DEMONICANGELIC
***
An inane Aria of bleeps and bloops swam annoyingly around the medi bay.
Lister had really begun to like this new Jack-guy. Spending the evening before slumped in the Copacabana slurping Lager and gorging on fries, vindaloo sauce and custard, with the little sugary wafers both Jack and Lister liked so much, throwing endless insults at a Rimmer who wasn't there, was fun. More than fun. Hell, it was fan-smeggin'-tastic. After all, simply throwing insults with just the Cat had completely lost all it's novelty.
"...and another thing-" Jack would ramble, "those smeggin' holo-smeggin'- grams think they smeggin' own the smeggin' place... don't they Listy? Eh?"
Lister would comply with ramblings of secrets he had concerning Rimmer. The Nocturnal Boxing Gloves. The examination-failures. And worst of all, in his drunken demure, he let slip about Rimmer's sex-life. Jack found this hilarious. He found it so hilarious, he found himself on the floor.... again.
There had been many 'Jackson Pollock's' going around that previous night.
Both Lister and Jack had awoken, wrists bound by bloodflow-blocking pulsometers to the medi-bay beds. Kryten stood over them, yeilding a tray of freshly-browned toast and orange juice.
"Your breakfasts, sirs." He announced. His eyes darted nervously around the room.
There was a groan from a pathetically hungover Jack. Kryten simply prod the tray onto Jack's unstable beer-belly, and walked defiantly off, but not before unhooking Lister and cocking his head towards the door in a 'follow me so I can talk to you in private' manner. Lister reluctantly whimpered and creaked up from the sheets.
"He he! And perhaps you can find out what's eating him while yer' away Dave!" Jack whispered after his new drinking-buddy.
Lister meandered after Kryten, who inadvertently stopped dead in front of him, sending Lister's already swirling head into a near spasmodic 'drum- solo' migraine as it thwacked against Kryten's back.. He whimpered again, clasping his head.
"Sorry, Sir.... but I'm afraid there's something you should know about Mr Konrad."
Lister became concerned, and attempted to ignore the brain rattling around like a ball bearing in his head. "What is it?"
"Well... I performed a medical whilst he was asleep, you know, routine checks -"
"And?"
"Well, during the routine checks I fortuitously stumbled across a personality trait about his person...."
"AND?" Lister was quickly becoming exasperated with Kryten's constant beating about the bush. He had to fix that some time. Some other time, when his body wasn't fighting a losing battle against a night of booze and custard.
"Well...he's a 'Holophobe'. The Psi-scan picked it up. He hates anyone who has the chance to live past death... you see, his Father had been denied the chance to come back, in favour of someone else. I'm afraid, he may have a problem with Mr Rimmer sir."
Lister guffawed, and sighed with a giggle.
"I know, it's an awful concept sir," Kryten snuffed as he bowed his head.
"Awful? How is it anything different from anyone who's ever known Rimmer, ever? He's a complete smegpot anyway! Hologram or not, everyone hates him!" Lister shrugged, sighed heavily and made his way back to his bed in the medi-bay.
He may have a problem with the scum-of-the-universe? No shit.
Ignoring Lister's reassurances, Kryten stubbornly collated a few questions on a few sheets of paper for Jack to fill in.
"Ooof!!"
A full, mountainous ream of paper thud itself mercilessly onto Jack's increasingly unsteady bowels.
Followed, in comparison, by a rather sad-looking pen.
"Fill this in, Mister Konrad sir... If you wouldn't mind...."
Kryten hobbled from the Medi-bay, muttering under his mechanoid breath.
Jack's wobbling eyes struggled to grasp a decent focus.
"Question one. What is your name?" His lungs emptied every last breath from his body.
"Question Two. Please fill in, where appropriate, any mental diseases you may have contracted through certain experiences in previous times in life; i.e. Family-related complexes with Holograms"
Kryten wasn't always one for being totally subtle, ALL the time...
Of course, Jack was obliged to fill each and every question of each and every one of the hundred pages he had been subjected to. And so he did, thinking nothing of it...
***
An inane Aria of bleeps and bloops swam annoyingly around the medi bay.
Lister had really begun to like this new Jack-guy. Spending the evening before slumped in the Copacabana slurping Lager and gorging on fries, vindaloo sauce and custard, with the little sugary wafers both Jack and Lister liked so much, throwing endless insults at a Rimmer who wasn't there, was fun. More than fun. Hell, it was fan-smeggin'-tastic. After all, simply throwing insults with just the Cat had completely lost all it's novelty.
"...and another thing-" Jack would ramble, "those smeggin' holo-smeggin'- grams think they smeggin' own the smeggin' place... don't they Listy? Eh?"
Lister would comply with ramblings of secrets he had concerning Rimmer. The Nocturnal Boxing Gloves. The examination-failures. And worst of all, in his drunken demure, he let slip about Rimmer's sex-life. Jack found this hilarious. He found it so hilarious, he found himself on the floor.... again.
There had been many 'Jackson Pollock's' going around that previous night.
Both Lister and Jack had awoken, wrists bound by bloodflow-blocking pulsometers to the medi-bay beds. Kryten stood over them, yeilding a tray of freshly-browned toast and orange juice.
"Your breakfasts, sirs." He announced. His eyes darted nervously around the room.
There was a groan from a pathetically hungover Jack. Kryten simply prod the tray onto Jack's unstable beer-belly, and walked defiantly off, but not before unhooking Lister and cocking his head towards the door in a 'follow me so I can talk to you in private' manner. Lister reluctantly whimpered and creaked up from the sheets.
"He he! And perhaps you can find out what's eating him while yer' away Dave!" Jack whispered after his new drinking-buddy.
Lister meandered after Kryten, who inadvertently stopped dead in front of him, sending Lister's already swirling head into a near spasmodic 'drum- solo' migraine as it thwacked against Kryten's back.. He whimpered again, clasping his head.
"Sorry, Sir.... but I'm afraid there's something you should know about Mr Konrad."
Lister became concerned, and attempted to ignore the brain rattling around like a ball bearing in his head. "What is it?"
"Well... I performed a medical whilst he was asleep, you know, routine checks -"
"And?"
"Well, during the routine checks I fortuitously stumbled across a personality trait about his person...."
"AND?" Lister was quickly becoming exasperated with Kryten's constant beating about the bush. He had to fix that some time. Some other time, when his body wasn't fighting a losing battle against a night of booze and custard.
"Well...he's a 'Holophobe'. The Psi-scan picked it up. He hates anyone who has the chance to live past death... you see, his Father had been denied the chance to come back, in favour of someone else. I'm afraid, he may have a problem with Mr Rimmer sir."
Lister guffawed, and sighed with a giggle.
"I know, it's an awful concept sir," Kryten snuffed as he bowed his head.
"Awful? How is it anything different from anyone who's ever known Rimmer, ever? He's a complete smegpot anyway! Hologram or not, everyone hates him!" Lister shrugged, sighed heavily and made his way back to his bed in the medi-bay.
He may have a problem with the scum-of-the-universe? No shit.
Ignoring Lister's reassurances, Kryten stubbornly collated a few questions on a few sheets of paper for Jack to fill in.
"Ooof!!"
A full, mountainous ream of paper thud itself mercilessly onto Jack's increasingly unsteady bowels.
Followed, in comparison, by a rather sad-looking pen.
"Fill this in, Mister Konrad sir... If you wouldn't mind...."
Kryten hobbled from the Medi-bay, muttering under his mechanoid breath.
Jack's wobbling eyes struggled to grasp a decent focus.
"Question one. What is your name?" His lungs emptied every last breath from his body.
"Question Two. Please fill in, where appropriate, any mental diseases you may have contracted through certain experiences in previous times in life; i.e. Family-related complexes with Holograms"
Kryten wasn't always one for being totally subtle, ALL the time...
Of course, Jack was obliged to fill each and every question of each and every one of the hundred pages he had been subjected to. And so he did, thinking nothing of it...