B7/Red Dwarf crossover: a missing scene from Shadow.
"Vila took his teleport bracelet off, but I've got his location."
"Right." Avon set the coordinates, looking grim. "I'll get him."
Cally bared her teeth. "Tell him I want my present."
***
Vila was sprawled over a table in the White Hart, with a collection of people more motley than the Liberator's crew, which Avon hadn't thought possible.
"Avon!" Vila grinned and tried to raise his glass. "Good ol' Ave. Meet my friends. This one here—" he burped and flung an arm around the scruffiest specimen"—we're almost anagrams. He's called—" Vila went goggle-eyed with concentration "—Lister! An' it's funny 'cause he..." They both dissolved into giggles.
"Yeah," Lister made it sound more like 'yer'. "We're all listin' to port, see." He pointed to a decanter of the same.
"Speak for yourself, sir," the metallic android behind him said stiffly. "They don't sell machine oil here."
"They'll have some at the port. Ha!" the one with the H on his forehead seemed to think that was witty. He smiled at Avon "Care for some port of this sort?"
Avon shook his head. Undoubtedly they'd bought the cheapest in the place.
"Good to see someone with a modicum of sense." The man stood up, smoothed his tunic, and offered his hand. "Arnold Rimmer."
Wondering whether all their names were examples of nominative determinism, Avon looked at it with distaste. "Kerr Avon."
Lister snorted. "Say it fast and it's Craven!" He and Vila fell against each other, helpless with laughter.
"Yeow, like your threads, man!" The last member of the group got up and pranced around Avon admiringly. "Basic silver and black, nice statement, but a tad conservative. Ever considered a touch of apricot?"
His teeth looked as if they'd been filed to points. Avon took an involuntary step back.
"Or a line of studs down the torso, like a queen's nipples? Nothing says sympathetic and sensitive like male tits. Pulls all the fur."
"Hey, Ave. Wait'll you hear this." Vila said. "Me mate Lister here an' the—"
"Gelfs, yeah!" Lister drained a large mug of ale. "Funny model with plastic heads and no bloody sense of humour at all."
"Bloody! Mutoids!" Vila doubled up with laughter.
"Definitely not pleasure gelfs," Lister said.
"Gelfs?" Avon frowned.
"Genetically engineered life forms, sir," the android said.
"Yes." Avon put his hand on his gun but there were none in sight.
"That woman with the short black hair and the long white dress though, she were a right goer." Lister grinned, and dug his elbow into Vila's side.
Vila banged his hand on the table, almost unable to speak for laughter. "Serv... Serv..."
"Servalot, yeah, that was her name."
Avon stared at Lister and tried to suppress the image in his mind. He attempted to lift Vila to his feet, but he was too limp and drunk to stand. Disgusted, he snapped a bracelet on Vila's wrist and let him drop. "Teleport!"
One day he'd show Servalan some class. With studs on.
The end