HK's from Seymour's POV

OOC – This post has been written in 1st person perspective for First Person Fortnight, if you've not heard about this, there's more info here:

<snip>
Cass looked down at the woman that had shaken Jay so badly.
“Holy smeg…..Katrina?”
<end snip>

The emergence of Katrina after we thought she was dead was a shock. Not least for me, who had borrowed a home cookery book from her several weeks before she'd snuffed it, and now was disappointed that she'd probably want it back.

But trying as hard as I could I put this to the back of my mind and extended a hand to shake. “Welcome back Mrs-” I said, but then a thought caused me to pause momentarily. Was she still legally married to Mr Chrysler? She had died of course, and I was unaware of the marital legalities of partners dying, then coming back to life, and/or never having died in the first place.

I assumed that Mrs Chrysler hadn't died at all, and had been snatched away from death a mere fraction of a second before, just like Mr Chrysler had explained. But this begged many questions, that bounced around in my head like a pair of brogues in a washing machine. If she hadn't died, why did she not find her mourning Husband? For hundreds or possibly thousands of years they worked in the same organisation. I do not pretend to fully understand the intricacies of the time organisation where they both worked, and to ho honest absolutely do not want to ask for fear of Mr Chrysler inviting me to 'the pub' to tell me about it all. Such an evening would be a total waste of time in the company of drunken crewmembers who might at any point without warning suddenly vomit. Places like Parrotts bar I try to avoid at all costs.
Listening to Jay's story however would be mildly interesting, although could border on tedium. I'm waiting for him to write his memoirs so I can read it in book-form with a fine wine and biscotti.

The late Mrs Chrysler (I'll continue to refer to her as this, even if possibly inaccurate) didn't take my hand, nor did she shake it in any way. The reason for this is because Davie had handcuffed her, and I hadn't noticed. I retracted my hand after possibly a time which it was extended for far too long with her and her two goons simply glaring at me.

“I say Mr Chrysler, you're not going to keep her like this?” The words were almost out of my mouth before I realised I was jumping the proverbial gun. Chrysler had collapsed and was only just coming round. Mrs Chrysler explained in quite a frantic manner that there were two barbarians loose on the ship, and were apparently heading straight towards us. Naturally I jumped to the only conclusion I had.
“You brought them here!” I accused, extending a pointed finger from my wheelchair like a righteous high court judge.
This accusation didn't sit very well with Mr Chrysler, as he gave me a horribly filthy look, one that was so dirty it couldn't be wiped off with mere water, more severe cleaning products would be needed. His estranged wife too, didn't seem to like the accusation and stood from her animalistic crouched position and took a threatening step towards me.

Obviously, I'm trained in several marshal arts, neither of which I have practised in many years, but I was prepared to use them. Unfortunately however, being disabled was a disadvantage, so I adopted the best defensive posture I could which was to make myself as small as possible. The problem with this posture is that it could be misconstrued as 'cowering' to the untrained eye, and possibly even to trained STCP officers, yet I maintain that I was using the appropriate move for the situation based on my training.

After that, things seemed to get more positive, Mr Febuggure received some weapons from the Archivers. Mr Solvay removed the STCP officer's handcuffs and they sprang into action. They were marvellous, their training was evident as they seemed skilled in getting prepared extremely quickly, you could say that 'time was on their side', but this was no time for hilarious wordplay, dangerous killers were on their way.

In all the confusion, I didn't actually know why these 'Hunter/Killing machines' were here, and due to the thick tension in the air between the Chrysler's and Miss Jones, who was glancing between them both, I didn't want to ask. Actually I just wanted to leave the experts to it. All this fighting isn't for me, unless there's some negotiation involved. But due to the naming of these creatures, it didn't sound like negotiation was on the cards. If however they've been named 'Negotiation/Diplomacy machines', then splendid, I'd be the first one to greet them, give them tea and biscuits and chitter chatter until we've resolved the conflict. Maybe then have some wine, possibly a biscotti that I mentioned several paragraphs ago that I've been craving ever since. It goes well with the bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild I've had saved up, sadly however the bottle hadn't survived the last 3 million years so we'd have to settle for the Margaux blanc. It's a bit bitter on the palate, but has lots of body.

I wish I could tell you that I made a quick exit and poured myself a glass of these aforementioned wines. But I didn't. A bullet richocheted off my wheelchair catching my attention. The Chryslers both went into action, side by side unleashing a volley of weapons fire towards the attackers, followed by the other team members who were fortunate enough to carry a gun.

What happened next is no word of a lie, although does sound utterly preposterous. A gang of lizards mugged them. The creatures that evolved in the arboretum that we'd previously named Huzards swung in on some sort of ropes, I've got no idea where from and dropped down next to the hunters. With only primitive knives they sliced the throats of the killing machines, putting their small green arms through the cracks in their armour. The entire events unfolded quicker than I could blink, and we stood gawping as they wriggled the super armour off the men, and ran away with it, whooping and hollering like chavs that inhabit playgrounds after dark.

Everyone else just watched dumbly, whilst I, sharp as a button like always thought that we should stop them. Huzards with heavy armour and advanced weaponry could be extremely dangerous, and we did have to live side by side with these creatures (like the aforementioned chavs in the previous paragraph).
I should probably have ordered everyone to go after the Huzards, but they had been mistrusting of my command of late, and there was a chance they would ignore me, further adding to their insubordination. Unfortunately in my present condition in this wheelchair and without the proper chain of command being clarified by the SpaceCorps who were long dead, I didn't want to risk a situation of insubordination, so instead said nothing until they'd escaped.

“I hear there's a nice little café opened up on the Promenade.” I said after a while, and everyone else seemed so glad that I had said something. I said this t break the tension between the Chryslers which was still as thick as Titan manuka honey, the expensive one I'm saving for a special occasion, it's lovely in tea by the way.

“Let's go for a nice cup of tea, and you can tell us all about where you've been for the last three million years.” I said in my super soothing voice which I've always been told calms people down, and not aggravate them at all, which is what happened with Mrs Chrysler when I tried to stroke her hand.
She used some nasty words, which I will not repeat. I gave Mr Chrysler a quick look and communicated with my eyes the line “Control your woman”. A look I think perfected in the 1950's, when it became improper to voice such things out loud.

I left, asking kindly for Mr Febuggure to push me, which he seemed to comply with, but actually enjoy! Only occasionally making hilarious quips about me being too heavy, the man's a real comedian!

We headed towards the Promenade, with everyone in tow, although I didn't check to see if the Chryslers and Miss Jones were following at all. I was excited at the prospect of drinking tea, which I'd sadly not tasted in a few days, but was quite disgusted at the thought of all shops on the Promenade now being run by rats. I did wonder if rats knew how to make a good pot of Earl Grey, and I was secretly hoping they made some horrific mistake so that I could complain to the manager.

<Tag – What's the Promenade like, now that it's ran by rats? Also Parrotts bar will be open for business too, have the rats made any changes?>