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My Content
Sep 27 2014, 08:52 PM
And I'm quite proud of it. If anyone's curious, it was a story set in the world of The Queen's Cavaliers. You can read it here:

Gunpowder Treason
Sep 5 2014, 02:29 PM
The good news is that I'm in line for a promotion at work (yay)! The bad news is that, since I work in the securities industry, I need to study for and pass the Series 9 and Series 10 exams - which are required to be a Supervisory Principal. The tl;dr version is that I'll be studying my brains out for the next two months, to get ready for taking two exams in November. I'll try to keep up with my threads, but I'll have a whole lot less time than normal for the next couple of months.

This affects The Corsair, Clark Kent, Wade Wilson, and Rallon.
Jun 26 2014, 07:57 PM
Sunnydale, California
United States of America
2008 Anno Domini

He was utterly out of place, he realized as he tied his TARDIS up to the dock. The Corsair was dressed in a fashion similar to what he'd worn on his last, slightly apocalyptic, visit to this planet - loose breeches of fine black cotton cloth, tucked into calf-high black leather boots with silver buckles. A long-sleved shirt of cream-colored linen, and a scarlet sash tied around his waist, and a vest of tooled black leather with silver fittings. Oh, and his sword belt. But he'd worked a perception filter into the baldric and scabbard of his rapier and dagger, so it appeared to be nothing more than a belt made to match his vest.

The locals, it seemed, had changed styles. Many were dressed in breeches (some cut off, some full-lenght) of a rough dark-blue fabric, and single-piece short-sleeved shirts in a variety of colors. It had only been four hundred years since his last visit to this planet - could fashions have really changed so much?

Someone came stalking towards him. "You got a docking permit?"

Ah. This, he could deal with. "I do not, my good man," he responded, drawing a coin from his sash and pressing it into the dock master's hand as he clasped it. "But, I trust this will suffice?"

The man glanced at it, and then stared. Gold winked in his hand, a round coin of a type not seen outside of museums since the Spanish had ceeded California to the United States. "Uhm... that is..."

"Please," the Corsair said, laughing a little and tucking a second coin into his hand. "I have a sense of the costs of a docking slip. Take this as sureity, and present me with a bill when I prepare to leave port."

Leaving the baffled-looking man to stare at the two golden doubloons, the Corsair strode off along the dock...


A few minutes later...

"They've achieved an early industrial age," he marveled, watching automobiles whizz past. "And in only four hundred years. Magnificent!"

With that, he turned his attention back to the device that proclaimed itself an 'Automated Teller Machine'. He'd approached it originally, thinking it something similar to a noospheric access node on the Homeworld, but had rapidly discovered that it did not speak and did not provide information. So he'd fallen back to observe, and discovered that it dispensed the coin of the realm, so to speak. And, he decided, he'd need that coin. Fabricated gold would eventually draw attention.

His sonic screwdriver hummed as he idly wondered what a 'PIN' was, and then he took a sheaf of green paper bills from the dispenser. Tucking them into his sash, he extracted a compass and took a bearing.

Time to get to work.


Somewhere else...

do you sense it..?


Time Lord.

we are agreed, then..?

We are.

Aye. The Council of Slayers will fall. The Time Lord will be destroyed. And the Hellmouth...

...will be ours.
Apr 2 2014, 06:42 PM
Bright light city gonna set my soul
Gonna set my soul on fire
Got a whole lot of money that's ready to burn,
So get those stakes up higher
There's a thousand pretty women waitin' out there
And they're all livin' devil may care
And I'm just the devil with love to spare
Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas

Crimson dice bounced across green felt, and a loud cheer faded to a dull sigh of disappointment as the one of the dice - now showing a '4' - slowly tipped to reveal a '3'. "Hard six is the point," the stickman announced, shoving the dice back across the felt.

The dark-haired woman smiled as she picked the dice up, weighing them casually in her hand. She was dressed flamboyantly, in black leather boots and rust-red skin-tight breeches of crushed velvet, with a cream-colored shirt shot with silver threads and ornamented with lace on her wrists and two buttons open at her throat. Tiny rubies set in gold glittered in her ears, and sapphires and diamonds flashed on her fingers and wrists, and a silver chain with a silver pendant hung around her throat. Her coat, a flame-red velvet thing with gold buttons and trim, was draped over the chair behind her.

Smiling, she rubbed them against the chest of the man standing next to her. "For luck," she purred. The crowd cheered and tossed money down on the Pass and Don't Pass lines, and the man returned her grin as she struck a pose. Then, with a laugh, she carelessly tossed the dice. They bounced across the table, and she didn't even bother to look. "Ninah!" the croupier called, raking up the dice and shoving them back towards the woman again.

Smiling, she pushed a stack of chips onto the Pass line. Then, as the crowd cheered, she shook the dice and threw them with a negiligent-looking snap of the wrist...

How I wish that there were more
Than the twenty-four hours in the day
'Cause even if there were forty more
I wouldn't sleep a minute away
Oh, there's black jack and poker and the roulette wheel
A fortune won and lost on ev'ry deal
All you need's a strong heart and a nerve of steel
Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas

It was dark out, when she emerged from the Pallazio. The skies were, at least. The Strip was lit by millions of miles of neon tubes in every color, by street lights and headlights, by spotlights. The air was dry and the temperature of blood, and even in these hours between midnight and dawn the sidewalks and streets were littered with traffic.

The dark-haired woman adjusted the lines of her short-waisted blood-red jacket, eying herself critically in the dark mirror of a casino window as she emerged onto the Strip. After flicking a speck of lint from one lapel, she glanced left and right as she strolled down the stairs and turned towards the Riviera. She grinned, white teeth glittering with the multicolored lights of the signs. This was her kind of town - racuous, vibrant, and never bothering to sleep.

"Viva Las Vegas with you neon flashin', and your one armbandits crashin'," she sang as she strolled along the sidewalk. The outburst attracted attention, but her singing voice was clear and strong and she was quite pretty, so the attention was more amused or entertained than irritated or upset. "All those hopes down the drain... Viva Las Vegas turnin' day into nighttime, Turnin' night into daytime. If you see it once, you'll never be the same again!"

Then, as she passed a gap between the casinos, a shadowy figure grabbed her by the arm and jerked her out of the light.

I'm gonna keep on the run
I'm gonna have me some fun
If it costs me my very last dime
If I wind up broke up well
I'll always remember that I had a swingin' time
I'm gonna give it ev'rything I've got
Lady luck please let the dice stay hot
Let me shout a seven with ev'ry shot
Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas,
Viva, Viva Las Vegas

Air burst from her lungs as she slammed into the concrete wall. Two hulking figures, difficult to make in the twilight depths away from the radiance of the Strip, lurked nearby. One of them tore one of her braclets off with rough hands. "check it," the figure growled, holding the gold band up. "Probability miner."

"Bitch," the other one said, looming near. "Got some nerve, scamming us with offworld tech." A rough hand cupped her cheek, blunt claw-like nails pressing into the flesh. "Gonna make an example of you, bitch."

The woman just smiled. "Now, is that any way to speak to a lady?" And then, without warning, she snapped forward and drove her forehead into the shadowy figure's nose. There was a crunch of cartilage, and a spurt of wine-colored blood.

"Ah well," she said, spinning to avoid the other figure's knife and chopping at his wrist. "some people just don't have manners."
Mar 27 2014, 06:04 PM
TARDIS Landing Slip Delta-E-117-2
The Panopticon
The Citadel

Irritibly, the Corsair leaned against the railing and stared out into space. The view - a breathtaking vista of the rest of the Citadel opening up around the Panopticon like a sculptured flower of precious stones and metals until it reached the crimson veldt that spread up into the silvered Mountains of Solace and Solitude - should have left her feeling at peace with the universe. Instead, it reminded her of her own inactivity. She wasn't sure if it was just this particular Incarnation, or if she was starting to (horror of horrors!) go native out in the greater Spiral Politic, but she was finding herself bristling at the time she had to spend on the Homeworld. Chafing at the endless round of Custom and Duty and Protocol.

And now they were saddling her with a... minder? Partner? Observer? Someone from the Chancellary Guard, reflecting the legal authority of Gallifrey. Because a Time Lord had gone missing in Mutter's Spiral. A Time Lord, and a TARDIS. And neither one needed to be permitted to fall into the hands of primitives. And so she had to wait. Wait, while the Guard determined who would be representing the Offices of the Lord President on this investigation.

So she was reduced to pacing, stalking back and forth along the gantry that supported her TARDIS, moving like a tiger in a cage. And every time she turned to see her TARDIS - chameleon circuit purged and plasmic shell taking the form of a nondescript grey box to avoid offending the sensibilities of the Time Lords - she found herself snarling like one. And her clothing - black brocade jacket trimmed with gold over black breeches and a cream silk shirt, and a black tricorn perched on long ash-blonde hair - gave her the appearance of a great cat as well.

How much bloody longer would this take?


Weywot, Quaoar's moon
Kuiper Belt, Sol System
Orion Arm
Mutter's Spiral
AD 4012

"Remarkable," observed Chen Da-Shao, peering at the man-like form strapped to the operating table. "Even like this, the organism's tenacity is breathtaking."

It - Da-Shao refused to think of an alien as he, despite the superficial similarities with the human - was no longer screaming. He had extracted the creature's larynx, early in his studies. Now, the most distracting sound it could make was a hollow whistling sound. "Some measure of the regenerative properties of the specimin must be utterly biological. I belive I may take this with me, for further study."

He turned away, and carefully lifted a small vial that appeared to be glass. Inside coiled a strand of... light? Motion? Whatever it was, it writhed and coiled in time with an unheard rhythm. Chen Da-Shao smiled at it. "The key to time itself," he breathed. "The key to my revenge..."
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