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Thursday, July 15th, 2010
12:30 am - *Fights her way through the cobwebs*


(Sweeps away a circle of dust from the stage with the tuft at the end of her tail)

I was actually thinking of making this post back in May, when the name showed up in the LJ Birthday reminders (May 24th was the tenth anniversary of the first Pro-Fun Hoedown on rec.arts.drwho).

But then, the date slipped by, and I forgot. And then, I got depressed that I forgot, and well....

And today, to give me a prod in the butt, LJ announced their plan to completely purge all inactive journals and comms (including all reply threads), starting in August.

This post will buy this community two more years (or so they say, now. They could change their mind again before two years is up)... But, beyond this survival-mode post, I still think this place could use some sprucing up. Doctor Who the fanchise has come back to television since the last reply to the last entry was posted here; we have three new Doctors, a new Master, and a whole passel of new companions and associates to invite to our shindig (if that's what we're still up for doing).

Rec.Arts.Drwho seems to have gone into the permanant realms of Internet History. Can't even do a direct search of usenet groups on Google, anymore. And when I tried a Google search of keyword phrases I know I made to my first post to RADW, all that came up are archival versions of the original. So I can't even find my earliest entry into that world, anymore (I think it was November, 1999).*

Anyway -- that rambling paragraph immediately above this one was just to segue into the fact that inspiration of the PRO-FUN TROLL HOEDOWNS, the Pro-McCoy Troll vs. Pro-Pertwee Troll flamewars on RADW, are barely within the realm of living memory.

So what do you want to do with this space? What should be our new inspiration? Should I promote this comm, a bit, and invite new people in? Should I rework the community profile and guidelines? What, what?

Tell me!

*Found it (it was from September 29, 1999):

Mushy OTT Love Letter to Rec.Arts.DrWho (for archival purposes, in case Google clears more things out in 2011Collapse )

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Monday, April 3rd, 2006
4:57 pm - Nadine's group

Beloved let Nadine's group out into the smoky dusk of Lexin's industrial center (looking, to those Hoedowners familiar with the genre, very much like the set of a 1940's Film Noir movie), but shut her doors again before Estandre's group could follow.

As Beloved dematerialised, the group that had just exited were somewhat surprised. Since most of them were experienced adventurers, this surprise exhibited itself as little more than a slight start and an exchange of perplexed glances, if that.

A second after everyone else had finished their understated reactions, Daibhid Chelonidae spun round in what could only be described as a full-body doubletake, and started looking behind things.

"They've *gone*!" he exclaimed eventually.

"Wow," drawled Jack, "With reactions that quick, it's a shame there aren't any hares for you to race."

"But... *where*?" Daibhid demanded, despite knowing that no-one there had any more idea than he did. "What happened to the general-exploration group? I was going to give Daibhid back the Rucksack, since he was joining it." The Rucksack looked up at its name (or at least pointed its buckle in Daibhid's direction).

"Donatello raises some interesting points," said Destrii, "but I don't think it's anything we can do anything about. They must have had a reason for leaving, and the best thing we can do is do what we're here for *then* worry about whether they're coming back."

"Pretty much what I was thinking," Jack added, "And given the way these things seem to work, it's always possible we'll stumble upon them on the way."

"Agreed." agreed Nadine. As they set off she felt a sense of relief that *some* of the people in this group were professional about things.

"So, Destrii, huh?" Jack commented, "As in 'Rides Again'?"

Well, fairly professional...

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Monday, March 13th, 2006
11:26 pm

"Very likely," Tardis Tails replied. "I must say, they seemed as angry as bees whose honey has been stolen."

"They want the artifacts back?" Estandre asked.

Tardis Tails shook his head. "I don't think they'd even know the artifacts from trash. I think they want their 'employees' back."

"Hey -- unh-unh!" Lise said. "You gotta be off your meds if you think that," she said, as all eyes turned on them. "As far as they're concerned, we're expendable. We had to do a contstant song and dance to keep them from giving all our trades to their other 'operaters'."

"You ever meet any of these other 'operators'?" Estandre asked.

Lise scoffed. "What, like we all get together for a friendly cuppa every week? You never been 'round many shadow markets, have you?" she asked.

Estandre had been around them enough to know that, sometimes, the person who was most careful not to let the left hand know what the right hand was doing only had one hand. But he didn't say this out loud. Instead, he took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "What about your parents?" he asked.

"What about 'em?" Mish said. "What do they have -- No. No, if you think they were mixed up with shadow traders, you're really crazy."

"You got mixed up with them," the Third Doctor countered. "So what are we supposed to think?"

"Yeah," Lise said, "but we had to, didn't we?"

Estandre sighed. "How did they die," he asked, "in the War?"

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Sunday, March 5th, 2006
12:13 am

As Daibhid Ceannaideach went to talk to the Three, Bob remained deep in thought. Creatures that could travel through the Vortex, the lost relics of the Gallifreyan Muses...

"Muses.. muses.." Bob turned to Daibhid Chelonidae. "You wouldn't have some weird Toon gadget that can measure fluctuations in muse-activity, would you?"

"Might do," said Daibhid, and quickly pulled open the drawer in his plastron and began rummaging about.

"Wait," said Keria, puzzled, "That doesn't actually make any sense."

"Not according to the laws of physics and common sense, no," admitted Bob, "But Daibhid here comes from a world where an electromagnet is a horseshoe magnet with a lever, and gravity only works if you're paying attention, so it's worth a shot." As he spoke, Daibhid was throwing various things out of the drawer, including his pet salamander, who bounced humorously, and, yes, a giant horseshoe magnet with a lever.

"I thought you didn't do heavy lifting?" said Jack, looking at the debris in astonishment.

"I don't. But it doesn't weigh anything once it's in the drawer." the tortoise replied without looking up.

"Okay. But why a ship's anchor?"

"'Cos I couldn't get an anvil. It's a Toon thing... Ah, here we are." Daibhid triumphantly produced a hand-held, silvery gadget labelled "Acme Inspirometer", which he chucked to Bob, before scooping all the stuff back into the drawer and shutting it. Bob looked at the Inspirometer for a second before passing it back.

"*I* can't use it, can I?" he said. "It'd be like Captain Atom trying to use a geiger counter. Now, what to do next..." He thought for a second. "Does Tardis Tails have a TARDIS?"

"He's got a Compact Advanced Temporal Fixing Locational Access Panel, if that's any good."

"Right. Well you take the..." Bob sighed, "CATFLAP back to the planet. It's highly unlikely that either the CATFLAP or Tails will register as Gallifreyan, so you should be safe. Just find the... whatever they are... take a reading, and come back."

As Daibhid Chelonidae went off to get Tardis Tails, and the overweight moggy squeezed, with difficulty, through a small doorway he produced from within his frock coat, Bob the Muse noticed Second staring at him doubtfully. "Is this really going to work?" he asked, "I mean, I understand that Toonside has different laws of physics, but do Toons really carry them around with them?"

Bob the Muse shrugged. "I've no idea," he said honestly. "It *seems* that way; that drawer certainly doesn't work on the same principles as the TARDIS, or even the Rucksack. The worst that can happen is that there's no reading, and we're no worse off." He sighed. "It's a longshot anyway."

"It must work that way," said Eighth, "Under our laws of physics, he'd just collapse into a pile of pigment. Toons can't really exist with our physical laws."

"Um..." said Fitz.

"Yes, all right, but that was a different situation *entirely*."

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Tuesday, February 21st, 2006
1:27 am - Meanwhile, back at the Spaceport...

The door and sign, together, looked like it was trying very hard to look like a quaint English pub, as though it had been tranplanted wholy, not from an actual English village, but rather, a reproduction English village built as part of an American theme park.

The sign, complete with gilt Old English Font read: Ye Olde Booster Rocket.

Eloise ducked her head and whispered into her pocket: "Arthur, I think we're here."

Arthur poked his head out of her vest pocket, and peeked around the edge of the cloak (he was now bare-headed). "Yes," he said, "this is the place."

Eloise nodded. "Good. Then we'll just tell your family we're here, and head back to --"

"Oh!" said Arthur, "it won't be so easy as that --"

"No," muttered Jamie, under his breath, "it can never be as easy as that!"

"If we leave now, after booking a room for the night, it's bound to raise suspicions," Arthur continued.

Eloise knew he was right. After their recent meeting with the long legs of the law, she had no doubt that the streets were heavily guarded.

"You'll have to engage the propriator, while I try to get word to the others," Arthur concluded.

Eloise took a deep breath, and, with as much bravery as she could muster, pushed open the red panneled door.

Inside, the theme park naffness of the pub continued -- on the surface. The few customers slumped in the booths over their faux-frosted mugs of alchohol might have been innocently bored travelers, waiting for their flights, but something about their demeanor made Eloise doubt that very much.

The aforementioned propriator was standing behind the bar. He wore a bright red waistcoat with a white carnation in the lapel, and a broad-brimmed straw hat with a bright green hat band. He would have looked like he was trying to dress as an extra for one of those musical numbers in Mary Poppins, if it weren't for his long, distinctly reptillian, snout, and three pairs of arms.

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current mood: distressed

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Thursday, February 16th, 2006
4:09 pm - Off to the Inn

(A branch in the plot from this posting)

"All right." he said. "Now we're here, I want a small group to go with Arthur and see if we can get the Nonnies to stay with Beloved, while their TARDIS recuperates."

"I will!" Eloise volunteered.

Eloise trotted to the kitchen, where she found Walter Duncan still watching over the sleeping Arthur[1].

"We've arrived," she whispered, to Walter Duncan, and gently nudged Arthur with the tip of her index finger. "Arthur," she said, quietly, "Arthur, we've arrived at Odrem."

Arthur's eyes fluttered open. "Odrem?" he asked, sleepily, then, with a twitch of his whiskers, he was suddenly alert. "But the Three -- what if they come after this ship?"

"We're doing our best to take them by surprise, this time," Eloise assured him, "but right now, I've come to take you to your family, to let them know you're all right... and invite them all to stay here for a while. Surely, your Susan, Cecil and the others must be very worried about you."

Arthur nodded. "Yes," he said, I suppose you're right ... The Three won't be half pleased to see me again, though," he added, uneasily.

"They won't need to see you," Eloise assured him. "You can hide in one of my pockets -- there's plenty of room, they're all bigger on the inside."

She held the upper left pocket on her vest open for him, and Arthur climbed in, a bit awkwardly. Despite Bob the Muse's earlier worries, this little mouse was nothing like a musketeer. Eloise was beginning to suspect that his dress was more theatrical costume than it was his everyday garb.

[1]See this posting.

current mood: nervous

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Tuesday, February 14th, 2006
10:16 am - Odrem ho!
narm00 As Sweetheart finally approached Odrem...Collapse )

current mood: curious

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Monday, February 6th, 2006
7:17 pm - Twist em up a tune

Someone shoved a many-times folded piece of paper into Eloise's hand, as she made her way through the crowd. She unfolded it, slowly, and glanced at the message, before reading it aloud. She wrinkled her long nose.

It seemed like gibberish to her, and for a brief moment, she was afraid that Sweetheart had opened a portal to another dimension again. But someone had written Announcement across the top in bold letters, so Eloise shrugged and announced:

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Sunday, January 29th, 2006
7:42 pm - It was a dark and a stormy night....

It's a dark, windy, rainy night in late January, and your frustration is running high. You thought it would be fun to return to the days of your youth -- drive down to Florida, and join in the fevered celebrations of Spring Break, for your vacation from work. But you took a wrong turn, somewhere, and got on the wrong interstate. Now, you are lost in a maze of cul-de-sacs, somewhere in southeast Virginia. And the more you try to retrace your steps, the more lost you become, as if you had driven into a Home & Gardens version of an Escher print.

It's not exactly the season for sight-seeing either; all the Christmas displays have long since gone back into storage, and you're not far south enough to enjoy the early blossoming of spring flowers, however freakishly warm it is right now.

And then, you notice the cul-de-sac ahead is packed with cars, and ... an odd assortment of seemingly random things. There are several blue telephone booth-like things with signs announcing that they are "Police Box" above their doors; there are grandfather clocks, and pipe organs, corinthian columns, and ... a submarine on wheels?! It's too late for a New Year's party, too early for the Superbowl or Valentine's Day. You can feel your jaw dropping, and you know, that if Jerry were here, he'd snap a picture to use for a "WTF?!" icon for his elle-jay, just to annoy you.

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current mood: hopeful

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