Disclaimer: I do not own Red Dwarf or any of its characters. In fact, I don't own any dwarves of any color. That would just be wrong.
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Kryten waited patiently for the twins to get up the next day. To his amazement, they got out of bed before Lister did, at half eleven. After serving them brunch (eggs and tomato ketchup for Bexley, Super Sugar Puffs cereal with chocolate milk and extra sugar for Jim), he ventured into their room to make their beds and stopped dead in his tracks.
Clothes were strewn all over the floor. The beds looked as though sweaty pigs had wrestled in them. Jim's pillow had a huge stain on it that appeared to be (hopefully) drool. Another mysterious stain, this one orange, was on the ceiling. A plate with bread crusts sat in the middle of the floor. Somehow, it had already grown fuzzy, gray mold on it. Kryten gazed around the room for a good thirty seconds, mouth agape.
"Unbelievable!" He said to himself. "They haven't even been here twenty four hours, yet, and their room is already worse than Mr. Lister's…. I think I've died and gone to silicon heaven!"
Whistling a cheerful tune, Kryten set about cleaning the room up. He couldn't be happier.
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The Cat was on his way to his room for his third nap of the day when he noticed the door was open and voices were coming from inside.
"… and this one, too."
"Oh, that is so zapped!"
The Cat crept up to the door quietly and sprang inside, startling the twins. They were standing by the open closet and Bexley was holding the blue button-down shirt with glittering faux gemstones that the Cat had planned on wearing tomorrow. Irate, he arched his back and hissed at them to let them know he meant business.
The twins looked at each other, nonplussed.
The Cat arched his back further and sprang at them sideways, clawing at the air to threaten them, but they still just stared at him, confused. The Cat dropped his act in annoyance and said "What the hell are you monkeys doing in my closet? You'll contaminate the clothes I have picked out for this week and I'll have to go get another collection from the cargo bay."
"This is just for the week?" Jim puzzled, gazing into the huge, walk-in closet.
Bexley held up the blue shirt. "I have to know where you got this shirt. This is sooo zapped."
The Cat smiled and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of his sleeve. "Zapped, huh? You really think so?" To himself, he thought That means "good", right?
"I love your shirts," Bexley gushed. "The colors and the textures…. Say, could we go to the cargo bay and see what else you have?"
The Cat's chest puffed with pride. "Well, I don't know. I don't usually let people paw through my clothes. Oh, what the hell. Let's go!"
The twins followed him eagerly.
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"Where the smeg are they?" Lister grumbled, pacing in the corridor outside of their sleeping quarters. "We were supposed to go play some Zero-Gravity Racquetball together over an hour ago."
"You don't even like racquetball," Rimmer pointed out.
"I know that, but they're me sons," Lister said. "We've only got a few days together, and we're supposed to do, y'know, father-son things together."
"They don't even like father-son things," Rimmer pointed out.
"I have to try, don't I?"
"Lister, they're so inbred, they probably don't know how to have a normal father-son relationship," Rimmer said. "They're probably waiting for you to introduce them to an aunt so they can go out on a date."
"Rimmer, shut up," Lister snapped. The Cat cruised by and Lister said to him, "Hey, Cat, have you seen Jim and Bexley anywhere?"
"Who?" The Cat asked.
"Me sons," He cried, frustrated. "Where are they?"
The Cat shrugged. "I don't know. Probably still sleeping off the case of beer they split."
"WHAT?!" Lister took off. The Cat and Rimmer exchanged looks and quickly followed him. Lister ran over to the twins' sleeping quarters and stopped dead in his tracks. Bexley was on the floor with his feet propped up on his bunk. A comically oversized red fedora covered his face and he was snoring loudly. Jim was sitting on the top bunk picking pepperoni off of a slice of pizza and flicking them at his brother, trying to get them to land on the fedora, but he kept missing. In addition to the pepperoni, the floor was also littered with empty beer cans, pizza crusts, dirty socks, muddy boots, (How, Rimmer wondered, could their boots be muddy on a space station? Or is that even mud? He shuddered.) and an overflowing ashtray with a pickle sticking out of it.
"Oh, smeg," Lister groaned.
"It smells like a drunk petting zoo in here," Rimmer wrinkled his nose.
Bexley stirred and peeled the fedora off of his face to see what was going on, smacking his lips. His eyes were bloodshot and there was a huge puddle of drool on his shirt. At that moment, Kryten came in and peered into the room.
"Good heavens!" Kryten exclaimed. "It hasn't even been eight hours since I last cleaned this room. These kids are going to spoil me rotten!"
Jim snapped his fingers, gesturing wildly. Bexley looked up slowly and handed his brother the fedora, which Jim promptly puked in. The Cat pulled out an embroidered handkerchief to cover his nose with.
Rimmer didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Lister, I hate to admit it, but I think we've finally discovered a more disgusting life form than you."
"I can't believe you've done this!" Lister shook his head at the boys. "You're too young to get pissed. And smoking! I can't believe you're smoking. What's wrong with you?"
"We're nineteen," Bexley said.
"No, you're not, you're a year and a half," Lister shouted. "You're way too young to be doing… You know what, that's it," He said with finality. "I can't deal with this any more. I'm sending you back to your mum." He stalked off.
"Well, I'd better go get the cleaning supplies," Kryten said happily, following him.