Work Text:
"I'm not interviewing Zaphod Beeblebrox!" Ford yelled.
"But he's your cousin! You can get past security!" his editor said cheerily.
"He doesn't have security! Send someone else! Look, if you want dirt, I have dirt -- some of it's even true. But I am not going anywhere near him, it was bad enough growing up with him."
Ford seethed. The idea he'd want to go anywhere near Zaphod when the bastard had never apologised for stealing all of Ford's girlfriends. And his boyfriends. And his goldfish.
"I'll send someone else," his editor said, delicately picking over the nicest biscuits with her proboscis. "I just thought he might be more open with you, seeing as you're family."
"Ha!" opined Ford.
"Who else has a good head for drink?" the editor mused, flipping through her appointments book.
"Zaphod has two good heads, you'll never drink him under the table," Ford said.
"Oh, as long as they're conscious for some of the party, I'll be happy," the editor said.
"Party?" Ford said, with the air of a retriever that's just seen the duck fall limp into the water.
"His birthday party. Eccentrica Gallumbits is throwing a party for him."
"The triple-breasted whore?"
"Of Eroticon VI, yes."
Ford blinked.
He missed his old pal Zaphod. Oh, how he loved to recall their innocent childhood days, when neither of them had had the attempted murder charges ever proven.
His editor smiled with deep satisfaction as, with a Doppler-shifted cry of "I'll submit my expenses!" Ford sprinted from the office.