m_findlow

Title: The art of diplomacy
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: OCs, Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 927 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for badly_knitted's prompt "Torchwood, Team or Any, Humans give the aliens the creeps" at fic_promptly
Summary: The galaxy has a lot to learn about humans.

The pair of Arcans sighed as they surveyed the room full of attendees. One of them sighed. 'Another funeral. Feels like we have to go to one of these every cycle, lately.'

'The price of diplomacy,' the other replied. 'We had to be seen to be here.'

The Arcan nodded in response to is companion before something caught its eye. 'Is that? Why, I don't believe it!'

'What?'

'Humans. Humans at an interplanetary funeral.' It chortled out a laugh. 'Whatever next?'

Its companion turned to look, pulling a face at the sight of them. 'Ugly looking creatures, aren't they?'

'They're not the only ones. I mean, honestly, if I have to go to one more of these events and make idle chit chat about the state of galactic currency with another Cat Person, I swear to all the goddesses, I'm going to lose it.'

'Don't look at them!'

'What?'

'Don't make eye contact! If you do, they might think we're friendly and want to talk to us!'

The Arcan twirled quickly away. 'Good goddesses! I hadn't thought of that! You don't think we'll have to sit near them later on, do you?'

'I sincerely hope not. They should have sections of the room cordoned off for the lower forms. Did you see them?'

'You told me not to look at them!'

'I know, but it's just...' It shuddered, sending a wave of gelatinous ripples through its body. 'All that hair, and I mean just everywhere, all over their faces and heads. It leaned in closer to its companion. I've even heard they have hair all over, but most of it is covered up by those clothes things they wear.'

'Heavens!' the other gasped. 'All over, you say? That's just ghastly. Even with most of it covered, they look so... unkempt. And I've never trusted beings that feel the need to cover themselves, whatever their hideous deformities. Who knows to what else they might be hiding under there.'

'It makes you wonder what the Shadow Proclamation is thinking these days, doesn't it? I mean, it's one thing for us to all have to be here to send off some Martian into the afterworld, but I thought these events were meant to be for the council representatives only. If we're just going to start inviting every Charlene, Fabrizio and Marmann, well...'

The other one snorted. 'I know. Where's the pride in being a member of the council of sentient life if we start admitting the lower forms to the table? They're going to start thinking that they're equal to us. Goddesses forbid, they might even want rights! Can you just imagine the chaos?'

'Oh my goddesses!' the Arcan exclaimed in a low voice, face dropping in astonishment.

'What?'

'The taller one just used those arm tentacle things to reach over and touch the food! It just grabbed it and put it in its mouth! And now it's continuing to talk even whilst ingesting!'

'Appalling! Where do these creatures get off? There are utensils for a reason. That's another thing, my dear chap. Talking. With mouths. Disgusting. We really should petition to have those orifices permanently bred out of species. If they can't carry on a conversation in their heads, then they shouldn't be allowed to speak at all.'

'Agreed. Ah, they've finally moved away from the dining cart. Can I get you anything? These funeral things are always so tiresome but they do put on a good spread. I can feel my calorific waters dropping.'

The Arcan shook. 'No, but thank you. I don't want anything those human creatures might have touched. Goddesses only know where they've been and when they last sterilised themselves.'

'I'm sure they would have made an effort for the occasion,' the other Arcan assured it. 'Not like they're going to get invited to something like this very often, is it? Probably only because they live on the next planet over. Some overly conscientious conglomerate public servant probably suggested it.'

It sighed. 'Oh, very well. I am a bit peckish, and I saw they had those cute little things that looked like mechonoids.'

They sauntered over to the table and took in the wealth of options. 'What are those?' one asked, indicating an oval plate of triangular shaped objects.

'It says they're sand-wic-hes. Egg and lettuce.' It gave a derisive gurgle. 'Must be food for those humans. Now we're even catering especially for them.'

'I didn't even know they laid eggs, let alone that they ate them.'

'Babrbaric, isn't it? Thank goddesses we don't have to do this very often.'

There was a sound that interrupted their conversation, somewhere between a grunt and a cough. 'Excuse, me do you mind if I just grab a couple of those?' It was one of the humans, holding a plate in its tentacle arm thing and nudging between the pair of them, pointing at the sandwiches.

'Argh! It touched me! It touched me! I need to go sterilise myself!' The Arcan slithered off as quickly as its bulbous jelly body would carry it.

Its companion forced a smile and pushed the platter in the human's direction without a word. Best to pretend they didn't understand its language.

The human smiled as it slithered a step away, allowing it to approach. 'Thanks. My friend is quite hungry and these are rather good, so fresh considering we're up in space.' He took about six of the little triangles on the plate and departed, rejoining his companion who downed four of them in quick succession.

'Just barbaric,' it murmured to itself.