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count_fenring, who gave me Please My Favourite Don't Be Sad as a song prompt. (YouTube Link.)
Title: And Learned to Love the Open Air
Fandom: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Characters: Arthur Dent, Ford Prefect
Rating: G
Words: 600
Summary: There were times when Arthur suspected Ford Prefect had been sarcastic about his inability to understand sarcasm.
Arthur Dent found Ford Prefect leaning against the hallway wall. The hallway was decorated in gold overlaid by a fuchsia and Jello green tartan pattern, but Arthur was Being Culturally Sensitive and thus trying very hard not to judge. He was on an alien planet -- even if it was one no one had bothered to tell him the name of -- and that fact was, he reminded himself sternly, fundamentally amazing and in no way whatsoever an inconvenience or cause for imminent distress.
As Arthur approached, Ford peered quickly around the hallway corner, then went back to grinning bemusedly at the wall across from him. "Ford--" Arthur greeted.
"I think the Uyrdashians copied this wallpaper from a sweater Zaphod gave me for my 217th Flump Day," Ford announced. Then he glanced back around the corner.
Arthur's train of thought was temporarily side-railed to make way for the mental image of Ford wearing a lovingly knit mass the colour of gold, cheap bridesmaid dresses, and radioactive sludge. He hoped for Ford's sake that Zaphod had failed to keep in mind the correct number of neck and arm-holes, thus giving Ford an excuse not to wear it.
But no, Arthur reminded himself. He was meant to be Being Culturally Sensitive. Ford was an alien, and it was (dimly) possible he was actually communicating his approval of both local design sense and Zaphod's thoughtful gift. It wouldn't do to assume.
"Ford," Arthur said, as the Sweater Express steamed off into the distance and his original conversational purpose lumbered slowly back onto the main line, "I've been thinking."
Ford didn't blink at him. "Really? How did you tell?"
There were times when Arthur, Being Culturally Sensitive or not, suspected Ford Prefect had been sarcastic about his inability to understand sarcasm.
"And it happens," Arthur continued, regardless, "that I've spent the last few years lost in the universe, dependent for my survival on a friend who, no offense meant, was never particularly reliable even when it came to paying his bar tab, and I've been continuously in terror of either the monster currently trying to kill me, or in terror of stumbling across the next monster that will try to kill me."
Ford's grin had begun to take on a familiar tightness, suggesting that Ford was, actually, up to date on the story so far, but he understood that restating things everyone knew was a human pastime and was Being Culturally Sensitive by indulging Arthur.
"But after all that, I woke up this morning and realized...." Arthur paused momentarily for dramatic purposes, and Ford's grin brightened slightly in anticipation of novel information. "I'm still alive!"
Ford apparently gave up on Arthur. He peered around the corner again instead. "And it's tiring so I'm not going to bother being frightened anymore," Arthur expelled in a rush.
Ford turned back toward him. Then Ford moved past him, very quickly. Arthur, not seeing a better option present itself, hurried to catch up. The hem of his dressing gown hit the back of his knees and the wavy fuchsia lines made him queasy as he ran for his life.
"How's it working out for you?" Ford shouted over the snapping jaws of the ravenous beast chasing them. He sounded genuinely, if mildly, interested; although really it depended on whether you believed him about the sarcasm.
"And I'm absolutely definitely going to give up being afraid," Arthur continued, panting, "ten minutes from now. Assuming the monster hasn't killed us by then."
"It never does to assume," Ford corrected him, with laudable Cultural Sensitivity, in a pause between the monster's echoing roars.
count_fenring, who gave me Please My Favourite Don't Be Sad as a song prompt. (YouTube Link.)Title: And Learned to Love the Open Air
Fandom: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Characters: Arthur Dent, Ford Prefect
Rating: G
Words: 600
Summary: There were times when Arthur suspected Ford Prefect had been sarcastic about his inability to understand sarcasm.
Arthur Dent found Ford Prefect leaning against the hallway wall. The hallway was decorated in gold overlaid by a fuchsia and Jello green tartan pattern, but Arthur was Being Culturally Sensitive and thus trying very hard not to judge. He was on an alien planet -- even if it was one no one had bothered to tell him the name of -- and that fact was, he reminded himself sternly, fundamentally amazing and in no way whatsoever an inconvenience or cause for imminent distress.
As Arthur approached, Ford peered quickly around the hallway corner, then went back to grinning bemusedly at the wall across from him. "Ford--" Arthur greeted.
"I think the Uyrdashians copied this wallpaper from a sweater Zaphod gave me for my 217th Flump Day," Ford announced. Then he glanced back around the corner.
Arthur's train of thought was temporarily side-railed to make way for the mental image of Ford wearing a lovingly knit mass the colour of gold, cheap bridesmaid dresses, and radioactive sludge. He hoped for Ford's sake that Zaphod had failed to keep in mind the correct number of neck and arm-holes, thus giving Ford an excuse not to wear it.
But no, Arthur reminded himself. He was meant to be Being Culturally Sensitive. Ford was an alien, and it was (dimly) possible he was actually communicating his approval of both local design sense and Zaphod's thoughtful gift. It wouldn't do to assume.
"Ford," Arthur said, as the Sweater Express steamed off into the distance and his original conversational purpose lumbered slowly back onto the main line, "I've been thinking."
Ford didn't blink at him. "Really? How did you tell?"
There were times when Arthur, Being Culturally Sensitive or not, suspected Ford Prefect had been sarcastic about his inability to understand sarcasm.
"And it happens," Arthur continued, regardless, "that I've spent the last few years lost in the universe, dependent for my survival on a friend who, no offense meant, was never particularly reliable even when it came to paying his bar tab, and I've been continuously in terror of either the monster currently trying to kill me, or in terror of stumbling across the next monster that will try to kill me."
Ford's grin had begun to take on a familiar tightness, suggesting that Ford was, actually, up to date on the story so far, but he understood that restating things everyone knew was a human pastime and was Being Culturally Sensitive by indulging Arthur.
"But after all that, I woke up this morning and realized...." Arthur paused momentarily for dramatic purposes, and Ford's grin brightened slightly in anticipation of novel information. "I'm still alive!"
Ford apparently gave up on Arthur. He peered around the corner again instead. "And it's tiring so I'm not going to bother being frightened anymore," Arthur expelled in a rush.
Ford turned back toward him. Then Ford moved past him, very quickly. Arthur, not seeing a better option present itself, hurried to catch up. The hem of his dressing gown hit the back of his knees and the wavy fuchsia lines made him queasy as he ran for his life.
"How's it working out for you?" Ford shouted over the snapping jaws of the ravenous beast chasing them. He sounded genuinely, if mildly, interested; although really it depended on whether you believed him about the sarcasm.
"And I'm absolutely definitely going to give up being afraid," Arthur continued, panting, "ten minutes from now. Assuming the monster hasn't killed us by then."
"It never does to assume," Ford corrected him, with laudable Cultural Sensitivity, in a pause between the monster's echoing roars.
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