milliways_bar | (no subject)

"I got a writeup in the Star? Freeow!"

Then, to Trillian, "It's a nickname I got back in school because I never learned how to pronounce my real name. Roughly translated, it means, 'boy who is not able satisfactorily to explain what a Hrung is, nor why it should choose to collapse on Betelgeuse Seven'. Bloody schoolkids."

"What's a--"

Trillian stops herself. Never mind, if he can't explain it.

"-- and I suppose the same question goes for asking what your real name is. As far as I know, it's Ford. It can stay that way, too."

Then she bats at him, of course.

"And shut up, even Arthur got in and I didn't."

"You don't want to know," Zaphod tells her, eyeing his tea and pushing it out of the way.

He looks back over at Ford, curious. He could never pronouce Ford's real name, either. The magazine only gets a shrug.

"The Star's not the one you'd want to be in, anyway, sweetheart. Entertainment for the masses, none of whom want to see the real truth."

"Yeah, don't even worry about them. Everything in the Star's made up, and most everyone knows it. It's just to sell more copies. Three months ago, they said that Eccentrica Gallumbits was using her third breast to transmit invasion codes to a race outside our galaxy."

Not that Ford has a subscription or anything. No, of course not.

"Oh, but are they ever going to get a smackdown from Trillian and Demosthenes," she says with a wide grin, knowing very well that neither of them have any idea who 'Demosthenes' is, and one of the only reasons she does is a study of history.

"... is that not the one that the Star said you were dating, Zaphod? Before or after they covered Arthur Dent and Alianti?"

Then she mutters something incoherent possibly about parvo.

"Yeah?"

Zaphod looks interested. "Yeah, that's the one. Man, she's always got 'em guessing. That girl's got the entire media wrapped around her little finger."

Which is one reason why they get along so well. But Trillian doesn't need to know that.

"Demosthenes, huh?" He grins. "I'd be more worried about the smackdown from you, babe." He rubs at his head where she hit him the night before.

"It's not just her finger they're wrapped around, trust me," he says with a sly wink.

"What was it she called you that time, Zaphod? 'The best bang since the big one'? Yeah, that was it. Sweet gal, though."

Trillian would bet Ford said that while she was sitting there on purpose.

She'd most likely be right.

"Hnh," is all she says, taking another sip of her wine.

"Yeah," Zaphod says, happily oblivious to Trillian's non-commital stance on the subject.

"Nice girl. Been a while since I've seen her, though. She gets more media coverage than God." Also true. "So she's always pretty busy. Sends me clippings from the mags sometimes, though."

Maybe he did, but it would be more to razz Zaphod than to make Trillian jealous. He's not that tactless.

"Why shouldn't she? She's got a lot more going for her than God. Glad to see she's still keeping in some kind of touch, though. She told me to tell you hi last time I caught her show. That was about... four months before I showed up here? Something like that."

"It'd be nice if the media focused on something sensible," Trillian says in just above a mutter, taking another sip of wine.

When she becomes a reporter, it'll be better.

This conversation may be encouraging her to do so.

"Media and sensible do not mix," Zaphod says wisely. "How do you think I got to be President?"

He's been asking that quesiton a lot. So has that magazine.

"If it makes you feel any better, some girl tried to get a real interview with me last night." He shakes his head. "Should send her over to Eccentrica. The real reporters know I'm noit doing anything newsworthy right now."

"Well, apart from aiding in a revolutionary uprising that overthrew the government of the planet Antar."

He considers this.

"True. Trill, you, should put that in your letter. Get you some media coverage."

"Technically, not the government itself. The system didn't really change, just become slightly less tyrannical. And, um, restoring the actual royal line. But see, he can't admit to having done that, Ford."

Trillian does know what she's talking about, really.

"Because then it would show that Zaphod had alleigance to a particular side. This would therefore show bias, and a President can't have bias toward a side that is not his entire jurisdiction, but a faction within - and it would lose votes."

Ford staaaares.

"... ow, Trillian. Just ow. Political science before breakfast is just... ow."

Zaphod stares right along with him.

"......"

It's likely he never knew any of that.

"Right. Well." He blinks. "That reminds me, better go find that chick and finish the interview before she starts stalking me." He stands and waves at them both, grinning. "And Ford? You know that thing, from before, with the ship and the ropes? We aren't ever going to speak of it."

"Yeah," mutters Trillian, glaring at her drink, "yeah, you ought to. Don't need another girl following you around, after all."

Once Zaphod's gone, she continues to glare for a moment before murmuring something along the lines of, "The dreams of my mind and my heart pass, and nothing stays with me long."

Then, louder, "Ford, hell, who am I kidding?"

Hear that grinding noise? That's Ford's mind trying to shift gears without engaging a clutch first.

"Kidding? You? I've never known you to kid anyone."

His brow furrows.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Ugh. Just. Ugh. That is my brilliant statement."

She gestures at where Zaphod was sitting.

"I? Am a scientist. A brain. Not celebrity-quality-girlfriend. Definitely not appealing. And he's hounded by people all the time, anyhow. I should give up."

This is where all of Trillian's friends want to kick her. hard. But she tends to ignore it.

Ford, he realizes, is probably not the best person with whom to have this conversation.

In fact... "I'm probably not the best person with whom to have this conversation."

"Y'know? Yeah. I see your point. Sorry."

Actually, she doesn't entirely. Trillian plans on discussing it with Val and Lilly, though. They are, as a rule, safer advice givers.

"Let me get you breakfast, then, as an apology for the pol-sci?"

He can tell from her tone that she still doesn't understand the full extent of things. Maybe one day he'll be able to tell her.

"Breakfast sounds good."

She's dense.

Well, no. Trillian's really very intelligent, but about utterly different things.

"What d'you want? Antar covers my tab, now."

"It's good to be the consort," he says with a grin.

"So. Breakfast." He claps his hands together, trying to clear the unpleasantness from his mind. "How about some sausages and black pudding, then? That and a pint will do me just fine, I think."