Tisbot and mushy peas

<OOC - Sorry for not posting in such a long time, I had a hectic Christmas. I hope you got plenty of prezzies etc and had a good time. After the Christmas-shaped distraction everything's back to normal again so....>

Tisbot wasn't a normal Simulant. Most Simulants were blood thirsty killing machines, who despised Humans. Tisbot though, was a Simulant with a Human heart.

He kept the heart in a box. Tisbot was still a blood thirsty simulant of course, but he kept the human organ as a symbol of his power and other Simulants respected him for it. He wore the heart around his neck, and it swung freely between his giant bosom. Yes, that was the other thing very different about Tisbot, he used to be a woman.

His body however wasn't very shapely, like a woman's is supposed to be. He was originally created as a sex robot by a team of manufacturing robots who wanted to earn a quick buck. Unfortunately neither of them had ever seen a human female and their only point of reference was a sketch of Brian Blessed dressed as a pantomime dame. So they created the universe's worst female sex robot, Tisbot, who didn't spend long in the stripclub before he decided to pack it all in and just kill people instead. Even the people he killed didn't take him seriously when he told them he was a woman, so he decided to give that up and became a man, adding a groinal attachment with all sorts of chainsaw fittings.

Today, though Tisbot was happy. In his hand he held the key to the Blue Dwarf. It would give him access to everything.

A miniature person stood in front of him, one of the clones of Mini-Phil. “Did weeeEEEeeee do good?” The small clone asked in his squeaky voice.
“Yes. Yes you did.” Tisbot boomed, his voice deep and gravelly, some might say to overcompensate for his only recently becoming male.
“So.... eeeeEEErrr...” The small clone hesitated. “Do weeeEEEeee get the reeeeeEEEeeeward now?”
“Hmm? What reward was that?”
“You said weeeeEEEeeee could play with your groinal attachmeeeent!” The tiny person said, starting to get frisky and rubbing his legs.
“Oh, did I promise that?”
The clone nodded furiously and drooled at the mouth.
“Fine by me. Let me just search for the correct attachment... here!”
Tisbot sliced the small clone into tiny pieces with the chainsaw groinal attachment, and continued to dismember some other nearby clones too.
“Thanks for all your hard work!” He boomed, and trod in the corpse as he walked back to the other simulants.

“Men!” He shouted, his voice going slightly squeaky for a moment but then getting deeper. It must have been a problem with his vocal subprocessor, he made a note to fix it later. “Men! I have the key! We will return to the Simulant Empire victorious!”

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Who: Davie, Cassandra, Seymour, Alfredo, Jay, Whitewolf & Alex
Where: Arboretum
When: After the MP attack

During the Huzard's Chrysmas meal, Seymour had managed to find a new wheelchair. Well, I say 'new', if anything it was worse than his old one. It was even worse than the shopping trolly. But without any legs he didn't have much choice. The Huzards were pleased to give it to him as a present, although they probably wouldn't have been if they knew he'd stolen one of his 3,000,000 year old wines and stashed it behind his back.

“Why do they have my wines anyway, that's stealing!” He said to himself just as the clones attacked.
With all his years of experience as Ambassador the first thing he probably should have done was to do everything he could to save the Huzards from the threat, potentially building bonds between them and cementing them as allies – something they much needed on this savage ship. But Seymour's first reaction while all the Huzards were dying at the tiny hands of the demented clones was to rush back into the Chief's tent and pile as many bottles as he could onto his lap, and then push himself as hard and fast as he could to the nearest expresslift.

“Traitorous Humans!” the Huzard chief shouted behind them “Kill them all!” He wasn't talking about Seymour obviously, but he might well have been. Seymour didn't stop and continued to the exit, pushing his wheelchair over the bloodied corpses of clones and Huzards.

The other Humans ran for the exit too and very quickly overtook him just as his arms started to get tired (after 10 meters or so). “Mr Chrysler, Mr Chrysler!” He called out to Jay, who was making his way to the exit by barrel-rolling, shooting, then barrel-rolling again. “Push me, push me!” He cried, his wheelchair freewheeling to a stop and indicating his arms were too tired.

Jay sighed, but went back for him, pushing him through the forest towards the exit. “Why am I doing this?” Jay eventually asked.
“Because I have no legs.”
“Yeah, but you've got perfectly good arms. I've seen plenty of people in wheelchairs build up the muscles in their arms enough to push them just as fast as someone running.”
“Ah, yes, but one has quite weak arms.” Seymour said, holding out his skinny wrists. “I once went to the doctor about it, he said I was fine picking up a piccolo or a demi, but I shouldn't lift anything as heavy as a magnum.”
“Magnum the gun or magnum the ice cream?” Jay asked.
“The wine bottle you imbecile!” Seymour snapped.

Jay gave Seymour enough momentum to freewheel to the exit, which was an entrance to one of the many cargobays. They all entered with trepidation, but found the large expanse to be empty apart from about a foot of dust and some large spiderwebs.
Stacked high were hundreds of containers of tins.

Jay, Alfredo and Whitewolf quickly pushed several containers across the entrance, so the Huzards couldn't follow them.
“We're safe?” Seymour asked.
“For a while.” Jay said, checking the area.
“Phew, that was terribly tense.” Said Seymour, wiping his brow “I need a sit down...” He realised what he'd said and got some funny looks from the others. He pushed himself up to the containers and pulled back some tarpaulin. “Oh, I hope so much that these are several hundred tins of caviar, just what I need with my wine....” he pulled out a tin. “Mushy peas? Mushy peas!”

Jay took the tin and started handing them out to the others. “Eat up, we don't know where our next meal is coming from.”
“Or shower.” Seymour added.
“Or good nights sleep in a nice warm bed of shredded paper.” Whitewolf added and realised the others were looking at him “What?”.

“There's a hose over there. Maybe we could turn this into our base for a bit.” Jay said, optimistically.
“What? Mushy Peas HQ? I'd rather die than live in a dusty wasteland like this and have showers from an old garden hose. I'm the Managing Director of the JMC! I shouldn't have to live like this!” but nobody was listening.
“Does anyone have a tin opener?”

<TBC>