My Chemical Romance / Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
::pouts:: not at pub. On the plus side, extended this. Also, have awesome hair.
"So that's when I realised I had to do something," the American was saying. "I just... I had to do something."
Arthur nods. His face has fixed itself in an expression usually reserved for madmen and Zaphod Beeblebrox, and he's craving a cup of tea in a way that probably deserves an intervention. He's had three papercups of brown liquid from various coffeeshops around the city, and none of them were tea. One of them might have been motor oil.
The American has said something else, so Arthur nods again. At least he isn't talking about eyeshadow any more.
There's a skinnier one combing the mane of a My Little Pony in furious concentration, but thankfully he hasn't spoken since the conversation moved away from make-up. The My Little Pony has blood-red nailpolish dripping down its unicorn horn, like it gored something particularly glossy. It also appears to be wearing eyeliner. Both Americans are.
"Obviously I don't think I can save the world on my own - I mean 'our' own, the band too, obviously - but I just want to make a difference. Do you know what the teen suicide rates are in this country?"
Arthur doesn't, and has to admit to himself he doesn't care. He's not sure he even remembers being a teenager, but his general experience with the new breed has not been pleasant.
He really wants a cup of tea. He really, really wants to know where Ford is.
#
Ford doesn't give a shit where Arthur is. He's found some fabulous froods. Better than fabulous; alcohol-owning froods. Alcohol sharing froods. Even if Ford knows that the Guide does not define "beer" as something that tastes like someone else drank it first (though that is the Guide's definition of "Most Free Beer", funnily enough).
"I work for this book. The Book," Ford tells them.
The blond one nods. His tattooed pet climbs across his shoulders and helps himself to another beer.
"Do you hitchhike?" Ford asks. "I work for the, whasshit, hitchhiker's books. You know it?"
The tattooed monkey gibbers about rough guides to lonely planets.
"Planetsh? Yeah, I've seen some lonely ones. And some rough ones." Ford snorts nostalgically. "Yeah, rough." He finds another bottle of beer in his hand. "Got m'towel," he says.
Things get a bit fuzzy. Ford explains the important of a towel, but apparently the small one likes washing. Ford struggled to get past this, to make him understand that towels can be applied in times without a nice bubbly bath, but some how it keeps coming back to washing. Having smelt the guys Arthur went off with - he can't remember what they looked like, but they smelt like The Cavern back when Ford palled around with Richard Starkey - Ford concedes being able to wash is rightfully important to the monkey.
#
"I'm so depressed."
"Are you Mac based? You look Mac based."
"Brain the size of a planet, and he thinks I was designed by a man named Jobs."
"What sort of processor do you have?"
"A very big one. It's so depressing."
#
The next day, Ford remembers almost nothing and has dark rings under his eyes. Arthur remembers a lot of what he classifies as nothing, and has dark rings around his eyes and some tasteful robin's egg blue shadows on his lids. Bob cannot be persuaded to go anywhere without a towel, Gerard has switched coffee for tea, and Ray is in an uncharactersically low mood.
Now with additional Avon!Gerard fic
"So that's when I realised I had to do something," the American was saying. "I just... I had to do something."
Arthur nods. His face has fixed itself in an expression usually reserved for madmen and Zaphod Beeblebrox, and he's craving a cup of tea in a way that probably deserves an intervention. He's had three papercups of brown liquid from various coffeeshops around the city, and none of them were tea. One of them might have been motor oil.
The American has said something else, so Arthur nods again. At least he isn't talking about eyeshadow any more.
There's a skinnier one combing the mane of a My Little Pony in furious concentration, but thankfully he hasn't spoken since the conversation moved away from make-up. The My Little Pony has blood-red nailpolish dripping down its unicorn horn, like it gored something particularly glossy. It also appears to be wearing eyeliner. Both Americans are.
"Obviously I don't think I can save the world on my own - I mean 'our' own, the band too, obviously - but I just want to make a difference. Do you know what the teen suicide rates are in this country?"
Arthur doesn't, and has to admit to himself he doesn't care. He's not sure he even remembers being a teenager, but his general experience with the new breed has not been pleasant.
He really wants a cup of tea. He really, really wants to know where Ford is.
#
Ford doesn't give a shit where Arthur is. He's found some fabulous froods. Better than fabulous; alcohol-owning froods. Alcohol sharing froods. Even if Ford knows that the Guide does not define "beer" as something that tastes like someone else drank it first (though that is the Guide's definition of "Most Free Beer", funnily enough).
"I work for this book. The Book," Ford tells them.
The blond one nods. His tattooed pet climbs across his shoulders and helps himself to another beer.
"Do you hitchhike?" Ford asks. "I work for the, whasshit, hitchhiker's books. You know it?"
The tattooed monkey gibbers about rough guides to lonely planets.
"Planetsh? Yeah, I've seen some lonely ones. And some rough ones." Ford snorts nostalgically. "Yeah, rough." He finds another bottle of beer in his hand. "Got m'towel," he says.
Things get a bit fuzzy. Ford explains the important of a towel, but apparently the small one likes washing. Ford struggled to get past this, to make him understand that towels can be applied in times without a nice bubbly bath, but some how it keeps coming back to washing. Having smelt the guys Arthur went off with - he can't remember what they looked like, but they smelt like The Cavern back when Ford palled around with Richard Starkey - Ford concedes being able to wash is rightfully important to the monkey.
#
"I'm so depressed."
"Are you Mac based? You look Mac based."
"Brain the size of a planet, and he thinks I was designed by a man named Jobs."
"What sort of processor do you have?"
"A very big one. It's so depressing."
#
The next day, Ford remembers almost nothing and has dark rings under his eyes. Arthur remembers a lot of what he classifies as nothing, and has dark rings around his eyes and some tasteful robin's egg blue shadows on his lids. Bob cannot be persuaded to go anywhere without a towel, Gerard has switched coffee for tea, and Ray is in an uncharactersically low mood.
Now with additional Avon!Gerard fic