"That Way Madness Lies" (Ford Prefect Entry Post - Open)
Who: Ford Prefect and whoever happens to wander by.
Where: The Lobby
When: Mid-morning
Summary: Ford Prefect is minding his own business, trying to amuse himself in pre-historic Africa, when an upstart run-down building imposes itself on him. Either that, or he's gone mad again.
Ford was pretty sure that this wasn't where he'd left the desert. He may have been wandering prehistoric Earth pretty aimlessly, but he had a good sense of direction. He'd definitely left the desert in the complete opposite direction. He looked behind him. Nothing but desert. That was curious, too. He hadn't walked far enough to have lost sight of the lush grassland he'd been traveling through. He shrugged, even though there was nobody around to see the shrug, and kept walking, since there was clearly nothing else to do. Perhaps he'd simply gone mad again. That was usually a passing phase. He hadn't been walking long when he saw a run-down building in the distance. He approached it warily. Run-down buildings definitely had no business being on prehistoric Earth. There was no way the Golgafrinchans got to Africa ahead of him and built a building. When he left the crash site, they hadn't even been able to figure out how to build a wheel.
Ford stepped through the doors of the building to be greeted with an opulence unmatched by its exterior... or, in fact, the interior of anywhere he'd ever been, with the possible exception of the Heart of Gold. He walked up to the reception desk. There was a man behind it who appeared to be human.
"Erm, excuse me," Ford said politely. "Can you tell me where we are? I wouldn't ask, except I think I took a wrong turn at the savanna and got lost inside my head."
The concierge turned the heavy registration book towards him and laid an ornate pen across it. "Would you like to check in, sir?"
"That depends," Ford countered. "Are you a figment of my imagination? Because I wouldn't stay anywhere run by my imagination. At least not this week, as I think I may have gone mad again."
"Just sign here, sir," the concierge directed him, pointing to a free line in the ledger.
Ford raised an eyebrow at the concierge, but the concierge appeared unmoved. Ford signed the book. The concierge passed him an ornate key and disappeared somewhere behind the counter. Ford stood there for a moment, then turned and looked around the lobby. He needed to find someone relatively normal to talk to so he could assess the damage to his sanity.
Where: The Lobby
When: Mid-morning
Summary: Ford Prefect is minding his own business, trying to amuse himself in pre-historic Africa, when an upstart run-down building imposes itself on him. Either that, or he's gone mad again.
Ford was pretty sure that this wasn't where he'd left the desert. He may have been wandering prehistoric Earth pretty aimlessly, but he had a good sense of direction. He'd definitely left the desert in the complete opposite direction. He looked behind him. Nothing but desert. That was curious, too. He hadn't walked far enough to have lost sight of the lush grassland he'd been traveling through. He shrugged, even though there was nobody around to see the shrug, and kept walking, since there was clearly nothing else to do. Perhaps he'd simply gone mad again. That was usually a passing phase. He hadn't been walking long when he saw a run-down building in the distance. He approached it warily. Run-down buildings definitely had no business being on prehistoric Earth. There was no way the Golgafrinchans got to Africa ahead of him and built a building. When he left the crash site, they hadn't even been able to figure out how to build a wheel.
Ford stepped through the doors of the building to be greeted with an opulence unmatched by its exterior... or, in fact, the interior of anywhere he'd ever been, with the possible exception of the Heart of Gold. He walked up to the reception desk. There was a man behind it who appeared to be human.
"Erm, excuse me," Ford said politely. "Can you tell me where we are? I wouldn't ask, except I think I took a wrong turn at the savanna and got lost inside my head."
The concierge turned the heavy registration book towards him and laid an ornate pen across it. "Would you like to check in, sir?"
"That depends," Ford countered. "Are you a figment of my imagination? Because I wouldn't stay anywhere run by my imagination. At least not this week, as I think I may have gone mad again."
"Just sign here, sir," the concierge directed him, pointing to a free line in the ledger.
Ford raised an eyebrow at the concierge, but the concierge appeared unmoved. Ford signed the book. The concierge passed him an ornate key and disappeared somewhere behind the counter. Ford stood there for a moment, then turned and looked around the lobby. He needed to find someone relatively normal to talk to so he could assess the damage to his sanity.