![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hooloovooThis isn't beta'd, so if there are glaring problems point them out, please. Not to mention that I wrote most of it in the middle of the night after getting tired of having a file called Guide Who in my docs for months.
Title: You Never Know Who You'll See at the Pub.
Fandoms: Doctor Who, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Characters: Donna Noble, Ten, Ford Prefect, Arthur Dent
Pairings: gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1400, give or take.
Warnings: Unbeta'd, Americanisms, no real attempt made to fit it in to canon timelines.
Summary: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about Donna Noble.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about Donna Noble:
Rather loud red-headed woman from Earth. Known companion of the Doctor (See entries on Time Lords, Meddlers, and People Who Ford Prefect Doesn't Like and Never Wants to See Again) and friend of Captain Jack Harkness (See entries on Time Agents and Really Attractive People Who Can't Die). Types 100 words per minute and can out-drink Zaphod Beeblebrox (See half the entries in the Guide). Brilliant.
***
"Ford," Arthur Dent said.
"Hmm?" Ford Prefect was preoccupied, atypically, by actually doing his job. He was writing a Guide entry on the Hundred Year Pub Crawl of Ooor. The Northern Hemisphere, mind you, because the mere thought of alcohol in the Southern Hemisphere is punishable by exile to the Northern Hemisphere. As a result, population levels are a bit unbalanced, which is how enough pubs for a Hundred Year Pub Crawl came into being. Arthur and Ford were on day 29 of the Crawl. Ford felt he was really starting to understand the Ooorites.
"Ford. A police box just appeared down that alley." Arthur was rather unimpressed with pubs of Northern Ooor. Not only was there no tea, there was also no beer. And no wine. And no Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters. The only alcoholic beverage available on the planet was called Jintonk and tasted just like a rum and coke. Arthur hated rum and coke.
"Arthur, do you prefer this brand of Jintonk or the one from the place with the pineapple bushes?" Ford had devised a complicated double elimination tournament style bracketing system to judge the various Jintonks. At this point, it covered 18 pages of A4 sized paper.
"Out of thin air, a big blue police box appeared. Is that common to see during the Crawl?" Arthur looked hopefully at the bartender. The bartender looked hopefully back. Ooorites are unique in that they look just like humans, but they can't hear or speak. They communicate with each other via very fine-tuned psychic empathy. This makes them very sympathetic bartenders. Unfortunately, it makes it difficult for them to explain unusual occurrences like teleporting police boxes.
"A blue police box? And it just appeared in the alley?" Ford was sitting very still.
"Yes, isn't that odd? Wonder if it's a local thing." Arthur looked around the room for a helpful sign explaining the traditional police boxes of Ooor.
"It's not." Suddenly Ford leaped to his feet and started gathering up his papers and stuffing them down his shirt. At the same time he poured the remainder of first his own and then Arthur's drink into his mouth.
Thus prepared for battle, or, well, running away, he turned to Arthur and said, "Right, where's our ship?"
"We haven't got a ship. Zaphod dropped us off and said not to call if we needed a lift. You said you were looking forward to being a proper hitchhiker again, rememeber?" Arthur was thus far unimpressed with the life of a proper hitchhiker.
"Right. Well, we'll have to steal one then." Ford looked around for a likely, unguarded space ship. The Ooorites don't often venture offworld, and they get surprisingly few visitors. This is in part because of the past lack of a Guide entry. In fact, the government of Northern Ooorite had been requesting a Guide researcher be sent there for several decades. The bartender looked quite sad that Ford wanted to leave. As a result of the lack of travel to or from Ooor, there were no easily stolen space ships in sight, or on the planet at all, for that matter.
"Right. Never mind a ship, we'll just hide." The bartender cheered up. Ford took one last look out the window at the blue police box, called, "Follow me!" to Arthur, and ran out the back door of the pub. Arthur followed at a somewhat more sedate pace.
The bartender polished three glasses.
The front door burst open.
"'Allo! You're an Ooorite! Psychic empaths, you see, Donna. Completely incapable of speech, though they understand emotions well enough that they can not only tell if someone is hungry, but also what they'd like to eat." The Doctor looked around the room. "They're also very fond of pubs. Well, in the Northern Hemisphere. Though give it another hundred year and there won't be anyone left in the Southern Hemisphere, which will solve that nicely. They emigrate, you know."
"It's a pub, eh? I could-" The bartender cut Donna off by setting a glass of Jintonk in front of her. "Thanks." She took a sip. "This tastes just like rum and coke! It's quite good."
"Ah, yes, Jintonk! It's the traditional drink of Ooor. In fact..."
***
"Er, Ford?"
"Yes, Arthur?"
"Why are we hiding in this closet?" Arthur was rather uncomfortable. The closet was really only big enough for one person to hide in, not two people and several brooms. Arthur was fairly certain he was standing in a bucket. A recently used bucket, in fact.
"Well, you see, Arthur..." Ford thought frantically. "There's a monster in the pub. Tentacles. Sharp pointy teeth. Nasty breath. Tragic affection for sneakers." He nodded firmly.
"A monster with sneakers? And why would the monster be after you?"
"It hates the Guide." Ford was somewhat perplexed. He was a universally renowned liar. He'd lied to kings and waiters. He'd even fooled Zaphod once! But for some reason it just wasn't working today. Had he finished reading about Jintonk for the Guide entry, he would have known that in sufficient quantities, Jintonk acts as a mild truth serum. Unfortunately, Ford is more of a hands-on researcher.
"And what kind of monster travels in a police box?"
"Fine, it's not so much after me as it is mad at me for something I wrote about it. And it's not so much a monster as he is a Time Lord. And it's not a police box, it's a TARDIS. But he does like sneakers."
Arthur opened the door and stepped out. Ford tried to hide behind the brooms. "You're hiding from a Time Lord, whatever that is, because he's mad at you? What's he going to do, file a complaint? Write a letter? What did you write about him, anyway?"
"As I recall, the phrase 'Poofy-haired ninny' was involved." The Doctor strolled over to the closet, hands in his pockets.
"Arthur!" Ford redoubled his hiding efforts. Ford was not exactly sure why he was so scared of seeing the Doctor again, but he was fairly certain that the Doctor would be making his Disappointed face, and Ford just doesn't do very well with that kind of face. Pff, he thought, Zaphod never has this kind of problem.
"When you're trying to hide, Ford, it's important to remember that the person you're hiding from may be able to understand Ooorite psychic empathy well enough to understand that a Guide researcher is hiding in a nearby cupboard. Haven't seen you in ages, how've you been?" The Doctor did not look disappointed. The insults Ford had come up with were quite fun. Somewhere or other in the TARDIS was a framed copy of the Doctor's entry in the Guide.
"Who're they, then?" Donna asked, still sipping her Jintonk.
Ford saw her walk up and promptly ambled out of the closet, clearly trying to look as cool as possible. Which, when you're Ford Prefect, is quite cool indeed. Though the Doctor's presence put him a bit off his game. "I'm Ford Prefect, researcher for the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Want your own entry?"
"And you?" Donna turned to Arthur. Ford looked crushed.
"Arthur Dent. I'm from Earth."
"Arthur Dent? Oh, I've heard about you." The Doctor walked over to shake Arthur's hand, looking even more excited than usual. "You were the only survivor when Earth was destroyed to build that interspace bypass."
"What?!" Donna did a spit-take.
"It came back. Long, boring story. Let me tell you about the time I called the Doctor a nosy twit in a galactically popular reference book." Ford started to lead Donna back into the pub.
"Yeah, and then hid in a closet." Donna pushed him away, but followed him into the pub. "'Galactically popular' my foot. I-" The door closed behind her.
"Right." The Doctor sighed. "I expect they'll be in there for a bit. Fancy a cup of tea?"
Title: You Never Know Who You'll See at the Pub.
Fandoms: Doctor Who, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Characters: Donna Noble, Ten, Ford Prefect, Arthur Dent
Pairings: gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1400, give or take.
Warnings: Unbeta'd, Americanisms, no real attempt made to fit it in to canon timelines.
Summary: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about Donna Noble.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about Donna Noble:
Rather loud red-headed woman from Earth. Known companion of the Doctor (See entries on Time Lords, Meddlers, and People Who Ford Prefect Doesn't Like and Never Wants to See Again) and friend of Captain Jack Harkness (See entries on Time Agents and Really Attractive People Who Can't Die). Types 100 words per minute and can out-drink Zaphod Beeblebrox (See half the entries in the Guide). Brilliant.
***
"Ford," Arthur Dent said.
"Hmm?" Ford Prefect was preoccupied, atypically, by actually doing his job. He was writing a Guide entry on the Hundred Year Pub Crawl of Ooor. The Northern Hemisphere, mind you, because the mere thought of alcohol in the Southern Hemisphere is punishable by exile to the Northern Hemisphere. As a result, population levels are a bit unbalanced, which is how enough pubs for a Hundred Year Pub Crawl came into being. Arthur and Ford were on day 29 of the Crawl. Ford felt he was really starting to understand the Ooorites.
"Ford. A police box just appeared down that alley." Arthur was rather unimpressed with pubs of Northern Ooor. Not only was there no tea, there was also no beer. And no wine. And no Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters. The only alcoholic beverage available on the planet was called Jintonk and tasted just like a rum and coke. Arthur hated rum and coke.
"Arthur, do you prefer this brand of Jintonk or the one from the place with the pineapple bushes?" Ford had devised a complicated double elimination tournament style bracketing system to judge the various Jintonks. At this point, it covered 18 pages of A4 sized paper.
"Out of thin air, a big blue police box appeared. Is that common to see during the Crawl?" Arthur looked hopefully at the bartender. The bartender looked hopefully back. Ooorites are unique in that they look just like humans, but they can't hear or speak. They communicate with each other via very fine-tuned psychic empathy. This makes them very sympathetic bartenders. Unfortunately, it makes it difficult for them to explain unusual occurrences like teleporting police boxes.
"A blue police box? And it just appeared in the alley?" Ford was sitting very still.
"Yes, isn't that odd? Wonder if it's a local thing." Arthur looked around the room for a helpful sign explaining the traditional police boxes of Ooor.
"It's not." Suddenly Ford leaped to his feet and started gathering up his papers and stuffing them down his shirt. At the same time he poured the remainder of first his own and then Arthur's drink into his mouth.
Thus prepared for battle, or, well, running away, he turned to Arthur and said, "Right, where's our ship?"
"We haven't got a ship. Zaphod dropped us off and said not to call if we needed a lift. You said you were looking forward to being a proper hitchhiker again, rememeber?" Arthur was thus far unimpressed with the life of a proper hitchhiker.
"Right. Well, we'll have to steal one then." Ford looked around for a likely, unguarded space ship. The Ooorites don't often venture offworld, and they get surprisingly few visitors. This is in part because of the past lack of a Guide entry. In fact, the government of Northern Ooorite had been requesting a Guide researcher be sent there for several decades. The bartender looked quite sad that Ford wanted to leave. As a result of the lack of travel to or from Ooor, there were no easily stolen space ships in sight, or on the planet at all, for that matter.
"Right. Never mind a ship, we'll just hide." The bartender cheered up. Ford took one last look out the window at the blue police box, called, "Follow me!" to Arthur, and ran out the back door of the pub. Arthur followed at a somewhat more sedate pace.
The bartender polished three glasses.
The front door burst open.
"'Allo! You're an Ooorite! Psychic empaths, you see, Donna. Completely incapable of speech, though they understand emotions well enough that they can not only tell if someone is hungry, but also what they'd like to eat." The Doctor looked around the room. "They're also very fond of pubs. Well, in the Northern Hemisphere. Though give it another hundred year and there won't be anyone left in the Southern Hemisphere, which will solve that nicely. They emigrate, you know."
"It's a pub, eh? I could-" The bartender cut Donna off by setting a glass of Jintonk in front of her. "Thanks." She took a sip. "This tastes just like rum and coke! It's quite good."
"Ah, yes, Jintonk! It's the traditional drink of Ooor. In fact..."
***
"Er, Ford?"
"Yes, Arthur?"
"Why are we hiding in this closet?" Arthur was rather uncomfortable. The closet was really only big enough for one person to hide in, not two people and several brooms. Arthur was fairly certain he was standing in a bucket. A recently used bucket, in fact.
"Well, you see, Arthur..." Ford thought frantically. "There's a monster in the pub. Tentacles. Sharp pointy teeth. Nasty breath. Tragic affection for sneakers." He nodded firmly.
"A monster with sneakers? And why would the monster be after you?"
"It hates the Guide." Ford was somewhat perplexed. He was a universally renowned liar. He'd lied to kings and waiters. He'd even fooled Zaphod once! But for some reason it just wasn't working today. Had he finished reading about Jintonk for the Guide entry, he would have known that in sufficient quantities, Jintonk acts as a mild truth serum. Unfortunately, Ford is more of a hands-on researcher.
"And what kind of monster travels in a police box?"
"Fine, it's not so much after me as it is mad at me for something I wrote about it. And it's not so much a monster as he is a Time Lord. And it's not a police box, it's a TARDIS. But he does like sneakers."
Arthur opened the door and stepped out. Ford tried to hide behind the brooms. "You're hiding from a Time Lord, whatever that is, because he's mad at you? What's he going to do, file a complaint? Write a letter? What did you write about him, anyway?"
"As I recall, the phrase 'Poofy-haired ninny' was involved." The Doctor strolled over to the closet, hands in his pockets.
"Arthur!" Ford redoubled his hiding efforts. Ford was not exactly sure why he was so scared of seeing the Doctor again, but he was fairly certain that the Doctor would be making his Disappointed face, and Ford just doesn't do very well with that kind of face. Pff, he thought, Zaphod never has this kind of problem.
"When you're trying to hide, Ford, it's important to remember that the person you're hiding from may be able to understand Ooorite psychic empathy well enough to understand that a Guide researcher is hiding in a nearby cupboard. Haven't seen you in ages, how've you been?" The Doctor did not look disappointed. The insults Ford had come up with were quite fun. Somewhere or other in the TARDIS was a framed copy of the Doctor's entry in the Guide.
"Who're they, then?" Donna asked, still sipping her Jintonk.
Ford saw her walk up and promptly ambled out of the closet, clearly trying to look as cool as possible. Which, when you're Ford Prefect, is quite cool indeed. Though the Doctor's presence put him a bit off his game. "I'm Ford Prefect, researcher for the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Want your own entry?"
"And you?" Donna turned to Arthur. Ford looked crushed.
"Arthur Dent. I'm from Earth."
"Arthur Dent? Oh, I've heard about you." The Doctor walked over to shake Arthur's hand, looking even more excited than usual. "You were the only survivor when Earth was destroyed to build that interspace bypass."
"What?!" Donna did a spit-take.
"It came back. Long, boring story. Let me tell you about the time I called the Doctor a nosy twit in a galactically popular reference book." Ford started to lead Donna back into the pub.
"Yeah, and then hid in a closet." Donna pushed him away, but followed him into the pub. "'Galactically popular' my foot. I-" The door closed behind her.
"Right." The Doctor sighed. "I expect they'll be in there for a bit. Fancy a cup of tea?"
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 12:20 pm (UTC)Sounds fun. I want to attend!
"A monster with sneakers? And why would the monster be after you?"
This made me giggle quite madly, actually. If he's what monsters have nightmares about, I suppose it is an accurate statement. XD
Oh, Donna. How I love you so.