"[color=7bcdc8]So that's how it is, huh? No '[i]good morning[/i]', no '[i]how's your mother[/i]', just straight to the insults and threa-[/color]"

 The Brain was interrupted by the sound of a wooden bat exploding into a cloud of splinters and did what most normal people would do in such a situation; he flinched, ducked, and covered his precious face. In his defense, however, this was Henchman Training 101 [i]and[/i] a good daily skincare routine gave him a face to die for, or indeed, kill for. The threat of roving gangs of unscrupulous cosmetic surgoens in some neighbourhoods was very real indeed.

 Boss Hog, on the other hand, didn't move or flinch, and for his troubles, received quite a lot of damage to his suit and a few bloody scratches from the slpintering wood. He did not look like a model of civility and happiness prior to losing his bat, and whatever self-control that was holding him back from simply lashing out with his hands was beginning to fray. There were signs, subtle ones, that something was going to snap within Boss Hog at any moment - his jaw squared, his muscles tensing, his eyes narrowing. Maracun, still firmly in Toony's grip, knew the signs, and began to squirm about a little, trying to free himself to no avail.

 "[color=7bcdc8]-threats, I was [i]gonna[/i] say threats. You want this slimy fella? What's he to you lot? The Capatians own half the streets and throw the parties to prove it, the Heron's haven't got [i]jack[/i], you're picking the wrong bleeding fight here. Heron isn't worth it.[/color]"

 As far as appeals to reason and veiled threats went, it wasn't absolutely terrible, but it certainly lost a lot of it's impact as The Brain was still cowering slightly. Given the choice between trying to look imposing and not catching a bullet or a laser beam (or a [i]dozen[/i] laser beams) to the face, he knew hat he wanted, and that was to be able to spend an hour looking in the mirror after all this was over to check for any errant splinters.

[hr]

"[color=#d9d9d9][b]Deploying towed array sonar![/b][/color]"

A little hatch on the back of the cleaner bot flipped open, and a long coil of rope explosively launched out from it. The rope had a string of little sensors mounted along it, each in it's own little clear plastic enclosure. The force of the deployment system knocked the cleaner robot on to it's face and, after scrambling back on to it's feet, it looked up to Fiddlesticks. It was smiling, clearly happy to provide some help, even if it's action was of very little help indeed. Quite [i]why[/i] a cleaner bot would be equipped to detect submarines was something of a mystery, but it probably had something to do with the laundry system on board the Quest for Flavour. 

The bees, above the whole sorry scene, happily waved down from the safety of a tunnel that intersected the ceiling of the one Fiddlesticks and the Cleaner Bot found themselves in. A rather flimsy grating provided a place for the bees to sit and watch what happens next; one of the more enterprising bees was taking bets. The odds weren't good.

From further down the tunnel, the mechanical sound of doors opening could be heard, and the water sounded just that little bit closer. The insects wound up their party and began to arrange themselves into neat rows, awaiting their own watery doom with a certain amount of dignity and grace.