Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn

And so on for many many more pages. The inestimable hurricanine reminded me a while back that I never cleared up the mystery of Who Did It? Well, now she knows, but I forgot to tell the rest of you. So, here we have the Epilogue, part 2! (yes, I hate it when writers do this too. For one, makes me feel like a complete arse)

Once again, I owe so much to my readers who reviewed, you are all stunning and lovely and wonderful and without you it simply wouldn't have happened: Mithril Maiden, Rowana S (hope this cheers you up), Captain Oz, Starr Dust, HurriCanine, Tomiko the Muse (never stop the craziness), kali maa, Go-ruden Kiba (it was a grown-up thing, I suppose), Eileen (possibly…), sixtimesnine (who's Tim?), banana flavoured dragon (consider it done), Les Lapins Mauvais, kears (probably not), Ryntha (large grin), taby42, The Emcee and Rasey Wasey Bagel Face.

Dedication: those two buggers whose names I can't be bothered to type (wink)

Disclaimer: they don't belong to me. Ix and Gwynnie and Skoda do, but no one else.


The 'Encyclopaedia Galactica' defines an epilogue as 'a piece of writing coming at the end of a story that effectively ties up any and all mysteries to do with the plot or in some other way satisfies all of the reader's queries'

The 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' takes a different approach, stating 'Only particularly thick authors include epilogues, being thoroughly unable to coherently end the story properly. The really really stupid ones sometimes even include MORE than one epilogue, the prats. What kind of utter wazzock would be dim enough to…' and so on.

Peculiarly enough, the Guide is one of the few books in the Galaxy that, since the publication of this particular statement, actually does contain an epilogue. It says, 'Naff off, you hypocritical bastards.'

It is unclear why this is so.


The cafe owner stared at the humanoid female who was leaning on his counter. Although she was only a little taller than the average Betelgeusian, she was grinning a disturbingly familiar lunatic grin and her blue-specked grey eyes were dancing with amusement. Just behind her, with an identical grin, was a humanoid male who was either her clone or her twin. He was nonchalantly performing complex conjuring tricks with a large purple towel.

The owner cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we don't do 'tea'," he said, uneasily. "But we have an excellent range of caffeinated alcoholic beverages."

The female hitchhiker sighed and pulled her satchel further up on her arm. "Alright, we'll have three jambachinos, a large Alterian whisky and a glass of Hyperactive Lemonade™"

Her twin patted her shoulder. "Never mind, Gwynnie. We'll find tea one day."

They collected their order from the now freaked-out server and carried it to the table where several other humanoids sat. The tallest one, who had a few streaks of grey lining his dark hair, smiled warmly at them and lifted one of the jambachinos off the tray. "Thank you, my dears," he said, softly.

The shorter man sat next to him with an arm around his waist nodded his thanks and took the whisky. "Slange!" he toasted and took a quick sip.

The third and final occupant looked suspiciously at the Hyperactive Lemonade™. "If this tries to eat my stomach like it did last time…" she said, tossing her multitude of black plaits back behind her ears.

Ix sat next to her. "Would we give you something so harmful, dear sister?"

"Yes. In fact, you did. I was sick for a week," Random replied, thumping his arm affectionately.

"We only did it because we care."

"You only did it to see what effects it would have on a human so you could write an entry about it for the Guide!"

Gwynefa took the seat next to her human father as her siblings bickered playfully and placed her head on his shoulder briefly. "Happy fiftieth, Dad," she murmured to him. Arthur kissed the top of her head.

"Thank you, my love," he whispered back. "And thank you for my present. I'm sure your Papa will be highly appreciative."

She chuckled. "I know how much it bothered him that he couldn't sleep on that old mattress. Ix and I both chipped in."

"I should think so too. Bed made entirely of Terry cloth are something of a luxury commodity," Ford chipped in, briefly glancing away from his conversation with Random.

"In this Universe?" Arthur looked askance at him. "With all of these degenerate freeloaders?" He gestured to the twins.

Ix grinned, his eyes sparkling behind his floating spectacle lenses. "Low blow, Dad."

There was a cough from beside the table. All five seated turned to look at the slightly hunched form of a very old man who was stood there. He had grey hair that fell around his shoulders and a huge beard. There was a weary kindness in his ancient eyes and an air of slight sadness permeating the air around him.

"Good God!" Arthur exclaimed, staring at the oldster. "Slartibartfast!"

The Magrathean smiled. "Greetings once again, Earthman." He politely waited until he was gestured to a seat before sitting down.

"So um…erm…Have you met our children?" the oldest human asked weakly. "That's Ix, this is Gwynefa."

The twins waved at the old man, assessing the character from their bedtime stories with frank interest and curiosity. Slartibartfast returned the interest, unabashed. "Well, they seem to have turned out as well as can be expected," he said, after a few minutes of mutual scrutiny.

Ford raised an eyebrow. "Did you know about them?" he asked, tentatively.

"Of course not. Don't be a twerp," Slarti answered, rather brusquely. "So, Earthman, how goes your quest for tea and normality?"

Random gestured at the twins, Ford and the jambachinos. "I'd say it wasn't going all that well," she chuckled, answering the questions for her father. "What brings you here?"

The Magrathean gave her a grave look for a few moments, then nodded as if he'd just worked something out. "Some minor CamTim duties. There's going to be a revolutionary breakthrough in the sacred art of dwarf-slaughtering if we're not careful. And I wanted to catch up with the progress of a personal project of mine."

"Oh yes?" Arthur said, trying to sound interested and not in the least bit disgusted by the dwarf-slaughtering remark.

"Yes, I was researching the compatibility of certain species and their offspring. Anyway, I must be off. Good luck, all of you, in your future endeavours. And I'm glad the lifestyle has come together, Mr Dent. I had hoped for nothing less." With that, the kindly old man was up and gone.

Ford looked after him for a moment and turned to his astonished lover. "You don't think it was him, do you? With the…" he gestured at the twins, who were excitedly discussing the Magrathean out the stories.

Arthur's eyes widened. "No. It couldn't be. Could it?"

The Betelgeusian's gaze dropped to the drink in Arthur's hand then flicked to his own. "Well, just to be on the safe side," he said, nervously pushing both glasses away, "I think we'll skip this round shall we?"


Thank you and good night. And apologies for the crapness. I am extremely tired and in need of a cuddle.