Afternoon tea with Legion

"Who are you man.." Jay said, angry.
A figure, clad in a green jumpsuit, with silver piping and facemask stepped out of the shadow.
"MY name..." it said "Is Legion"
<end snip>

Seymour walked unsteadily towards the bizarre humanoid on his artificial legs, wincing as each step jolted his stitches. “Bloody great to meet you Mister Legion! Any fellow wine taster is a good egg in my books!”
“Yes, you might also like to see my collection of fine art. Come this way.” Legion said and lead them into a white room with several sculptures and paintings.
“These are superb! Did you make them yourself?” Seymour asked.
“Yes. Many years ago. I was a different man back then.” Said Legion. “Please sit and have some afternoon tea with me.”

They all sat around the table and Legion served up some drinks. “Earl Grey for Mr Niples.” He said, placing a warm teacup in front of Seymour.
“I'm very impressed you got my name correct first time!” Seymour said, and then paused in confusion. “How DO you know our names?”
“Mr Chrysler, is it too early for a beer?” Legion said, placing a pint in front of Jay.
“Well it has been 3 million years...” Jay said, lifting the glass to his lips.
Seymour reached for a digestive biscuit on a plate in the centre of the table. “Did you mention dinner earlier?”
“Yes.” Said Legion. “I'll be serving up a 24th century mammosian banquet. Will that suffice?”
“Absolutely, we're all starving!” Jay said. “Someone flushed our food supplies into space.” He said, glaring at Seymour.

As they all chatted with Legion, Seymour leaned across the table to talk to Phi. “I never got a chance to thank you properly Ms Moreau. For without you, I'd have exploded like a well-dressed terrorist.”
Phi blushed, but it was Jay who spoke next. “Yes, and you'd have taken us all out too!”
Seymour scrunched up his face with guilt. “Yes... I should probably have ran as far away from you as possible really. But it serves you scoundrels right for letting me get penetrated by the Hamza squid in the first place!”

Legion turned to Seymour. “Tell them about the time you almost became a terrorist Seymour.”
Jay spat out his beer.
“I... err... well... err...” Seymour said. “How do you know that? I've never told anyone!”
“Please tell us!” Cass said quite enthusiastically.
“Well it wasn't a great time in my career...” Seymour started. “Before I joined the Blue Dwarf I was approached by a very prestigious group of rich socialite gentlemen called the 'Tally Ho club'. Men with big bushy moustaches that sipped sherry and talked about nothing more than how much they hated chavs, people on the dole, and young men who wore trousers so low they exposed their buttocks. I was young, I was naïve, and I was angry at the world and I joined their club, and we talked about how we'd like to ban all these atrocities from society. We formed a political movement, and soon the name was changed from the 'Tally Ho club' to the 'Tally Ho Ban' club, because we wanted to ban certain individuals from society. And very soon we were just called the 'Tally Ban', and became a terrorist cell.”

Everyone around the table leaned in as they listened to Seymour's story.

“I let them strap bombs to me and I stood inside a busy nightclub full of the absolute scum of the earth, ready to blow up these idiotic chavs. But then I realised, why give my life to get rid of them? If I killed myself to make the world better, I'm not making the world better for me, I'm doing it for some other toffs that I don't care about! So I thought it was a stupid idea.”
“Ahh, selfishness prevails!” Said Cass and raised her drink in a mock toast.
“Yes yes.” Seymour said, waving it off. “But what I want to know is how Legion knows about that story?”
Legion stood and pointed to the door. “Let me show you to your rooms where you can freshen up before dinner.

As they walked to their rooms, Seymour brushed up between Jay and Cass, who were walking so close that they might have even been holding hands. “There's something suspicious about Mr Legion, we might be prisoners here.”
But Seymour's suspicions were alleviated when Legion pointed to his room. “Oh it's superb!” Seymour squealed as he entered his champagne paradise.

“A dinner of mammosian cuisine will be served in precisely 45 minutes.” Legion told them.

<Tag what's your room like? Also who wants to start writing the dinner with Legion? Will we be using anti-matter chopsticks? Jovian Boogle Hoops? Or the often-lethal Mercurian Boomerang Spoons?>

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