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12 November 2006 @ 12:05 am
So, Sandy and I were chatting the other day... and thinking about how fun it would be to get FOF going again for us 'outcasts' (for lack of a better descriptive word for our FOF status). Right now the only ones here are myself, Sandy, Barbara, and one other gal who I do not know and who is not from FOF (to the best of my knowledge). Anyspam... I'd like to try and get the ball rolling again but I think we need to discuss a few things first.

1. A whole new place. Sandy mentioned that our characters are leaving and going to an 'indie' studio. However, this new studio needs a name. We could keep Flights Of Fancy... but seeing as we're going to be a seperate collective, I think it'd be good to have our own sort of label, just so we have something to title not only the 'studio', but the group itself. Or we could keep FOF... perhaps...

2. A whole new genre. Before, FOF revolved around *just* Alan Rickman, really. Sure, here and there other fandoms were casually thrown in, but it's all been about the lovely AR. I propose that we widen that a bit and make our new, own FOF a little more open and allow other fandoms and/or actors to come in. Yay, nay?

3. A new community. While this community is alright, it'd take me about five seconds to create a new community with our new chosen name (if that is what we decide to do). I think this would be best, just because I don't want our community being called Alan Rickman: Flights Of Fancy if that's not what it is really going to be (kinda). This place was originally built to take the place of the guestbook due to the spam spam spamity spam and whatnot, but we all know how that fell flat. Anyways, I could create a new place once we have some stuff sorted out, make a spiffy layout, and then either delete this one or null it and you guys could just take it off your friends lists and add on the new place (if that's what we decide blah blah blah etc. you get the idea).

4. How are things going to run? Personally, I'd love to see more collaboration. I think collaboratives can be quite fun, and if we remain a smaller, tighter-knit group, then that's quite possible. Again, your choice - I'm open to anything, I'm just throwing things out. Also, how do we want the new studio to run? Is there still going to be on and off set? Who's the new director, the writers? What will be some focuses? Is anyone else other than me going to be taking a fresh take at all?

5. Anything else you can think of that I haven't (it is midnight after all, and I'm on Nyquil, give me a break LOL).

So please, let's get chatting - I'd love to start writing again!
Current Mood: chipperchipper
24 April 2006 @ 10:22 pm
Is it down for anyone else?
05 July 2005 @ 10:50 pm
The suddenness of it all felt like a second blow to the head, and it took her almost a full five minutes before blinking again and tottering away down the road, utterly dazed. She kept asking herself ‘What just happened there?’, but no answers revealed themselves.

She was still devastated about her car. It had served her well, and had never made a fuss all these years. Now it’d be a miracle if she could muster up enough dough for a new vehicle, even with the insurance. Perhaps she should have taken up the payment offer from that odd guy after all…

Stumbling inside and lazily scattering the groceries across the island counter, she staggered to her bathroom and began applying treatment to her wound. Carefully she dabbed at it with a soft, damp cloth, wiping away the dried blood and cleaning the wound thoroughly before wrapping an annoyingly huge bandage around her head. Luckily, it wasn’t too bad of a blow, nothing serious, and she was grateful that it hadn’t split open enough to require stitches. It’d be healed up in no time, and hopefully it wouldn’t leave a trace for remembrance, either.

Returning to the kitchen to put the groceries away, she slowly stocked up her fridge till it was full a welcoming sight indeed. Luna perched on the table, striped tail twitching as Diane closed the fridge door with sighs of relief and exhaustion. It’d been a long day.

She slinked back to her bathroom, and ran the tap for a nice, hot bath. She upped the heat until the bathroom was engulfed in steam, and moisture bath in itself. Stepping into the large marble tub, she closed her eyes and drifted away, allowing the warm waves to lap over her in a soothing, tranquil motion, calmness and peace relaxing her tensed body until she felt as light as a feather.

She hummed as she began to scrub, daydreaming and thinking of nothing in particular, until she thought of the man. Ian, she recalled, was his name. Ian Maxtone-Graham, supposed owner of The Gate. He irritated, creeped, and amused her all at the same time. She was such a sucker for Brits, and always had been. Not to mention, she secretly admitted that those blue eyes had been awfully enticing…

She shuddered as the bath began to run cold, so daintily she stepped out and drained the tub, slipping into some fluffy, warm flanel PJ’s. She pulled back the covers of her bed, and scurried underneath, Luna wrapped herself around her head like a turban. Only moments after clicking off the light was she fast asleep.


A few weeks had come and gone.

Christmas came with little excitement, spent alone eating game hens with wild rice and chocolate pie for dessert, one of her own personal traditions. She still didn’t have enough money for a car, so instead bought herself a new computer that had been on an unheard of 50% off sale, since her old one had practically been a dinosaur about ready to become extinct, and it was a necessity for her writing.

New Years too had passed without so much as a single bang or firecracker. All she’d done was finish transferring files to her new computer, assisted by a small glass of champagne, and watched the ball drop in the Big Apple. And that was that.
Life was seeming as dull as ever, and something inside Diane itched to come out and take over, steering her around. But she wouldn’t let it. She stuck to her simple daily routine, shoving aside thoughts of change and splendor. She was conservative in this aspect at the utmost.

Numerous times she looked at the tiny rectangular business card she’d been bestowed upon. And numerous times she’d reached for the telephone to dial the number for more information, but her hand would continually falter, and she’d forget about it for the rest of the day. This process repeated regularly.

"What am I so afraid of?" she asked herself aloud one crisp January morning.

"Mrrrow," Luna replied, rubbing up against her legs.

"I might like it. It’d be a new experience. I might actually make some money."


She reached down and scratched the purring tabby behind the ears. "But I’m tired of failure, Luna. I’m sick of consistently not being recognized for my talents. What if this guy is the same?" She paused and chewed on her lip. "But then again… he said he’s studied my work. He even knew who I was simply from my writing, and I’ve never met anyone like that- not even close."

"Mrrow, meow, prrrrrrrrrow."

"You’re right. I’ll go there this morning. How bad could it be?"
03 July 2005 @ 09:11 am
Hello one and all! This is a tester post, to show you what the entries would look like. The layout and style of the journal itself can also be altered at any time, as well as if you don't like the text size, or particular font. I have copied Magda's recent Nottingham post and am going to paste it below to show what an entry would be...

The Sheriff of Nottingham set his cup down and grimaced. The noise in the great hall was becoming intolerable. It always did when the barons were invited to a feast.

He looked around the room at his dinner companions. Baron Ogbert groped a bored looking serving wench who kept slapping his hands away from her bodice. Baron Wulfric had given up on his tankard and instead swilled ale directly from the cask, ignoring the horrified stare of the steward. The Sheriff looked to his other side in time to see Baron Fulke hoist an entire turkey leg and stuff it into his mouth, his eyes bulging as he chewed. The Sheriff suppressed a shudder and directed his attention to his own most modestly portioned platter.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he put up with the barons. It wasn’t as if they brought anything useful to his activities. As warriors they were cowards, always jumping at their own shadows or at small noises. They were hopeless strategists, coming up with convoluted schemes that were guaranteed to fail. About the only thing they did successfully was to keep their own hides safe while he and his own men ran the truly dangerous risks.

The Sheriff took another drink. Sometimes it just seemed more bother than it was worth, fulfilling Mortianna’s prophecy about his destiny as the greatest power in the north of England. He snorted. Power over lummoxes like these was not something to be cherished or fought for.

“A toast!” Baron Fulke lumbered to his feet and raised his goblet high. “A toast to the good health of our noble Sheriff!” The motion caused him to sway precariously, wine slopping over the rim and running down his arm.

There was a drunken chorus of aye’s and as the Sheriff watched, smiling insincerely and trying not to calculate the damage to the castle crockery, the other barons downed their drinks, returned to their seats and indulged in a collective belch.

Obviously it was time to move onto the business portion of the meal while the barons were still able to participate in discussions. The Sheriff stood up and cleared his throat; his table partners fell silent. “Friends, I thank you for your good wishes. As sheriff and royal agent, it is my duty to meet with you on a regular basis concerning important matters relating to the shire. May I just say that it is my good fortune that this duty is a pleasant one thanks to your friendship and support?”

He paused while the barons struggled through a drunken haze to understand his words. After several moments, they nodded in a pleased fashion and tried to focus their eyes on him again. He resumed. “Your support is important to me. All the more so since the recent discovery of another baron’s...treason.”

The word fell heavily into a sudden silence. The other barons looked at each other and then stared down at the floor. The Sheriff let the silence drag out for long minutes, smiling grimly at their discomfiture. “Yes, Baron Robert of Locksley is no longer with us. It was a blow to discover his treachery but I was able to put aside my feelings and deal with the matter appropriately. I trust that I have your wholehearted support on this matter?”

The barons roared their agreement in voices tinged with fear. The Sheriff smiled benignly at them. “I was sure I could count on you all. In the coming days it might be necessary for me to summon some or all of you to join me in other disciplinary efforts against others who would defy my – I mean, the king’s authority. But enough of such gloomy thoughts! For now let us continue the feast!” He lifted his own goblet in the air and toasted the barons, now wiping the sweat from their brows with their sleeves. As he resumed his seat, he was satisfied that they understood his message.

For they had all been part of his group of hooded and cloaked riders that night. Not that they had done much; no, they preferred to hang back and let professional killers cut down one of their fellow barons. That way no blood accrued to their hands. But he knew that they had been with him, and they knew that he only toyed with them like a hungry cat with fearful mice.

And there was only one major threat left in the entire county. The Sheriff frowned as he sipped his wine. Marion Dubois, cousin of the king.

He would have to come up with a strategy to deal with her soon.

Two men – one Moor, one Briton – stood on the deck of a ship bringing them ever closer to England. Their thoughts were of the welcome they would receive there. Little did they know what awaited them...