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blakes7-d Digest Volume 99 : Issue 142
Today's Topics:
RE: [B7L] Re:Bullies, was PiC Rant
RE: [B7L] Bullies, was PiC Rant
Re: [B7L] Telemovie
Re: [B7L] tests and "suckerdom"
[B7L] Radio Times
[B7L] Re: SC: The Syndeton Experiment - review
[B7L] zine help, please
[B7L] Flat Robin 42 - Part 4 of 4
Re: [B7L] zine help, please
Re: [B7L] Re: Avon & Rubbish
Re: [B7L] Shamoutis
Re: [B7L] Scripts (was Man of Iron)
[B7L] Re:The Syndeton Experiment - review
Re: [B7L] Re: Avon & Rubbish
[B7L] Bullies, was PiC Rant
Re: [B7L] Scripts (was Man of Iron)
Re: [B7L] Scripts (was Man of Iron)
Fwd: Re: [B7L] Singing in the Bath
Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Re: [B7L] Re: Avon & Rubbish
Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
[B7L]The Syndeton Experiment
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 18:08:27 +0200
From: Jacqueline Thijsen <jacqueline.thijsen@cmg.nl>
To: "'Lysator List'" <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: RE: [B7L] Re:Bullies, was PiC Rant
Message-ID: <39DCDDFD014ED21185C300104BB3F99F10FBA7@NL-ARN-MAIL01>
Content-Type: text/plain
I sent this before (yesterday evening) but it didn't come back to me. So
here it is again.
Judith said:
> Avon, I think would favour some restrictions once he was in office, but
> would
> suport total freedom when he wasn't <grin>.
>
I don't think he'd favour restrictions even if he was in office. Avon firmly
believes that everyone has the right to make a fool of himself <g>.
> Vila doesn't care as long as the bar opens on time.
>
Well, he might want to have the words "closing time" banned.
Jacqueline
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 18:09:25 +0200
From: Jacqueline Thijsen <jacqueline.thijsen@cmg.nl>
To: "'Blake's 7 list'" <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: RE: [B7L] Bullies, was PiC Rant
Message-ID: <39DCDDFD014ED21185C300104BB3F99F10FBA8@NL-ARN-MAIL01>
Content-Type: text/plain
Same thing for this one, didn't see it come back, so I just send it again.
Kathryn wrote:
> Much as I love The Pretender, and much as I love Blake's 7, I'd say
> no. Or maybe it's because I like them both so much. Miss Parker is
> Miss Parker, and Broots is Broots and Avon is Avon and Vila is Vila,
> and they aren't the same at all.
>
Actually, I think the attitudes are very much alike. I even think there's a
bit of Cally in Sidney, whenever he's getting all pensive. Miss parker is
very snarly and good-looking, and I don't think anyone would question her
competence. Just the kind of qualities most of us like in Avon. Broots is
very competent in one field and totally useless otherwise, until he's
pushed. Very much like our Vila, wouldn't you say?
> On the other hand, the *attitude*, "he's my idiot and no one gets to
> threaten him but me" is delightfully common between them.
>
Exactly. Also, Broots trusts Miss Parker and even hugged her once (which
caused her to ask him if he *wanted* her to hurt him <g>).
> However, the ones I sympathize with the most of the four are Avon more
> than Miss Parker, and Broots more than Vila. Hmmm - the computer
> programmers. I wonder what that says about me?
>
Since I'm a programmer, I'd say that means this says that you have extremely
good taste <g>.
Jacqueline
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 07:48:59 +0100
From: Julia Jones <julia.lysator@jajones.demon.co.uk>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Cc: B7 List <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Telemovie
Message-ID: <rhvtwEAbTXH3EwK0@jajones.demon.co.uk>
In message <371D2003.213421E5@ptinet.net>, mistral@ptinet.net writes
>I vote for wigs, corsets, lots of makeup and computer
>manipulation....
Up until here I thought you were proposing a crossover with Rocky
Horror.
>and Barry Letts.
And then I realised we could drop the Rocky.
--
Julia Jones
"Don't philosophise with me, you electronic moron!"
The Turing test - as interpreted by Kerr Avon.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 07:44:34 +0100
From: Julia Jones <julia.lysator@jajones.demon.co.uk>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Cc: lysator <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] tests and "suckerdom"
Message-ID: <2x9qUAASPXH3EwIz@jajones.demon.co.uk>
In message <013d01be8b94$0af67fe0$cd17ac3e@default>, Neil Faulkner
<N.Faulkner@tesco.net> writes
>
>Joanne wrote:
>>I claim victimhood. I started at the top of what was in the in-box and kept
>going, and so I didn't know there was someone testing. Sally Manton, Stephen
>Date, anyone else on Hotmail - same for you?
>
>Er ... isn't this how people get Melissaed?
>
No. Poeple get Melissaed by opening attachments, not by opening the
email. Unless, of course, they have braindead M$ software that
automatically opens the attachments without consulting the human first.
--
Julia Jones
"Don't philosophise with me, you electronic moron!"
The Turing test - as interpreted by Kerr Avon.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 19:53:53 +0500
From: Jem Dixon <JemD@skyview.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: [B7L] Radio Times
Message-ID: <yam7780.2653.18282880@post.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: text/plain
Has any-one seen p133 of next weeks Radio Times?
I get the impression that Roland White had no knowledge of the original TV
series until he found out that he had to review The Syndeton Experiment, and
then he found someone in the office, who saw about two episodes when they
first went out and asked them to tell him what it was all about. (Perhaps it
was Barry Letts?)
What does any body else think?
Jem
--
Being paranoid is one thing that gets easier when everything's against you.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 19:04:11 +0100
From: Julia Jones <julia.SC@jajones.demon.co.uk>
To: space-city@world.std.com
Cc: Lysator <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: [B7L] Re: SC: The Syndeton Experiment - review
Message-ID: <0XfK9EAbMhH3EwLu@jajones.demon.co.uk>
In message <371DE471.802FBB58@mcr1.poptel.org.uk>, Steve Rogerson
<steve.rogerson@mcr1.poptel.org.uk> writes
>though like most of us I would prefer to so
>see a Chris Boucher written episode set in the first two seasons with
>Blake and Travis. Brian Croucher has said he'd be willing to do it, and
>I'm sure Gareth Thomas would as well.
Having heard Gareth on the subject of Blakeless Blake's 7 - I'm quite
certain he'd be willing to do it.
--
Julia Jones
"Don't philosophise with me, you electronic moron!"
The Turing test - as interpreted by Kerr Avon.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 15:28:19 EDT
From: NetSurfCK@aol.com
To: space-city@world.std.com, Blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: [B7L] zine help, please
Message-ID: <6f61696f.244f80d3@aol.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Hello
I'm hoping I can get some help from the zine knowledgeable people on the list.
I just read a truly wonderful story in BLAKE'S DOUBLES 3 by Sheila Paulson
called "Metamorphosis". I enjoyed this story tremendously but it seemed to
just quit without really ending. Does anyone know if there is a sequel to
it, and if so, where I can find it? I'd really appreciate any help.
Also, there is an ad in this zine for a new zine called INTRIGUING IDEAS.
Can anyone tell me if this zine is still available from the address in the ad?
There's also a funny cartoon of Avon scuba diving in a black leather studded
swimsuit. heehee
One last question. I read a slash story some months ago that I'm trying to
find again, but not having any luck. It's a slash story about Avon and Blake
stranded on a planet. They find shelter in a cave and all I can really
remember is a lot of sex under a waterfall. Does this sound familiar to
anyone? (hopefully)
Thank you
Cynthia
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 14:58:15 -0600
From: Arkaroo <woollard@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: [B7L] Flat Robin 42 - Part 4 of 4
Message-ID: <371E3BE7.7ED0@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
***
Rincewind felt he was getting very near to his goal -- after a brief
moment of panic when he found himself in the misplaced 'Harlots,
Accessories for' section, he'd regained his bearings and returned to the
gradual progression up the alphabet. 'Fences, Criminal' -- 'Filberts,
Tools for Cracking' -- 'Finches, Decorative Ponchos for' -- he passed
all these sections, eyes darting about in increasing desperation as he
approached his goal. The next sign he saw read 'Furbishing Compound',
and he knew then that he had 'Funnels' bracketed. He stepped back a few
feet and peered down into the cobwebbed depths of the 'Fumes,
Intoxicating' shelf. Behind a crushed packed of 'Fusili' and a tin of
'Fungus-B-Gone Jock Itche Formulae' he saw a conical object, slightly
dusty but exceedingly funnel-shaped. Pulling it from the surrounding
debris and dislodging several aeons worth of excelsior and dried
cockroach spoor, he discovered that it was a perfectly lovely funnel,
and in the nicest shade of blue.
The label peeling from it read, 'Funnel, Wine-Bottle Filling'. There was
no price-tag on it, only a bizarre little sticker covered with erratic
black lines that meant nothing to him. This store was wretchedly
confusing, he thought, refusing to put proper price tags on anything.
The one thing he could say for it, though, was that there was as little
chance of meeting those space-faring lunatics who had assaulted him
earlier as there was being... well, as there was being hit on the head
by a pregnant, winged gerbil, he supposed.
From out of the darkness came a shrieking, chittering sound, from a
point above his head. Rincewind dropped immediately to the floor and
curled up into a perfect ball, being of the opinion that it's better to
appear the fool than to appear the non-fool covered with dozens of
painful bites. A small winged rodent, heavily gravid, whipped through
the space where his head had been. It then flew in circles around
Rincewind's prone form and squeaked furiously. Its long, leathery wings
raised thick clouds of dust from the shelves as it took off towards the
distant rafters. Rincewind stared at its retreating form blankly for a
few seconds.
"I say, Cally, what's up this aisle?" bellowed a familiar voice from the
adjacent aisle, but as soon as the first syllable had emerged there were
no ears in the 'Funnels' section to receive it, only a swirl of dust and
a distant THWIK-THWAK-THWIK-THWAK fading away.
Avon walked forwards to where Rincewind had been standing. "Let's see...
'Funnels, Blue', that's not what we want. Dum-de-dum... Ah! 'Fulcrums,
Assorted'."
"I wonder why that plaster-coated little man ran away so quickly?" mused
Cally. She stared at the sandal-prints in the dust. They seemed oddly
familiar.
"Perhaps he was doing something unseemly with those 'Inflatable
Barneyarde Animales' on the 'Fun, Immoral' shelf," said Avon, holding a
gleaming fulcrum up for inspection. "Perfectly understandable. Anyways,
let's buy these and get grave-robbing."
***
The creature behind the counter was short and humanoid, with lank,
dirty-blonde hair and terrible acne. Rincewind couldn't quite determine
whether the creature was male or female, but he was, at the moment, more
concerned with getting outside the store with funnel in hand and
consciousness intact than with sexing employees.
"I wish to purchase this funnel," wheezed Rincewind, bracing himself
against the counter. He plopped the funnel down in front of the cashier
and started rummaging through his pockets.
"Do you have a 'Home Despot Money-Savers Club Card', sir?" asked the
creature behind the counter.
"No. But I have money," Rincewind replied, waving a clinking handful of
coins and precious jewels.
"You know, sir, if you *had* a 'Home Despot Money-Savers Club Card', you
could save..." The creature looked in a little ledger. "You could save
eight cents on this funnel. And get five 'Frequent Carriage Miles' added
to your account." The creature looked at Rincewind pointedly.
"But I don't want to save any money. I want to give it to you. In
exchange for this funnel," he said, pointing slowly and deliberately at
the object in question, then at the money in his hand.
"No need to get sarcastic, sir. Is there any reason why you *don't* want
our card?" asked the creature, its voice dripping with horror and
disbelief.
"Because the only time I shop here is when the anthropomorphic
personification of the ultimate end for all living things makes me pick
up useful household items for his kitchen!" screamed Rincewind, looking
over his shoulder in terror. On the edge of audibility he swore he could
hear the sounds of leather trousers squeaking. "Look, I just want to
give you this *cash* money in exchange for this nice blue funnel. Is
that so difficult?"
The creature behind the counter frowned. "Cash? Mmm. Do you have any
I.D.?"
Rincewind patted his pockets frantically. Yes, he could definitely hear
leather trousers squeaking. "What sort of I.D.?"
"A 'Home Despot Money-Savers Club Card' card would be be best," the
creature said hopefully.
Fumbling in the deepest recesses of his inner pocket, he felt something
square and official-feeling. He pulled out a badly crumpled square of
cardboard and waved it at the clerk. "I've got my..." Rincewind looked
at the card. "I've got my 'Junior-level Swimming Certificate'," he said
hopefully.
"Welllll, normally we only take 'Senior-level Swimming Certificates' as
valid identification. Do you know the breast-stroke?"
High above the Disc, Syggar spat wads of popcorn into Merisu's wilted
coiffure and then fainted with pure pleasure.
"Erm, I think I may have missed that class. All I really remember is
'Spotty' Pointmeyer stealing my trunks in the deep-end on a weekly
basis. But I'm pretty sure I know the backstroke," said Rincewind.
"Oooh, I don't think we can take this as official identification, sir.
Awfully sorry," said the clerk sadly, shaking its head. A small vein on
Rincewind's forehead began to throb visibly.
"All right, then, I'd like to get a bloody card," said Rincewind. "How
much are they?"
"The card is free, sir!" replied the creature cheerily.
"Cheers. Give me one with the name 'Rincewind' written on it, then."
"Right, sir. That'll be ten dollars for the processing fee."
Rincewind stared balefully at the brightly smiling cashier, then reached
into his pockets and pulled out a large assortment of bills. He dumped
the bills, along with the coins, in a heap on the counter-top.
"Thank you, sir," said the clerk, writing in its little black ledger.
"Your card will be in the mail in four to eight weeks, depending on
sunspot activity and the migration patterns of Omnian swallows."
"Nnng. Now can I *please* buy this funnel, seeing as how I *am* a member
of the 'Home Despot Money-Savers Club' now," said Rincewind desperately.
From the sound of the squeak, the person wearing the trousers was only a
few aisles away. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
"Certainly, sir. Do you have your 'Home Despot Money-Savers Card' on
you?" asked the clerk.
Sensing the manner in which the few remaining minutes of life would
pass, Rincewind grabbed the money and funnel and sprinted to the exit,
dribbling a luminescent trail of fried Andromedan behind him.
"Stop! Thief!" cried the Clerk, ringing a little brass bell. From a
cavity in the wall near the swinging doors lurched a troll clad in
bright-orange overalls. The word 'SECURITY' was stenciled on its
forehead with white paint. With a quickness that seemed startling in
such a huge creature he plucked Rincewind from the floor and dangled him
by the hem of his robe. The troll pushed his face towards Rincewind's.
"Where you going wif that funnel, chummy?" asked the Troll. Rincewind
recoiled at the sudden gust of schist-scented breath.
"Look, I'll give you all my money if you let me go," begged Rincewind,
his terror torn between the troll holding him and the anticipation of
the man in the leather trousers he could sense sprinting towards him as
they spoke. He held a sheaf of bills out towards the great stone
creature.
"Cash? Oooh, I don't know 'bout dat," rumbled the Troll. "You got any
identification?"
***
As cemeteries go, the one that Avon and Cally now skulked through was,
without a doubt, on the cutting edge of post-life housing in the Disc.
Instead of the traditional depressing arrangement of weathered stone
slabs and creaking gibbets, this graveyard was a veritable wonderland of
trimmed greenery, mowed lawns, and undulating curves of polished white
marble inlaid with gold and electrum, all overlooking the unique
character of the Ankh river-valley, which was now in full bloom[9].
"Quite the little bone-garden they've got here," noted Avon. He paused
by a gleaming quartz obelisk and looked at the bird perched on its tip.
"Even the vultures look clean. I wonder if they groom them?"
"Avon! Over here!" yelled Cally, pointing towards a row of gaudy purple
tombs. A sign stuck in the grass before the first crypt read 'Ghoulish
Gordon's Deluxe Interment Company - We Plant People Permanently and with
Pleasure'. She pointed at muddy footprints leading towards the largest
tomb. "Blake must be in that one."
Avon spat on his hands and began wedging the long wooden pole in the
small gap between the tomb's door and its frame, while Cally wandered
around the block of tombs keeping careful watch. As Cally moved out of
sight, he covertly adjusted his space-truss so as to avoid any
'unfortunate' injuries. Grabbing the pole, he took hold of the pole and
put all his weight on it. The slab swung open easily, on what sounded
like freshly oiled hinges -- apparently, the stone door had not been
properly locked after the recent inhumation.
Cally returned and stared at the enormous door standing open. She looked
at Avon, who smiled modestly. Lighting torches, they crept into the
gloomy interior of the tomb.
"You check this side, I'll check this side," said Avon as they reached
the first set of sub-crypts. He ducked beneath the low doorway of the
entrance and entered the burial chamber, steeling himself for the
charnel reek of rotting flesh. Instead, however, he was overcome with
the mingled scents of incense and take-out curry.
He peeked around the corner, into the chamber. In the dead center of the
square, low-ceilinged room was a raised rectangular dais. A
bandage-wrapped figure reclined on the slab, giggling softly to itself
as it read. Avon peered at the title of the scroll it was reading:
'Mummy Dearest'. He winced.
"I've found him!" shouted Cally from the adjacent chamber.
"Is he dead?" shouted Avon, backing away quickly from the giggling
stiff. He walked into the adjoining chamber.
Blake lay on the slab, motionless, covered from the neck down by a
tasteless dandelion-patterned shroud. Cally felt his neck for a pulse,
then lifted up an eyelid and peered inside. "He's fine, I think -- he
might have a slight concussion. But, Avon...."
"What is it? He's alive; what more do we need to know?"
"Did... did you see what he's wearing?" Avon looked at her face in the
dim light of the tomb. She'd turned as pale as an albino rat in a bleach
factory. With trembling fingers, she pulled the shroud off. At that
moment the setting sun, due to the laws of artistic license that ruled
over the much weaker laws of physics with an iron-clad fist, reached the
point where its rays reflected off the polished white stone of the front
door and lit up the interior of the tomb with a blinding wall of light.
Avon closed his eyes, dazzled by the sudden influx of bright light. The
first sight upon opening his eyes was Blake, laid out on the slab,
dressed from neck to ankle in a Federation-issue leather suit.
Avon's expression did not change, but he drew out his sidearm and
leveled it at the unconscious figure on the slab.
"That's a Space Commander's uniform," said Cally, edging out of the line
of fire.
"Yes, I'm aware of that. Wake him up, Cally," said Avon tonelessly.
Cally picked up one of the poles used to open the tomb and tentatively
prodded Blake's abdomen. Blake groaned quietly. His eyes flicked open
and started to take in his surroundings. Cally swallowed fearfully as
she saw the sparkling purple insanity whirling about in his pupils. He
smacked his lips, then rolled over to the edge of the slab and sat up.
He looked at Avon and smirked nastily. "Avon. I've been waiting for
you."
"Did you... betray us, Blake?" Avon asked.
"Yes. Yes I did," said Blake, grinning happily.
Avon's lips tightened. With shocking suddeness his sidearm flared with a
horrific coruscation. Blake's eyes widened -- he staggered forwards, his
arms stretched out towards Avon. The sidearm flared again, then one
final time.
"Avon," gasped Blake, falling to his knees. He clutched at his abdomen
weakly.
"Did you betray... *me*?" whispered Avon, his eyebrows twitching about
like unhappy caterpillars. Blake looked up at him.
"Av-avon... come closer," whispered Blake. Avon leaned forwards.
"What is it, Blake? What could you possible say?"
"I wanted... I wanted to tell you that I... that I made sure I wore my
highly-reflective stainless-steel girdle," Blake whispered. With
lightning quickness he drove his head into Avon's abdomen. "Ha!" he
cried as Avon fell to the ground, where Blake began to throttle him
while whistling a merry little tune. Avon's desperate karate chops
bounced harmlessly off the metal plates[10] beneath Blake's suit.
"Caaarrrrkkklllyy," gurgled Avon, turning an astonishing purple colour
as Blake's thumbs dug in deeply.
Cally rushed towards Avon, unholstering her weapon, but she was stopped
short as two heavily armed black-clad figures appeared in the doorway
and pointed their crossbows at her.
"Move aside, Avon, Cally" said Lynnette, weaving from side-to-side in an
attempt to get a good angle at Blake. "The limp-haired blond who hired
us wanted Travis dead, not any of you."
"We don't do free inhumations, anymore," said Suzanne. "That was our old
gig; we're independent contractors now. Death, yum-yum."
"Garg-arg-aggle," said Avon, his eyes bulging from their sockets.
"What did he say?" Suzanne asked Lynnette curiously.
"Something about denim underwear that's been in the dryer too long, I
believe," said Lynnette. "Curious thing to say at a time like this."
"He said that's not Travis, you brain-dead bionic bloodsuckers!" shouted
Cally as she frantically tried to remove Blake's throttling fingers from
Avon's throat. "It's just Blake wearing Travis' suit."
"No need to get personal," said Lynnette sulkily. "Really, though, how
many sneering Type-A personalities with black leather suits and
homicidal inclinations are there in the Universe?"
"Don't try and fool us, chummy," said Suzanne angrily, her finger
tensing on the crossbow's trigger. "We're professionals."
Unable to break Blake's grip, Cally lurched over to a pedestal and
grabbed a small plaster statue of Jorgorato, the god of broken household
appliances, which she then brought down onto Blake's head. With a soft
sigh, he collapsed into a limp heap. Lynnette and Suzanne moved forwards
intently.
"This isn't Travis," croaked Avon. He got to his feet slowly, lifting
Blake up by his armpits.
"After all, does Travis have one of *these*?", Avon asked, and with a
flourish, he removed the lower portion of Blake's leather suit. Suzanne
and Lynnette looked stunned.
"It's so beautiful," whispered Lynnette. "Can I touch it?" Avon slapped
her hand away as she reached forwards tentatively.
"He won that in the first Pan-Galactic Space Rodeo," said Avon, pointing
at the gleaming belt-buckle that held Blake's boxers up. "Few people
know of his former history as a rodeo clown."
Suzanne and Lynnette looked at each other. "Well... I suppose it isn't
Travis after all," said Lynnette unhappily.
"Yes, Travis always wears his 'Federation Foosball Championship' buckle
to hold up *his* underwear," replied Suzanne. "Sorry to have been an
inconvenience." Nodding towards each other, the murderous mutoids walked
out of the tomb.
***
"Yoooo-hooo, Death," sang Rincewind as he walked slowly along the dusty
cobbles of Eel-Bush Boulevard. "I've got your funnnnnnellll. And
something dipped in batter and impaled on a stiiiiiick. Nummy-nummy pig
bits." He stared off into nothingness, hoping for a glimpse of Death,
but his skeletal employer did not appear.
A group of children trailed behind Rincewind as he staggered down the
street, well aware that people covered in plaster who talked to
themselves in public places often exhibited other amusing features of
insanity. Every so often Rincewind chased them away with loud threats,
but they regrouped quickly.
He was just about to give up his search for the mysteriously missing
master of mortality when his sandaled foot caught on something, and he
went tumbling face down into the gutter. The children caught up to him
and began poking his prone form with sticks.
"Urgh. That's just what I bloody well needed," muttered Rincewind as he
looked at his badly abraded legs. He got to his feet unsteadily,
swinging his funnel at a small urchin who had attempted to abscond with
the paper-wrapped Andromedan. He looked down at the object that had
tripped him, with violence in his eyes and blood on his robe.
Jutting out of the storm-sewer grating was a short grey tube, about the
size of a restaurant pepper-grinder. A large red button could be seen on
one end of the tube; a thick layer of sediment obscured all other
distinguishing features. He picked up the object and looked at it
fondly; filthy pepper-mills and bleeding shins always reminded him of
his public-school days.
"Hmm. Looks like some manner of nut-cracker," he said. Reaching into his
pocket, he pulled out an assortment of nuts. He sat down on the curb,
grasped the Ultimate Weapon around the middle, and raised the grey tube
above a large walnut. "There's nothing more soothing than cracking nuts
in the gutter. Ha."
---
[9] What, precisely, the river-valley was blooming with was up to debate
-- few botanists had the werewithal or firepower necessary to venture
into its heart of greenish-browness.
[10] Made out of tin-cans and tinfoil Blake found in the alleyway behind
Nanny Ogg's hotel. What *did* you think he was doing back there, you
filthy degenerates?
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 22:14:39 +0100 (BST)
From: Judith Proctor <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] zine help, please
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0421211439-965Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII
On Wed 21 Apr, NetSurfCK@aol.com wrote:
> I'm hoping I can get some help from the zine knowledgeable people on the list.
>
> I just read a truly wonderful story in BLAKE'S DOUBLES 3 by Sheila Paulson
> called "Metamorphosis". I enjoyed this story tremendously but it seemed to
> just quit without really ending. Does anyone know if there is a sequel to
> it, and if so, where I can find it? I'd really appreciate any help.
I've no record of a sequel.
>
> Also, there is an ad in this zine for a new zine called INTRIGUING IDEAS.
> Can anyone tell me if this zine is still available from the address in the ad?
It isn't on my zine data base, so all I can say is that if it's Blake's 7 it
must be extremely rare or was never actually published, as it's a rare zine
indeed that Sarah Thompson hasn't read (she did all the hard work on the zine
data base).
If you want to track down zines (in or out of print), the best place to try is
on my web site where the data base is stored. Look under Blake's 7 fanzines and
follow the lead that says 'lots of lists and indexes' or words to that effect.
>
> There's also a funny cartoon of Avon scuba diving in a black leather studded
> swimsuit. heehee
>
> One last question. I read a slash story some months ago that I'm trying to
> find again, but not having any luck. It's a slash story about Avon and Blake
> stranded on a planet. They find shelter in a cave and all I can really
> remember is a lot of sex under a waterfall. Does this sound familiar to
> anyone? (hopefully)
'Stranded' by Matilda Willard in Avon Calling 111. I'm pretty certain that's
it. The review calls it a 'back to nature' story and says there is an
illustration by Phoenix.
I knew it was in either Acon Calling, or Fire and Ice, so I just checked the
zine contents lists on the web site until I found the right one. (If I'd been
able to remember the title, I could have used the search engine).
Judith
--
http://www.hermit.org/Blakes7
Fanzines for Blake's 7 and many other fandoms, B7 Filk songs, pictures, news,
Conventions past and present, Blake's 7 fan clubs, Gareth Thomas, etc.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 20:25:21 +1000
From: Kathryn Andersen <kat@welkin.apana.org.au>
To: "Blake's 7 list" <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Re: Avon & Rubbish
Message-ID: <19990421202521.A503@welkin.apana.org.au>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
On Tue, Apr 20, 1999 at 04:05:48PM -0700, Joanne MacQueen wrote:
> Sally wrote:
> >Avon singing in the bathtub...lovely idea, Sarah, but *what*?
>
> "Rubber Ducky", a la Ernie, perhaps? Or is it too far beneath the man's dignity?
Naw, I fancy he'd do something more... intellectual... like:
Propel, propel, propel your craft,
Placidly down the liquid solution
Ecstatically, ecstatically, ecstatically, ecstatically
Existence is but an illusion.
<grin>
--
_--_|\ | 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: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 16:00:05 PDT
From: "Joanne MacQueen" <j_macqueen@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Shamoutis
Message-ID: <19990421230005.42343.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
Neil wrote:
>Don't get too excited. A shamouti is merely a kind of orange.
Ah, I see. Avon a l'orange indeed. Given Neil's imagination and sense of humour, I think it was possible that I might have been expecting a sort of pilchard-eating seabird of an unflattering hue. <sickened expression> Just to make it even more bizarre.
I don't know how I'm going to look the rest of breakfast in the face after that!
Regards
Joanne
(slightly horrified)
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------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 19:17:50 EDT
From: VulcanXYZ@aol.com
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Scripts (was Man of Iron)
Message-ID: <66c32a9f.244fb69e@aol.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Mistral wrote:
<< And from what I've been told, PDs not completely unattractive.>>
Well, that's the understatement of the century!
Gail
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 22 Apr 1999 09:14:05 +1000
From: Sarah Berry <berrys@connexus.apana.org.au>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: [B7L] Re:The Syndeton Experiment - review
Message-ID: <371E5BBD.2224DB31@connexus.apana.org.au>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Steve Rogerson:
> The only half decent one [liner] was Tarrant saying
>"What could I do with one hand?"
I'm sure he meant brushing his golden curls! Actually that made me cringe,
though not as much as that kiss scene - that was under the table with a cushion
over my head time!
Reuben:
> A major hats of must go to Peter. Wow. After all this time,
>he still has Orac and Slave pegged. You really can't tell
>they are the same person, especially when they trade barbs.
Oh yes you can (in the same pantomine tradition as TSE)! 'Seriously' though, I
thought the method for producing the computer voices had changed and they were
far too human. I was also disappointed that the cast was so small they were
doubling (or tripling) up on voices. The voices were too similar.
Sarah Berry.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 16:29:57 PDT
From: "Joanne MacQueen" <j_macqueen@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Re: Avon & Rubbish
Message-ID: <19990421232958.83556.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
Kathryn wrote:
>Naw, I fancy he'd do something more... intellectual... like:
[alternative national anthem of Rowbota snipped because I can't take it any more <grin>]
AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!
Now that I've got that off my chest, well done, Kathryn. Because my brain is aching, I don't want to consider what he'd do to, say, "The Incey Wincey Spider".
Regards
Joanne
______________________________________________________
Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 22:39:07 EDT
From: NetSurfCK@aol.com
To: Blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: [B7L] Bullies, was PiC Rant
Message-ID: <580e219c.244fe5cb@aol.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
<< Judith wrote:
<< Avon, I think would favour some restrictions once he was in office, but
would suport total freedom when he wasn't <grin>. >>
That's my Avon. ;)
Cynthia
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 13 Mar 1998 10:34:18 -0700
From: "Ellynne G." <rilliara@juno.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Scripts (was Man of Iron)
Message-ID: <19980313.103425.10310.1.Rilliara@juno.com>
On Tue, 20 Apr 1999 08:01:00 -0700 mistral@ptinet.net writes:
>
>Hmm. Hal Mellanby brought Dayna from Earth to Saren
>about twenty years before Aftermath. Makes it sound like he
>thinks the war was maybe six or eight years long. I don't dispute
>that; but I do wonder where he came up with it from?
>
>Almost makes you wish they had stardates at the beginning of
>the eps, doesn't it? Nah..........
>
It was just one of those holes in time and space plots are always falling
through
Ellynne
___________________________________________________________________
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------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 23:08:31 EDT
From: NetSurfCK@aol.com
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Scripts (was Man of Iron)
Message-ID: <7a0b30b2.244fecaf@aol.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
<< Mistral writes:
<< And from what I've been told, PDs not completely unattractive.>>
<<Gail writes:
<<Well, that's the understatement of the century! >>
I'll say!!!! I find PD extremely attractive. Even now that he's older,
heavier, and grayer :) I still find him very pleasant to look at. Hmmm, from
what I've been reading in the messages re older men/younger women, at 24 I'm
just the right age for PD. :)
Cynthia
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1999 23:12:32 PDT
From: "Sally Manton" <smanton@hotmail.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Fwd: Re: [B7L] Singing in the Bath
Message-ID: <19990422061232.50371.qmail@hotmail.com>
Content-type: text/plain
No no no, what people (well, my relatives!) sing in the shower
is all the *awful* and un-get-outable songs you've cluttered your
brain up with.
Actually, (as long as the Liberator has soundproof walls) how about
'raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...'
'I feel pretty, oh so pretty...'
'Everything's coming up sunshine and lollipops'
'On the Good ship Lollipop'
etc etc
Or Avon might have a soft spot for excrutiating operia arias - what's
the one from Faust that starts 'Ah my beauty past compaaarre...'
(Whatersname from the Tin-Tin books sings it.)
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------------------------------
Date: Thu, 22 Apr 1999 07:13:03 EDT
From: AChevron@aol.com
To: Blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Message-ID: <eff4dfcb.24505e3f@aol.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
In a message dated 99-04-18 05:24:16 EDT, you write:
<< There was just one reason why she should order him to put
the bracelet back on - to give him a chance to get away. >>
Or to raise his hopes momentarily, only to dash them again. I am sure that
had she not been interupted at the critical moment, she would have indeed
killed him. Then there was Kairos, when she blasted the ground, Assassin when
she tried to blow up Cancer's ship; I think her intent was clear. Unlike most
villians, she's read the manual and knows what happens to bad guys who play
with their advesaries too much. D. Rose
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 22 Apr 1999 13:27:59 +0100
From: Murray Smith <mjsmith@tcd.ie>
To: Lysator <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Message-Id: <l03110701b344c5781811@[134.226.96.44]>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
> Or to raise his hopes momentarily, only to dash them again. I am sure that
>had she not been interupted at the critical moment, she would have indeed
>killed him. Then there was Kairos, when she blasted the ground, Assassin when
>she tried to blow up Cancer's ship; I think her intent was clear. Unlike most
>villians, she's read the manual and knows what happens to bad guys who play
>with their advesaries too much. D. Rose
I agree completely with Deborah on this. Servalan isn't one of
those evil characters who gives the hero a half-hour speech about what she
is going to do to him and her future plans for ruling the galaxy. For
example, in 'Orac', she was quite brief with Blake and Cally before telling
Travis to kill them.
Murray
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 22 Apr 1999 05:33:00 -0700
From: mistral@ptinet.net
To: B7 List <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Message-ID: <371F16FB.7C25864E@ptinet.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
D. Rose wrote:
> In a message dated 99-04-18 05:24:16 EDT, you write:
>
> << There was just one reason why she should order him to put
> the bracelet back on - to give him a chance to get away. >>
>
> Or to raise his hopes momentarily, only to dash them again. I am sure that
> had she not been interupted at the critical moment, she would have indeed
> killed him.
OTOH, I've had some new (to me) thoughts since we were all
discussing this the other day; see what you think of this; it's resolved
for me a few little things that were nagging at me about this particular
scene:
Avon made it quite clear to her when she was first pointing the gun
at him that he didn't care if she killed him or not. Therefore putting
the bracelet on wouldn't raise any hope. (IMHO, the only reason I can
see for him taking it off in the first place is if he no longer cared to
continue the struggle for survival and freedom.) I think that she'd have
fired the gun at the instant of teleport and winged him, or missed. I
think that she was being cruel, perhaps, and wanted him to live with
the pain of what he'd just experienced. Remember what she'd said
to him just a short time before: "It's an old wall, Avon. It waits. I hope
you don't die before you reach it." And her satisfied smile when she
realizes that he thinks 'Bartolemew' killed his true love. She realizes
she now has the means to crush his spirit, to destroy him. "I'll tell you
everything you want to know." Then Anna comes in and Servalan
gets to *watch* Avon arriving at his wall (although she doesn't get
to drive him there herself). He'd taunted her over the destruction
of her dream; now she's forcing him to live with the destruction of
his. (And, IMHO, she might easily believe that leaving him alive
gives her a much better chance of getting the Liberator and Orac,
than changing opponents to Tarrant, as she understands Avon better,
*plus* the fact that Avon's now demoralized. He's now more likely
to either make a mistake or change sides.) In-game explanation.
Her deliberately letting him go and pretending it's and accident is
much better writing than the deus ex machina of being distracted
by the rebel's entrance. The one place you particularly don't want
a coincidence is at the very end of a story, to save the protagonist's
life. I suspect that it's the entire reason for the exchange about the
wall. It is, after all, a Chris Boucher script. Out-game explanation. :)
Just IMHO,
Mistral
--
"And for my next trick, I shall swallow my other foot."--Vila
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 22 Apr 1999 22:09:33 +1000
From: Kathryn Andersen <kat@welkin.apana.org.au>
To: "Blake's 7 list" <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Re: Avon & Rubbish
Message-ID: <19990422220933.A1544@welkin.apana.org.au>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
On Wed, Apr 21, 1999 at 04:29:57PM -0700, Joanne MacQueen wrote:
> Kathryn wrote:
> >Naw, I fancy he'd do something more... intellectual... like:
> [alternative national anthem of Rowbota snipped because I can't take it any more <grin>]
>
> AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!
>
> Now that I've got that off my chest, well done, Kathryn. Because
> my brain is aching, I don't want to consider what he'd do to, say,
> "The Incey Wincey Spider".
Ah, I cannot let this misapprehension continue - I cannot take credit
for "Propel, propel..." - I've known that one since I was a kid, and
was simply assuming that Avon might have had a similarly eclectic
education. I do not know who actually wrote it; we will just have to
credit it to Mr. Anon.
I don't know what Mr. *Avon* would do to Incey Wincey Spider, but I do
have one other example by Mr. Anon, about certain mice. However, I
actually prefer the rowboat one, because it scans better.
But who knows, maybe Avon would be practicing singing "The Ladies of
the Harem of the Court of King Karacticus" instead...
Kathryn A.
(exits, singing)
--
_--_|\ | 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: Thu, 22 Apr 1999 22:23:39 +1000
From: Kathryn Andersen <kat@welkin.apana.org.au>
To: "Blake's 7 list" <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Message-ID: <19990422222339.B1544@welkin.apana.org.au>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
On Thu, Apr 22, 1999 at 07:13:03AM -0400, AChevron@aol.com wrote:
> In a message dated 99-04-18 05:24:16 EDT, you write:
>
> << There was just one reason why she should order him to put
> the bracelet back on - to give him a chance to get away. >>
>
> Or to raise his hopes momentarily, only to dash them again. I am sure that
> had she not been interupted at the critical moment, she would have indeed
> killed him.
Agreed. IMHO, her intent was to, literally, send his friends a
corpse.
(Of course, Judith P's theory of teleportation would say that, if Avon
were dead, the teleport wouldn't have actually worked, but (a) that's
Judith's theory, and therefore not official, and (b) Servalan wouldn't
have known enough about teleportation to realize that anyway.)
> Then there was Kairos, when she blasted the ground, Assassin when
> she tried to blow up Cancer's ship; I think her intent was clear. Unlike most
> villians, she's read the manual and knows what happens to bad guys who play
> with their advesaries too much. D. Rose
Must actually disagree here, or at least insist that you drop
"Assassin" from your examples: *that* was a case, definitely, of her
playing with her adversaries too much. That whole exersize was so
that she could gloat over them being killed; remember that she had the
whole ship wired for sound and (I think) running on remote control;
playing with adversaries indeed. Though of course you could argue
that she was sensible in this much: she wasn't going to risk *herself*
in order to get her thrills; she hired somebody else to take the
risks. But a more sure-fire method of killing them, with exactly the
same equipment, would be to lure them on board the same ship, with the
same remote controls, and simply turn off all the power. (shrug)
Kathryn A.
--
_--_|\ | 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: Thu, 22 Apr 1999 14:03:03 +0100
From: "Julie Horner" <julie.horner@lincolnsoftware.com>
To: <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: [B7L]The Syndeton Experiment
Message-ID: <01be8cc0$75263400$170201c0@pc23.Fishnet>
Content-Type: text/plain;
charset="iso-8859-1"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Like Steve and Reuben I too have just received and listened to
TSE for the first time and thought it a superior product to TSFC.
Steve said:
>The one main let down was Angela Bruce's portrayal of Dayna. I thought
>the lines she was given were suitable for Dayna, but that her delivery
>of them was awful, for an actress I'd go as far as saying lazy - how
>much effort would have been needed to at least learnt how to pronounce
>Orac.
>Paula Wilcox made a much better job of Soolin than last time
The thing that struck me this time about the women's voices was that
they
should have cast them the other way round. Of course neither one sounds
like the original, but I though that Paula Wilcox sounded younger and
more
"girly" and would have been much more believable as Dayna. Angela
Bruce's harder more deadpan delivery I thought more suitable to Soolin,
not because she *sounded* like her but because I thought the voice more
fitting to Soolin's personality. After a while I found that I was
imagining them
in those roles anyway.
Of couse Paul, Jacqueline, Peter and Michael were excellent. As for
Tarrant, well I enjoyed his part but I was amazed at how much his voice
had changed. At the
start of the first scene I was actually wondering who Avon was talking
to until he said his name.
I have read some of the other views on this and I am relieved that it
wasn't
as dire as I had started to fear it might be. Some things made me
cringe -
"Feds" and no I can't believe in the Purple-whatever-it-was nightclub.
But as to Avon's line about enjoying causing pain, this caused me no
trouble at all.
From the way it was delivered it struck me as something he just said to
appear threatening rather than something he actually meant.
Julie Horner
Software Engineer
Lincoln Software
Tel: +44 (0) 1625 616722
Fax: +44(0) 1625 616780
E-mail: julie.horner@lincolnsoftware.com
Web: http://www.lincolnsoftware.com
--------------------------------
End of blakes7-d Digest V99 Issue #142
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