h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Yup.

That's why I'm here and not angeling.

*yawns*

Might as well leave the place tidy, I suppose.

*Runs a sinkful of hot water and starts washing the used glasses, leaving them to drain before packing them into cardboard boxes.*

*wanders in*

*picks up a teatowel and starts drying the glasses so they don't go streaky*

** takes a glass from the box that does not look half melted so it might just be PGGB proof and refills it**

drat, this must be an unused one, better hurry!


** returns the crumbled for cleaning **

Use the glasses over there - the ones with the slightly steely glint - they're PGGB-proof. There's almost a full bucket of the stuff left, so do help yourself.

*Completes the washing, leaves the last of the drying up in capable hands (Thanks!), and starts stacking chairs onto tables.*

*A half-hearted floor sweeping; broom neatly stacked in the cupboard. The lid of the piano closed. Bottles replaced in neat rows behind the bar. Bar-top wiped clean; cloth (out of habit) hung over taps.

Kes reaches into his pocket for a sheet of paper, from which he starts to read:*

Well, it remains only for me to thank all those who ...

*Looks around the empty bar. Puts speech away.*

Oh well ...

*The remains of the PGGB and a couple of glasses placed on the drinks trolley, which is wheeled across the floor.

Squeak-Aaaaaw ... Squeak-Aaaaaw ... Squeak-Aaaaaw ... Squeak-Aaaaaw ... *

Never did get around to fixing that castor.

*Lights out. Door closed.

The sound of the trolley receding down a long corridor.

Silence.*

Amen to that

*The sad and depressing silence that has managed to gloom over the Wings bar for a full two weeks is suddenly broken as a flying galleon ship smashes through the wall, a skull and cross-claws flag fluttering proud atop the mast.

A thump sounds as a pair of black buckled boots hit the floor, followed by the 'shing' of a drawn cutlass.*

Aaarrrr me hearties, me band o' cutthroats and lowlifes, here be a rum spot indeed. Defenseless, and full o' booze, or my name aint Werekitty, Capn' o' these here pirates.

*The tailed and whiskered attacker strolls on over to the bar and pulls out a large bottle o' finest PGGB*

*swigs a swig of the PGGB and goes crosseyes*

*emerges from ship's galley, wading through the debris*
Ooh, PGGB! I'll have a triple. So, this place is supposed to be where the Angels hang out, is it? I didn't spot any bikes, and there's not a BLJ in sight.
*knocks back PGGB* Hmmm. Bit of a disappointment - tastes more like disinfectant. Sure you got the right bottle, Cap'n?

oh, wait. That's bleach.

Tell you what, you find the PGGB... and I'll see if any of the angels left behind their wings or halos while drunkenly staggering out.

Well no wonder it made your eyes go
*pulls out deerstalker, pipe and magnifying glass* Now, there must be some clues around here somewhere...

Hey! That's such a good method of finding stuff!
Splitting yourself into five people!
That's five times the finding power.

*hiccups*

*fires all the cannons at once. Once the roar and flash of the cannonade is over, very few things remain*

*sighs*

*reattaches her limbs*

...apart from a large armoured container, previously cunningly hidden behind the bar's back wall, with the words "HIGHLY TOXIC" stencilled onto it.
I think we've found the PGGBs, chaps!

HUZZAH!!!!

*rushes forward to aide in the opening of the box*

Steady on there - don't forget the NBC suits - this much PGGB all in one place could got critical any moment. And we need some of those PGGB-resistant glasses, if Ralph hasn't smashed them all to smithereens.

Actually, I've got a stash in my cabin...