title: friends in low places
fandom: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
characters/pairings: Trillian, Arthur, Ford
rating: G
warnings: none
summary: Trillian reflects.
notes: for fanaticalone, for this request on fic on demand. tho, not really, because it was supposed to be fenchurch. ~_~ *sucks*
the first two lines are from the request.

The problem was that Trillian wanted to see the best of the Universe, and Ford was apparently looking for the worst of it. And Arthur... well, he simply wasn't as particular about it as they were, as long as he could always find a decent cup of tea.

Life was more fun with Zaphod, in a way. Oh, certainly, the conversation wasn't as good. At least, it wasn't as varied. Zaphod could talk about a million different topics, and yet, somehow, they all related back to him. He had even partially convinced her the Big Bang was his idea at a party on Illieos Minor. She was never quite clear if he meant that the theory of it was his idea, or the actual Big Bang itself, but whichever, it had really just been a come on.

She took a long, deep drag, and spread her legs out. At least, with Zaphod, she never ended up in cheap motels. Sure, sure, Ford was right... he often was. It was an interesting cheap motel on an interesting planet where interesting things happened between burly aliens with long, disgusting flappy things hanging from their faces wearing leather made from other aliens with less distinguishing flappy things.

Arthur seemed to be oblivious as he bemoaned the rather questionable quality of the thing they tried to say was tea.

She scooted over a bit, and Ford turned over, grumpily mumbling in his sleep. Arthur was in the loo, fiddling with some leaves he'd collected. Ford had checked to be sure they weren't poisonous...

Life with Zaphod had been flashy. Fun. Brilliant, really. Everything a girl from a small, blue, inconsequential planet could hope for. Except for the conversation part. Really good conversation was really wonderful.

Just that evening, she'd talked to a Vermillian Space Wench about inverted warp clusters and the statistics of anomalies for over an hour while her boytoy tried to fillet Ford. It had really been quite stimulating.

Not to mention that she was really more the type to enjoy two penises (penii?) if she had the owners of said organs completely whipped. She had never seen herself as the dominatrix type, but there was life for you.

Always teaching you new things.

Arthur burst out of the loo, looking damned pleased with himself. "Trillian!" he hissed, in some deference to Ford's unconscious state. "Taste this! I've figured it out... if you mix it with some coffee, it almost tastes like tea. Well, really more like coffee, but good coffee, not that swill that's normally bandied about."

"Arthur, you're insane," she said affectionately, but she took the mug.

Really, she didn't miss Zaphod much. But on the next planet, they were staying at a hotel, if Arthur had to work until his fingers fell off.





i can't quite figure out if i've desecrated a classic, or if Douglas Adams would be amused. er. thanks for all the fish?




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