LJ Idol, Season 11 - Sudden Death Write-off
Title: How to (Try to) Entertain a Stranger's Kids
Topic: open topic
There are children in the lounge of Russo’s spaceship. Three of them. Their mom is talking to Alesa somewhere else, and because Russo barely trusts strange adults to wander his ship unattended, never mind strange children, he and Jamie are trying to be entertaining. Rather, Jamie is trying to be entertaining. Russo is perfectly happy to just be backup.
“There are all kinds of treasures in a monarch’s treasury,” Jamie is saying, having decided that the best way to be entertaining is to make up a story. “Crowns, jewelry, big chests of coins, scepters, fancy fur cloaks, gold bars, golden goblets. But the most valuable thing in the kingdom of Fell was the Glass Sword.”
“Fell’s not a name,” the middle kid snorts.
You should talk, Russo thinks. We picked you up on a moon called Seed.
“What’s a scepter?” the youngest kid asks.
“It’s a, uh, it’s like a wand,” Jamie explains. He looks at Russo for help. “Describe a scepter.”
“Um,” Russo says. The screen on the lounge wall has been showing the view from the cockpit, but now he brings up a search box in the corner and tries to find a good image of a scepter while Jamie continues his story.
“You can’t make swords out of glass,” the oldest kid says. “They’ll break.”
“The Glass Sword was special,” Jamie says. “It never shattered, never cracked, never splintered. It never needed to be sharpened. It had held off the barbarian hordes from the west - you know what barbarians are, right?”
“The corp!” all three kids answer, excitedly.
“Eh, close enough,” Russo mutters, then louder, because now there are a few decent images on the screen, “That’s a scepter.”
None of the kids look impressed.
“They’re worth a lot,” Jamie says. “They’re made of gold and jewels and - “
“What do they do?” the middle kid asks.
Jamie looks as if he’s never considered that before. “Nothing, really,” he finally says. “They’re ceremonial. The king or queen would hold one during important events - coronations or treaty signings or anniversaries or whatever. Mostly they look fancy.”
“That’s worth credits?” All the kids still look skeptical. Russo can sense that Jamie is losing his audience. Maybe a story about a glass sword isn’t the right thing to interest three kids who grew up in a company town on a half-settled chunk of rock beholden to a giant corp.
Although if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s not sure what would be the right kind of story to tell them.
“It’s worth a lot of credits,” Jamie says. “But let me tell you about the sword. It sparkled when the sun hit it, and you could see through it, and because it was so famous and so valuable, the queen of Fell - because there was a queen when this story takes place - never took it out of the armory except for very special occasions.
“But there was a girl in the kingdom named Britta. She had a plan, and her plan was to steal the sword.”
The oldest kid still looks skeptical, but the other two perk up. In Russo’s experience, thievery can spark a lot of people’s interest, especially when it involves stealing something beautiful and valuable from someone who doesn’t even use it.
“Why?” the middle kid asks.
“She was a thief. Stealing’s what they do.”
“Mem says it’s okay to steal from the governor and put stuff to use for the people,” the youngest kid offers.
“This isn’t quite that.”
“So what is it?” asks the oldest kid.
“This is the story of how Britta Deane stole a sword and - “
“What are you telling my children?” the mom demands, appearing from a corridor. Alesa is right behind her, and Russo would swear she’s trying to hide a smile.
“It’s just a story,” Jamie tries to explain.
“About theft.”
“Well, yeah - “
“Is there a point to this theft?”
“Well, not - “
“Then don’t tell the story.”
Jamie looks embarrassed. The oldest kid pats him on the hand.
“You tried,” the kid says reassuringly. Russo snorts a laugh at Jamie’s hangdog expression, and Alesa stifles a giggle.
“Are you hungry?” Alesa asks the kids. “Do you want Jamie to make you some food?”
Firm headshakes all around indicate that no, they don’t want Jamie to feed them. Russo’s pretty sure the experimental spicy soybean-crusted reconstituted eggplant steaks are to blame. He can understand that. There are just some things people were not meant to do with spicy soybean snacks. Or eggplant.
“What about Russo?” she continues.
“You make us something!” the youngest kid tells her excitedly.
“I’ll help,” Mom says, herding her children out of the lounge and towards the galley, Alesa in the lead.
“I can’t believe she’s going to cook for them,” Russo says. “I can’t believe they want her to.”
“Do they make you want kids?” Jamie asks curiously. “They make me want kids.”
Russo has never given reproduction much thought. He never thought his life was particularly conducive to child-rearing, for one thing - he and Jamie were smugglers when they met Alesa, and smuggling is fine if you’re an adult who’s chosen it, but it doesn’t seem fair to bring up kids in that kind of clandestine life.
Besides, the ship isn’t really child-proof, and he’s not interested in making it so. He thinks babies are biohazard containers just waiting to explode, and small children become trouble the second they learn to walk. He has his hands full with Jamie and Alesa. He doesn’t need to add kids to the mix.
“I think you’d make a good dad,” he tells Jamie.
“Really?”
“Yeah. You have about the same maturity level.”
“I know. They’re very mature for their age, aren’t they? I wish they liked my eggplant steaks, though.”
“Well, you tried.” Russo pitches his voice higher in imitation of the oldest kid and pats Jamie on the shoulder. Jamie laughs.
Because sometimes trying is all you can do with kids. And when you fail - in telling a good story, in making a delicious dinner, in preventing your partner from offending Mom - you accept it and move on.
But you still don’t let the kids wander around your ship without adult supervision. They’re not that mature.
Topic: open topic
There are children in the lounge of Russo’s spaceship. Three of them. Their mom is talking to Alesa somewhere else, and because Russo barely trusts strange adults to wander his ship unattended, never mind strange children, he and Jamie are trying to be entertaining. Rather, Jamie is trying to be entertaining. Russo is perfectly happy to just be backup.
“There are all kinds of treasures in a monarch’s treasury,” Jamie is saying, having decided that the best way to be entertaining is to make up a story. “Crowns, jewelry, big chests of coins, scepters, fancy fur cloaks, gold bars, golden goblets. But the most valuable thing in the kingdom of Fell was the Glass Sword.”
“Fell’s not a name,” the middle kid snorts.
You should talk, Russo thinks. We picked you up on a moon called Seed.
“What’s a scepter?” the youngest kid asks.
“It’s a, uh, it’s like a wand,” Jamie explains. He looks at Russo for help. “Describe a scepter.”
“Um,” Russo says. The screen on the lounge wall has been showing the view from the cockpit, but now he brings up a search box in the corner and tries to find a good image of a scepter while Jamie continues his story.
“You can’t make swords out of glass,” the oldest kid says. “They’ll break.”
“The Glass Sword was special,” Jamie says. “It never shattered, never cracked, never splintered. It never needed to be sharpened. It had held off the barbarian hordes from the west - you know what barbarians are, right?”
“The corp!” all three kids answer, excitedly.
“Eh, close enough,” Russo mutters, then louder, because now there are a few decent images on the screen, “That’s a scepter.”
None of the kids look impressed.
“They’re worth a lot,” Jamie says. “They’re made of gold and jewels and - “
“What do they do?” the middle kid asks.
Jamie looks as if he’s never considered that before. “Nothing, really,” he finally says. “They’re ceremonial. The king or queen would hold one during important events - coronations or treaty signings or anniversaries or whatever. Mostly they look fancy.”
“That’s worth credits?” All the kids still look skeptical. Russo can sense that Jamie is losing his audience. Maybe a story about a glass sword isn’t the right thing to interest three kids who grew up in a company town on a half-settled chunk of rock beholden to a giant corp.
Although if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s not sure what would be the right kind of story to tell them.
“It’s worth a lot of credits,” Jamie says. “But let me tell you about the sword. It sparkled when the sun hit it, and you could see through it, and because it was so famous and so valuable, the queen of Fell - because there was a queen when this story takes place - never took it out of the armory except for very special occasions.
“But there was a girl in the kingdom named Britta. She had a plan, and her plan was to steal the sword.”
The oldest kid still looks skeptical, but the other two perk up. In Russo’s experience, thievery can spark a lot of people’s interest, especially when it involves stealing something beautiful and valuable from someone who doesn’t even use it.
“Why?” the middle kid asks.
“She was a thief. Stealing’s what they do.”
“Mem says it’s okay to steal from the governor and put stuff to use for the people,” the youngest kid offers.
“This isn’t quite that.”
“So what is it?” asks the oldest kid.
“This is the story of how Britta Deane stole a sword and - “
“What are you telling my children?” the mom demands, appearing from a corridor. Alesa is right behind her, and Russo would swear she’s trying to hide a smile.
“It’s just a story,” Jamie tries to explain.
“About theft.”
“Well, yeah - “
“Is there a point to this theft?”
“Well, not - “
“Then don’t tell the story.”
Jamie looks embarrassed. The oldest kid pats him on the hand.
“You tried,” the kid says reassuringly. Russo snorts a laugh at Jamie’s hangdog expression, and Alesa stifles a giggle.
“Are you hungry?” Alesa asks the kids. “Do you want Jamie to make you some food?”
Firm headshakes all around indicate that no, they don’t want Jamie to feed them. Russo’s pretty sure the experimental spicy soybean-crusted reconstituted eggplant steaks are to blame. He can understand that. There are just some things people were not meant to do with spicy soybean snacks. Or eggplant.
“What about Russo?” she continues.
“You make us something!” the youngest kid tells her excitedly.
“I’ll help,” Mom says, herding her children out of the lounge and towards the galley, Alesa in the lead.
“I can’t believe she’s going to cook for them,” Russo says. “I can’t believe they want her to.”
“Do they make you want kids?” Jamie asks curiously. “They make me want kids.”
Russo has never given reproduction much thought. He never thought his life was particularly conducive to child-rearing, for one thing - he and Jamie were smugglers when they met Alesa, and smuggling is fine if you’re an adult who’s chosen it, but it doesn’t seem fair to bring up kids in that kind of clandestine life.
Besides, the ship isn’t really child-proof, and he’s not interested in making it so. He thinks babies are biohazard containers just waiting to explode, and small children become trouble the second they learn to walk. He has his hands full with Jamie and Alesa. He doesn’t need to add kids to the mix.
“I think you’d make a good dad,” he tells Jamie.
“Really?”
“Yeah. You have about the same maturity level.”
“I know. They’re very mature for their age, aren’t they? I wish they liked my eggplant steaks, though.”
“Well, you tried.” Russo pitches his voice higher in imitation of the oldest kid and pats Jamie on the shoulder. Jamie laughs.
Because sometimes trying is all you can do with kids. And when you fail - in telling a good story, in making a delicious dinner, in preventing your partner from offending Mom - you accept it and move on.
But you still don’t let the kids wander around your ship without adult supervision. They’re not that mature.