The Hive Collective.

Previously on CAPTAIN SEYMOUR DICKLOGIC, stuff happened. Some good stuff, some bad stuff and some, well, we don't want to go there without galoshes. That and the B-52's seem to have taken the good stuff baby.

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"Maid Centurion. Cancel all crises today. I have just returned from a visit to the doctor's room of seeing if girl beings are hollow and I feel the need for my very own crisis." The Vagendra of Manocide declared. The reason for her visit to the room of seeing if girl beings are hollow being the fact that her formal dress for slaying beings of rank 3 and below had been getting a bit tight.

"Doctor Awesome Codpiece, your wonderfulness? Your bow is all bent and your ribbon is crushed." The Maid Centurion fixed the offending items and sorted out the Vagendra of Manocide's blue hair, typically held back in a pony-tail while working.

"Indeed. Doctor Awesome Codpiece. It appears I am pregnant with a plot device." The Vagendra of Manocide dropped the bombshell. It did not have the anticipated effect, but then, this was a Maid Centurion.

"Miss. You banged hairy uglies with a plot device?" The Maid Centurion arched an eyebrow perfectly. She could also furrow them and clench them but now was not the time for that. "You weren't in The Flesh Pits of Gordon again were you?"

"They wouldn't let me in."

"I see. Did you vaporize them this time?"

"No."

The Maid Centurion looked puzzled, "did you cremate the entire planet?"

"No, I merely sent them a few gifts as a token of my appreciation for upholding the rules."

"A meteor?" The Maid began to worry, this was so unlike The Vagendra of Manocide.

"No."

"Are you sure you want to cancel all crises? Thre might be a good one on today." The Maid Centurion asked cautiously. Clearly she was out of sorts, what sort of plot device might it be?

"Whatever, read them then." The Vagendra waved dismissively and looked for something comfortable to wear that wasn't tight around her middle.

The Maid Centurion consulted her list of lists. "The late morning hemi-crisis is something about the news on Cosmogalactivision. Noon we have Ambassador Fragrant Wildebeest coming to beg for clemency over lunch. Might I suggest The Curry Temple of Doom. Semi-demi Hemi-Formal panic in the early afternoon. Macro-Lord Nasal-Effluvia again."

"The nose?"

"Indeed, The Nose." The Maid checked, "that one might be a puce-level panic. And you promised to have tea and scones with the daughter of The Wubnut of Plurg to add some sub-plot."

"Oh." The daughter of The Wubnut of Plurg, actually she was quite nice.

"So, miss." The Maid Centurion steeled herself and secretly clenched her fists in her frilly apron pocket.

"What do we do when the news escapes?"

Maid Centurion evinced restrained surprise with a delicate hint of approval. "Well, when your predecessor discovered she was pregnant by 27.5 men, she went Jet-Engine-Wombat and insisted it was all Aternative-Facts. It was quite entertaining... from three planets away. You would have been about five."

"That bizarre arc in season two?" The Vagendra of Manocide asked, "The PR disaster one, fans catapulting themselves off the castle walls?"

"Indeed. You had far too much fun pushing script writers into the lake of boiling rock to see if the sank." The Maid Centurion recalled mistily. "Might I suggest we simply announce it first and watch the Ministry of Propaganda and Burians have a demi-pandectomy Rara."

"Yes."

"If I may enq-"

"Captain Seymour Dicklogic."

The Maid Centurion nearly lost her eyebrows. "You intertwined haries with the manliest man in the entire enemelicious enemy! How could you! He's so many he has five Y-chromosomes!"

"We were drunk." The Vagendra of Manocide observed dryly, "I prefer the term puff-puff."

"I am so jealous," Maid Centurion slipped from her perfectly detached state of subservience for a second.

"Why? The hangover was the size of the remains of the Wensleydale Moon."

"No, no."

"Next time, you get pregnant and I'll get my hair cut instead."

"Oh thank you miss♥" The Maid Centurion smiled. "Oh look. That must be the first panic of the day. The Flesh Pits of Gordon again have been overrun by Tribbles. I wonder how that happened?" She cast a meaningful glance of soliciting information surreptitiously at The Vagendra of Manocide.

"I'm sorry, I haven't a clue." The Vagendra of Manocide let her hair down and tried to plait it. The Maid Centurion watched curiously. Clearly plot devices were azure hue!