.
"Give me that, you little--" he shrieked, scrambling to his feet and
thereby banging his head on the sewer's low ceiling. He fell over,
swearing colourfully and at length. The rats, meanwhile, had regrouped
at the first unexpected sign of life and now stood with their tiny
swords drawn, prepared to defend their (quite literal) booty to the
death.
Travis bared his teeth and advanced upon them, staggering doubled over
but with gun-arm at the ready. "So it's going to be like *that*, is it?"
he hissed. "Well, which of the bunch of *you* are going to go down
before *I* do?"
The rats exchanged glances, gauged the degree of concussed kamikaze
insanity in their erstwhile victim's eye, reassessed the worth of his
boots, and ran.
"Wise choice," Travis sneered, and fired dizzily at their fleeing forms,
which brought a further rain of cobblestones down upon his head. He
swore again.
"Now what kind of language is that to be using in the presence of a
lady, hypothetically speaking of course?" asked a voice in the gloom
behind him. Startled, he jerked upright again, and then swore some more.
"Why, you've repeated *that* one *twice* now," said the voice.
"Exhausted your repertoire so soon? What *are* they teaching you
youngsters these days?"
Travis finished pulling on his boots. He contemplated the odd rubber hat
that had been lying beside them, which seemed vaguely familiar, but
decided to leave it be. Then he turned around cautiously. "Who's there?"
he shouted. "Show yourself!" He waved his gun-arm wildly at the wavering
murk in front of him.
"Ooh, what a nice ring!" exclaimed Nanny Ogg, materializing out of the
darkness at his side and seizing his left wrist in an iron grip.
"Engaged, are we?"
"What?" Sometime between his glorious victory over the rats and the
present, he sensed, he had lost his mastery of the situation.
"No? Oh, *good*!" Always thinking of our Nell, was Nanny Ogg.
***
When Cally eventually *did* notice the pursuit ship, it was only because
its shadow fell upon her. She looked straight up and beheld the only
thing for miles around that had not even the faintest sheen of octarine.
The only absolutely unmagical object she had seen since she teleported
down. It took her longer than it should have to identify it. Then she
ran to flatten herself against the base of the tower (the throng which
had gathered there previously had since heard the dinner-bell ring) and
whispered frantically into her bracelet. "Vila!" Silence. "Vila! Answer
me!"
"Daiiiisy, Daaaaiiiiiisy, giiiive me yooouuur..."
"Vila, are you *drunk*? What am I saying? I mean, Vila, are you drunker
than *usual*?"
"Vila is not here. That was Zen."
"Orac? So he's snuck off again, has he, the little -- I'll -- oh never
mind. Where's Jenna?"
"With Vila."
"Oh dear. Orac, our holiday is officially over. Teleport us *all* up
*now*."
"Technically, if I *were* to teleport you, it would most likely be
*down* rather than *up*. But the point is moot because all teleport
functions are temporarily unavailable."
"...aaaaaanswer doooo..." droned the voice she had first heard. "Is that
Zen?" she asked. "What's wrong with him?"
"Strictly speaking, Zen is not a 'him'. I should know, I've been
trouncing it at strip poker for an hour straight."
Cally felt woozy. She wondered if the high levels of ambient magic were
merely affecting her thought processes, or whether they really did make
rationality cease to operate as a factor in the external world. She
wished she had a coin to flip in the spirit of scientific inquiry.
"Strip poker," she murmured at length. Let go of logic and it all became
so much more comprehensible. "So you've -- somehow -- *stripped* him of
half his diodes and now he's too *dim* to teleport us."
"It. Eighty percent. And the teleport had already been rendered
nonfunctional before we started playing, presumably as a side-effect of
either the missile-strike or our impact with the bog."
There was a lengthy silence.
"Cally?" Orac ventured.
"I'm half-crazy," Cally prompted Zen. At least Orac hoped that was why
she said it. "Well, I'm off to the High Energy Magic Building. Give my
regards to Travis and Servalan."
"My schedule is rather tight at the moment for exchanging pleas-- high
energy *what*? Regards to *who*?"
Cally smiled, and didn't answer.
***
"There there, did the mean old elf hurt you?" Nanny Ogg grunted as she
dragged Travis up out of the sewer by the hood of his sodden monk's
robe.
"Yes," said Travis, staring at the spinning sky as Nanny began to drag
him down the cobblestone street. "Mean old elf." Bumpity-bump.
"Well, she's gone now," Nanny said. A door opened, and closed, and now a
certain degree of verticality and a series of sharp corners informed him
he was being hauled up a flight of stairs. "We'll just get you out of
them, ah, *wet* clothes--" In this enclosed space the sewage-baptised
Space Commander had a rather aromatic presence even by Ankh-Morpork
standards. "--put a little eye of newt on those cuts, and you'll be as
right as rain." Another door opened. "Here we are," Nanny concluded, and
deposited him on the wooden floor near another body, which he might have
taken for dead except that it was giggling hysterically. He couldn't
seem to focus his eye well enough to make out the face.
"I'm just going to go nab that newt," said Nanny, and Travis heard the
sound of her footsteps retreating. "You two play nice," she chuckled,
and then the door slammed shut behind her.
***
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------------------------------
Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 11:54:20 +1100
From: Kathryn Andersen <kat@welkin.apana.org.au>
To: "Blake's 7 list" <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Too much caffeine
Message-ID: <19990221115420.55163@welkin.apana.org.au>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
On Sat, Feb 20, 1999 at 05:13:02PM -0500, Pherber@aol.com wrote:
> > In a message dated 2/16/99 9:48:25 AM Mountain Standard Time,
> > ijc@bsfiles.nerc-bas.ac.uk writes:
> >
> > << It's especially good on stellar end-states: all the stuff about
> > white dwarfs, black holes and neutron stars is pretty sound. >>
>
> >On Wed, Feb 17, 1999 at 12:34:02AM -0500, Pherber@aol.com wrote:
> > <<Yeah, well, up until they fly through the black holes.........<grin>>>
>
> In a message dated 2/17/99 1:54:49 AM Mountain Standard Time,
> kat@welkin.apana.org.au writes:
>
> << But the "black hole" in Dawn of the Gods wasn't a black hole anyway -
> it was an artificial gravity generator. >>
>
> True, but the one in Breakdown wasn't artificial, and they flew through *it*.
> Maybe the secret is in the application of silly special effects? Or maybe
> someone had just gotten a REALLY BIG blow dryer and wanted to try it out?
The one in Breakdown wasn't a Black Hole either! They never called it
a Black Hole at all. It was a "gravitational vortex", whatever that
means. But it wasn't a Black Hole.
Now, doubtless, gravitational vortexes don't exist, but that is an
error of a different sort.
--
_--_|\ | Kathryn Andersen <kat@welkin.apana.org.au>
/ \ | http://home.connexus.net.au/~kat
\_.--.*/ | #include "standard/disclaimer.h"
v |
------------| Melbourne -> Victoria -> Australia -> Southern Hemisphere
Maranatha! | -> Earth -> Sol -> Milky Way Galaxy -> Universe
------------------------------
Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 11:23:11 +1100
From: Kathryn Andersen <kat@welkin.apana.org.au>
To: "Blake's 7 list" <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Fannishness
Message-ID: <19990221112311.55963@welkin.apana.org.au>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
On Sat, Feb 20, 1999 at 01:06:46AM -0000, Neil Faulkner wrote:
> Fanfic that restricts itself to the 'canon', however, is very reluctant to
> get inventive in this way. Consequently there is no definition of personal
> vision (what I believe the media studies people call 'individuation').
> Canon-restricted fanfic goes out of its way _not_ to individuate - as if the
> writer is scared of imprinting his/er personal stamp on the series for some
> reason (rejection by the fanfic reading community, perhaps?). A typical
> feature of such fanfic is the way the writer strives to show how s/he can
> 'capture' the characters by having them speak and act firmly in-character -
> so in-character, in fact, that they are reduced to caricatures (often
> labelled as the Burly Rebel Leader, Sneering Tech, Little Thief etc).
Well, caricatures seem a sign of bad *writing* rather than just
slavish adherence to canon.
I suppose you couldn't give any actual *examples* of "too-cannonish"
writing so we can get a more precise handle on what you mean?
> (c)in what year (New Calendar) did Avon kill Blake on Gauda Prime?
> (c) NC 165.
I suppose that is based on the assumption that _The Way Back_ occurred
in NC 152? We do know, from analysis of the screens of data in _The
Way Back_, that the current year was probably '52. I'd always thought
that meant it was NC 252, but now you've confused me -- was Blake's 7
supposed to be in the *second* or *third* century of the New Calendar?
I don't think it's mentioned on-screen, just in some publicity
material.
--
_--_|\ | Kathryn Andersen <kat@welkin.apana.org.au>
/ \ | http://home.connexus.net.au/~kat
\_.--.*/ | #include "standard/disclaimer.h"
v |
------------| Melbourne -> Victoria -> Australia -> Southern Hemisphere
Maranatha! | -> Earth -> Sol -> Milky Way Galaxy -> Universe
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 20:19:35 -0700
From: Helen Krummenacker <avona@jps.net>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Too much caffeine
Message-ID: <36CF7B47.6DD8@jps.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Pherber@aol.com wrote:
>
> > In a message dated 2/16/99 9:48:25 AM Mountain Standard Time,
> > ijc@bsfiles.nerc-bas.ac.uk writes:
> >
> > << It's especially good on stellar end-states: all the stuff about
> > white dwarfs, black holes and neutron stars is pretty sound. >>
>
> >On Wed, Feb 17, 1999 at 12:34:02AM -0500, Pherber@aol.com wrote:
> > <<Yeah, well, up until they fly through the black holes.........<grin>>>
(snip)
> True, but the one in Breakdown wasn't artificial, and they flew through *it*.
> Maybe the secret is in the application of silly special effects? Or maybe
> someone had just gotten a REALLY BIG blow dryer and wanted to try it out?
Eddwoode and the Lady got together on that one. The Liberator and crew
survived thanks to friends in high places. <g>
--Avona (who has obviously spent too much time thinnking about the flat
robin, and is considering setting up a shrine to Eddwoode, presided over
by her hommade Tom Servo puppet.)
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 20:31:44 -0700
From: Helen Krummenacker <avona@jps.net>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Flat Robin 29
Message-ID: <36CF7E20.20C8@jps.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
May I add a footnote?
> Vila stood looking at Binkie as Death climbed on its back. "I don't like
> this at all", he complained, "the last time I was on top of that thing its
> stabilizers weren't working and I fell off."
>
> "THAT IS NOT UNUSUAL WHEN YOU TRY TO RIDE WHILE DRUNK."
>
> "I wasn't drunk, I was in good spirits. I only drank some totally harmless
> indigenous drink with apples in it. You can't get drunk on apples."[1]
>
> "IT WILL BE A SMOOTHER RIDE THIS TIME."
1. This statement deserves consideration. If Vila meant it to apply to
Death, whom he was addressing, he was in fact, correct. Death could not
get drunk on apples, although provided he drank enough scumble, he could
manage a close approxiamtion. If he meant it to apply generally, he was
incorrect. The green additives to the blood serum the Mutoids used had
the effect of fermenting fresh fruit in the stomach, and thus, Mutoids
ate fresh fruit for a mild buzz. Lynette condsidered being a fruit
seller to be rather akin to being a barmaid. And finally, if Vila meant
_he_ couldn't get drunk off of scumble, he had a point. It wasn't really
the _alcohol_ in it that had made him fall off a horse, and had Blake
currently banging his head on the floor to the tune of the Hedgehog
song. There were much, much more intoxicating things in scumble{2} than
alcohol, and by the time you had enough to be properly drunk, you'd
probably have been comatose for hours from the _other_ things.
>
2. Octohol, for instance, a potent liquid of fermented magic.
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 20:43:15 PST
From: "Sally Manton" <smanton@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Avon's background-- speculation
Message-ID: <19990221044319.24945.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
>Motivation of the Alpha and Beta grades could be accomplished more
through
>appealing to their 'enlightened self-interest' than threats and
suppression.
>Although in Avon's case, it certainly seems that he didn't find what
they were
>offering him to be sufficient...
And IMO never would. Avon seems to me to be the incorrigibly criminal
type, rather like Vila (which could explain why they didn't bother with
the brain-washing - maybe it didn't work against simple greed). I also
feel there might have been an element in his crimes of simply doing it
for the thrill of breaking the banking system; the only evidence I have,
of course, is that that seems to be his motivation for breaking the
Casino in Gambit, far more so than the money involved.
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------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 22:20:16 -0700
From: Helen Krummenacker <avona@jps.net>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Flat Robin 32
Message-ID: <36CF9790.EE1@jps.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall seperating the cobblestone
street where the host pigs lay oozing blood under Dibbler's knife was a
room lined with cashmere tapestries and velvet chairs. The furnishings
were tasteful, yet very colorful. After all, every color went with
black, and that was what the people inside always wore.
A rosey-cheeked man whose unworked hands and bright complexion gave him
an air of youth in spite of his bald spot and grandfatherly white hair
beemed at the new applicants. "Lynette and Suzette? What pretty names,
and what lovely grils you are. You said you have some experience in the
field, already?"
"We used to be soldiers," said Suzette.
Lynette added, "But we are mad as hell and not going to take it any
more. So we would like to kill people freelance."
"I quite agree," said the man, who was known as Haddagger, Dean of
Admissions and Removals. "Better pay, and you get to set your own hours.
But you must have our training to be full Guild members, you know. The
tuition alone is--" he named a sum that would have made them pale, if
they weren't already. "The room and board is extra, but it's a much
better deal that you'll get off premises."
"We," Suzette looked at Lynette helplessly, "We have no local currency!"
"Well, we try to be flexible," said Haddagger. "We can give you a
provisional liscense, for the time being, and you can earn your
tuition."
Lynette smiled, "Oh! A work-study plan. This is much like signing up for
the Federation Academy."
Suzette shook her head. "No, here, they only want gold. The Federation
wanted our souls."
Haddagger pursed his lips in a slow, sad way. "Well, we don't want your
souls, but there is a _chance_ you'll lose them. You see, we can't give
you the provsional liscense until you pass at least one examination." A
scream in the room overhead started and stopped, unfinished, in an
instant. "Indeed, although we will be training you, there is only one
test any Assassin _has_ to pass."
Lynette eyed the head bouncing down the stairs thoughtfully. "A
practical exam."
"Yes," sighed Haddagger, "and the students are very competitive." He
picked up the head and put it in a box for mailing. "Poor Viscount
Viscera just discovered he should have paid more attention to the Traps
Seminar. And I suppose this means young Lemok is almost at the head of
his class now."
"What does Lemok look like?" demanded Suzette.
Haddagger smiled. "I see you're quite eager. Let me bring out the
student yearbook[1], and you can review your targets." He drew out a
leatherbound volume, with many woodcuts whose captions had been X'd out,
and the women bent there heads over it in turn, each one keeping a look
out while the other memorized faces and useful information.
1 The student yearbook for the Ankh-Morpork Assassin's Guild was always
printed at the begining of the year. That way everyone was included,
without having a book mostly full of morgue shots. It was a nice momento
for the parents of the deceased, and also served as a portfolio for the
graduates.
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 22:29:57 -0700
From: Helen Krummenacker <avona@jps.net>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Avon's background-- speculation
Message-ID: <36CF99D6.67C@jps.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Sally Manton wrote:
>
> >Motivation of the Alpha and Beta grades could be accomplished more
> through
> >appealing to their 'enlightened self-interest' than threats and
> suppression.
> >Although in Avon's case, it certainly seems that he didn't find what
> they were
> >offering him to be sufficient...
>
> And IMO never would. Avon seems to me to be the incorrigibly criminal
> type, rather like Vila (which could explain why they didn't bother with
> the brain-washing - maybe it didn't work against simple greed).
Maybe. I think he is incorrigible in a totalitarian environment, where
it is a crime to challenge authority. Where it is a crime to challenge
authority, then the desire comes to challenge authority through crime.
Make it worth while. He doesn't challenge for the sake of the group, but
out of an inner need.
Thus he acts as irritant on the Liberator, but often in a useful
fashion.
In modern society, Avon would likely rankle authority through playing
obnoxious pranks on a boss, or perhaps being a scriptwriter for Dilbert.
I also
> feel there might have been an element in his crimes of simply doing it
> for the thrill of breaking the banking system; the only evidence I have,
> of course, is that that seems to be his motivation for breaking the
> Casino in Gambit, far more so than the money involved.
Oh, yes! The money, I think is basically a way of keeping score, now
that he doesn't haave to try to buy freedom for himself and Anna. Else
one day the Liberator would have found itself minus one computer whiz
and a big heap of the jewels and such from the treasury.
Only I just thought of something... what if the reason we never heard
about those riches again was because all of those valuables were
actually fakes?
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 21:00:05 PST
From: "Sally Manton" <smanton@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Avon's background-- speculation
Message-ID: <19990221050005.28423.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
>Only I just thought of something... what if the reason we never heard
>about those riches again was because all of those valuables were
>actually fakes?
>
How can you *say* that? They *looked* so real...
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------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 23:04:46 -0600
From: "Lorna B." <msdelta@magnolia.net>
To: <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Avon's background-- speculation
Message-Id: <199902210458.WAA04250@pemberton.magnolia.net>
Sally (and someone else) conversed:
>>Only I just thought of something... what if the reason we never heard
>>about those riches again was because all of those valuables were
>>actually fakes?
>>
>
>How can you *say* that? They *looked* so real...
That could be like saying Vila has such an honest face!
Lorna B.
"Cookies and porn? You're the best mom ever!"
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 21:24:29 PST
From: "Sally Manton" <smanton@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Re: Blake's XI v Babylon XI cricket match at Redemption
Message-ID: <19990221052429.28968.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
>
>Carol Mc (picturing how lovely Tarrant is going to look in his white
uniform)
>
Not single-minded or anything, are we, Carol? We're supposed to be
watching the *game*.
(Avon in white...hmmm. Be worth staying awake for)
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------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 21:28:30 -0800
From: mistral@ptinet.net
To: B7 list <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Too much caffeine
Message-ID: <36CF997D.7162EF3C@ptinet.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Oops! I accidentally sent this to Nina instead of the list. Sorry, Nina. I humbly
apologize. But I still need an astrophysicist.
> > kat@welkin.apana.org.au writes:
> >
> > << But the "black hole" in Dawn of the Gods wasn't a black hole anyway -
> > it was an artificial gravity generator. >>
>
> and Nina replies:
>
> > True, but the one in Breakdown wasn't artificial, and they flew through *it*.
>
> I seem to recall that they called the thing in Breakdown a 'gravity well' and a
> 'gravity spiral' -- I don't recall it being called a black hole. Is a 'gravity
> well' the same as a black hole? Is there even such a thing? Quick, who's got an
> astrophysicist in his pocket?
>
> > Maybe the secret is in the application of silly special effects? Or maybe
> > someone had just gotten a REALLY BIG blow dryer and wanted to try it out?
>
> That must be the reason. Makes perfect sense to me.
>
> Mistral
> --
> "And for my next trick, I shall swallow my other foot."--Vila
--
"And for my next trick, I shall swallow my other foot."--Vila
------------------------------
Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 06:51:17 -0000
From: "Neil Faulkner" <N.Faulkner@tesco.net>
To: "lysator" <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Constructive Criticism (was re: Fannishness)
Message-ID: <000a01be5d66$b788dd40$5c1eac3e@default>
Content-Type: text/plain;
charset="iso-8859-1"
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Penny wrote:
>I didn't mean to imply I was an English (ie Literature) major -- the
>only English I took was the prerequisite Freshman course. I've
>definitely read more Pratchett than Shakespeare. And more comic books
>than all (other?) literary genres put together, I'm sure. What I *meant*
>was that my post-secondary education had hardened my heart to
>Constructive Criticism, a.k.a. People Who Are Obviously Stupider Than
>You Trying To Prove That You Are Stupider Than Them.
It isn't always like that. I've had some extremely helpful input from
Judith P, Russ Massey and others over the years. And Judith isn't
_obviously_ stupider than me... My general reaction to constructive
criticism runs something like this:
On receiving it - 'The bastards. How dare they?'
Two hours later - 'Okay, so they might have a point.'
24 hours later - 'Okay, so they _do_ have a point.'
One week later - 'I really hate rewriting, but...'
Mind you, nobody's yet managed to tell me how to construct a manageable
plot. That's how most of my fanfic ends up unfinished.
Neil
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 20 Feb 1999 21:46:03 +0100 (BST)
From: Judith Proctor <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Plotting
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0220204603-b07Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII
On Sat 20 Feb, Penny Dreadful wrote:
> Ever so haughtily, I said:
>
> >I think Arkaroo and I have a vague consensus as to what *we* think
> >the plot-line should be...
>
> And immediately after posting that I thought, "My, that sounds
> presumptious, considering *I* had nothing to do with the original idea,
> or the first ten installments." I hereby withdraw all claim to
> plot-control. Avona and Jacqueline have precedence in that regard,
> followed by Arkaroo, and lastly me. Sorry, fellow Flatties.
Jacqueline replied
> No apologies necessary, as you did contribute most of it. But do please let us
> in on it, so we can tell you exactly what we don't like about it :-).
Helen also replied:
>
> Piffle! I read your statement to mean, "Arkaroo and I have been
> consulting and have an idea where we want to go with this, but not
> having consulted the others yet, I don't presume to speak for them."
> Humble, rather than haughty.
> Speaking for myself, I was glad to see that you did present us with a
> problem that would need resolving (i.e. a plotline). I'm not too good
> with plot ideas, being more of a character-driven writer. When others
> give me plots, I sigh gratefully and begin to feel that there _is_ hope
> that the straw of my mad idea will be turned into Glod.
If Avona feels the same way, then you have a consensus. If you've got a general
outline, fill them in on it and then all freewheel within the outline. (The
trick is to try and not to leave too many loose ends at the end of the story.)
Anyway, whatever you do, don't worry about it to the extent that you stop
writing. I've been bored to death by most round robins I've read. This one is
really fun.
Judith
--
http://www.hermit.org/Blakes7
Redemption 99 - The Blakes 7/Babylon 5 convention
26-28 February 1999, Ashford International Hotel, Kent
http://www.smof.com/redemption/
------------------------------
Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 07:46:26 -0000
From: "Neil Faulkner" <N.Faulkner@tesco.net>
To: "lysator" <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Fannishness
Message-ID: <007f01be5d6e$7eee8860$5c1eac3e@default>
Content-Type: text/plain;
charset="iso-8859-1"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Kathryn wrote:
>Well, caricatures seem a sign of bad *writing* rather than just
>slavish adherence to canon.
The two do seem to go together.
>I suppose you couldn't give any actual *examples* of "too-cannonish"
>writing so we can get a more precise handle on what you mean?
I'm stuck between shifts at the moment so I don't have time to trawl through
my zine collection looking for examples. But there are quite a few of them.
>> (c)in what year (New Calendar) did Avon kill Blake on Gauda Prime?
>> (c) NC 165.
>
>I suppose that is based on the assumption that _The Way Back_ occurred
>in NC 152?
Correct.
>We do know, from analysis of the screens of data in _The
>Way Back_, that the current year was probably '52. I'd always thought
>that meant it was NC 252, but now you've confused me -- was Blake's 7
>supposed to be in the *second* or *third* century of the New Calendar?
>I don't think it's mentioned on-screen, just in some publicity
>material.
It never is mentioned in any episode, so pick a number and stick 52 after
it. I believe the only reference to the New Calendar was in Pressure Point,
Blake referring to the Federation demolishing churches when the New Calendar
was introduced. The publicity material apparently mentions the third
century of the _Second_ Calendar - never mentioned on-screen at all.
Most people opt for third century, which is fair enough. I went for second
long ago and have since stuck with it. I have an outline 150-year history
of the Terran Federation which I don't feel inclined to muck around with
(and sticking in an extra hundred years would involve a fair bit of mucking
about).
Going back a bit, Jacqueline wrote:
>I'll bet you feel questions (d) and (e) are the most important :-)
Oh, so I'm a beer-swilling footie fan, am I? Thank you ever so much. The
most important one, to me, was actually (b) (How far is a spacial?) since
that determines detector ranges with attendant plot implications. (c) (In
what year did Avon kill Blake?) is also of general significance if the
events in the series are to be referred to in any historical perspective.
(a) (Who is the President?) became crucial in a Servalan origins story I had
to abandon (plotting again, and the fact that I got a job). (e) (Favourite
spectator sport/team) plugs a hole in the background that I feel ought to be
filled (though I have no personal interest in sport at all), and (d) (The
price of a glass of beer) I'd never really thought about until I included it
in the relevant post the other day.
Maybe you have Five Questions of your own, along with Five Answers? No
doubt Penny will make me regret asking... Just to kick you off, here's
another five.
(a) What is the official Space Command designation for a Starburst pursuit
ship?
(b) What is the difference between a Commander and a Space Commander?
(c) Who is the Federation's largest insurance broker?
(d) What is the most popular soap opera watched by Federation citizens,
assuming they have soap operas to watch.
(e) Why does every planet seem to be covered with Buddleia?
Remember, the answers are _not_ in the series.
Neil
------------------------------
Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 01:57:08 PST
From: "Penny Dreadful" <pdreadful@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Fannishness
Message-ID: <19990221095708.3800.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
Look! A Sarcastic-Bastard Trap, baited with finest cheese and beer by
the litre!
>(d) What is the most popular soap opera watched by Federation
>citizens, assuming they have soap operas to watch.
"Coronation Dome".
>(e) Why does every planet seem to be covered with Buddleia?
Is that British for 'gravel'? If so I believe Avona answered this one
very well.
As for my five questions, I fear good taste (stop laughing, you in the
back!) prevents me presenting them here. I'll just let slip, though,
that they're all multiple choice, and the choices for all five are:
(a) boxers
(b) briefs
(c) none of the above
--Penny "Foot-Swilling Beer Fan" Dreadful
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------------------------------
Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 02:23:08 PST
From: "Penny Dreadful" <pdreadful@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Flat Robin 32
Message-ID: <19990221102308.11500.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
Brilliant! Again, I'm not just saying that for fear of ending up like
Viscount Viscera.
Criticism: The mutoid's name is "Suzanne", not Suzette.
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------------------------------
Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 08:35:29 +0100 (BST)
From: Judith Proctor <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Fannishness
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0221073529-b49Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII
On Sun 21 Feb, Kathryn Andersen wrote:
> > (c)in what year (New Calendar) did Avon kill Blake on Gauda Prime?
> > (c) NC 165.
>
> I suppose that is based on the assumption that _The Way Back_ occurred
> in NC 152? We do know, from analysis of the screens of data in _The
> Way Back_, that the current year was probably '52. I'd always thought
> that meant it was NC 252, but now you've confused me -- was Blake's 7
> supposed to be in the *second* or *third* century of the New Calendar?
> I don't think it's mentioned on-screen, just in some publicity
> material.
It's 252 by my reckoning. I believe (according to the blurb which isn't
strictly canonical but is all we have to go on) we're in the third century of
the new calendar.
Judith
--
http://www.hermit.org/Blakes7
Redemption 99 - The Blakes 7/Babylon 5 convention
26-28 February 1999, Ashford International Hotel, Kent
http://www.smof.com/redemption/
--------------------------------
End of blakes7-d Digest V99 Issue #70
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