Join Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged, an immortal being who is thoroughly sick of immortality on his glorious quest to fight existential ennui by insulting the Multiverse, one sentient being at a time. (Hitchhiker's Guide/Various Sci Fi and Fantasy.)
This story will be a multi-crossover, and begins with a slightly revamped version of my old story, Mistaken Identity. Chapter 2, posted later today will involve HALO. I could use any suggestions for improvements or things I may have missed, as well as any suggestions for universes to cross over into. (Please PM me with those suggestions, and i will absolutely give you the credit if i decide to use them.)
Anyway, here goes:
Chapter 1
Mistaken Identity
During Return of the Sith, Anakin Skywalker encounters a strange, rude being on his way to join the Jedi in confronting Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.
A Star Wars Episode III/Hitchhiker’s Guide To the Galaxy Crossover:
It is said that, theoretically, history can be altered by the mere flip of a coin, which will in turn create a parallel universe. If that is indeed the case, the Universe as a whole must be an even crazier place than many first surmised. Considering the vast numbers of odd species, hokey religions, and ancient weapons out there, that would make the Universe a pretty crazy place indeed, a place where anything can happen at any time. Here’s a time when it did:
Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker angrily paced the hangar bay, glowering at the engines of the dropship bearing the Jedi Masters to arrest Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. His friend, his mentor in the arena of politics, and a Sith Lord.
The only one who can save Padme`.
He didn’t trust the Jedi to take him in alive, and began to stalk over to his airspeeder, to go after them and do…something, when Fate farted, and the fate of a tiny, insignificant galaxy changed.
A small, saucer-shaped ship descended over the landing pad and began to hover, extending spindly landing gear. In a stunning display of wealth, it was solid chrome all over. To Anakin, this chrome, so reminiscent of the Naboo ships meant one thing- Padme`wants to see me.
He knew she was still back at her apartment, but this ship could be here to deliver a message too personal for the comm. system. Using the brilliant foresight and good judgment *Cough* that he had displayed several times before, Anakin jogged over to the ship he had never seen before with a grin on his face. He was going to hear from Padme.
Imagine, if you will, his surprise, when instead of a human in Naboo livery, he watched a tall, thin alien with gray skin, in a gray robe descend the ramp.
It looked at a datapad, “Anakin Skywalker?” it asked, with a face suggesting extreme malevolence.
“That’s right,” said Anakin, in a petulant tone, “What do you have for me?”
The alien paged through the datapad, and nodded, letting it drop to his side, and giving a nasty grin.
“Anakin Skywalker, you smell. You’re a semi-evolved putrescent simian with disgustingly pathetic delusions of adequacy.”
Our hero was dumbstruck. “Excuse me?”
The gray alien looked at him quizzically,
“You are Anakin Skywalker?”
“Err- Yes?” he stammered.
“Anakin Renk Skywalker formerly of Distina?”
Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “Anakin Skywalker, formerly of Tatooine.”
The alien turned a paler shade of gray “Oh. Terribly sorry. In that case, I believe I was going to…” it checked the datapad, “Ah, yes. Call you a know-nothing nerf herder with no fashion sense. ”
It turned to go back up the ramp.
Anakin felt his anger rise again, and viciously clamped down on it. After all, to be fair, Jar-Jar was more aggravating.
He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt, but left it unlit. “Just a minute!”
“What now?” sighed the alien.
“I think you owe me an explanation for insulting me-twice!”
It made a rude noise, and continued walking.”
How dare this, this nothing insult me.
His blade lit with a Snap-hiss, and the alien turned, an eye ridge raised.
Anakin was dangerously close to losing it, but he decided to give the Light Side of the Force one final chance and apply secret Jedi negotiating techniques-Translation: Guilt tripping worse than a Chandrilan mother. In a measured, controlled voice, he continued,
“Perhaps I deserve an explanation because you fouled up on insulting me the first time and I'm really worried about something already?”
“Oh, very well.” drawled the alien, and Anakin extinguished his blade.
“I am Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged,” it said, bowing elegantly.
“Infinitely Prolonged? What does that mean?” asked Anakin, suddenly a bit more attentive.
“It means I'm immortal, you twit,” it replied, “Thanks to an accident with an irrational particle accelerator, a pair of rubber bands and a liquid lunch. Nothing spectacular-Even a monkey like you ought to be able to duplicate the circumstances.”
The alien then saw the pathetically eager expression on the young Jedi's face, and his estimation of Humanity's intelligence dropped even further.
“Chosen One my hairless gray arse.” It muttered, continuing in a singsong. Wouldn’t recommend it though, those who tried it after me had some nasty side effects, and those that have it, and supposedly know how to handle immortality are a load of serene bastards.”
“But wait,” Anakin pressed, “What did you do with your immortality?”
“Well, going to funerals of acquaintances got old after a while, so I decided to keep busy by insulting every living being in the galaxy-alphabetically. Then some idiot named Mckay opened a trans-universal bridge so now I have a whole series of universes to insult now. Gives me something to do I suppose.”
“I…see.” Anakin mumbled .
“Take it from me,” said Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged, in a world-weary tone, “Immortality’s great for the first thousand years, but after that, it gets bloody boring.”
“You’ve lived longer than Master Yoda, what do you recommend instead?”
Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged scratched its chin, “Find a cute girl, have a few drinks, and figure out the rest later.”
Anakin grinned, “Well, I’ve got the girl. I even married her.”
Wowbagger nodded, “Idiot. I suppose you're starting a family too,”
The blond Jedi nodded eagerly.
“Anakin!” The voice of Mace Windu cut through the conversation like a lightsaber through butter. (Why one would want to cut butter with a lightsaber is beyond me, but it makes a nice metaphor in this instance.)
The tall, dark skinned Jedi was dragging a very angry-looking Supreme Chancellor Palpatine along at saber-point by the scruff of his neck.
“You’re married?” He said, incredulously.
His grin widened to face splitting levels, “Yup, and I’ve got a kid on the way. Now I’m gonna go home to the wife, have a drink to celebrate a new Skywalker, and watch some smashball.”
He looked at Palpatine, “Sorry Chancellor, but I’m going to have to refuse your offer to betray the Jedi in order to save my wife from dying in childbirth. Now that I’ve had some time to think about it, the timing of those ‘visions’ was a bit too convenient.”
Wowbagger nodded approvingly, “Maybe you're not quite the moron I first suspected. If you
Palpatine and Windu’s eyes widened.
“Bye, Wowbagger, thanks for the advice. Good luck insulting the Galaxy.” With that, Anakin turned and walked to the airspeeder, to his family, and away from a creepy old man in dark robes and a pretty badass Jedi Master.
“Hope your wife's smarter than you are or your children are in a lot of trouble.” Wowbagger said by way of goodbye.
Palpatine turned, glanced at the stranger again, and spoke
“If you have the power to aid my escape you will be handsomely-” He broke off, did a double-take, and stared at the gray alien with a glint of recognition entering his yellow eyes.
“You…..” he hissed
“Chancellor Palpatine, you-Oh, I’ve done you before, haven’t I?”
Wowbagger turned to the Jedi Master.
“Mace Windu?”
“Yes?”
“Nothing. See you in thirty years.” With that, Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged turned, marched up the ramp of his ship, and blasted off.
**************End of Chapter***************
Wowbaggers Quest (Hitchhiker's Guide Crossover)
Moderator: LadyTevar
Wowbaggers Quest (Hitchhiker's Guide Crossover)
Last edited by DrMckay on 2011-08-29 04:30am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Wowbaggers Quest
Chapter 2:
Your HALO's Crooked
The Master Chief, alternatively known as Spartan 117, The Demon, That Hyperthyroid Green Dude With All Those Guns (Coined by an uninformed day shift manager of the Central New Mombasa Qwik Stop just moments ago,) and John to his few surviving comrades, swore foully.
As foully as someone kidnapped from elementary school and raised by Navy CPO's can. Which was pretty foul.
The Covenant had invaded Earth, and he was currently occupying a desolate stretch of road in New Mombasa, surrounded by Elites, outnumbered, outgunned, and out of time.
Worse still, the Covenant Invasion had ensured that the immense soldier had missed lunch in the Cairo Station Mess on Thai Food Day. He and Sgt. Johnson had been looking forward to it for a week.
His eyes narrowed.
Those Covenant bastards would pay for keeping them from their Chicken Satay. And for the whole “Invading Earth Thing” too.
“Chief!” Cortana hissed into his brain as the Elites closed in, “Pay attention, are you trying to get us both killed?”
Always with the Chief, Chief, Chief, stuff. I wonder what it would take for her to call me John. She really hasn't been the same since that Windows 25 Update. All eccentric and harping. It's like being in a sexless relationship with a crazy person. Not that the UNSC gave me a chance at the earlier bit...
Thinking about being raised to protect people who had an opportunity for happiness that he didn't made John mad. He used it, muttering;
“Okay, You fight the face-tearing aliens next time, and I'll backseat drive.” to Cortana, while conducting a millisecond-long check of his weapons, noticing two frag grenades still riding his belt, which didn't seem to explode as well as they did on HALO, a Battle Rifle – all but useless against multiple Elites at close quarters, and the final “weapon,” a Submachine gun.
Actually, calling it a weapon was an insult to all the other weapons. Even terrible ones like the still-infamous Chauchat machine gun from the First World War that he and all the other Spartans had learned about by the age of ten, instead of how to be kids.
At least the Chauchat hurt something it hit when it occasionally fired, the Chief thought. Unlike the much derided “Staple-Machine Gun.” (an uncomplimentary name derived from the approximate projectile size and commensurate stopping power) offered by its ammunition.
And the damn thing still has the recoil of a howitzer. John mused. Probably just more unscrupulous military contractors taking advantage of the goddamned alien invasion to bribe the bribe-able and ram high-cost, low-quality weapons into production while they dodge taxes. Actually that probably explains why damn near every USNC base and ship has different weapons.
As the Elites moved ever closer, The Master Chief spoke calmly a low, dangerous tone of voice,
“Cortana, take a memo: If we live through this, and it gets bad enough for penal battalions, the committee members who designed this abortion, and the stockholders who pushed it on Appropriations are getting conscripted and handed this piece of crap to fight with.”
A light chuckle at the back of his subconscious made John reconsider his previously negative assessment of Cortana's changes as he drew the SMG and prepared for the fight of his life.
***********
As he wound up and threw the SMG at the head of the nearest approaching Elite with the best muscles that experimental procedures conducted on children could buy, the cheap plastic frame shattered on impact. It did managed to knock the alien out though, and gave the Chief a chance to grab its plasma rifle to double-tap it before staring down the next-closest elites.
However, the battle was interrupted by a flying chrome saucer straight out of a low-budget science fiction movie parking on the nearest two alien soldiers with the light touch, grace and brotherly feeling that would be displayed by an inebriated Russian tank driver who had been given the opportunity to motor his vehicle through one of Hitler's birthday parties.
Blue blood spattered the immaculate chrome plating, the other Elites checked their advance, and a ramp descended impossibly from the smooth underbelly of the craft, with somebody on it.
The Chief took a moment to asses his new visitor, who was taller than a Grunt by far, yet skinnier than an Elite, with gray skin, bland gray robes, and whose motile facial features resembled a human male, and which were currently arranged in what looked like a very comfortable expression of absolute derision for all and sundry.
Was this some sort of new Covenant Species? The Chief thought, It seems like I meet to or three new ones each time they launch a new campaign. At least that keeps things interesting...
However, in acknowledgment of the fact that he had fewer enemies to fight because of the newcomer's choice of parking spots, John decided to keep his weapon aimed at the Elites instead.
It was a good decision.
The Covenant forces on the other hand decided that the intruder who had flattened two of their comrades warranted a killing. Plasma rifles and energy swords held in large alien hands shifted their aimpoints to bracket the new stranger, who looked remarkably unconcerned.
“Hey all of you!” it shouted to the Elites in an impeccably British accent, “Your names are nearly impossible to pronounce, so I'll just say you look like Predator on an off day, smell worse than a Hutt's colonic, and your Creche-Mothers were the most fun I've ever had in weekend!”
The aliens shrugged and looked at each other, muttering in their strange tongue. The gray alien muttered something uncomplimentary and produced a small remote which barked out a phrase in their language, presumably the same thing he just said in English.
The Chief waited for him to be vaporized, but his face just grew a nasty, twisted grin as he pressed a button on the small remote in his hand.
Several blurs shot out of one of the small spacecraft's legs, each one curving around the Chief to slam with tremendous velocity into the faces of the gathered Covenant troopers, dropping them all.
The Master Chief inspected one of the downed Covenant troopers, . It looked like a pie? looked behind him.
Flabbergasted by the incredulity of it all, he took a moment to orient on the alien and ask, “Is-is that-”
“Pie? Yes, Banana Cream,” It muttered. “I can't say much for you earthers, but your Three Stooges – Classic.”
“You have something to tell me?” The Chief asked, bluntly as usual, “Or are you here to help us fight them?” he indicated the downed Elites.
The gray alien smiled beautifically, “No John. Can I call you John?” It asked, “I'm not here to help you.”
“I go by John to my friends.” Like Cortana. He thought, glaring at the alien (which was rendered surprisingly ineffective by the fact that he was glaring through a reflective visor. “You get to call me Master Chief, and you get to tell me why you're here and how you know my name.”
The gray Alien shrugged. “I'm checking off a little list of mine. I had to do that lot-”
he jerked his head at the prostrate, pie-bespattered Elites, “-all in one go, but I've got a bit of time set aside for you.”
“Me?” The Chief asked.
“You.” the alien replied, “You're a mess, Chief. You're a miserable bugger. No life outside the military, no boy or girlfriend, and the closest you've come to getting laid is fantasizing about the computer program that lives in your head.”
“Chief?” Cortana asked, “Anything you want to tell me.”
“We'll talk about it later.” Growled John. He stared back at the alien, “Any reason you wanted to tell me all this?”
“Like I said,” The other being replied, “I'm checking off a list. Insulting the Multiverse. Honestly I'm a bit disappointed in your lack of reaction. Really kills it for me.”
“I know what I am.” The Chief shrugged, “And you didn't make me miss Thai food night, so I can't get too mad. Watch yourself around Sgt. Johnson though, he might just shove that ship up your ass.”
“Point noted.” said the gray stranger, “Well, I'm off. Have a lovely invasion.” It bowed elegantly, and the Chief, smiling in spite of himself returned it.
Then, the alien walked up the ramp, sealed it, and as abruptly as it was there, the silver ship was gone, leaving behind a striped towel with a note on it:
This may come in handy some day.
The Chief reached down and grabbed it, noticing some Covenant dropships heading toward the waterfront district.
“John?” Cortana asked, “What sort of fantasies was he talking about.”
“We'll talk about it later.” the Chief said, draping the towel over his shoulders and hefting the Battle rifle, “I promise. In the meantime, since we have some unruly guests to take care of, and I have a new towel, how would you like to throw a beach party.”
Cortana's laugh was music in John's ears as they moved towards the next battle.
****************End of Chapter ******************
Author's Note:
Yes there is another chapter of this. I was bored, and the idea popped into my head.
As for the rest, Chicken Satay is delicious, The SMG in HALO 2 sucked, the Chauchat was a really bad gun (If you don't believe me, look it up,) and I always thought that the HALO novelizations really glossed over the fact impact of the Spartans being Child Soldiers with no shot at a normal life or relationships.
As if the genius-level Spartans never gave much thought...and who is to say they aren't really, really angry about it deep down?
Your HALO's Crooked
The Master Chief, alternatively known as Spartan 117, The Demon, That Hyperthyroid Green Dude With All Those Guns (Coined by an uninformed day shift manager of the Central New Mombasa Qwik Stop just moments ago,) and John to his few surviving comrades, swore foully.
As foully as someone kidnapped from elementary school and raised by Navy CPO's can. Which was pretty foul.
The Covenant had invaded Earth, and he was currently occupying a desolate stretch of road in New Mombasa, surrounded by Elites, outnumbered, outgunned, and out of time.
Worse still, the Covenant Invasion had ensured that the immense soldier had missed lunch in the Cairo Station Mess on Thai Food Day. He and Sgt. Johnson had been looking forward to it for a week.
His eyes narrowed.
Those Covenant bastards would pay for keeping them from their Chicken Satay. And for the whole “Invading Earth Thing” too.
“Chief!” Cortana hissed into his brain as the Elites closed in, “Pay attention, are you trying to get us both killed?”
Always with the Chief, Chief, Chief, stuff. I wonder what it would take for her to call me John. She really hasn't been the same since that Windows 25 Update. All eccentric and harping. It's like being in a sexless relationship with a crazy person. Not that the UNSC gave me a chance at the earlier bit...
Thinking about being raised to protect people who had an opportunity for happiness that he didn't made John mad. He used it, muttering;
“Okay, You fight the face-tearing aliens next time, and I'll backseat drive.” to Cortana, while conducting a millisecond-long check of his weapons, noticing two frag grenades still riding his belt, which didn't seem to explode as well as they did on HALO, a Battle Rifle – all but useless against multiple Elites at close quarters, and the final “weapon,” a Submachine gun.
Actually, calling it a weapon was an insult to all the other weapons. Even terrible ones like the still-infamous Chauchat machine gun from the First World War that he and all the other Spartans had learned about by the age of ten, instead of how to be kids.
At least the Chauchat hurt something it hit when it occasionally fired, the Chief thought. Unlike the much derided “Staple-Machine Gun.” (an uncomplimentary name derived from the approximate projectile size and commensurate stopping power) offered by its ammunition.
And the damn thing still has the recoil of a howitzer. John mused. Probably just more unscrupulous military contractors taking advantage of the goddamned alien invasion to bribe the bribe-able and ram high-cost, low-quality weapons into production while they dodge taxes. Actually that probably explains why damn near every USNC base and ship has different weapons.
As the Elites moved ever closer, The Master Chief spoke calmly a low, dangerous tone of voice,
“Cortana, take a memo: If we live through this, and it gets bad enough for penal battalions, the committee members who designed this abortion, and the stockholders who pushed it on Appropriations are getting conscripted and handed this piece of crap to fight with.”
A light chuckle at the back of his subconscious made John reconsider his previously negative assessment of Cortana's changes as he drew the SMG and prepared for the fight of his life.
***********
As he wound up and threw the SMG at the head of the nearest approaching Elite with the best muscles that experimental procedures conducted on children could buy, the cheap plastic frame shattered on impact. It did managed to knock the alien out though, and gave the Chief a chance to grab its plasma rifle to double-tap it before staring down the next-closest elites.
However, the battle was interrupted by a flying chrome saucer straight out of a low-budget science fiction movie parking on the nearest two alien soldiers with the light touch, grace and brotherly feeling that would be displayed by an inebriated Russian tank driver who had been given the opportunity to motor his vehicle through one of Hitler's birthday parties.
Blue blood spattered the immaculate chrome plating, the other Elites checked their advance, and a ramp descended impossibly from the smooth underbelly of the craft, with somebody on it.
The Chief took a moment to asses his new visitor, who was taller than a Grunt by far, yet skinnier than an Elite, with gray skin, bland gray robes, and whose motile facial features resembled a human male, and which were currently arranged in what looked like a very comfortable expression of absolute derision for all and sundry.
Was this some sort of new Covenant Species? The Chief thought, It seems like I meet to or three new ones each time they launch a new campaign. At least that keeps things interesting...
However, in acknowledgment of the fact that he had fewer enemies to fight because of the newcomer's choice of parking spots, John decided to keep his weapon aimed at the Elites instead.
It was a good decision.
The Covenant forces on the other hand decided that the intruder who had flattened two of their comrades warranted a killing. Plasma rifles and energy swords held in large alien hands shifted their aimpoints to bracket the new stranger, who looked remarkably unconcerned.
“Hey all of you!” it shouted to the Elites in an impeccably British accent, “Your names are nearly impossible to pronounce, so I'll just say you look like Predator on an off day, smell worse than a Hutt's colonic, and your Creche-Mothers were the most fun I've ever had in weekend!”
The aliens shrugged and looked at each other, muttering in their strange tongue. The gray alien muttered something uncomplimentary and produced a small remote which barked out a phrase in their language, presumably the same thing he just said in English.
The Chief waited for him to be vaporized, but his face just grew a nasty, twisted grin as he pressed a button on the small remote in his hand.
Several blurs shot out of one of the small spacecraft's legs, each one curving around the Chief to slam with tremendous velocity into the faces of the gathered Covenant troopers, dropping them all.
The Master Chief inspected one of the downed Covenant troopers, . It looked like a pie? looked behind him.
Flabbergasted by the incredulity of it all, he took a moment to orient on the alien and ask, “Is-is that-”
“Pie? Yes, Banana Cream,” It muttered. “I can't say much for you earthers, but your Three Stooges – Classic.”
“You have something to tell me?” The Chief asked, bluntly as usual, “Or are you here to help us fight them?” he indicated the downed Elites.
The gray alien smiled beautifically, “No John. Can I call you John?” It asked, “I'm not here to help you.”
“I go by John to my friends.” Like Cortana. He thought, glaring at the alien (which was rendered surprisingly ineffective by the fact that he was glaring through a reflective visor. “You get to call me Master Chief, and you get to tell me why you're here and how you know my name.”
The gray Alien shrugged. “I'm checking off a little list of mine. I had to do that lot-”
he jerked his head at the prostrate, pie-bespattered Elites, “-all in one go, but I've got a bit of time set aside for you.”
“Me?” The Chief asked.
“You.” the alien replied, “You're a mess, Chief. You're a miserable bugger. No life outside the military, no boy or girlfriend, and the closest you've come to getting laid is fantasizing about the computer program that lives in your head.”
“Chief?” Cortana asked, “Anything you want to tell me.”
“We'll talk about it later.” Growled John. He stared back at the alien, “Any reason you wanted to tell me all this?”
“Like I said,” The other being replied, “I'm checking off a list. Insulting the Multiverse. Honestly I'm a bit disappointed in your lack of reaction. Really kills it for me.”
“I know what I am.” The Chief shrugged, “And you didn't make me miss Thai food night, so I can't get too mad. Watch yourself around Sgt. Johnson though, he might just shove that ship up your ass.”
“Point noted.” said the gray stranger, “Well, I'm off. Have a lovely invasion.” It bowed elegantly, and the Chief, smiling in spite of himself returned it.
Then, the alien walked up the ramp, sealed it, and as abruptly as it was there, the silver ship was gone, leaving behind a striped towel with a note on it:
This may come in handy some day.
The Chief reached down and grabbed it, noticing some Covenant dropships heading toward the waterfront district.
“John?” Cortana asked, “What sort of fantasies was he talking about.”
“We'll talk about it later.” the Chief said, draping the towel over his shoulders and hefting the Battle rifle, “I promise. In the meantime, since we have some unruly guests to take care of, and I have a new towel, how would you like to throw a beach party.”
Cortana's laugh was music in John's ears as they moved towards the next battle.
****************End of Chapter ******************
Author's Note:
Yes there is another chapter of this. I was bored, and the idea popped into my head.
As for the rest, Chicken Satay is delicious, The SMG in HALO 2 sucked, the Chauchat was a really bad gun (If you don't believe me, look it up,) and I always thought that the HALO novelizations really glossed over the fact impact of the Spartans being Child Soldiers with no shot at a normal life or relationships.
As if the genius-level Spartans never gave much thought...and who is to say they aren't really, really angry about it deep down?
Re: Wowbaggers Quest
The Chauchat was worse then a really bad gun. I honestly don't think that there was a diffrent gun ever made that is equal to its level of craptacticness.DrMckay wrote: the Chauchat was a really bad gun (If you don't believe me, look it up,)
You know, its remarkably easy to feed an undead army if all you have are just enemies....
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Re: Wowbaggers Quest (Hitchhiker's Guide Crossover)
It actually had more punch than newer SMGs. Assuming you kept dirt out of the magazine, and never fired it in bursts of more than several seconds at a time.
In essence, it's a perfect example of a (mostly) good idea on paper tarred by poor quality control and lack of idiot-proofing.
In essence, it's a perfect example of a (mostly) good idea on paper tarred by poor quality control and lack of idiot-proofing.
A Tribute to Stupidity: The Robert Scott Anderson Archive (currently offline)
John Hansen - Slightly Insane Bounty Hunter - ASVS Vets' Assoc. Class of 2000
HAB Cryptanalyst | WG - Intergalactic Alliance and Spoof Author | BotM | Cybertron | SCEF
John Hansen - Slightly Insane Bounty Hunter - ASVS Vets' Assoc. Class of 2000
HAB Cryptanalyst | WG - Intergalactic Alliance and Spoof Author | BotM | Cybertron | SCEF
Re: Wowbaggers Quest (Hitchhiker's Guide Crossover)
Not going to get into guns or w/e; but this is bloody good, please write some more. Janeway, maybe? Whatever floats your boat, of course.
And also one of the ingredients to making a pony is cocaine. -Darth Fanboy.
My Little Warhammer: Friendship is Heresy - Latest Chapter: 7 - Rainbow Crash
My Little Warhammer: Friendship is Heresy - Latest Chapter: 7 - Rainbow Crash