Voices From Last Night

Scene changed to me running with the S4 crew through this weird little town. We were trying to get through without being noticed by the people but we were in a busy street at dusk and the little alien we were with suddenly took offense to us (it was actually two creatures, one with a tight hoodie and one with a loose hoodie and they always stood together so they looked like a sideways letter B). I think I or Avon upset them so they flung themselves bodily through a bookshop window and we RAN. Down the street, turned right and barrelled down this steep alleyway, guns raised. Tarrant got lost and Avon shouted at Tarrant to just "pick one then" (an alley) as he was leading everyone at the time, knowing the area best. People were chasing us with guns. Tarrant raced up this funny staircase just inside a building, and when we got near the top we realised it was a dead end with only one tiny door. Tarrant paused near the top and we heard a HUGE crash - Vila was sheepishly smiling at us, having knocked over an outdoor lighting lamp. That attracted guards and we heard movement behind the little red door at the top of the stairs. Avon and I flanked the door on one side and the others lined up against the wall on the other side.

Tarrant was really nervous and upset because, turns out, he had a bastard child he'd hidden in the boot with the rest of his stuff, and just as we were about to leave for the beach (marine biology unit I guess) a policeman opened the boot and got annoyed at him for trying to ignore his baby.

Obviously I totally lost my shit and had to run down the director, (who was actually a special fx guy that my doctor boss is friends with.) I explained that I knew what Orac was and that he obviously wanted the very spot I work in to stand in for the Liberator flight deck.

I wheedled and cajoled and begged (two more people then joined me in this chorus) to let me watch on set and I guess, work there. I think he said yes.

Orac was hidden in the outhouse out the back of my current flat, on the sink with his key resting on him. I slid it in and told him that the crew were in danger and they needed his help, so he did something through tariel cell magicology and saved them all. Only, turns out, it screwed up the timeline and now we had to go and fix it. Avon, Blake, Vila, Gan and I took an old coal train (driven by Lenny from The Simpsons) up a mountain, through thick pine forests and over old stone bridges, up to this place where we would spend the night on our journey to fix the temporal anomaly Orac had created. I sat up in the enginehouse while Blake and Avon clung to the boiler. Vila hung between the engine and coal carriages looking moody and deep, the cool mountain air ruffling his hair as we sped along in the fading evening.

Along the way, Avon (in his studded leather outfit) alighted the train and ran ahead to this strange little wicker outpost in the forest that was not much larger than a toilet block. There, he killed the inhabitants (who had done nothing wrong but, I knew he reasoned, but we should not be allowed to see) and then covered the bodies and the wall with the toilet signs with a wicker screen so that when the train passed this building, we wouldn’t know Avon had been there.

At the top of the track, we spent the night in this pastel blue fibro house where we had to hide all these things from Vila. Because of Orac’s fix, the Vila we had with us was from this alternate timeline where people had died and things had been lost (idk what exactly - stupid things like frying pans and pillows). So I locked the cat in the bathroom while Blake and Gan cleared the house of things that Vila shouldn’t see. Avon got annoyed with Blake when he found a single fishbone on the floor from the cat’s dinner and went off about how that could ruin the whole plan and put us all in mortal peril.

Then the whole dream cut to a series of clips between the Flight Deck and the White House. I was watching an old video of Avon and Vila from their university days. It started with Avon and Vila (with other randoms) on stage singing and dancing to something and then cut to a black and white image of them with Lyndon B. Johnson and Hank from King of the Hill on the lawn outside the White House (the video being filmed through the iron fence).

This scene morphed into them playing football on the lawn with Vila in the middle of the scrum with lilac face paint on. He ran back to catch the ball, backed up into the fence, and the ball caught him on his chin. He yelped and swore “oh, fucking mouth guard”. How rude, Vila.

The dream briefly changed to this really awful edit of Avon on the FD with a giant pink guitar. It was real life but also a video - his hand was strumming behind the guitar like the editor got the layers mixed up and his mouth was a poor edit of someone else’s mouth singing. His whole look was like those horrifying puppets from the Land of Confusion music video (this scene came up once before in my dream, I recall, and even asleep I hated it).

Jenna and another female character that isn’t Cally meet in a doorway, probably to the flight deck, and sort of share one another’s breath for a moment and like it and then lean in, and all three of us have this realization of DUH OF COURSE this is a great pairing and then...I woke up.

Who could it be? I can only guess at this point. Soolin? Tyce? Whoever it was would have been a strong lady, probably fair of hair.

I was living in this hotel converted from an old homestead, and there were only a few days of life left on Earth unless we could stop the inevitability of time catching up to us and an evil force destroying the earth. In the room next to mine, I'd set up the four current monitors that needed to be connected to this bomb, and all that was left was this one connection that Blake had to make closer to the heat death of our universe.

I knew he wouldn't know what had to be done because the bomb was wired up using 21st proprietary fucking cords (even doomsday weapons makers make their own fking cords) so I had to hunt him down a day before the bomb was due to blow.

I chased him across this frosty concrete walkway, seeing him in the distance but not wanting to draw attention as we weren't meant to interact in case Servalan/Travis saw us. Old Tony Banks was also in this plaza and I spent like five seconds wondering whether I should bug him for an autograph before I realised doomsday was more important. As Blake, in his The Web green cardigan, walked past me, I softly called out "Roj. Roj!" until he turned and smiled. He put a warm arm around my shoulder which burned hot against the chilling, damp frost of the morning.

I took him back to the bomb and he thanked me for explaining what he had to do - he never would have figured it out on his own. In my room next door, he opened a shallow cupboard and tutted,

"You don't have a panic closet?" he asked, peering in. Apparently I should have had a deeper closet to hide in so I crawled into this one and curled up to prove it was more than big enough. He was about to join me inside when Travis rocked up (ffs Travis) and the scene changed to me hanging around outside waiting for Blake or waiting for death, fighting with other hotel residents to use some weird fitness equipment boards which I was kickflipping like a fucking pro.

I followed Blake and left Earth, travelling in this Star Wars-esque? giant grey spacecraft and touched down onto a hot desert asteroid. We landed in an endless dunefield beside the one human outpost on the asteroid. Inside, a man from Nicaragua had just set up a desk fan on the half-wall and was enjoying the breeze, talking into the blades and following it as it oscillated. I carried on through this hall, the kitchen where Richard Griffiths from Pie in the Sky was baking, and out to the undercover open-walled hangar. The hangar floor was covered in sand and hot against my shoes. Oslo and Hyacinth from Keeping Up Appearances warned me about the heat of the planet and how we'd all likely die here soon as the asteroid moved closer to a sun, and so I decided to escape.

Krantor was running an Iron Chef style cooking show in a basement in Freedom City. The room was dark, lit only by the lights coming from the flowing water features that lined the walls and the glowing basins by the cooking stations.

I had a haircut like Servalan’s on one side of my head, long hair on the other. I can’t recall who I was competing against, but Krantor (the judge) had his money on me. We did very little cooking, and within a minute of the competition starting, my opponent was hurling tortillas at me mercilessly and with surprising skill.

We then morphed into different AU versions of Avon, my opponent insulting me in French(Avd) and I screaming back in German(Mgs) (which, for some reason, were the languages we’d written these AUs in).

Once I’d beaten my opponent in our Euro-tortilla fight and Krantor declared me winner, that awful dumpy woman from The Way Back came along with her husband (John Savident’s non-Egrorian role) and tried to tell me that my crew had been cut off from the FC Iron Chef event due to flooding on the roads and I questioned how the hell someone could be cut off by flooding in SPACE. 

When the dream changed (and I partially woke up and then fell back to sleep again), I could download all my dreams into text and images, which was frankly AMAZING because these notes I wrote down in a stupor this morning were almost illegible. I posted my dream to the mod channel in @gaudaprimesocialclub and was genuinely confused when I woke up this morning and it wasn’t there.

Vila and I were caught out in a radioactive rainstorm in an abandoned nuclear themepark. We ran to a halfway house filled with raiders and degenerates where we were admitted with reluctance at the lateness of the hour.

We bargained for some beds in the overcrowded, freezing room and eventually curled up together in a cot by the door. Outside, the rain lashed at the ramshackle building and raiders stormed the walls, fought off by the owners of the halfway house - screams and gunshots in the night mixed with the roll of heavy thunder.