Blake's 7

Which Blake's 7 rebel are you?



1. All right. Let's start with the B7 essentials, i.e. fashion. What sort of clothes do you usually wear?

Anything comfortable and preferably not too tight. Big pockets are essential for a man like me, nudge nudge, wink wink.
Something colourful, and snug enough to give me freedom of movement. Even if it rides up between my bum-cheeks.
Jumpsuits. Always practical and professional. It's the accessories, however, that give the real touch of elegance to any outfit. Not to mention the importance of a perfect coiffure.
Comfortable clothes in simple and earthy colours, with just that little touch of romanticism to give them some flair.
A combination of rich feminine beauty and simple practicality. It takes a *real* woman to kick Federation arse in high heels.
Black. It has to be black. Preferably with a menacing, kinky touch so I can look all dark and mysterious and sexy instead of the geek I am. Studs, velvet, latex, PVC, leather. And sturdy high-heeled boots because I'm a shortarse.
I like to wear all sorts of stuff, I'm so damn hot *everything* looks good on me. Even red sheets, if I keep poncing about heroically enough... right? Right?



2. You're in a very tight, hostile situation. What do you do?

Fight to the last drop of my blood, with my bare hands if I must. Whether or not I look like an idiot while doing it is beside the point.
Knocking someone unconscious always does the trick. Simple, really.
I make sure *I* shoot first.
Run.
Practice my sharply honed combat skills.
Clear the neutron blasters for firing.



3. You get captured by hostile aliens. What do you do?

When in doubt, snarl.
Let them take over my mind. Hey, a girl gets lonely...
Whimper and beg. If I annoy them enough, they just might let me go.
Plant my feet wide apart in a heroic stance, ready to face anything. Also check in the nearest mirror whether my hair looks all right.
Launch into a fiery speech about solidarity against the Federation, who knows, these aliens might prove to be useful allies.
Wrench the cell bars open with my bare hands and leg it.
Focus on looking pretty and vulnerable, then when no-one's looking, spike their drinking water with cyanide.



4. Your eyes fly wide, your pulse quickens, and pleasant, warm shivers course through your body. What have you just seen?

Guns. Shiny, perfectly balanced, chromed, oiled guns... oooh. Pretty. Just look at that craftmanship...
A crowd of free citizens marching victoriously through the ruins of Servalan's palace. How sweet the call of liberty...
Food. There's nothing like good food.
A supercomputer, blinking and humming with exquisite electricity, with the fastest, most compact Tarriel cells in the known universe... Mmm-hmm. Come to Daddy.
A space ship! Beautifully engineered with smooth, sleek curves, faster than light, with strong engines purring around me as I master its movements with liquid grace. Oops. Hope I didn't ruin the seat just now.
A sea of warm, whispering moondisks. Their call is like silk on my tattered nerve-endings...
Blimey. I've never seen a treasure vault this big before. And is that thing over there what I think it is? Barrels of brandy, I mean? Sod the revolution, I think I'll make it a long weekend.



5. All right, all right. What sort of women turn you on, then?

Women? Freedom is my mistress. I cannot let my baser instincts distract me from my mission. Although now that you mention it, it's getting quite difficult to concentrate on the revolution when Jenna keeps "accidentally" bumping into me in the corridors wearing only thin strips of lace. Doesn't she get cold in that thing?
Someday, maybe I'll find myself a nice country girl. Although my poor heart hasn't healed from the previous loss, not yet.
Doesn't matter, as long as they're young and pretty. I have a thing for virgins, though. Locks aren't the only thing these fingers can ease open smoothly, baby.
I like my women strong. Beautiful and strong. Beautiful and strong and appreciative of my stud-like gorgeousness, of course.
Elegant, intellectual women with power and style. Combine that with just a little touch of frail petiteness (so I won't feel too intimidated), and I'm in heaven.
Strong and sensual. I can't stand whimpering little girls.
Can she fight? I won't look at her twice if she can't kick my arse.
Blondes. I have a thing for blondes. Don't ask me why, I just do.



6. How about them fellas? What's your dream man like?

He has to be strong, brave and have curly hair. He has to be a strong-spirited man, love is so dull if you can't get into good arguments--the sex is always better after a good fight.
Oh, me too, I like tall curly blokes myself. But can we skip the fighting bit? I'm not into pain like some of you twisted people.
I like my men brooding and mysterious. And they definitely have to be open-minded when it comes to sex, otherwise I'll get bored.
Somehow the little, nice harmless guys always make me want to go and cuddle them. They appeal to my sensitive side.
I want a brave hero, myself. No mice for me! Besides, my toughness is just a facade, dahling. I just need the right person to tie me down, spank me and to call Daddy.



7. What sort of food do you enjoy most?

Meat. Freshly hunted and cooked medium rare. Mmm.
Simple home cooking is enough for me. Anything beats prison food.
Anything with alcohol. Ok, ok, I'll just have a curry then, if you insist.
Nothing but the best for me. I want the finest meals that exist. Exotic meats and sauces with delicious spices, good wine and expensive desserts.
Something light so it won't ruin my figure. Chicken, fish, with a large salad, the sauce on the side, if you please.



8. What is your ultimate goal?

Survival. It doesn't even have to be anything fancy, as long as I can have my peace. I'd probably be happy in a little forest cottage somewhere on a remote planet.
Being disgustingly rich and safe from everyone. I'd be perfectly happy to spend the rest of my life in the lap of luxury. Wine, women and song wouldn't be bad either.
I want to get away and not be chased any more. I want to make sure I end up with lots of money though--I deserve some damn good comfort for my trouble. Enough hair care products for the rest of my life are optional, but wouldn't come amiss.
I aim to destroy the Federation. I don't care what happens afterwards, as long as justice shall prevail I will be happy.



9. What was your latest personal tragedy?

Oh, the usual. My followers being cruelly butchered by the Federation. Having terrible nightmares brought on by torture. And this morning, Avon pointing out I had a big ugly spot on my chin. Git.
Being stupid enough to use that Betafarlian home perm kit so Avon would notice me. My hair looks so hideous now I'm seriously considering shaving my head.
Not being able to kill more than two men bare-handed last time we went into combat. Damn. All this space travel is ruining my stamina. Wonder if I could practice some judo throws on Vila?
That idiot Vila spilling his drink all over my collection of antique home decoration magazines.
Spilling my last drink. Oh, bugger, this means I'll have to do my watch sober. As if it wasn't bad enough, I didn't only ruin Gan's mags, but my own porn stash as well, so no chance of other methods of relaxation tonight either. Life hates me.
Being betrayed by the only people I've ever trusted in, of course. And just when I was in the middle of a good sulk on the flight deck, Tarrant nodded meaningfully in my direction. At first, I took this as humble acknowledgement of my tragic past, but after a more careful inspection it turned out he'd meant to imform me that my fly was undone. Drat.
I was just about to seal the perfect deal with the Terra Nostra which would've left me rich enough to retire early, but then blew it when I punctured Largo's inflatable divan with my high heels. Oh, *hell*.
I tried re-wiring Zen's internal scanning equipment to give me a live feed from Dayna's shower. She must've noticed it after a while and reversed the systems, because now I'm having a damn hard time trying to get all the tapes she's made of *me* out of circulation. Never thought "Flyboy Fantasies IV" would fetch that much on Ebay, though... wonder who the hell "dominant_male69" is?
Tragedy? Everything in my life is a tragedy! Dorian says it's just my PMS, though. Hmpfh. Men. He's avoiding me as well. Ok, so it might have something to do with the fact I singed his hair with my blaster last time he crept in (reflexes, reflexes), but still...


10. Last but not least: what do you do in your spare time?

Needlework. Well, at least Jenna appreciates it when I offer to decorate her dresses. Poor girl, she's getting awfully frustrated with Blake not noticing her. Now she wants to take it out on Avon, but I had to tell her embroidering "KICK ME" in silver studs across the back of Avon's jacket was right out. I haven't learned to punch in studs yet, you see.
Practice political speeches. Oh, you mean my *free* free time? Trying to befriend Avon. He says it's one of my lost causes, but I shall not be put down so easily. Last night, he was friendly enough to share one of his apples with me. Of course, it *did* have a razorblade inside, but I still think we're getting somewhere.
I groom my hair. Gun oil works so splendidly on split ends and decreases fluffiness wonderfully. Must recommend it to Tarrant sometime.
When I am not tinkering with my weapons, I'm trying to learn music. Although whenever I'm trying to tune my harp, Vila starts to bang the wall next door and complain about the noise. Either he's hung over again or has no ear for music whatsoever.
I pace around in the treasure room contemplating immense wealth and dreaming of running away from these idiots. I can't do it often enough, though, since Avon is always banging on the door, asking how long I'm going to be, since it's his turn already. Maybe giving him a good stiletto-booted kick in the nuts would improve my mood.
Don't remind me. My porn mags are still ruined and I'm still out of booze. The misery, the misery. No entertainment whatsoever, if you don't count the usual flight deck bitch-fights. Wonder if Orac has cable?
I wax my chest, pluck my nose-hairs, twirl my curls and practice manly posturing in front of the mirror. Damn, I'm good. If you don't count the bruises I got the last time Avon smacked me across the flight deck, that is.
I watch wildlife vistapes, trying to get my growl just right. I will *not* be embarrassed again in front of the others, coming up with a miserable kitten-like squeal when I aimed for a panther-like snarl. Even when it's Cally pinching my bum, dammit.
I clear my mind and meditate. Correction: try to meditate. It's impossible concentrating with this bunch of people around. Glass shattering when Vila stumbles in the corridors, leather creaking loudly when Avon strikes a pose, and don't get me started on Blake's singing in the shower. Are all humans like this?



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Code adapted from alanna's quiz tutorial