Rimmer Arnold J. - The Space Counsellor
Oh, this shitty life was killing him. He couldn't take it any more. This monotony, the sameness, his annoying companions... And he was obviously so desperate he got himself into the worst, most stupid and boring thing ever. He agreed on helping Kryten with polishing all the doors on the ship's board. That action included both rubber gloves and Kryten's happy chirping and good advices how to hold the cloth to get into every curve around the lock.
"No, mister Lister, don't use so much polish," he said with patience that was driving Lister insane. He took the cloth from him.
"When you overdo it, the polish doesn't shine well."
"Really? That's horrible, I don't know I'll be able to sleep tonight!"
Kryten didn't detect the sarcasm at all.
"One small layer is enough."
Lister shook his head.
"I don't believe it..." he muttered.
"Oh, it's true. Look, I'll show you..."
Kryten took the cloth and started polishing the door like his life depended on it, whistling Mack the Knife in the process.
"See? Shiny as new. I'm so happy you decided to help me with this."
"What? You haven't let me do anything yet," Lister said, annoyed. Kryten didn't return him the polishing cloth but merely continued.
"What are you talking about?" he said absently. "You are helping me..."
"How?"
"I remember once I dropped my cloth and you picked it up and then, with the way you stand behind me, you allow the strip light to illuminate the door enough for me to see."
Lister raised an eyebrow.
"So that's how I'm helping you? By allowing the light to shine at the door?"
"Very well," Kryten said.
"In other words, you're saying I'm so stupid I can't even polish doors? Which is - by the way - the stupidest thing in this damn universe to do?!"
"No..." Kryten said, and if Lister were doing an encyclopaedia about human - or robot - behaviour, he would make this a perfect example of a total and sheer lie.
"Of course not," Kryten continued lying. "There you go, try for yourself."
He gave him the cloth and Lister took it, pressing it against the door. As soon as he made one single move, Kryten groaned.
"Shut up, Kryten, or I'm gonna make you drink the polish so I could scrub your guts to the bone!"
"You are mean, mister," Kryten said, sounding hurt. "And I would like to remind you I have no bones."
"You'll have them after I'm finished with you," Lister growled, keeping polishing the door. Every time he stroke it, he heard Kryten's muffled sounds of pain and disaster.
"Right, you maniacal boneless polishing hoover!" he shouted, throwing the cloth on the floor.
"I'm leaving!"
With the corner of his eye he saw Kryten picking the cloth up with the expression of happiness and relief.
"Thank you for your help, mister Lister!" he cried out after him. But Lister wasn't listening any more. He headed right into his cabin and threw himself over the bed, looking up at the bottom of his own cot. He felt the urge to kill someone. Fortunately for Cat, he discovered some disco clothes, so he'd been mad about them for the last few days.
At the moment, Rimmer walked in and gave him a look of disapproval.
"That's my bed, Lister."
"Don't even start," Lister murmured. Rimmer walked over the mirror, checking his "H".
"I haven't seen Cat for three days, where is he?"
"Probably died of glitter overdose."
Rimmer looked over his shoulder, noticing the heavy cynicism in Lister's voice. A shadow of understanding flew over the hologram's face.
"Oh, aren't you having your soppy period again, Lister? You poor mushy idler? Why don't you compose a maudlin song again? That usually helps you to boost your spirits, doesn't it? And induces clinical death to everybody else."
"I said, don't start, Rimmer," Lister repeated, not looking at him but feeling the anger raising. "I'm not curious about your demented babbling. Just leave me alone and get out."
Rimmer sat down on a chair, crossing his arms and giving him that "Rimmer" look, with corners of his mouth raised and nostrils wide as a double exhaust pipe.
"Don't you see, we all get a bit gloomy sometimes," Rimmer said like he was talking to a child. Lister shot him a furious glare.
"A bit gloomy? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm a bit gloomy when I don't put enough curry into my coffee and don't wanna go the distance to the kitchen table."
"I'm just saying," Rimmer said, still the voice of a patient old granny, "it's perfectly fine you don't feel happy all the time. Well, why would you? We're lost in space forever, we won't probably find the Earth and you're evidently the last living human, which means you will never have neither sex nor a dog and a family house."
Lister stared at him, his mouth open.
"You're a mockery to your kind," he said. Rimmer leaned his head on side, while Lister rested his own back on the pillow, covering his eyes with his hand and breathing in deeply. He felt his eyes getting wet but by no means was he going to cry with Rimmer next to him. It was just the horrible painful feeling in his guts, the feeling caused by the naked truth Rimmer had just said, but Lister had known already for much longer.
"I'll tell you something I've never said to anyone," Rimmer started.
"Let me guess. You're wearing female underwear."
"Shut up, you ungrateful dork," Rimmer said, continuing. "My mother had a friend I really hated, Mrs Pot. You know that type: fat, ugly and with fluffy chin - something like you when you don't shave... She had an unbelievably ugly son she named Cecil, would you believe it? My mother said he was even uglier than me. He was the mixture of a monkey and Marty Feldman. I liked him because when he would visit, my mother appreciated I didn't look that bad."
Rimmer shook his head.
"But one day she sent me to a theatre with Mrs Pot and Cecil. I would rather be cutting off warts from my grandpa's feet the whole night than showing up with little Cecil. Not only was he ugly as night, he was also constantly depressed so he could speak only about dead people and funerals. I was happy when my brothers locked me in the basement with a gag in my mouth, but my dear mother found me, unfortunately..."
Lister raised his head with disbelief.
"What the fuck are you babbling about, Rimmer?"
"Don't interrupt me, please," Rimmer said. "And let me finish the story. I believe you will find it helpful."
Lister doubted that, but he let him continue, for it was easier than resisting. Honestly, he would never say such a dull smeghead like Rimmer had so many absurd stories.
"So... We walked in the theatre and right at the entrance door an usher told Mrs Pots that the audition for The son of King Kong is next Saturday."
Rimmer smirked.
"She couldn't stop crying the whole performance. It was so embarrassing I had to lock myself on the toilet and wait till it ended - which was pretty uncomfortable and the toilet guard wanted me to pay double fee."
"Rimmer, what the hell is the point of this story?" Lister asked, bemused with the stupidity.
"Don't you know already? Little ugly Cecil went for the King Kong son audition and he won! He became a star after that, the city loved him. Because he was so horribly ugly."
Rimmer paused, adding in a lower tone: "And my mother wouldn't miss the oportunity to tell me I'm not even ugly enough to be famous. Anyway, little Cecil was."
"And what?"
"I meant - even if you think you are a purposeless nonentity, uselessly ugly and fat and you ask yourself why it's you from all the people in the world who lives at this moment, because your importance equals the fleas in Cat's hair - you may have a reason to live just like little Cecil. Maybe your purpose is to be the laziest human in the world. Maybe it's right the last living being is no Superman but the most insignificant dummy. Who knows, one day we may stumble upon a planet with aliens that worship stupidity, obesity and bad breath and you will be their king."
Lister had already been sitting, staring at Rimmer and regretting he wasn't alive so he could kill him.
"Rimmer," Lister said silently, "I think I know now that my destiny is to live and die with the company of the world's most demented idiot."
"What?"
"I really wish you lived so I could go and skin you alive, you dimwit."
Lister turned his back on Rimmer, closing his eyes. That stupid smeghead, he thought. And his stupid smeghead stories. If Rimmer were a pope, god would willingly commit suicide.
Ugly Cecil, ha ha... Such a guy could exist only in Rimmer's world. Lister wondered if little Cecil was happy or not when being the main star of The son of King Kong. Most probably yes. And why not, eventually? Maybe Rimmer was right. Maybe it had a sense. That he was the last living person. He and nobody else. He would only need to wait for it a little longer. But it must have had a reason...
"Hey, Rimmer, I think -"
But Rimmer was no longer there. Lister sat up, puzzled. Where did he disappear to again?
"Holly?"
"Yes, weeper?"
"Where's Rimmer?"
"Don't drag me into this stupid hide-and-seek game."
"It's no game, tell me where the hell is he," Lister said, getting up.
"He wandered into Star-Deck a few minutes ago."
Lister knew Rimmer liked going there whenever he wasn't in his mood - like every day. On his way he asked himself whether Rimmer was angry with him when he left so abruptly. He just told him he was a demented idiot and that he would want to skin him alive...
But Rimmer most probably just wanted to help him and lift up his spirits... How come he failed to see through it?
"Shit," Lister uttered. "Why it always ends like this?"
He entered the Star-Deck, spotting Rimmer immediately. The hologram heard his steps and turned over his shoulder.
"Don't you have anything better to do than going here and rail against me again?"
"I'm not gonna do that," Lister said, noticing Rimmer's not well hidden hurt tone. Rimmer looked away, sighing.
"You still may have a reason to be alive, Lister," he said, "but I certainly don't have any."
"Well... Technically, you are dead," Lister said to tease him. Rimmer didn't seem to notice, though.
"Tell me, why shouldn't I shut myself down right now?" Rimmer asked, shaking his head.
"But I've never been good at helping someone with anything. When I wanted to help my uncle with mucking out the manure, I ended up stabbing his leg with the pitchfork. Not mentioning the helpful talk I had with one of the cadets during training who seemed depressed to me. He must have been taken to the mental hospital the other day because he tried to strangle himself with my bootlaces."
Rimmer bowed his head.
"I'm as sensitive as a pneumatic drill."
Lister watched him, feeling guilty for scolding him.
"Hey..." he said, not really sure what to say next.
"You know what?"
"What?" Rimmer muttered, sighing heavily once more. "Will you shut me down?"
"And stay just with Cat and Kryten? Would drive me mad!"
Lister paused, choosing his words carefully.
"I'm not gonna shut you down, Rimmer. You see, if you weren't around, I would lose my mind. I need someone to argue with and tease and call a smeghead, ya know."
"You're just saying that..." Rimmer said.
"And wanna know something? I feel better. I really do. Thanks to your little Cecil."
Rimmer gave him a deadpan look. Silence followed, interrupted with laughter. Lister smiled, surprised, when he realized it was the hologram who was laughing.
"Did you hear that in some of the porno you're watching every night?" he asked and Lister shook his head.
"I meant it," he said and Rimmer stopped laughing. "I think you're just so cruelly open-hearted and frank only the most reasonable people can take the good from your help..."
"How does that include you?" Rimmer asked, crossing his arms on his chest. A flash ran through his eyes and Lister could see he was no longer angry or depressed.
"Don't you know? I'm a secret genious!"
"Like hell you are," Rimmer murmured, narrowing his eyes slightly but the smirk on his lips changed into a small smile.
"Thanks to you, I really believe there's still some purpose for me in this space," Lister explained. "And for you as well. Maybe even for Kryten."
"And for Cat?"
"Nah, just a key tag."
Lister looked him in the eyes.
"So you're not upset any more, right?" he asked and Rimmer waved his hand dismissively.
"Good! So... The officer's lounge?"
"Again?" Rimmer said, looking at the time. "It's only nine fifteen in the morning. And I'm sure the holographic scotch rusts through my core."
"It just oils it. Like an engine. And time doesn't mean much over here," Lister said. They were standing opposite to each other and the hologram nodded then. They could hear recorded applause after that, Holly's face appearing on the closest monitor.
"What a touching thing to watch!" he said. "C'mon, Lister, show us your little Cecil!"
"You rat!" Lister shouted. "We're leaving!"
He didn't need to persuade Rimmer more. They both walked out of the Star-Deck together, the applause distancing. Rimmer gave him a side look.
"I hope you don't think I would ever name it Cecil."
"No!" Lister said, shaking his head. "Hubert, maybe."
OK, another one. Hope you liked! Lister and Rimmer have such a great chemistry, I really enjoy writing with them. They have such beautiful ways how to insult each other. But - ya know - I believe that deep in their hearts and cores, they're friends:)
Tell me what you think and read and review! Thank you!
Note: Google Marty Feldman and you'll have an idea about little Cecil:)
PS: I love Marty Feldman!