DPP: War Games
Mar. 12th, 2012 08:56 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
pennyante.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no_takebacksHi, everyone! Last week was awesome, this week we're trying for it again. I’m Penny, and I’ll be your latest hostess-who-can’t-get-enough-pilots all week! I still feel sorta new around here—it’s just been a couple of months. So I’m sad to be the one to break some terrible news:
There are mad TV-clip eating Cylons on the loose and they are trying to devour your favorite pilot!scenes from Battlestar Galactica. Any scene they eat will disappear from human history as though it never happened!
Starbuck and Apollo, for once, can't save themselves. So we're sending in the troops.
And the troops are you, team. Your mission: save any small segment of pilot-y goodness you can't live without!
Available Tactics:
Use your body as a shield: name the scene! Explain why the Cylons must not have it!
Fire back: throw up the clip, or pics from it!
Sneak attack: Write a ficlet/drabble inspired by the scene of your choice!
Mount an offensive: Team up with fellow shippers to save a particular scene with tactics of your choice!
Today's all about setting aside the scenes you wouldn't change--great character moments, lines of dialogue, hotness, fights, eye-makeouts, actual makeouts, fears and revelations. Each new thread should be about one scene. Remember that any scene you don’t claim will be digesting in a humanoid Cylon belly--so unless you want Aaron Doral getting fat off your favorite pilot-y scene, you gotta save ‘em!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Get away you cylon motherfrakkers (and RDM WHO CUT THE AURORA SCENE)
Date: 2012-03-12 02:35 pm (UTC)Re: Get away you cylon motherfrakkers (and RDM WHO CUT THE AURORA SCENE)
Date: 2012-03-12 05:07 pm (UTC)She came with the dawn. And like the dawn, she broke. And then, like the dawn, she was gone.
In space, he knew, there were millions of suns—more suns than grains of sand on all the beaches of the twelve colonies. He had seen more of those suns than he’d ever wanted to.
No one ever saw Lee, his fingers clenched around an idol, his eyes squeezed shut, his throat working convulsively. He knew that they’d thinking he was praying. He wasn’t praying. He didn’t pray.
He revolved, and he orbited. He didn’t want to break, too.