Better Than One
Who: Zaphod Beeblebrox, Anna, and anyone else who dares to meet him
When: Mid-day
Where: Lobby
What: The Zaphod has landed. Warning: My net is still giving me major issues, so tags may be slow in comin' for awhile.
Zaphod was convinced that he hadn't parked his ship in a snowdrift. Really, he didn't think this planet was even supposed to have snow, but he'd learned that expectation only bred fairly un-hip levels of surprise and disappointment.
He wasn't, therefore, surprised at all, when he saw the building waiting for him, because something invariably always came along. Beeblebrox wasn't going to be taken down a mere case of hypothermia, after all. He felt strangely drawn towards the buildling, which he wasn't inclined to fight against, because his instincts always led him right. Or at least so far wrong that he ended up looping all the way back to right eventually.
Zaphod experienced a rush of smug satisfaction when he opened the not-so-tempting looking doorway and found himself in an incredibly lavish, superposh hotel lobby. A large grin worked its way across both of his heads, as he crossed to the desk, and slammed a hand down on it.
"Zaphod Beeblebrox," he said glibly, shooting a finger gun at the desk worker. "Though I doubt I have to tell you that."
The man simply smiled back, obviously basking in the glow of the ex-President's presence, or so the ex-President had himself thoroughly convinced.
"Yes, sir, we've been expecting you," he said, turning the guest book towards Zaphod, who was pleased as punched to hear that he had already made a reservation for the hotel in the middle of nowhere, and apparently forgotten to tell himself. It wouldn't be the first time.
" 'Zat so?" he remarked, signing his name with a flourish, autograph-style, including the To my adoring fan bit. "Well, how's about you get some leggy thing to show me up to my room then? No more than six legs though, I'm trying to cut back."
He wasn't.
When: Mid-day
Where: Lobby
What: The Zaphod has landed. Warning: My net is still giving me major issues, so tags may be slow in comin' for awhile.
Zaphod was convinced that he hadn't parked his ship in a snowdrift. Really, he didn't think this planet was even supposed to have snow, but he'd learned that expectation only bred fairly un-hip levels of surprise and disappointment.
He wasn't, therefore, surprised at all, when he saw the building waiting for him, because something invariably always came along. Beeblebrox wasn't going to be taken down a mere case of hypothermia, after all. He felt strangely drawn towards the buildling, which he wasn't inclined to fight against, because his instincts always led him right. Or at least so far wrong that he ended up looping all the way back to right eventually.
Zaphod experienced a rush of smug satisfaction when he opened the not-so-tempting looking doorway and found himself in an incredibly lavish, superposh hotel lobby. A large grin worked its way across both of his heads, as he crossed to the desk, and slammed a hand down on it.
"Zaphod Beeblebrox," he said glibly, shooting a finger gun at the desk worker. "Though I doubt I have to tell you that."
The man simply smiled back, obviously basking in the glow of the ex-President's presence, or so the ex-President had himself thoroughly convinced.
"Yes, sir, we've been expecting you," he said, turning the guest book towards Zaphod, who was pleased as punched to hear that he had already made a reservation for the hotel in the middle of nowhere, and apparently forgotten to tell himself. It wouldn't be the first time.
" 'Zat so?" he remarked, signing his name with a flourish, autograph-style, including the To my adoring fan bit. "Well, how's about you get some leggy thing to show me up to my room then? No more than six legs though, I'm trying to cut back."
He wasn't.