![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Ehouse didn't pass inspection. ( EDITED UPDATE, REEDIT. )
Dec. 20th, 2007
Hah. And I've not watched TV in 20 years.
Dec. 20th, 2007 11:43 pm |
I received 85 credits on The Sci Fi Sounds Quiz How much of a Sci-Fi geek are you? |
| Guess the Sci-Fi Movie Sounds hereCanon powershot | |
are keeping me from sleeping, so I'm spamming you with rambling until I fall asleep. Or perhaps I'll be various other people who can't sleep for nerves....
One from Blake's 7 and one from Drake's Venture.
Mmm... interesting the similarity in names. Not just Blake's/Drakes but also SeVEN/VENture.
--------
He looked down at the console and made a minute and unnecessary correction. Although he wouldn't say this to any of the others, he did actually miss Liberator's board games. He never did come up with a sensible reason why there had been a crate of Earth-style games in the treasure room. Zen wouldn't tell him. Vila's guess that the people who stole the Liberator from the system had been indiscriminate pirates seemed as reasonable as any.
His mind kept wandering, skipping from unrelated memories of times which, in retrospect, weren't so hideously bad, at least some of the time. He was so tired, so very tired of fighting a hopeless battle, of pushing and pulling and making elaborate plans that ultimately fell through due to other people's incompetence or, it must be admitted, his own miscalculations.
Graphing the success/loss of his missions since Star One would be a truly depressing exercise. Blake scrubbed his hand over his scarred face and sighed. He'd better try to get some sleep, or Deva would nag.
---------
Why were executions at dawn? It seemed a miserable way to start the day. Worse for some than others, but still ... in the middle of the night, when your blood pounds slowly, like slow surf in your ears and you lie thinking that you could let out your breath and never have it return, why that would be a sensible time to do it.
Just like going to sleep when you compose your soul to accept whatever dreams will come. He hadn't even tried to sleep. What was the point? He'd only have nightmares, and dream the execution over and over. Why had it come to this? Drake had no cause, not really. He'd seen fear not only in the gentlemen's eyes. Was Drake mad?
He shook his head. There was nothing he could do about it but prepare himself to face the morning with dignity. He crossed himself, and picked up the whet stone to give his axe a final polish.
--------
One from Blake's 7 and one from Drake's Venture.
Mmm... interesting the similarity in names. Not just Blake's/Drakes but also SeVEN/VENture.
--------
He looked down at the console and made a minute and unnecessary correction. Although he wouldn't say this to any of the others, he did actually miss Liberator's board games. He never did come up with a sensible reason why there had been a crate of Earth-style games in the treasure room. Zen wouldn't tell him. Vila's guess that the people who stole the Liberator from the system had been indiscriminate pirates seemed as reasonable as any.
His mind kept wandering, skipping from unrelated memories of times which, in retrospect, weren't so hideously bad, at least some of the time. He was so tired, so very tired of fighting a hopeless battle, of pushing and pulling and making elaborate plans that ultimately fell through due to other people's incompetence or, it must be admitted, his own miscalculations.
Graphing the success/loss of his missions since Star One would be a truly depressing exercise. Blake scrubbed his hand over his scarred face and sighed. He'd better try to get some sleep, or Deva would nag.
---------
Why were executions at dawn? It seemed a miserable way to start the day. Worse for some than others, but still ... in the middle of the night, when your blood pounds slowly, like slow surf in your ears and you lie thinking that you could let out your breath and never have it return, why that would be a sensible time to do it.
Just like going to sleep when you compose your soul to accept whatever dreams will come. He hadn't even tried to sleep. What was the point? He'd only have nightmares, and dream the execution over and over. Why had it come to this? Drake had no cause, not really. He'd seen fear not only in the gentlemen's eyes. Was Drake mad?
He shook his head. There was nothing he could do about it but prepare himself to face the morning with dignity. He crossed himself, and picked up the whet stone to give his axe a final polish.
--------