Mad Lemmey's Painting Blog

In the long Embassy dining hall, the sumptous diplomatic dining area of the Terran Diplomatic Corps two figures stared at the serine calm after a bustle of frenetic activity.  On a perfect Queen Anne oak topped table (or perfect recreation of) the perfectly clean and perfectly polished tableware was set perfectly. Each seat had been perfectly adjusted to the relevant guest and their species' needs, and the menu perfectly attuned to the latest perfect Terran dining fashions. All was pretty perfect.  The Diplomatic droid hummed happily to itself as it scanned the area for micro imperfections. A desert spoon was realigned by merest fraction of millimeters using house manipulation fields.  The Ambassador looked on, formal diplomatic attire had been donned,  he looked suitability uncomfortable. "Are we sure about the menu choices?" "Tsk, they have all been adapted to the relevant digestive needs of our guests. All allergens edited out, all flavours still present " Th...

As the Diplomatic Droid hit Mac One flying down the corridor, he was glad he had swapped consciousness to a Mk 17 combat droid chassis. It cycled through weapons choices as intruder alarms blared, red lights flashed, and his comms flared. +++DO NOT ENTER MEDICAL+++ The Mk 17 had enough firepower to take down an newly adult Auran, so if any other species had launched a raid in the Embassy, this was going to be a painful experience for them. +++REPEAT: DO NOT ENTER MEDICAL+++ Suit shields were raised to help decelerate him, thankfully before he crashed into the reinforced metal door that secured the embassy medical centre. The droid's manipulation fields flared to cut away the wall surrounding the door (it was easier),. Dust quickly filled the corridor, followed, unexpectedly, by steam. The next thing the Droid saw was wall of brackish water, engulfing it's shields, and nearly pushing him backwards. Someone was teleporting in water, and it was now obvious who. "Told you he w...