Title: Ford Prefect Gets a Drink
Author: WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: A conversation in a bar in the fashionable end of the galaxy.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ford Prefect/Arthur Dent
Disclaimer: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and all associated ideas remain the property of Douglas Adams and his estate. No copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made by me.
Author's Notes: Written for tania_sings
FORD PREFECT GETS A DRINK
"I used to know this planet," said the red-haired man in the loud waistcoat, "out there," he waved a vague hand, "unfashionable end of the galaxy."
He sipped his gee nun toe nix. "Bit of a shit-hole. Better after the cave phase, but even after they'd invented digital watches, they kept playing cricket."
The triple-headed, octo-breasted, sparkly pink creature behind the bar grimaced.
"I know, like I said – bit of a shit-hole. Backward. They'd only just developed MP3s when they got blown up." He drained his glass and wiped lilac foam off his top lip. "Same again!" he demanded. "Proper drink. Nothing like it on Earth. That was the name of the shit-hole. Was nowhere like this there, is nowhere, will be ... What time zone are we in?"
The bar-being shrugged a couple of its shoulders.
"Whatever." Ford shrugged too. He took his filled glass. "Real time. Nightmare." He pulled out half a dozen umbrellas, two sparklers, a curly straw and eight different types of cocktail stirrers before taking his first sip. "I managed to get myself stranded there."
The sparkly pink being rolled its one eye heavenward.
"Exactly. Zarking unbelievable. A million light years from the nearest decent party. Cooking with microwaves. Remember microwaves?"
One head shook its denial,but the one with the eye was already scanning the room for a customer who might actually tip.
"Shit-hole. Apart from one thing. There was just one thing that made life there bearable. More than bearable. Made it very difficult to leave."
He smiled fondly to himself. "So, when the Vogons blew the place up --"
He was interrupted by a movement on the floor, near his feet. Something brown and wooly was shifting around.
"Just one beautiful thing there." Ford looked down.
The brown thing turned out to be a dressing gown. It lurched upright, or at least, the thing inside it lurched upright. The thing inside it turned out to be a wild-looking man who leaned over the bar clutching his head and asked, "I don't suppose you serve tea here, do you?"
"So when I hitched a lift with the Vogons who blew up the planet," Ford murmured looking softly at the wild man, "I brought him with me."