Happy June, y’all… it still is, it just barely is…
I HAVE IMPORTANT NEWS FOR YOU AND IT IS THAT JOHN BARROWMAN IS GOING TO BE AT THE AUCKLAND ARMAGEDDON EXPO THIS YEAR which will be my first real Comic Con EVAIR, and SQUEEEEEEEE I thought I’d have to scrape together a ticket to San Francisco for this! I’ve been literally leaping around the house screaming, and my mother is sick of me. And I am totally going to get a photo with him (yes, it’s expensive, blow it out your exhaust ports, I don’t care, I’ve been saving for exactly this) and I am totally going to upload it here. Armageddon is not until October. I am already unnecessarily excited. But YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII CAPTAIN JACK!!!
Anyway, we aren’t here to fangirl (we are, we so are, and my handsome amazing wonderful and longsuffering brother has a Captain Jack cosplay almost finished and I will get him into that photo too even if I have to physically drag him there) we are here because of the LATE club, which this month is actually late, and the topic is What’s your Space Australians theory?
Mkay, we’re doing one of those again, a story set to music. I’ve been whistling this around the house and annoying people; it’s from Kill Bill and I enjoy it very much (both the song and the film.) We start with the Space Australia theory: What if humans were the only species to enjoy being frightened (e.g. by horror movies and creepy musics)? And then we go on to the story illustrative of the theory. When you’re ready, press play, then start reading.
“What’s that whistling?” asked Klerin politely, or as politely as it’s possible for a very large Tran who can’t speak below a somewhat growled yell can manage.
“American Horror Story, the three-hundredth anniversary season,” Sam answered, reaching for his laptop computer to pause the episode. “Earth had this six months ago, but the comms crew only had enough bandwidth free to beam the new season to us up here last week. See,” he explained, pointing at the screen, “this guy was a school shooter – like at Columbine – and the cops shot him because he wouldn’t put the gun down, and now he’s a ghost but he doesn’t know it yet, so -”
“The Columbine massacre I read of in the history of your people. It was a terrible event. You are watching… a documentary film about a similar event?” Klerin and Sam had been sharing a cabin aboard the St. Francis for the past two years, and Klerin was firmly convinced it would take at least the rest of the ten-year trip to Taurus 9 to understand a quarter of Sam’s strange human quirks. Certainly, Sam’s preferences in entertainment during his off-hours were his own business, but Klerin found it puzzling that he was so drawn to violence.
“Oh… no. No, ghosts aren’t real, Kler. It’s just a story.”
“A terrible story, human. This is perhaps the beginning of the season, setting the stage for deeds of heroism?”
“Ahahaha. No. It’s called American Horror Story for a reason, fuzzball, it’s supposed to be creepy and gory. Last episode the kid got her arm stuck in a meat grinder, that was amazing, the effects on that. Like they made it chunky, not just red paint you usually see.”
It wasn’t even that Klerin was a Gauraith-born Tran, or Sam an Earth-born human: they were both from one of the old Trappist-3 colonies, a nice neighborhood, with good inter-species integration, but even that far out from the Core, a lot of parents still raised their kids like they were still back on their homeworld, and no aliens within lightyears.
Tran parents like Klerin’s raised their children on historical books and films, and Tran cubs tended to end up with a preference for some civilizations’ history and culture over others. Humans, it appeared, raised their children on fanciful stories about things that had never happened but might have, or things in the future that might never happen. All of recorded history, all the millennia of all the peoples, was not enough for the humans’ voracious imaginations. Klerin was beginning to understand the concept of fiction, of might have, and of how a story could have enough truth in it to learn about the un-story of real life.
Klerin could not understand how Sam could force himself to watch such horrible and bloody fiction, that he himself would cringe to see in a newsburst but read anyway because understanding the evil people could do was important to provide context for the good. And Sam sought out this material, this fiction, deliberately, and seemed to enjoy it.
“It’s adrenaline, okay?” Sam said crossly. “I can get an adrenaline high better than the Luna Park rollercoaster without having to go to the holodeck or work out. It’s old school, but it rocks.” Klerin turned back to his book of Coca-Cola history. These macabre humans were beyond any self-respecting Tran to comprehend. All you could do was try to stay on their good side, in case they decided to try any of the horrific techniques their horror fiction taught them on the nearest bystander.
The prompt for next month, for which I will try to post on July 13th but don’t fancy my chances, and with which you may do as you please, is Cake and Dragons. Good luck.
Thanks for reading.