milliways_bar | (no subject)

Faith Lehane is drinking coffee that looks like roofing tar.

Faith Lehane is wearing a bra, a sheer shirt, and a very short black miniskirt.

Faith Lehane sits next to Max Evans, patting his thigh in greeting.

"Sad song to be singing. Sommat wrong?"

Max grins at her.

"Kinda. I mean, a friend's left. Died, I believe, and Trillian set off to find something that isn't herself, so there's that. And these are just, I don't know, things that remind me of them. It was a song he liked to sing, and I'm mourning in that cheerful sort of remember the good times way."

He's still glad to see Faith, and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Dressed for something important, or are you aiming to catch a roving eye?"

"I'm sorry about your friend. And I like Trillian, I hope she comes back soon."

She grins slightly, and returns the cheek-kiss.

"Just felt like it. Like to remind people I'm a girl every now and then. Always surprises them."

"You've never struck me as anything but, I promise."

His smile softens a little. "Trillian will be back once she decides she's forgotten enough of what happened here to be comfortable. She's done the right thing, on her end."

"That's good."

She squeezes his thigh, smiling at him. "I'm going with Maria and Michael when they go back tomorrow. Play bodyguard."

"Wish I could, myself. But I trust you to watch them, if they get themselves in any trouble."

Max is still smiling, too. Faith, he's sure, can keep them out of too much of it.

"After all, no one else can down a pan-galactic gargleblaster and then juggle bicycles quite like you can."

"...Trillian told you that, huh?"

Faith laughs. "I don't juggle bicycles, but the thought is appreciated."

"Not tell me, not quite - I bet you could, though."

He laughs back, a little. "And if you ever try it, I want to watch. In fact. I don't have a bicycle, but ..."

Max taps Bar, who produces a Pan-Galactic Gargleblaster and a glass of Antarian wine, the latter of which he sips.

"Thanks," Faith says, and it's possible that her hand pats something it shouldn't be patting in public before she takes the drink and downs it quickly, tossing it back like it was water.

Ford catches a whiff of something from across the bar. Nothing else smells like that.

Then he catches sight of the woman holding it. And downing it in one gulp.

Belgium.

He jumps out of his booth, vaults over a table, and lands behind her, arms out ready to catch her when she falls. Because they always fall.

Max gives Faith a Look.

And then turns around and stares. And might laugh a little.

"... Hello, Ford."

Faith doesn't fall.

She doesn't even blink.

She turns to the man behind her, eyebrows going up.

"...If you ask me where I've been all your life, I might have to hit you. Just so you know."

Ford, however, does blink. Very slowly, revealing very wide eyes.

"Holy Zarquon," he breathes. And not just because she just drank a gargleblaster like Zaphod Beeblebrox. And not just because the woman was devastatingly beautiful and just seemed to exude sex from every pore. It was also because his shins zarking hurt!

"Um, Faith, this is Ford Prefect. Ford, this is Faith. She does this often, and is perfectly fine, I assure you, and -- er, are you injured?"

It took Max a minute to realize that he'd just gone running halfway across the bar.

"Nice to meetcha," Faith says, raising her hand in greeting. "Thanks for the concern. Takes more than one of these to affect me."

It is only because of Trillian's absence bringing him down that he does not make some kind of suggestive play on her name. Which also means that it is only because of Trillian that Ford is not currently having his spleen handed to him.

"Hi, Faith. Thanks. Now I've officially seen everything. I can die a reasonably content man."

Then, to Max, "Oh, I'll be fine. Landed a bit wrong. Shin's been kind of wobbly ever since I jumped out that 15th floor window."

"Fifteenth floor window -- not a good place to jump from."

Max pauses a second. He's got many memories to file through.

"Was that the incident with the publishing house and -- what was the name, Colin?"

He taps his watch. Yes, he's watching time. Meticulously.

Faith looks impressed.

"Fifteen stories? Wow. I mean, I can manage three, sometimes four, but fifteen? That's...pretty damned cool."

What he's not saying is that he didn't fall all the way to the ground. Nor is he adding that he was only techincally saved because of the Guide 2.0's damned reverse temporal engineering using him for its own ends. The pretty girl is impressed. That is enough.

Ford sighs. "Ah, yes. Poor Colin. I wonder whatever happened to him. Sacrificed himself so that I could get away. Poor devil."

"It is, I assume, a natural thing for robots programmed to listen to do things like that. Not that I'd know, having never actually seen one -- um, if Trillian asks, we never had this conversation."

Max can cover his own back, really.

Just not effectively, since who's Ford more likely to listen to?

Faith looks back and forth between them, looking amused.

"you have strange lives. And coming from me, that's saying something."

He nods. "Coming from the woman who can drink an entire gargleblaster in one gulp and remain both upright and conscious, yes, that is saying something. Can I perhaps buy you another drink, Faith? Just not another gargleblaster because I don't think I could take watching you drink another one."

"We know weird people, though. Actually. Some of the same weird people."

And then Max shuts up. Just for a minute. He's been attracted by the shiny of the pages of Teasdale.

... And now Max looks juuuust a little worried.

But, nodding to himself, folds his sister's note and places it in his pocket.