Name: Amy (no known last name)

Age: unknown

Nantionality: Fenspace convention
Residence: Port Phobos

Occupation: Owner and manager of Port Phobos Fenkinder Hostel (need a better name)

when the Boskeinan base Amy was rescued from was attacked she was still
undergoing the catgirling process; the machine took damage during the
fighting when OGJ troops stormed the room it was in. the process was far
enough along the medics had to repair the machine and let it finish to
save her life. However when she came out she had taken mental damage and
had no memories. This along with the fact that there were no records
led to a senshi medic naming her Amy for lack of anything to call her.

Quirks:

· Lost past: her past before becoming a catgirl has been lost with no signs of being ever found.

· Girl in a Woman’s body: do
to the mental damage she is extremely childlike even though her biomod
seems to have boosted her intelligence to adult levels.

· KITTENS! Any fenkinder that
stays at her Hostel is her kitten and some factions like having newly
arrived fenkinder stay there for a week or two help acclimate them to
fenspace.

· DON’T TOUCH MY KITTEN:
there is only one known instance of Amy getting angry and it was due to a
drunk accidently hitting on of the guests of the hostel and giving the
girl a black eye. When Amy found out she tracked down the guilty party
and no one wants to know what she did after that.





This is what I have for Amy at the moment what else do I need to flesh her out?

Bootstrap 1 - 31/May/2012
Summer, 2007, UK.
Brian, 'Brains', had bought the 'meta paint'.  He'd watched the video.  He'd read the instructions.  Conservatively, he'd painted-up a surplus 2mm figure.  Though a few smears had gone on a defunct diorama.
Now, he watched the figure stagger around that diorama.  It was a World War II British soldier, carefully painted with a bandaged head, with red dot.  The figure didn't seem to be able to walk off the landscape; near the edge he just veered away, and kept wandering.
He ignored a finger-tip waved in his face.  If picked up he just froze back into painted plastic, again.  Until he was put on that diorama, again.
"I don't think he's intelligent", Brian murmured to himself.  "It's more he's doing what fits his surroundings.  As if he's an animated part of them.  This needs careful thought."
A week later Brian had thought more about the problem than even he thought sensible.  The shaky videos of hovering or flying cars didn't interest him.  Cars were, to him, four-wheeled tin raincoats.  Not some mystical freedom device.  But, he guessed being in a wheelchair might be colouring his opinion.
It turned out you could 'breed' the paint.  You could even change its colour, if you were careful.  Slowly feeding it more paint seemed to work best, along with an energy source, like a mild electric current, or strong sunlight; mirrors helped.
Ah yes.  He was supposed to call it 'handwavium'.
Brains was worried about contaminating it with information; some suggestions of feeding-in SF books, or illustrations, was in the instructions.  He'd tried to hide his browsing trail, but there were worrying hints that living creatures could be affected, and, unless very careful, strange things would happen.
Brian had turned to his best occult books, re-reading Wilson and Bonewits. Intention seemed critical, clear, maybe even fanatical, intention.  No matter what some people said, Brian wasn't sure he could do 'fanatic', and he couldn't spend years developing a useful 'magical personality'.
OK, he didn't know how to get what he wanted, or where he wanted.  But, he wasn't an engineer and a computer programmer for nothing.  If you'd trouble starting-up something big, in a new environment, you started with something small, and boot-strapped.
He needed tools, to build the tools, to get what he wanted. And, they had to have safety features built in.  And not decide to go Skynet or Nuclear Genie out-of-the-bottle on him.  Which led to his current ritual.
Fortunately Summer thunder storms in his area were reasonably predictable - at least you knew they were on the way.  His cottage, a dower house, had never been hit by lightning, but some careful engineering would likely fix that.  He had a diorama of a 1980s computer room already, and with a little modification it matched that film, right down to the frantically scurrying operator.
He'd been collecting old SF films on video for a few years now.  People were just throwing them away, even if they didn't buy a DVD replacement.  He'd standing orders in a number of local charity shops.  Somehow, he felt tapes were more 'solid' than DVDs, more like films; no reconstruction of images from compression which you hoped they'd gotten right.
Eventually he settled on three tapes.  The original 'TRON'[1], 'Weird Science'[2] and 'Bagpuss'[3], the last of which he sacrificed from his special collection.  All carefully rune and circuitry inscribed.
The TRON video, still in its original box, was taped to the back of a blown-up to life-size, sepia, Victorian print, that looked very like Bagpuss's 'Emily'.  So he'd get someone who'd bestride the virtual and real worlds.
Weird Science contributed the ritual (he hoped he wasn't supposed to have stolen the Victorian bra he was wearing on his head), he refurbished an original model of the PC used in the film, and carefully connected the computer room diorama.  The trick was getting Emily, not Lisa (or a nuclear weapon).  Hence, the sepia print, and no doll.
Bagpuss required an original as possible cloth cat, and he'd added a Bagpuss diorama, carefully missing the central character.  The cat carefully resting 'in the arms' of the sepia print.
All in the scaled-up ritual circle, drawn as accurately as he could.  With Emily and Bagpuss being the targets.  Or, more accurately Emily, who had a cloth cat called 'Bagpuss'.
He hoped this was all obscure enough, and that his initials of 'OBS' for being 'Orlando Brian Severn' might help in some way.  Names of Power.
"No, no, mustn't think about Murphy and Eris!"
SfX: Lightning Flash!
Show Time!
--
"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" - Hawkwind

Genesis Deal - 27/May/2012
Eastercon, 2007, UK.
"Why should I pay fifty quid for a recycled tin of Humbrol paint with a sticky label on it saying 'meta paint' ?"  Brian looked up from his wheelchair at the enthusiastic man with the energetic black eye brows.
"Because...  It's better than any paint you ever used!  Really brings things to life!"  Brian wondered, idly, whether a whispered shout was possible, because that was certainly what seemed to be being used.
"How do I know that paint is even suitable for miniatures?"  Brian was getting intrigued.  For reasons that worried him the voices in his head were shouting "Buy it!  Buy it!".  And, they didn't usually say much, except make mischievous suggestions.
Leaning closer the man looked down at him, then glanced down at his con badge. "Look, 'Brains'?", the man shook his head.  "Look.  I'll throw in a CD with some video and instructions.  You won't even have to risk poking around in the web.  Things are starting to happen.  If you know what you are doing", and the man looked at a nearby table in the Dealer's Room, "You can have some real fun".
Brian looked around the room.  It was busy, but still early on in the con, so it'd get a lot busier.  The room was an interesting mix of books and other media, and Brian was sitting behind a table of science fiction miniatures, arranged in three different dioramas, advertising his services.
He couldn't be sure, but he thought the man was looking at a display of 'hentai' material, including imported Japanese figures.  Brian'd been looking at a woman with a winged head, 'Silene'[1], earlier.  Maybe that'd drawn the man to him?
Brian wasn't sure about hentai.  Yes, he was paralysed from the waist down but that didn't mean he was uninterested.  The women seemed mostly schoolgirls, or due for really bad backs, later in life.  Or both.  And it tended to be the more obscure stuff that interested him, with a science fiction, occult, or just really strange, element.
"OK", he said, coming to a decision.  "I'm here on a limited budget, but I'll give Roger over there", he indicated another table, "Ten pounds and you give him the CD and tin of paint.  If I've done well by late Sunday, Roger will give you the ten quid and I'll give you another forty, if not he'll give you the ten quid and your stuff back".  'And I'll buy that classic SF collection from Roger he's been recommending to me', Brian thought.
The man was obviously undecided.  "OK", he said finally, "Deal".
Eastercon
--
"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" - Hawkwind

Ray Bradbury has died.
Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com

"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."

Z's confirmed that it will be released on June 12th. *Rubs hands in glee*

Home Visit - 26/May/2012
Summer, 2008, UK.
Uran liked scaring pigeons.  They always took off with a terrible fuss, from the dower house roof, in the quiet English village.  She thought it was a bit unreasonable.  After all.  Invisible star ship is invisible.  Isn't it?
Mentally checking the grav tethers were OK, she unstrapped herself, then glared at the thoroughly strapped-down cargo.  With twice-weekly 'home visits' so much shouldn't be needed, but, Brains, 'Brian' she should call him now she was at home, had been working overtime.
At a metre each side both crates were as tall as her, but she quickly had them wrapped in invisi film, and, engaging her own invisibility, flew out the top air lock, one in each hand.  A mental command to the cottage roof door, and she flew in.  'Good job it's not raining', she thought, 'Always makes invisibility more tricky'.
Floating into the kitchen she saw Brainless, through the open door to the workshop.  As usual, he ignored her, though she was pretty sure he could sense past her invisibility.  'Stupid dummy', she thought, 'Least he could do is be polite'.
Opening the the crates she quickly sorted their contents.  She wrinkled her nose as she hid the sealed bags of sewage, ready so Brainless had something to flush out to the septic tank, on 'toilet breaks'.  Yes, it was unpleasant, but Brains insisted on thoroughness, in support of the illusion of him still living here.
Packing the food from the fridge was next, wrapped and into a crate with fresh produce from Co-op Home Delivery.  Exchanged for a bag of food scraps, to go out on the compost, and some general household rubbish, to go in the refuse collection.  'I'm glad Brian doesn't like soft drinks', she thought, 'It'd be tedious shuffling full and empty bottles and cans'.
She checked the water meter.  Brainless hadn't been using enough to be credible, again.  She'd better have a long, hot, shower, later.  Yes, it was was hard work, but someone had to do it.  Humming she floated a crate over into the study, pausing to collect three-day's post on the way.
"Bill.  Advert.  Bank statement.  Progress report for Eastercon."  She quickly filed, then put the con PR in the crate.  Five trays of miniature figures were quickly removed, all pre-packed in foam.  Two trays of Brainless's work, basic but thorough, went back in.
'Now for the squicky bit', she thought, as she floated into the bedroom.  Hers she supposed it was, these days.  From the hidden drawer in the wardrobe she pulled out the re-purposed sex doll, and shook it out.  So strange to look at it like this...
Quickly, she laid it on the bed, pumped it up, and opened the stomach flap. Closing her eyes she reached out, contacting the paired satellite dishes in the roof space.  One swung, hunted, and found her micro relay sat in orbit.  Feeling inside herself she brushed the entangled link to the other half of her brain, and the LOCK as the return signal from the rest of herself, on the far side of the Moon, took control of her body.
As usual tele-operating her body from the Moon was an exercise in careful forethought.  'Brains should really put some effort into that FTL communicator' as always ran through her, as she lifted her half-brain from her 1 meter tall robot body, and placed in the body on the bed. RESET.
Sitting up on the bed, she looked away, reached-out, and flipped-close the brain hatch on her now inert robot body.  Bobbling, she got up, pulled a towel and a small box from a drawer, and bounced into the bathroom.  The water quickly reached the right temperature, and she drank and drank.  Then, carefully injected herself from the 'insulin' kit, and felt the water jelly into flesh and blood.  'Much better!  Flesh body equals hot shower time!'
Towel-wrapped, padding back into the bedroom, she again fiddled with the wardrobe.  Then donned the hidden clothes hanging there.  With some difficulty she picked up her robot body, and put it on a wooden stand in the corner, marked 'Uran'.  'It's always creepy doing that', she thought.  'Maybe I shouldn't have left it standing around while I was having a shower.'
Pulling her knee-length red leather boots on, and her invisible folding plastic raincoat, both from the office crate, she prepared herself.  'Money, car keys, house keys, shoulder bag', and after sticking her tongue out at herself in the mirror, 'Middle-aged again (well, early 30s)', she quickly brushed her hair.
---

Driving back into the village she waved and nodded at a number of people, through the open window on this warm day.  She'd flown, invisible, without problem (apart from annoying the pigeons again) to the derelict-looking garage she rented, off a quiet lane, in the next village.  The inflatable battered-looking Bedford van was safely hidden, and easily filled with air, then rain water ballast, as the battery cache had been charged by the recent sunshine; 'No manual pumping, this time!'.
"Hello, Mrs Jones!"  "Hello Ran."  And her conversation with the elderly postmistress followed the usual path.  Special mail, boxes of figures to paint for Brian - Brainless would do the undercoats.
"Morning, Ms Severn", as the local special constable came in, "Hope you're Uncle Brian is OK?".  "I'm just on my way to see him, officer.  Is there anything you'd like me to tell him?"  "No, just give him my good wishes."  "Thanks.  Bye, Mrs Jones!  I'll drop some parcels off, later.  As usual."
"Such a good girl, Ran", she overheard as she left.
---

'It's always the social side of things that's most difficult', she thought, as she stripped in the bedroom, hanging the clothes she'd re-use, the rest to go in a crate.  Brainless, 'Brian', had wheeled himself to the door when she'd 'arrived', grunted once, then wheeled back to the workshop.  And not even come out when she left.  She'd like to think the real Brian, on the Moon, would've behaved better, but she knew that when he's depressed he could easily be that bad.  She didn't like the term 'artistic temperament'.
'Squicky', she thought, as she looked at her robot body, back within reach of where she lay on the bed.  It always felt so strange, after the injection liquefied her flesh and blood, and she released the perfectly clean water down the drain.  Like becoming made of air.  The reverse sequence ended with her closing her brain hatch, and folding the deflated doll away.
'And, I do this twice a week.  But someone's got to look after Brian, Brains.  He just doesn't do it properly himself.'
--
"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" - Hawkwind

Due to looking at "Drunkards Walk", after wandering away for a few years, I was led to Fenspace...
I was wondering about introducing a "No Name Fan" (as opposed to BNF) starting back in Season Zero.
He'd be a British SF/miniatures wargaming fan who was a bit (a lot) of a recluse.  His particular area would be making things that were naturally invisible, via handwaving negative refractive index meta materials, among other tricks, with the aim to keep himself under the authorities radar, and having a home on the far side of the Moon.  Also ways of avoiding hadwavium accidents, while building stuff.  Stuff being mostly Robots and Spaceships.
He'd be mostly really into obscure fandom, like original "Mighty Atom" (Astro Boy) and Gerry Anderson's "Fireball XL5", with a good dose of early space opera, like Van Vogt, John W Campbell, and, of course, 'Doc' Smith.  Mind you, I was looking at the Tottoro 'cat bus' as an interesting AI vehicle...
One reason he went this way is he got his fingers sort of burned with his first big handwavium project.  Though you could read this other ways...
Part of the logic is not treading on other people's toes, though I'm a bit worried I might be using tech which stretches what you should do in Fanspace too much.
I've written a few test stories, the first actually set in Season One, the rest in Season Zero.
Could someone please point me to info on what I need to do so people can see these stories, and maybe comment on them?
I'm looking for feedback, and collaboration so stories don't just involve my characters, and original NPCs.
Ta, and, Cheers!
--
"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" - Hawkwind

I've been a fan of this series since reading the second step of DW, and even though at the time I knew sod all about GURPS and had merely passing acquaintance with Bubblegum Crisis (though I'm a large fan of Ah My Goddess in the latest step), the crossover (after looking this stuff up) made perfect sense, mostly because the story bent EVERY effort to make me want to buy it, mostly by accomplishing what I call "the fusion effect".
"The Fusion Effect" is when the story first finds a plausible way to insert someone (or many people) from another genre or media into a similar or even totally different media, then spends an inordinate amount of time integrating them into another universe by having them and the characters from the other universes react appropriately to someone outside the context of their understanding.
In DW2, the Knight Sabers come from a world of sci-fi, whereas the hero comes from a quasi-magical world more along the lines of our contemporary reality, and both they and Doug react to the difference in their capabilities with appropriate astonishment, and the other characters in the verse first try to understand the hero outside their context within their own context, but as the story and character development takes its toll, they adjust to the new context in a logical, sensible manner.
It also avoided committing the gravest sin a crossover can commit: not making the crossover believable.
That said, DW is set in a universe where crossover is not totally implausible, much like how it would be insanely easy to cross Doctor Who with bloody near EVERYTHING due to its own built in mythos that allow for all sorts of time and reality bending scenarios.
Another series that is good at this is Super Robot Wars, which, while using plausible deus ex machina, often blends common themes from the different mecha anime series represented and uses them to tie everything together. A similar series is Shin Megami Tensei (which the latest step has definite shades of), which also uses this to good effect.
Drunkard's Walk, IMO, depends less on blending themes (though that's not to say it doesn't attempt to unify similar concepts under a narrative umbrella) and more on establishing a mythos premise that allows an outside context hero to enter other worlds and become part of them without losing either his uniqueness nor transforms into another character indistinguishable from the characters in the borrowed mythos.
Finally, regardless whether "Looney Toons" is (so far), in a universe with cybernetics and robotics gone wrong or a world with a barely contained cold war between gods and demons, the series has yet to drop the ball in making me believe the hero of the story is out of place, and while I detest most crossover because of violations of the above principles, Bob's series has yet to destroy my suspension of disbelief, and I'm eagerly reading his latest work right now as a result.

I looked at my companions, and with a smile held a finger up to 
my lips in the universal (among humanoids with lips, at least) 
sign for silence.  As Charlie and Sirius watched, grinning like
maniacs, I slipped up behind the twins as stealthily as I could 
manage.  (Which, if I do say so myself, is pretty damned 
stealthy.)

"Do you want to keep at it, boys?" I asked them suddenly.  "Or 
can I just go ahead and open it now?"

When both boys jerked in surprise, Sirius and Charlie cracked up.
Gotta love people who appreciate sophisticated humor.

The twins -- I hadn't been clued in yet on which was Fred and
which was George -- looked at me for a moment as though they 
couldn't believe someone had gotten the drop on them.  Then they
exchanged glances before, in reasonable synchrony, stepping back 
to bow and wave me on to the crate.  "By all means, Professor,"
one said.

"Don't let us stand in your way," the other followed on the heels
of the first.

"Although we enjoy the challenge," the first continued.

"We'd rather see what was inside," the second concluded.

"Thank you," I said as I stepped between them, wary of some gag
or prank thanks to the extensive stories Charlie had told me
about them.  "Twinspeak, eh?  Nice trick," I added offhandedly
as I ran my hands along the lid of the crate.  "You do that a 
lot?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Thing One shrug.  "Not as much 
as some people believe."  I turned around to look at them.

"It's harder than you might think," Thing Two added.

"But if we get in the right rhythm," Thing One offered.

"We can make anything *sound* like it."  This time I saw the 
other one shrug.  "It's mainly about picking up on each other's 
cues.  As long as we say *something* that makes sense in the 
context..." 

And then he pointed at his brother, who grinned, and then made a
show of pretending to think hard.  After a moment he smiled and
held up a finger as though just coming up with an idea.  "...Then 
it sounds like we're reading each other's minds and finishing 
each other's sentences!"  The two of them then grinned, laughed, 
and shook hands, congratulating each other -- for what, I don't 
know, but it was amusing to watch.

I looked at Charlie and Sirius, over on the other end of the 
porch, and crossed my arms across my chest to indicate each twin 
with a forefinger.  "I *like* them, they're silly."
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

 I'd like to read the DW series on my Kindle:

1. Bob, any objections?
   
2. If not, what would be the best/easiest way to go about doing this?