Whoops.

[burntcopper]

cesperanza just went and broke lj again. This time, the SGA side with Written By the Victors. Put aside 3 hours to read it, then take another half hour so your brain will stop making happy 'wheeeeeee!' noises.

megolas went and broke me this evening. I mentioned James Puresex cast as CJH, she gibbered, and then ten minutes later blithely pointed out this would mean James Puresex + Matt Rippy. I kept opening my mouth to say something and then having to close it again. Because. well. OHDEARGOD.

And once again, when I should trying to be get some of my backburner WIPs finished pre-nano, or actually planning nano, one of my original bunnies sat up today and said 'we would like to be re-written again! Yes, one of the original bunnies that has no actual coherent plot beyond concept. Fuck off, will you? Yes, the Apocalypse Albion fic has interesting bits, but there's no actual plot. (basically, Britain's overpopulation hits trigger time-bomb, releasing a plague from the ground and air that kills off everyone in the British Isles who's pure human. The only survivors are magic users, the weird happenings department, werewolf types, people who've been living on top of space-time rifts, people whose ancestors were present at the reality shift of Hackney in 1623, the towns that're on the gates of the Summer Country and thus are basically conduits for the Wild, etc. You get the picture. So the UK quarantines itself for five years until it can find out what the fuck it is and be absolutely sure the plague has gone.) Cue the depopulation of cities, having to keep stuff going, re-learning farming/subsistence living, etc. Britain becomes a ghost on the media airwaves as far as the rest of the world is concerned - loads of blogs, news reports, photostreams, etc, but no physical presence. The only communication it really gets during the five years is exchange at drop points at the closest islands that don't count as part of Isles land mass - the Channel Islanders are doing very nicely as the middleman, thankyou. The culture shifts, plus the almost complete de-credulisation. Bit difficult to claim you're psychic when five people are standing there asking why you can't see the ghost singing a song about a weasel right next to you. Then you get the gearing up and negotiations for the end of quarantine. Selling stuff they don't need or want anymore for cash and help with demolition and clean-up of the environmentally unsound bits because having tower blocks and most of the urban sprawl around is kinda stupid.

Which..er... leads to the email that turns up in the Greek Government's inbox asking when they want to figure out the arrangements for getting the Elgin Marbles shipped back. 'I, er thought the last time we discussed this the response was 'over our dead bodies'?' 'We should point out that those people are dead.'