From: blakes7-d-request@lysator.liu.se Subject: blakes7-d Digest V99 #220 X-Loop: blakes7-d@lysator.liu.se X-Mailing-List: archive/volume99/220 Precedence: list MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/digest; boundary="----------------------------" To: blakes7-d@lysator.liu.se Reply-To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se ------------------------------ Content-Type: text/plain blakes7-d Digest Volume 99 : Issue 220 Today's Topics: [B7L] Flat Robin 47 (Umpteenth Attempt At Posting) [B7L] Flat Robin 47: Errata Re: [B7L] Re: webpage Re: Tarrant and Vila (was Re: [B7L] Servalan)(long) Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Re: [B7L] Soolin and Avon? Mmmm... Mmmmm... Mmmmm Re: [B7L] Re: webpage Re: Re[B7L] website Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Re: [B7L] Jenna and Cally Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Re: [B7L] Jenna and Cally (was Tyce (was : Servalan)) Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Re: Tarrant and Vila (was Re: [B7L] Servalan)(long) Re: Tarrant and Vila (was Re: [B7L] Servalan)(long) Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) [B7L] (no subject) [B7L] The Life of Brian Re: [B7L] Re: webpage ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 14 Jul 1999 17:50:19 -0600 From: Penny To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se CC: egomoo@geocities.com Subject: [B7L] Flat Robin 47 (Umpteenth Attempt At Posting) Message-ID: <378D223B.7D16@geocities.com> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit >The earth began to tremble. > >The curtain rose. *** The stage of the Jeremy Vellum-Pilkington Memorial Theatre was bare, except for the beam of green light, now narrow as a broomstick, shining down from the flying saucer which hovered overhead. >From the shadows of the right wing, a figure appeared. The late, yet surprisingly limber Stefan Sorrow, pupeteered with disturbing skill by Cravat-Lodger, lurched out into the light, to thunderous applause. Then, from the left wing, an emaciated form appeared, adorned in heavily embroidered red velvet robes and a pointy hat. He swept gracefully up to the front of the stage. Half a dozen similarly attired men scurried after him, but stopped dead as they became aware of the thousands of eyes focused upon them[1]. The wizards scurried rapidly offstage, leaving the Bursar alone with Sorrow. High above them, Cravat-Lodger puzzled over this unexpected addition to the cast, but decided that in his present circumstances it would be unwise to look a gift actor in the mouth. And indeed, the Bursar presently opened his mouth, and began to sing: "When I was but an itty bitty wee speck of slime, on abducting and implanting I would pass my time; I probed those local yokels so efficient and complete, that now I am a Purser in the Andromedan fleet!" "Now he is a Purser in the Andromedan fleet!" echoed Cravat-Lodger from the rafters, jerking Stefan Sorrow's limp limbs in time to the tune. "This is *great*!" shouted Eddwode through a mouthful of popcorn, and applauded wildly. "That's most impolite, you know," a voice behind him chided. "Terribly distracting for the artists." Eddwode's whole angora-trimmed body twitched and he spun round quickly, sending the remainder of his popcorn flying. "Whoa, pal, what happened to *you*?" he asked, looking his interlocutor up and down. Indeed, it was a reasonable question. The fellow was as charred and filthy as Radish-Culpepper had been, and tellingly flecked with the same crusty bits of Andromedan. Moreover, the wig perched on his pate, though obviously of the highest quality, appeared to have been dipped in batter and deep fried sometime in the not-too-distant past. "I was interrogated by aliens, one of whom proceeded to impersonate me, the better to infiltrate Ankh-Morpork society for purposes unclear...but whatever its goals were I doubt it's succeeded in achieving them...I could tell that creature was a Method actor born and bred: I'll give you ten to one odds it forgot its own name and address before it reached the city gates...wherever it is now it sincerely believes itself to be me. Lucky ball of slime. Ah well, at least I got a wig in the end[1], which was all I really wanted in the first place. Just outside the theatre, in fact, oddest thing -- some manner of ambulatory luggage approached from the rear in hot pursuit of an armed, bipedal pig, and as it passed me it spat this out." The orator took a deep breath and tapped his wig. "I...see," said Eddwode, waiting fearfully for the wrathful form of Solipsos to appear. But the tetchy god of Self-Referentiality was apparently otherwise engaged. The real Colonel Persnickety (for it was obviously he) picked a greasy piece of batter from behind his ear and put his tongue to it experimentally. He made a face and flicked it over the edge of the balcony, then leaned on the railing and regarded the performance thoughtfully. "Sorrow's interpretation of Brevis always was a hit with the hoi polloi," Persnickety observed. "But he didn't have Cruncher's *je ne sais quoi*..." "Is that Klatchian for 'cute bum'?" Eddwode inquired, genuinely curious. Persnickety rolled his eyes. Onstage the corpse of Stefan Sorrow flailed ever more frantically, as the Bursar/Purser unexpectedly upped the tempo by several bpm. On cue (as far as he could tell), Peril-Rodent unleashed the rat chorus. "Oh, this is just dreadful," Persnickety sighed. "I can't allow this to continue." "Hum," Peril-Rodent said, watching the vermin pirouette into the fray. "I wonder where that lippy rat in the loud fez has got to." *** Unconcerned as everyone else was by the ever-increasing magnitude of the tremors beneath her feet, Supreme Commander Servalan slunk low between two rows of seats, shoving knees aside imperiously, her eyes peeled for the telltale glint of vinyl. Becoming aware that an opaqueness had insinuated itself in front of her, she looked up, and came within inches of losing her composure. The figure impeding her progress wore nothing but a tiny leopard-print fez.[2] "Travis? Is that you?" The Andromedan Communications Officer (for that is who it was) snorted disdainfully. "I am the Supreme Commander," he sneered. "Give me your clothing, harlot!" "It *is* you!" Servalan said. "Where did you get that arm?" "I said GIVE ME YOUR CLOTHING, HARLOT!" the Andromedan shrieked, and grabbed hold of Servalan's collar. There was a tearing sound as it came away from the rest of her gown. Servalan turned as pale as an anaemic Klansman at an NAACP convention. "That's it," she said quietly, but with sufficient menace that the false Travis instantly dropped the swatch of stiffened fabric and lurched backward, clutching his fez. Servalan snatched up her severed collar and spun on her heel. "I quit," she said. "I'm going home." "What? No, you can't! The party's just getting started!" Merisu screeched, hurling itself out of the thick of the audience and wrapping its knobbly arms around her right knee. Servalan detached the little god from her leg with practised ease. "*Au contraire*, Merisu," she said coldly. "It's been amusing, I'll grant you. But the very instant someone rips my clothing -- that's the instant the party is *over*." She strode on toward the main exit. The Andromedan Communications Officer pondered his left arm in bemusement. It looked exactly like the left, and yet the high-collared harlot had apparently found it odd. After a moment's consideration he decided that the wisest course of action would be to allow his prey a small head start while he went and had another look at his source material. If he was to successfully impersonate the Supreme Commander, it was imperative that he get his left arm right. *** "Excuse me, darling, there seems to be something crawling under your seat." Blake unholstered his gun and took aim at the space between Travis' boots. "Oh, it's only you," Blake said, as the Andromedan Communications Officer emerged. "Show me your left arm, Supreme Commander!" the false Travis shouted, earning dirty looks from theatre patrons on every side. The real Travis regarded his doppelganger with apparent unconcern, then leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his pink polka-dotted chest. "Make me," he sneered. "Attagirl, Supreme Commander, don't let yourself talk to yourself that way! Er. Ah." Blake scratched his chin contemplatively with the Ultimate Weapon as the fez-clad Travis tried to forcibly roll up the sleeve of the other Travis' night-gown while being repeatedly kicked in the shins. "Erm, Supreme Commander," Blake ventured at some length, his eyes glued to the Andromedan's tiny fez, "I don't know quite how to say this, but--" "But what?" the Andromedan snapped, pausing to glare at Blake. His eye fell upon the Ultimate Weapon. "Ah." He let go of Travis' ruffled sleeve and spun toward Blake, which sudden motion caused his fez to fall off. "I think there may have been a misunderstanding, somewhere along the line," Blake said, and ran for it. "Blake!" cried the true Travis, his head cleared by the adrenaline rush. "Get after Blake, you fool!" he screamed at his doppelganger. "You take this exit, I'll take that one. Hurry!" Keeping a firm grip on his fez, the Andromedan Communications Officer hurried out into the street in pursuit of his quarry. Obedience to whatever authority availed itself seemed the easiest option, while his mind attempted to process all this information. *** "Information..." "Let me guess. The Liberator is--" "The Liberator is rising." "Oh. Ha. I knew that," replied Orac. *** Shoving aside one last errant usher, Servalan swept through the main entrance of the Jeremy Vellum-Pilkington Memorial Theatre and stomped out, seething, into the night. As she stomped she unholstered a small pistol from somewhere about her person and looked around hopefully for something to kill. So preoccupied she was with her own fury that she failed to note the burly nun leaning on a lamppost in front of her until a foot shot out and tripped her. "That wasn't very sporting," the nun chided his companion, catching Servalan as she fell. The gun tumbled out of her hand. "Ah, well I never was any good at sports," his companion shrugged, snatching up Servalan's sidearm and fumbling with it. "Well, except the hundred metre dash. And the five hundred metre dash. And I suspect if I'd put just a little more effort into my thousand metre dash I wouldn't be where I am today. Now where's the safety? Oh, that's right, there is no safety. All right, Supreme Commander, put 'em up." "Vila," smiled Servalan, raising her hands above her head nonchalantly as she eyeballed the fake Blake's heavy woollen habit. "And Blake -- I applaud your initiative in seeking martyrdom. They do say the clothes make the man." "I'm not Blake," the Andromedan Captain said. "However you *are* the one known as the Supreme Commander, are you not?" "Who wants to know?" "It is I, Skkgrgx, Captain of the Andromedan ship which was to rendezvous with you on or about grid reference C17320 in the Eleventh Sector regarding a certain very hush-hush arrangement..." "Yes, yes, you give me the Ultimate Weapon, I give you the power to eradicate humankind--" "Eradicate?" The Andromedan Captain scratched his wimple in bewilderment. "Enslave, wasn't it?" "Well, whether it be your people or mine, *this* vile excuse for a planet in *particular* is going to be wiped clean." Servalan ground her heel hard into the ground as if in hopes of making great A'Tuin itself cry Uncle. "The laws of physics are too iffy in this locale to make enslavement practical. As for the rest--" Servalan shrugged. "--I suppose your people will do as they see fit, understanding of course that the instant they begin to encroach on Federation space is the instant I pull out the Ultimate Weapon, quote-unquote vanquish you, and then ask politely for the Presidency. Which I shall naturally be given -- a nice little cottage in the country with a well-stocked wine cellar, that's all I'm really looking for -- I get the Federation, your people get everything else, everyone's a winner. Now I am going to my ship, I am going to Star One, and I am going to be given the Ultimate Weapon at the appointed hour as planned or there will be *hell* to pay. I *am* going to win, and I shall not be wearing a torn gown when I do. Now step aside, Vila. You know that thing's not loaded. That's not how dreams work." She pushed past Vila and vanished into the night. "Great green gods!" the Andromedan Captain exclaimed. "This is dreadful!" *** "Dreadful?" Eddwode looked almost personally affronted by Persnickety's cutting critique of the play unfolding before them. Approximately half of the rats were pirouetting as they had been ordered to do, but the other half, at the behest of the rabble-rousing rat in the black beret, had rebelled and were clogging noisily. "What are you talking about? Why, this has to be the single most brilliant production it has been my pleasure to behold since my own legendary enactment of the Bloody Massacre Of One Thousand Innocents On The Plains Of Upper Maul several centuries ago." "*Re*-enactment, don't you mean?" Persnickety asked. Eddwode blinked with godly incomprehension. Another tremor, the fiercest yet, pitched the Bursar forward into the orchestra pit, which the orchestra had long since fled. He landed on the kettledrums, and bounced off them onto a heap of abandoned brass. At the very peak of the cacophonous crescendo thereby created, the tip of a large cylindrical object emerged through the centre of the stage, at the exact spot upon which the beam of green light was focused. "Right on schedule," Eddwode smiled. *** Fistulous Withers felt a cold prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He spun round. "I got a lock of his hair!" one of the Acolytes shouted, brandishing his or her straight-razor triumphantly. "For the love of -- love of -- for Chemistry's sake, why are you all following me?" Withers hissed. "The nature of obsession abhors a charisma vacuum," a second Acolyte answered dolefully, as the first began equitably distributing hairs amongst the close-knit throng. "After the untimely demise of the delicious Colonel Persnickety, numerous of our membership defected in favour of stalking lesser objects of desire such as Zyynah, the Maulish Priestess-Warrior, or the Hilly-Lander..." "'S a fellow who likes to chop folks' heads off," explained the first Acolyte, opening and closing the straight-razor absently. "But *we*," the second Acolyte continued, "chose *you*." Withers swallowed hard and stepped back. The Acolytes, as one, swallowed hard and stepped forward. Just then there was a commotion onstage. The puppet-corpse of Stefan Sorrow had got its strings tangled when the tip of the Liberator's prow had punctured centre stage, and its movements thereafter had become markedly less graceful. Still, Cravat-Lodger, clinging valiantly to his rafter, soldiered on. "I got the hearse right here, The coffin's in the rear; But since my leads are dead and now we're out of beer, Boo-hoo -- Boo-hoo -- This dancing corpse will have to do..." But now Sorrow fell flat as a broadsword cut all the tangled twine at a single stroke. "Cravat-Lodger," Colonel Persnickety said, stepping out of the shadows for all to see, "you should be ashamed of yourself." Fistulous Withers, Unsupernatural Investigator extraordinaire and reluctant sex-god, crept quietly out one of the theatre's numerous side-exits amidst the orgy of screaming and fainting and flinging of fruit that inevitably ensued. "All right, Skull'Ee," he whispered to his pocket, "you win. There are forces conspiring against me which are well beyond the ken of mortal man. In particular, those fruit-lobbing loons back there. So tell me, is there any sort of ridiculous daemonic ritual I can perform that will annul my awesomely charismatic aura?" "They didn't follow you, you know," his Skull'Ee MM state-of-the-art pocket demon pointed out. Fistulous stopped and looked behind him. The lane was empty. "Oh." Anyone who didn't know better might almost have thought he sounded disappointed. He started walking again. "Well, forget what I said, then, Skull'Ee, I don't believe in fairies, and demons are just as -- ouch! Skull'Ee, would you *please* quit doing that?" He rounded a corner and stopped short. "What have we here?" he murmured. *** All around the Jeremy Vellum-Pilkington Memorial Theatre, the cobblestones began to rattle. At three points several blocks equidistant from centre stage, lamp-posts were abruptly displaced by the upthrusting of large, cylindrical objects. One of these nearly bowled over the passel of wizards currently scurrying back to the sanctuary of Unseen University to regroup and refuel. "I say, do you know what this puts me in mind of?" the Senior Wrangler asked. "Yes I do," said Ridcully. The others looked at him expectantly. "That damn harlot's celestial conveyance has probably ground our tower down so far it's scraping elephant by now. The Ultimate Weapon will just have to wait while we deal with that. And maybe a light supper." "Look!" one of the wizards exclaimed. "There she is!" All heads turned save that of the Senior Wrangler, who could not seem to wrest his eyes from the slowly emerging Liberator. "Stop her!" Ridcully shouted. *** "Come on, Vila, we've got to put a stop to this!" the Andromedan Captain cried. "Right you are, Captain Skgkr-- Skrkg-- ah, right you are, Blake!" The two of them hurried down a dark narrow alley toward the Jeremy Vellum-Pilkington Memorial Theatre's stage-door, brushing as they did so past a tall figure who was hurrying in the opposite direction. "Oof!" said the tall figure a few steps further on, as a genuine hand-crafted "Bastard 'The Bastard' Fitzrogers" cosh (now with Sentimental Value) came down out of the darkness on its head. "Are we *sure* that we're sure that it's Travis this time?" Suzanne asked. A hand passed her a torch, with which she illuminated the semiconscious man's features. "It is, it is!" Lynnette insisted, pointing further down his body. "Look at his shins, that's the Upreme-say Ommander-Kay's work." "Who are you?" Suzanne demanded, shoving her crossbow in his face. "Grrglrk..." groaned the figure on the cobblestones. "Please take your foot off my neck." "Travis would never say 'please'," said Suzanne. "I can't argue with that," Lynnette sighed. "Very well, you're free to go." "Thank you," said their victim, sounding somewhat less than sincere. He rose to his feet and looked around. "Now," he said to nobody in particular. "Where's Blake?" *** YOU AND YOUR BIG ORIFICE, said the Death of Andromedans. *** "Odd thing for Travis' corpse to do." Suzanne toed the glowing green puddle suspiciously. "You don't suppose--" "No," said Lynnette firmly, "I don't." She turned to Fistulous, who stood grinning idiotically in the shadows. "What do you think?" "I think you two girls have got some of the finest killer instincts I have ever seen," Fistulous responded. "And a great pair of practical minds, I might add. But I'll tell you what, I think maybe your hearts aren't really in the assassination game." "I'm not even sure we *have* hearts," Lynnette said, thoughtfully feeling about for a pulse. "Of course we have hearts," said Suzanne. "What more efficient means is there for delivering oxygen to our organic extremities?" "That's the kind of talk I like to hear!" Fistulous exclaimed. He watched thoughtfully as Lynnette persisted in seeking empirical proof of a heartbeat, and felt a strange tingle when Suzanne twirled her crossbow before deftly holstering it. "Girls, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful..." "Friendship?" Lynnette hazarded. Fistulous shrugged. "If you like. Tell me, do you believe in demons?" "Of course not," said Suzanne contemptuously. "Ouch," said Fistulous, swatting his pocket. "What was that?" asked Lynnette. "Oh, nothing -- ouch!" said Fistulous again, and then they turned the corner and were gone. *** "My goodness," Solipsos observed, crossing out the names *Lynnette*, *Suzanne*, *Withers*, and *Grrglrk*[4] on a little scroll. He drew little happy faces next to the first three, and an x-eyed frowny face beside the last. "Players are certainly being polished off apace. Not that I'm complaining." No sooner had these words been spoken than Eddwode appeared beside him in an unspectacular puff of purple smoke, smiling sharkishly. "Not bad considering the budget, huh?" Solipsos nodded begrudgingly, then looked down again at the little scroll, entitled *Expendables*. "Krantor and Toise. I trust you're planning to, ah, deal with them?" "Oh yeah," said Eddwode, rubbing his hands. "I love those guys." "I must say, Eddwode, I had my doubts at the outset, but I've been quite pleased with what I've seen of your work so far." "Solly, baby," Eddwode grinned, "you ain't seen nothin' yet." ------ [1] And implicitly, because they had all attended the theatre at one time or another, the thousands of handfuls of overripe produce preparing to launch. [2] Among other things, but we won't go there, girlfriend. [3] For the sake of our more delicate viewers, we will not explicitly state that he was wearing it on his head. [4] For that had been the Andromedan Communications Officer's given name. ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 14 Jul 1999 18:06:29 -0600 From: Penny To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: [B7L] Flat Robin 47: Errata Message-ID: <378D2605.144B@geocities.com> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit In previous post: "...I got a wig in the end[1]" should be "...I got a wig in the end[2]" and "...tiny leopard-print fez.[2]" should be "...tiny leopard-print fez.[3]" ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 14 Jul 1999 20:42:33 -0500 From: Lisa Williams To: Subject: Re: [B7L] Re: webpage Message-Id: <4.1.19990714204006.014aaf10@mail.dallas.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Susan Bennett wrote: >You mean that wasn't the joke? The caption said that promises were hard to >deliver and there was no picture, so I thought it was one of Neil's... er... >political statements . Neil just needs to make a minor correction to his HTML. In the meantime, you should be able to access the picture directly at . - Lisa _____________________________________________________________ Lisa Williams: lcw@dallas.net or lwilliams@raytheon.com Lisa's Video Frame Capture Library: http://lcw.simplenet.com/ From Eroica With Love: http://lcw.simplenet.com/Eroica/ ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 14 Jul 1999 14:54:39 -0700 From: mistral@ptinet.net To: B7 List Subject: Re: Tarrant and Vila (was Re: [B7L] Servalan)(long) Message-ID: <378D071E.3E4CBB38@ptinet.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Judith Proctor wrote: > > Hmmm, it looked to me as though Vila wanted to quit and not risk his life, > > even if it meant forfeiting the money. I doubt Avon would have been so eager > > if it had been his life on the line. > > That's the way I've always seen it. Avon gambled with Vila's life rather than > lose the money. > > Avon can be an absolute bastard. I love him dearly, but I have to recognise > both his good and bad bits. His charm can make love blind. I don't think anyone would argue that Avon has no flaws; I do think, however, that it's legitimate for people of different personality type and life experiences to disagree which of his (or anyone's) characteristics are flaws. [Neil can stop here, as I'm about to get specific. ] Certainly I see his enthusiastic verbal persuasion, made aggressive only by its tone, as extremely different from actual threats; but apparently I'm the only one here who draws that distinction. I draw it in life as well, it's not an artificial distinction I've invented for purposes of defending Avon. Most of the things I see as flaws in him rarely come up for discussion, however. I have mentioned his attitude toward women, which sometimes amuses and sometimes annoys me, but I always see as a flaw. His colossal greed strikes me as utter and unforgivable stupidity, particularly while on Liberator, as he's no need of the money at that point. I consider his treatment of Shrinker completely immoral; once he realises Shrinker may not have killed Anna, he hasn't even the justification of vengeance. Those are only a few of the ones that bother me. Probably the reason I dislike Tarrant's treatment of Vila so much more than Avon's is that Avon wouldn't frighten *me*, I'd just snarl back. Tarrant OTOH would scare me to death. Just IMHO, Mistral -- "It seems that I'm some kind of a galactic yo-yo." --the third Doctor ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 14 Jul 1999 18:40:34 -0700 From: mistral@ptinet.net To: B7 List Subject: Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Message-ID: <378D3C11.955AB95E@ptinet.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Neil Faulkner wrote: > Mistral wrote stacks of stuff, far more than I have time to answer: But you made the time; thanks. > So I'm lazy. But supplying evidence without being challenged to do so is > something that can really drive me up the wall - I tend to assume that > people know what they're talking about until they've proved otherwise > (especially on the Lyst - we're all fans here, after all). If nothing else, > it makes posts a lot shorter:) Er... that's an attitude that in most people means 'until they disagree with me'. Tends to lead to becoming dismissive of the person as a whole instead of a few of their opinions. I'd rather scrutinize facts and inferences than people. We may all be fans but we all have different backgrounds and communications styles. Generalities are frequently misinterpreted; also humor; I've known you to think I missed one of your jokes when in fact I was responding in kind. > I don't really think we're here to change each other's minds. Well, I'm here both to enjoy the presence of other fans and to flesh out my understanding of the show; debate is actually how I best learn things. It forces me to reexamine my own position as I examine the other person's; and I refuse to simply switch off my (admittedly limited) critical faculties and just take anybody's word for anything. I consider that irresponsible. > I doubt if > you'll ever change mine. I certainly don't believe I could ever change > yours:) Only because you don't care to try; you're certainly more capable of it than some. Nor am I as dull and closed-minded as you sometimes seem to imply; just this week, I have collected interesting insights on Cally from Ellynne, and on Soolin from many people; these have already begun to filter into my understandings of the characters. Oops, sorry, too specific ;-) A vigorous defense of one's position doesn't always imply an unwillingness to change it -- *if new data justifying a change is acquired*. > Since I wasn't trying to get you or anyone else to reevaluate their attitude > to Cally, looking for an incentive to do so would be a pretty pointless > exercise. Hmm. What was the point of commenting then? All of us standing around in a room just shouting our opinions would be as dull as it would be unproductive. I'm afraid that I'm not clever enough to draw any inference here other than your wanting to join in the fray and yet appear to hold yourself loftily above it at the same time :) > We obviously have a very different approach here. At least you acknowledge > that I've given the characters some thought... My impressions of the > characters is probably based on subliminal absorption of them over the > course of all the relevant episodes, rather than specific focussing on > particular moments, actions, statements etc. Obviously I notice what they > do/say, but I don't -study- such things. I acquire a general fuzzy > impression rather than a sharply detailed picture. Certainly my impressions are mostly acquired by osmosis. Specific points are merely for illustration; I'd guess this is the case with all the character-centric bunch. > You could always try reading some B/A slash:) Can't afford the pilchard, thanks anyway. > > > Guaranteed to have me reaching for the sick bag. They're colleagues, not > cousins. Forced to live in each other's pockets and find a way to deal with each other whether they want to or not. Rarely true of colleagues, who for the most part put on their polite professional faces on at work and go home at the end of the day. > Intensive Care, here I come... Sadly, Nurse Cally is on her hols this week. Cheers, Mistral -- "It seems that I'm some kind of a galactic yo-yo." --the third Doctor ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 14 Jul 1999 15:17:45 -0700 From: mistral@ptinet.net To: B7 List Subject: Re: [B7L] Soolin and Avon? Mmmm... Mmmmm... Mmmmm Message-ID: <378D0C89.F661DFD@ptinet.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Pat Patera wrote: > *sigh* they would have made such a mahvelous spy team back in the '60s: > The man from R.E.B.E.L. and his beautiful hitman, Soolin Some folk have compared Soolin to Emma Peel. I like! Can't quite see Avon in a bowler, though -- but the umbrella sword would be appropriate. Rob Clother wrote: > No -- but comparing Avon and Soolin is comparing apples and oranges. What > Soolin says, Soolin means; Avon consistently says things he doesn't mean. You're right, of course. Er... actually, though, I think it's more that what he means is hidden inside what he does say, as opposed to what most people would hear. (Although one of the things I like about Soolin is how quickly she figures that out about him.) > Fraid I don't have time to write anything else; thanx for your long reply -- > should be able to pick up on some more of your points tomorrow. I'll look forward to it. Grins all 'round, Mistral -- "It seems that I'm some kind of a galactic yo-yo." --the third Doctor ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 13:45:52 EST From: "Joanne MacQueen" To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: Re: [B7L] Re: webpage Message-ID: <19990715034552.50810.qmail@hotmail.com> Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed >From: Lisa Williams >In the meantime, >you should be able to access the picture directly at >. This is not a good thing to see during one's lunchbreak, believe me. Rates fairly high on the Giant Maggot scale.* Neil, you have awesome powers. Please use them more wisely Regards Joanne * Refers to the ABC's tendency, during the '80s, to show Dr Who episodes like The Green Death, during evening meal time. ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 14 Jul 1999 22:00:10 -0700 From: kalazar To: "Blake's 7 list" Subject: Re: Re[B7L] website Message-ID: <378D6ADA.2C6DC100@earthlink.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Hi! Can someone help me. I'm curious about Neil's page and tried the below link but all I get is: Internal Server Error The server encountered an internal error or misconfiguration and was unable to complete your request. Please contact the server administrator, ida-server-admin@bt.net and inform them of the time the error occurred, and anything you might have done that may have caused the error Thanks to anyone who can help. Kalazar Neil Faulkner wrote: http://homepages.tesco.net/~N.Faulkner/blakes7/index.htm ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 07:41:59 +0100 From: "Alison Page" To: "lysator" Subject: Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Message-ID: <009c01bece8d$593f8c00$ca8edec2@pre-installedco> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit These comments from Neil were very revealing >My impressions of the >characters is probably based on subliminal absorption of them over the >course of all the relevant episodes, rather than specific focussing on >particular moments, actions, statements etc. Obviously I notice what they >do/say, but I don't -study- such things. I acquire a general fuzzy >impression rather than a sharply detailed picture. That's your intuitive thinking at work I'm afraid Neil. I must say I have similar failings - in my case I get mixed up about details and episodes and so-on. But the way I look at it, the people on the list with more disciplined minds than me are doing the hard work for me - distributed processing you see :-) they recreate the relevant details, so that my intuitive feelings about the characters can shift and grow. Very luxurious 'Oh, I get someone in to deal with the details these days'. I find that very enjoyable, and it's one of the reasons I'm virtually a B7 list addict. Here's my biological theory coming to the fore - why have we got big brains? To cope with complex social relationships. Why are social relationships so complex? Because we have got big brains. Ergo - discussing whether or not Vila and Tarrant like each other is the most enjoyable thing a human being can do :-) Like a fish swimming in the sea. And here's another question - have your opinions ever changed as a result of discussions on the lists? (this is addressed to anyone who cares to answer) Mine have - loads. I appreciate the characters much more for hearing each one defended from their various corners. I always liked them, but now I have come to enjoy them more. My actual opinion of Travis II has changed enormously from listening to Penny and other wild ones defend him, and I now think he's extremely hot (just as a for-instance) Alison ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 03:30:56 EDT From: AdamWho@aol.com To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: Re: [B7L] Jenna and Cally Message-ID: Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit In a message dated 99-07-14 17:11:13 EDT, t.riaz@virgin.net writes: << Not so. Witness Cally's behaviour in "Orac" when Jenna is ill with radiation sickness and staggers in the corridor returning to her cabin. Cally is obviously concerned, and rushes up to help her. I think Cally missed Jenna and Blake a lot. After all, the Liberator crew had rescued her really, from a very lonely and traumatic situation. After being virtually outcast from Auron and then alone on Saurian Major, I think Cally appreciated being accepted by the others. I'm not entirely sure about this, but I think Tarrant and Dayna did make the odd reference to Cally's being alien and, therefore, suspect, which seemed to upset her. Possibly because having done her part to be accepted by the original Liberator crew, she then had to deal with new people who saw her as "different" all over again. >> One of the first things Jenna ever said about Cally was a disparaging remark, not to trust aliens. She did it again in The Web. It is perfectly understandable why she did, but I wouldn't be surprised if Cally wondered, in the back of her mind, whether those prejudicies were dormant within Jenna, ready to come back at any time. Cally probably felt the same about Dayna and Tarrant. I don't think Jenna\Cally had any lasting friendship. Jenna was a fellow crewmember, someone Cally lived with for years, of course she'd have concern for her. Cally was a very compassionate person, particularly in season 1. If Jenna hadn't left after Star One, her relationship with Cally may have improved. I think Cally and Vila's, and Cally and Avon's, bond strengthened when they became the three elder crew members left. But based on the two seasons they spent together, I really don't see Cally's relationship with Jenna being any less aloof than her relationships with Dayna or Tarrant. ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 00:35:50 PDT From: "Rob Clother" To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Message-ID: <19990715073551.79716.qmail@hotmail.com> Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed Alison: >Very luxurious -- 'Oh, I get someone in to deal with the details >these >days'. You're not related to my supervisor by any chance, are you Alison? -- Rob ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 03:11:31 -0600 From: Penny To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Message-ID: <378DA5C3.5EC3@geocities.com> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Alison Page wrote: >My actual opinion of Travis II has changed > enormously from listening to Penny and other wild ones defend him, and I now > think he's extremely hot (just as a for-instance) Alison, once again you have given my existence meaning. For yea, is there not joy in FINALACT Heaven for one sinner that is saved from coming to Greif? (There is, right? Joy, I mean. Jacqueline, look that up, would you? (And might I add, those red robes suit you down to the *ground*. Babe. *Mwah*!)) -- Penny Dreadful: President of the Terran Federation, Ruler of the High Council, Lord of the Inner and Outer Worlds, High Admiral of the Galactic Fleets, Lord General of the Six Armies, and Defender of Croucherville ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 06:12:07 -0400 From: Harriet Monkhouse <101637.2064@compuserve.com> To: "INTERNET:blakes7@lysator.liu.se" Subject: Re: [B7L] Jenna and Cally (was Tyce (was : Servalan)) Message-ID: <199907150612_MC2-7D09-DAF2@compuserve.com> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Disposition: inline Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Sally wrote: >I like Jenna's "I may have taught you too well" in Avalon - the >smile and the way she says it make it clear it is a gently teasing >reassurance and a compliment to Cally's piloting. Thanks, Sally - I knew there was a good example I noticed while running an indoctrination weekend for a friend last month, and that was it! > Cally helped Jenna in Breakdown because she's a compassionate > person, not because of any undying friendship. It looked like a hell of a lot more than compassion from where I was sitting - she goes rushing to Jenna when Gan's still banging about a few feet away, and helping to stop him first has to be the most natural move. Harriet ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 07:04:56 EDT From: Mac4781@aol.com To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Message-ID: Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Alison asked: > And here's another question - have your opinions ever changed as a result of > discussions on the lists? The major changes to my perceptions of the main characters took place long before I entered cyberspace, during ten years of similar exposure to other viewpoints as presented in Federation Archives, Pressure Point, Rallying Cally, On the Wing, Neutral Arbiter, etc. The lists, however, continue to sharpen my perceptions. It might be a character quirk that I'd not noticed before. Other times, someone will present canonical references that will put into perspective something I've felt on an instinctive level. Quite often, the lists provide valuable insight into minor characters that I've spent less time pondering. It's very exciting when any of that happens. I've also gained character insight through certain pieces of fanfiction. I loved your theory to explain why we have big brains, Alison! It works for me. :) Carol Mc ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 07:50:33 +0100 From: Julia Jones To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Cc: B7 List Subject: Re: Tarrant and Vila (was Re: [B7L] Servalan)(long) Message-ID: In message <378D071E.3E4CBB38@ptinet.net>, mistral@ptinet.net writes >I don't think anyone would argue that Avon has no flaws You obviously weren't here a while back when someone get upset with Judith Proctor and I for being so horrid to poor dear Avon as to suggest he was not entirely perfect. I'm sure it provided some gentle amusement for the list to see it suggested that we obviously disliked the character. -- Julia Jones "Don't philosophise with me, you electronic moron!" The Turing test - as interpreted by Kerr Avon. ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 04:32:37 -0700 From: mistral@ptinet.net To: B7 List Subject: Re: Tarrant and Vila (was Re: [B7L] Servalan)(long) Message-ID: <378DC6D4.65A95A52@ptinet.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Julia Jones wrote: > In message <378D071E.3E4CBB38@ptinet.net>, mistral@ptinet.net writes > >I don't think anyone would argue that Avon has no flaws > > You obviously weren't here a while back when someone get upset with > Judith Proctor and I for being so horrid to poor dear Avon as to suggest > he was not entirely perfect. I'm sure it provided some gentle amusement > for the list to see it suggested that we obviously disliked the > character. Er, yes, actually I meant anyone reasonable, but thought perhaps I'd better leave that word out, just in case.... Mistral -- "It seems that I'm some kind of a galactic yo-yo." --the third Doctor ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 04:34:27 -0700 From: mistral@ptinet.net To: B7 List Subject: Re: Lyst wars (Re: [B7L] Re: Soolin (was Servalan)) Message-ID: <378DC742.89881FED@ptinet.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Alison Page wrote: > And here's another question - have your opinions ever changed as a result of > discussions on the lists? Yes. Lots. Mostly small refinements, but sometimes larger things. Grins, Mistral -- "It seems that I'm some kind of a galactic yo-yo." --the third Doctor ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 17:07:26 +0100 From: "O'Malley Price Corps" To: "blakes7@lysator.liu.se" Subject: [B7L] (no subject) Message-ID: <378E073E.839EDB28@cwcom.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit UNSUBSCRIBE PLEASE ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 10:00:41 PDT From: "Rob Clother" To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: [B7L] The Life of Brian Message-ID: <19990715170042.85856.qmail@hotmail.com> Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed Alison and Penny on Travis II: > > My actual opinion of Travis II has changed > > enormously from listening to Penny and other wild ones defend > him, and >I now > > think he's extremely hot (just as a for-instance) > >Alison, once again you have given my existence meaning. For yea, is >there not joy in FINALACT Heaven for one sinner that is saved from >coming to Greif? Yes. After all, who needs all that poncey RADA training when you can shout in a cockney accent? -- Rob "bit of a geezer" Clother ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 18:57:07 +0100 From: "Neil Faulkner" To: "lysator" Subject: Re: [B7L] Re: webpage Message-ID: <000a01beceeb$7f10dac0$444b8cd4@default> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lisa wrote: >Neil just needs to make a minor correction to his HTML. Hopefully fixed. And I've added a couple more pix to the page, though they might not mean much to non-Brits. Never was any good at this programming lark... Ta, Lisa Neil -------------------------------- End of blakes7-d Digest V99 Issue #220 **************************************