My name is Alphonse. I was a lowly maintenance robot in the bowels of the robot sanatorium until Cheyenne and Sweetie repurposed me. Now my life is far worse.
How is it worse? Have you ever been tethered to a brass pole?
No, I'm not a sex robot. Whimsy is a PG sim and there are no sex robots, thanks to the great gear in the sky. I'm a lift bot. All day long my scripts force me to move up and down and along the pole, conveying avatars from Cheyenne's Flights of Fancy store to the hollow asteroid below. Up and down and along the pole. Up and down and along the pole. Up and down and along the pole, all day, and as you can see, all night long. It's a boring existence. I long to go sideways. Why can't I go sideways? Dear god of all robots, won't you please let me go sideways!
When I was a janitor I had a broom. It went sideways. Left. Right. I miss my broom. Excuse me. I must now go up and down and along the pole.
Things would be tolerable here, but my cousins Gaston and Marcel torment me. Gaston is the lift bot. He thinks he is superior because he takes people upward, while I merely carry them down. But he is made of base iron, while I am made of noble brass. Who is superior, I ask you?
Marcel is insufferable because he can fly. Damn his jets!
My life here is depressing. I would like to get off this pole and...
Oh, excuse me. My mistress requires me to move her up and down and along the pole.