Aragón at Bronycon, Day Two: And I Won't Stop till the Whole World Knows my Name · 11:08pm Aug 3rd, 2018
Disclaimer: Everything narrated in this blog is real, and it happened – to the best of my memory – as quoted. Some bits will be simplified for readability, but I’ll try to stay as close to the truth as possible. That said, I am writing from memory, and I am famously bad at recollecting things. Some things are bound to be a little bit jumbled, because I’m only human. I apologize in advance for that just in case.
I raise my hand and my voice both. “By the way!” I say. “If I ever say something and you don’t understand me, feel free to tell me! I am keenly aware that my accent sounds as if I’m gargling mayonnaise at all times!”
Anzel stops at this, and looks at me, puzzled. He’s at the other side of the room so he has to talk a bit loud, himself. “…Gargling mayonnaise?”
“Yeah!”
“Why would you gargle mayonnaise?”
“The original joke is a bit saucier, but there are children nearby.” I point behind my back. “So I’m giving you the PG-13 version!”
By my side, Sappho nods, proud of me. Let it never be said Aragón doesn’t learn from his mistakes.
It’s the second day of Bronycon, and the magic is still there. When you’re attending a convention – especially one at the other side of the fucking ocean – day one is overwhelming, it’s meeting a thousand new people, it’s seeing a thousand new places, it’s wondering why the everloving fuck can’t Americans build public toilets where you can take a shit without people peeking through the hatch in the door.
The second day, on the other hand, is supposed to be slower. You chill, you relax, you take your time to appreciate everything around you at a better pace. You’re not supposed to meet seventeen new people at once.
And yet here we are.
“If it isn’t our favorite Spaniard!” There’s a big dude with his hands on my shoulders (don’t worry, this time it isn’t a dream). He’s not talking to me, however—he’s talking to the whole room. This is my presentation, and he’s the Master of Ceremonies.
You think I’m kidding. I am not.
“With an accent as suave as silk!”
“I prefer ‘a sexy chocolate accent,’” I say, looking up at the dude. I am perfectly aware that not even five seconds ago I more compared it to the sounds of someone practicing a hilarious sex act, but that was that, and this is this. “For the record.”
To me: “Ah, okay.” To the room: “The man with the sexy chocolate accent! IT’S ARAGÓN!”
I smile a dumb smile. Hell yeah, I think. That’s me. Aragón: master socialite.
It’s the second day of Bronycon. The Master of Ceremonies is no other than Wing, a person that I quickly categorize as Lively, capital L. Sitting with me are Swan Song, Majin Syeekoh – you know them already – and then Kuairu, and Octavia Harmony. In front of me, a fucking crowd. Sapphire, Singularity Dream, Crystal Wishes, Anzel, Irryeris, Djthomp, Mitch, the list goes on and fucking on.
I have no idea where we are. We’re indoors, and there are sofas, and a cozy carpet. That’s as far as I go. We went to a place called Jimmy John’s, which sounds like the single most phallic restaurant I’ve ever heard of, and then we went through a door, then through a corridor, and suddenly we’re here.
Consciously, I’m aware that at some point we left the Jimmy John’s and entered a hotel, one that’s probably attached to the Jimmy John’s. But the kid in me dares to dream. The kid in me is absolutely sure that this is how fast food restaurants work in America. They just go on forever.
(And the adult in me goes, well, shit, that would actually make sense. Have you ever seen how much Americans eat?)
“OKAY, PEOPLE! GROUP PHOTO! GROUP PHOTO!”
Now, to understand what happened next, and why in a moment I’d be groping an adult man’s ass for a good thirty seconds (obviously, with the adult man’s permission), we need to talk about Iryerris.
Iryerris has been mentioned before; he’s the guy who gave me the blackberry/raspberry candy in Day One. He’s an old-timer of the Quill and Blade group (not to be confused with Quills and Sofas, which is the writer’s hangout place in Bronycon), and a really good friend of mine. He’s tall, and he’s Dutch, and he talks with the hint of an accent that puts mine to shame. He has a voice fit to soothe little children.
And he has biceps bigger than my fucking head.
Look, it takes a really well-defined body type to be able to dress like Chat Noir – a fucking character who dresses exclusively in skin-tight black leather – and pull it off. By the end of Bronycon, we’ll both regret him not carrying me around princess-style at least little bit. People like Irye are the reason why romance writers use words like “chiselled”. People like Irye are the reason why Edward Norton started the Fight Club.
“GROUP PHOTO! GROUP PHOTO!”
I sit at the sofa for the group photo, but Irye is too tall – and also, we all want the cosplayed Adonis to be front and center. So he lays on the ground next to us, and jokingly, Majin wraps his arms around Irye’s shoulders in romantic fashion. Jokingly, Irye grabs Majin’s hand while doing so.
So. There you have it. You ask why I spent a good 30 seconds shamelessly groping Irye’s ass in front of a camera? Here’s your answer: ‘cause I ain’t gonna let myself be overshadowed by Majin fucking Syeekoh.
(“Wait, do you mean there’s a picture of you groping Chat Noir’s a—“
Yes.
“Are you going to post it at some p—?”
Yes.
“Well now I do have a reason to keep reading the bl—”
Yes.)
We’re leaving the magical neverending Jimmy John’s, and going back to the convention. Alongside me is Kuairu, who’s dressed up as Flynn Rider, but I don’t know that. In fact, I won’t know this till much, much later, when someone mentions it in passing, and shatters my worldview forever. Up until that moment, I fully believe all Paraguayans just naturally dress like swashbucklers at all times.
And the world seems just a little bit better because of it.
I can’t pronounce his name. You say it with a Spanish accent, and I’m Spanish, so that should be a given, but apparently it’s not. He teaches me how to say it seven times. I keep getting it right, then immediately forgetting about it. He teaches me how to do the most absolutely basic handshake-fistbump combo. I fucking suck at it.
It slowly but surely dawns on me that I am the single worst motherfucker at being Hispanic that has ever lived.
“Sorry, man,” I say in Spanish. “I guess I suck at this.”
“Ah.” He replies in English. “My Spanish is pretty bad, actually. We should talk in English.”
“Oooh.”
Pause.
We look at each other, keenly aware that we both suck at being Hispanic motherfuckers. Jesus Christ.
“Man, you would think of all people we would be able to—ah!” I get sidetracked, and look to my left. “Majin! You’re vaping again?”
“Hmm?” So he is. He takes the dragon dildo off his mouth and blows smoke before replying. In that moment, Majin looks exactly like Gandalf the Grey, if Gandalf the Grey crushed mad pussy. “Yeeh. Also, I think I know why this hit you so badly yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, normally people some 3mg, but I smoke 36mg, and it might be a bit too much for you.” Take a hit. Blow some smoke. Look like Gandalf. “Also, you’re a little bitch.”
I am legitimately surprised it took him this long to say that. Then I point at the ecig, and I ask: “Can I?”
There’s a moment of silence.
Majin frowns at me. “Are you sure?” There’s people around us—Sapphire, Octavia Harmony, Kuairu, Singularity Dream—and they all look at me. Many know of the Vaping Incident, Part One. They wonder if there’ll be a Part Two right now. “Why would you wanna try it?”
“Because I almost died the first time!”
Majin considerates this. It says a lot on how much he knows me, because he just nods and goes, “Okay.” Good friends understand that sometimes people are fucking stupid. “So here’s how you do it, right?”
“Right.”
“You put it in your mouth, and you suck in, and keep the smoke in your mouth.”
I take the ecig, the dragon dildo, the kingkiller. “Right.”
“And then you slowly breathe in the smoke.”
I nod. I put the thing into my mouth.
“And then he immediately started coughing, and almost suffocated,” Majin says. He’s explaining to an audience what exactly went on, while I drink as much water as I can from the fountain, because fuck Gatorade and the horse it rode on. “For the second time in a row. Because he’s a little bitch.”
“I WAS TRYING TO PROVE A POINT.”
“You sure did.”
Then a voice, a girly one, breaks through the noise:
“Aragón! Oh my God!”
“Crystal!”
Crystal Wishes hugs me, and I hug her back.
The place is QnS, or close enough to it that the actual place doesn’t matter. Crystal was there at the Quill and Blade meeting earlier, but we were at opposite sides of the room, and couldn’t really talk to each other. Now, we can.
Crystal Wishes is one of those users whom you might not know, but if you do, you love her. Her and Anzel – her husband, the other half of Quill and Blade, whom I would meet properly later – don’t have a fanbase as much as they have an army. It’s impossible to understand why, up until you talk to them.
They are, and this is a biggie, so hold on to your seats, they are just really likable. You want to be friends with them, because they’re funny, and smart, and low-key cool, and really really human.
Like, that is honestly it. They are nice. There’s no agenda, there’s no secret, there’s no raw charisma or amazing chiselled abs or power to fart gold. They just happen to be nice. Sometimes that is all that it takes.
Crystal Wishes in particular is tiny, and she’s energetic, but not obnoxious-levels of energetic. She just sorta does her thing. She comes dressed up as Miraculous Ladybug to match with Iryerris, because I guess even nice people can be fucking nerds, but I guess you gotta forgive that.
Then we stop hugging, and she says, “Oh my God! Congratulations! MrNumbers told me!”
I smile at her, slightly puzzled. “Wha—”
“You’re pregnant!” she says.
And. Okay.
So picture that you’re meeting a respected figure of relative authority, but whom you mostly consider a friend, not a boss or someone to impress. Statistically speaking, if you’re reading this, you’re American. So Oprah, I guess? Picture you’re meeting Oprah.
Picture you’re meeting Oprah, and she just lays that fucking bomb on you. What do you do? Do you question her? I mean, shit, you can’t. Oprah is smarter than you. Do you ask what she means? Oprah speaks your language, but maybe she understands words differently. But, no, no, you can’t admit that you’re dumb and don’t get what she’s saying, that’d make you look bad.
So what do you do?
Fuck it. You just go along with it.
“Thank you very much!” I grab her hands and wave them up and down, excitedly. “We’re so excited!”
“Is it a boy or a girl?!”
“I don’t know! I don’t even know who’s the father!” Reminder: I’m a man. “It’s probably Majin, but it might be Irye! You know how it goes.” I laugh. She laughs. “If it’s Irye’s, then knowing him, it’s probably a girl!”
“And if it’s Majin’s?”
“Maybe a boy? Or, well.” I wave a hand in the air, gayly. “You know, two boys. Majin is manly.”
Crystal laughs. I laugh. We all laugh. We change topics. I have no fucking idea what was that about.
Five minutes later, I check the group Discord chat without posting anything.
And then I look at my reflection in the window, and, subtly shoot myself some fingerguns.
“Still got it, babe. Still got it.”
Vendor Hall, again.
“And look at that fuckpillow! Look at those tits! They’re bigger than my head!”
“Oh.” Octavia Harmony sucks air through his teeth. “Yeesh.”
“RIGHT?!”
You can’t walk around with a leather-clad Edward Cullen without people stopping you every two steps to take a picture, so this is a slow stroll. Sapphire is with us, so is Iryerris – the leather-clad guy, in case you didn’t catch it – and then Singularity Dream, Crystal Wishes, Anzel, and Octavia Harmony.
Octavia Harmony has been editing my fics for ages, and he came here mostly to see me, and to see Crystal and Anzel. He’s taller than me – big fucking surprise – and acts serene, and dignified. He walks around looking at everything with a completely neutral face. He’s young, and grave, and he smiles rather than laughing. He’s one of those people who manage to be the voice of reason without ever saying a word, and he’s the single most stoic person you’ll ever meet at Bronycon.
So, of course, whenever I see anything that’s slightly pornographic I point at it and make him look.
“LOOK AT THE ASS IN THAT PICTURE.”
“Oh, boy.”
“HOW DO YOU EVEN BUY IT.”
“That is, uh. Big.”
“HOW DO YOU APPROACH THAT BOOTH AND THEN GO, YES, I WANT THE PICTURE OF YOUR OC WITH THE GIGANTIC ASS. I WANT TO MASTURBATE TO IT.” Pause. “DO YOU THINK YOU CAN LOOK AT THE VENDOR IN THE EYE WHEN YOU DO THAT.”
“I don’t understand why you’re asking me this.”
We’re at the side of Vendor Hall where the artists lay, because Octavia Harmony wants to talk to NCMares. They’re friends, turns out, so that’ll be a pleasant talk. NCMares knows me, also turns out, and that’ll be a pleasant surprise.
In the meantime, though, artist wing means softcore porn aplenty.
“Holy fuck. Okay.” I point at a fuckpillow. “You have to be a braver man than I am to buy that Spike one in public. Are those his nipples I see through that t-shirt?”
“Can we please go to NCMares already?”
“Sure, in a moment, he was over here.” Something catches my eye: Majin, again. He’s walking to that old booth we saw yesterday. Tell me about your OC – 5 bucks. With massive surprise, I see him sit down and give the dude five bucks, so I leave Octavia Harmony for a second and check what the shit is going on.
I get there just in time for the booth guy to start the timer on his phone. “Okay. Aaaand—go! Five minutes!”
Majin nods. The sparkle in his eye is back. He starts talking. “Okay. He—he’s gay.”
Booth guy nods. “Uh-huh.”
“He’s really, really gay. He’s so gay it’s terminal. And fat.”
“Right.”
“He’s terminally gay and really really fat. And he smells terrible.”
This goes on and on and fucking on for five minutes. I’m not kidding you. It’s five minutes of explaining just how terrible Majin’s OC is. Not only terminal and fat and gay and smelly, but also dumb, and ugly, and anything you can think about. Five entire minutes, the dude is counting them, we all can see the timer, and Majin is just fucking relentless.
Timer is at 4:45.
Majin licks his lips. “And the OC…”
“Yes?” Booth guy looks tired. Who wouldn’t be? “Time’s almost up!”
“The OC’s name is…”
“So I just spent like, five minutes building up to the single most overcomplicated ‘your mom’ joke I’ve ever done,” Majin says once we’re back with the gang at Vendor Hall. “Pretty wild, huh.”
I am speechless. “My fucking God,” I manage to mutter.
“Yeah, the dude at the booth—it took him like, a second to get it. But boy. He got it.”
“I can’t believe this.”
Somebody asks Iryerris to take a picture—it’s the seventh girl so far—but I can barely pay attention. I’m just looking down. I’m defeated. I’m walking among legends, but how could I even dare to think I’d ever be one of them? After seeing this?
“ I ain’t gonna let myself be overshadowed by Majin fucking Syeekoh.”
Holy shit. Yeah, good luck with that.
“Oh my God! MOM, IT’S CHAT NOIR!”
The sound immediately makes us stop. There’s a little girl, she must be around four, maybe five, running towards us. She just saw Irye, dressed up all in leather, absolutely rocking the Chat Noir look.
And she just lights up like a Christmas tree.
“IT’S CHAT NOIR! HELLO!”
“Why, hello there!” Iryerris is a natural: he kneels down to be at the little girl’s height. “Yes, I am Chat Noir!” he says, sounding as excited as the little girl. “How are you?”
“I AM GOOD! THANKS! IS LADYBUG HERE TOO?”
“Aaaw, I’m afraid she’s not. She has to keep Paris safe!”
“ARE YOU KEEPING THIS PLACE SAFE TOO? ARE THERE ANY AKUMAS?”
“Yes, there are some, and I’m fighting them!”
“WOW!” The kid’s eyes are shining. She turns around to look at her mother, a woman kind of my height who is standing there with us now. “LOOK, MOM!” She points at the ring Irye is wearing. “HE HAS A CHARM!”
“Yes he does, honey,” says the mother. In my head, she sounds British. Don’t fucking ask me why. “He needs it to fight the monsters, right?”
When you’re a kid, fantasy and reality sort of blend. If you’ve ever babysat a kid ages 3 to 7 (or if you have them yourself), you know this. They don’t really notice that a disguise is a disguise; if you put on a Santa beard, you are Santa. They can’t tell it’s just you with a beard.
And Irye’s disguise is not just a shitty Walmart white beard, it’s the real thing. He definitely looks the part, wig and all, and the kid clearly believes, for real, that she’s seeing Chat Noir. When adults ask Irye for a picture, it’s because his cosplay is honestly amazing. When the little kid comes to us, though, it’s because her dreams just came true. And man—that is powerful.
At the moment, the kid starts playing with the bell Irye’s got on his neck, and overall just goofing around a bit.
The mother sighs, although she’s smiling. “Oh, sorry about her,” she says, and again in my mind this sounds British for some reason, even though I’m rather sure she was not. “She doesn’t understand the concept of personal space yet.”
“Oh, it is no bother, really, he doesn’t mind.” I immediately reply, assuming the role of Iryerris’ mom. I also remember myself as sounding British in this exchange. I think all mothers sound the same in my head. “She’s really cute. It’s a shame that you didn’t find us earlier, we actually did have a Ladybug with us.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, indeed. That woman over there.” I point at Crystal, who’s talking to an artist friend of hers alongside Anzel. Crystal is not dressed like Ladybug at the moment. “She took off her costume, sadly.”
“I see.”
The kid is bopping up and down. We shut up just in time to hear her ask:
“CAN I PRETEND I’M LADYBUG AND PLAY WITH YOU?”
Have you ever felt your heart melting a bit? I know I have.
“Now, now, honey, we can’t do that,” the mother says, kneeling down a bit so she can talk with her daughter eye-to-eye. “You can talk to him for thirty more seconds, and then we must go, okay?”
“OKAY!”
The kid has enough questions to ask a lifetime, but the time limit is harsh, so she rushes. Is Ladybug okay? Irye responds, never breaking character. Yes, she is. Is that your charm? It is! Are you going back to Paris later? Sure am! Can you yell the transform spell? Sure, but now you do it!
(They both yell whatever it is the characters yell when transforming into their alter egos).
And then time’s up, and the mother is gentle but firm: honey, we need to go. The kid doesn’t argue it, she just grabs her mother’s hand and leaves, but not without waving us goodbye. I think literally every single one of us reciprocates.
Gosh.
“Gosh,” I say once they’re gone. “That was ado—”
“THAT WAS ADORABLE!”
Jesus fucking Christ, Sapphire with the high pitch. I swear to God, she doesn’t yell, she fucking high-frequencies. I fully believe she’d be able to murder a dog with a single squeal.
“IRYERRIS THAT WAS ADORABLE!”
“I know!” Irye says. “She was so cute! Did you hear her?”
“That was amazing,” I say. I make myself sound manly, here, but to be honest I think I was bunny-hopping a little bit, waving my fists in front of my chest in girly fashion, overwhelmed by the scene that’d just happened. But, y’know, my blog, so fuck you. Picture me looking serious, cocky smile on, a handsomely calm and collected man standing still and dignified. “That was really cute. I didn’t know Bronycon would be this wholesome.”
“Guys.” Octavia Harmony, looking actually dignified, enters from the left. “We just lost Crystal and Anzel.”
“Ah, god dammit. Call them?”
He takes out his phone. “Calling them.”
“Cool. Tell them to meet at Sweetie Belle’s vagina; it’s perfect for shit like this.”
We get out of Vendor Hall, but we don’t make it to Quills and Sofas.
Famouslastwords and CategoricalGrant have a shipping panel; we meet with Regidar, Bloons, and ElusiveBadgerpony and we all get there. We sit down, and sadly Octavia Harmony can’t sit with me—we’re too many people, there’s no space—but he’s with Crystal and Anzel, so I guess that’s okay. I sit with Majin, Regi, Badger, and Bloons. What a fucking quartet.
Regidar and Majin you already know. Bloons is hilarious—online you expect him to look old, somewhat battered, but turns out, no. In real life, he’s a pretty boy.
The term “baby face” doesn’t quite describe him, but it gets close. Let me put it this way: if I look like the racially diverse member of a boyband, Bloons looks like the sensitive one. In a shitty Lifetime movie, he’d be the guy who gets bullied at school by the meanie kid, only turns out the meanie kid was in love with him the whole time. That kinda pretty face. That kinda crooked smile.
Badger, by the way, looks like the meanie kid in question. He has the opposite of a baby face, but he laughs a lot and it comes from the belly. So he’s extremely likeable, but in a Gimli sorta way. Bronycon is so full of people whose demeanor can be described as ‘gentle’ that it’s refreshing to see someone a bit more crass, a bit more close to how I usually roll. Badger wouldn’t look at home at a kindergarten. Badger would look at home at a tavern, drinking loudly, yelling dirty jokes, and saying the word ‘cunt’ a lot.
Clicks, doesn’t it?
The panel is—unsurprisingly—pretty well done. It’s about shipping responsibly, and how to write a good romance. I’ve dabbled in advice like this before, so it’s interesting to see someone else give advice on this kinda thing, appreciate their perspective. Grant and Famous have good chemistry and know how to engage with the audience. Overall, I find that the Fimfiction panels are being surprisingly good. I didn’t know pony authors were good at public speaking.
Then, at the end of the panel, Grant and Famous start a joke:
You think of your favorite pairing. You walk up to the stage and say which one is it. Grant and Famous explain why it doesn’t work; you need to reply with why it does work.
I immediately spring up. Oh, baby. This is my fucking moment.
Okay, so, obviously here I’m thinking of Raritwi. It’s not like it’s my absolute favorite pairing, but those two are great characters, I like writing them, and – well, it’s close to my favorite pairing. Also, FamousLastWords is hosting this. He’s one of the most significant Spike Shipping writers in the website.
A very significant Sparity writer, too.
So this is pretty much something I have to do, right? I raise my hand and jump a little to make sure they select me. Regidar, Bloons, Badger, and Majin all point at me too, to tell the hosts that they gotta select me, dude, just trust me. And all the while I’m thinking of all the shit I’m gonna say.
Okay. So, we start with a joke. Wait for the audience to laugh, then say something actually meaningful—Monochromatic wrote that huge-ass blog explaining why the pairing works, but I like to think of my own writing of those two. Something along the lines of just, how symmetrical is that pairing? Ponyville-born, wants to hit it in Canterlot. Noble-born, Princess, wants to be normal in Ponvyille (kinda? Sorta). They’re total opposites.
And they’re both sassy if you write ‘em that way. That’s also a plus. They have really good chemistry. Fuck it. Bitchin’. I’m going to nail this. I’m going to walk up there, grab the mic, and bring the thunder, baby.
Eventually, Grant and Famous notice that there’s a tiny Spaniard jumping up and down and waving his hands at the very last row. “Wait,” Famous says. “Is that Aragón? Aragón, is that you?”
”Yes!”
“Come here, then, man! Let’s see what you have to say!”
A-hah. I’ve still got it. I look smug while walking up to the stage, convinced on just how hard I’m going to nail this one. I even mutter, jokingly, “Took you long enough, damn it,” while walking up there, to sorta give myself that asshole vibe I’m going for.
I get there. Everybody is smiling. I grab the mic someone is handing me, state that my pairing is Raritwi, and Famous explains that he feels it doesn’t work – because the characters wouldn’t be able to stay in the same room for over two hours without eventually starting an argument.
My time to defend my argument. I shoot out a dashing smile. I approach the mic to my mouth.
“Well,” I say. “I’ve always had a fetish for this pairing—”
“THEY CUT OFF MY FUCKING MICROPHONE!”
“ARAGÓN, YOU CAN’T SAY THE WORD ‘FETISH’ AT A PG PANEL, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”
“I GOT TO TALK FOR LESS THAN THREE SECONDS AND THEY IMMEDIATELY CUT OFF MY MICROPHONE JESUS CHRIST.”
Right.
So, turns out, the panel about shipping was for all ages. Which come to think of it, makes absolute sense, because there was a 14 year old sitting right in front of us, BUT I DIDN’T FUCKING PUT TWO AND TWO TOGETHER IN TIME, BECAUSE I’M A FUCKING IDIOT.
Majin is the person yelling at me here. Bloons and Badger are laughing. Regidar is sorta doing both. “Dude,” he’s saying.
“OKAY LOOK.”
“ARAGÓN FOR FUCK’S SAKE.”
“IN MY DEFENSE.” Fuck I have no defense. Uh. Quick, think of something. “I’M EUROPEAN.” Yes that’s a start. “AND, UH, AND ‘FETISH’ HAS, THE MEANING OF ‘FETISH’ IN SPANISH IS—”
“Oh, yeah!” Regidar snaps his fingers and looks at me, as if he had just realized something. “It has religions implications, right?” He turns to Badger, and explains: “Spain is really Catholic.”
I blink.
Holy shit.
Did Regidar just give me an out?
“YES!” I don’t miss a beat. I excitedly point at Regidar and smile my widest grin. “EXACTLY!” Nope. “THAT’S EXACTLY THE THING!” No it is not. “IN SPANISH ‘FETISH’ IS A RELIGIOUS THING INDEED, I DIDN’T KNOW IT MOSTLY HAD SEXUAL CONNOTATIONS IN ENGLISH!”
Okay. Wait. How does that even work? So instead of accidentally yelling ‘I AM SEXUALLY STIMULATED BY THE THOUGHT OF TWO MAGICAL HORSE LESBIANS’ in front of a bunch of children, I accidentally yelled ‘MY PERSONAL RELIGION IS THE THOUGHT OF TWO MAGICAL HORSE LESBIANS’?
Jesus, vastly an improvement. Okay. Edge it out, Aragón, edge it out. Add needless detail so it’s so convoluted they don’t care.
“Well, rather, like, I did know what it means in English, but in the moment I forgot—it’s a saying in Spanish, see? It means a ‘bias’, a ‘likin’, ‘I have a fetish for this’, as in, I have a shrine to it, it’s you know, I just had a brainfart. You know how confusing it gets to speak many languages.”
All the people around me nod.
Of course, not a single one of them talks anything but English.
“So like, in the moment I forgot that in English it works differently. I meant it as ‘bias’! I have a bias for the ship, because it makes Spike miserable. That’s what I intended!”
Okay no look, this is partially true at least. I said ‘fetish’ because I like using dirty words, but I meant it as a joke alternative to ‘bias’. I don’t actually believe that my sexuality is defined by my love of Rarity and Twilight Sparkle snogging.
Yet.
“So, that! That’s what happened.” I give my friends my best innocent ‘whoopsie silly me being all foreigner’ smile, and hope for the verdict. Are they buying this? Are they not?
“…Well, I guess you are really European,” Majin says. He’s laughing too, now. So are the rest. But I can tell they’re convinced, beause now this went from ‘hahah, Aragón is an idiot’ to ‘hahah, Aragón is so quirky’. VAST IMPROVEMENT.
“Took you three seconds to get the mic slapped off your hand.”
“God, fuck me, I hate how accurate that fucking statement is.”
Huh. Or, or not. Maybe not?
Once the panel is completely over, I rush to the stage to talk to Grant and Famous and apologize profusely. Sure, I’m an idiot, and the whole Spanish thing is a lie – but I did not know this was PG, and also I did not want to do anything that would mess anything up. I like these people, I want their shit to go well.
Thankfully, they’re good sports. Both of them take the whole thing well and we share a laugh about it– they understand it was me being a quirky European. There’s no ill will. My friends slap me on the back and we leave the hall, back to Quills and Sofas for a moment, and then to have a bite.
Okay. Okay! They’re buying it. They think I’m just being Spanish, and not utterly fucking braindead, which is something they’re probably suspecting already but fuck, I can probably fool them into thinking I have dignity for a few more months. So, cool. Cool! I’ve still got it.
I sweep the sweat off my forehead. Thank God that there was nobody around who’s, say, some kind of intellectual who understands the way words work in other languages.
I’ve still got it. I’ve still got it.
“See, Bad Horse, Aragón said ‘Raritwi is my fetish’ on that panel and they immediately took his mic away. But it’s fine, because in Spanish the word ‘fetish’ has religious connotations, not sexual connotations? You see, Bad Horse? You see?”
Ah, God fucking damn it.
So someone tells the story, and I just go fuck it, and I repeat it myself but this time in front of Quills and Sofas. Only now Bad Horse is also there, and he’s looking at me weird. Oh shit. Oh, shit he’s gonna call me out.
Bad Horse opens his mouth. No clue what he’s gonna say. “I—”
Oh, fuck, he noticed this doesn’t make se—does this motherfucker know Spanish. Oh shit. I wouldn’t put it past him. MAYBE HE KNOWS SPANISH. SHIT. OH GOD. OH GOD MY COVER IS B—
“Wait, how can ‘Fetish’ mean anything religious?” Sappho asks, all of a sudden. “What does that word have to do with religion at all?”
And Bad Horse immediately turns to her. “Well, actually, it also has religious connotations in English!” he explains, completely forgetting about me. “The original word meant a charm or an idol, and it changed over time.”
“Really?”
“Yeah!” I jump in too. Jesus Christ, Sappho with the fucking save, and she doesn’t even know she did it. “Words change meaning over time, I guess, but if you play DnD the word ‘fetish’ is used a lot like that. ‘Fetish of this or that god’ and shit like this.”
“Yes, yes.”
The conversation goes on for a bit, and then we drift—and Bad Horse has to leave at one point, because he’s getting ready for a panel he’ll host later with some other folks. I let out a sigh of relief.
Okay! So, I got scared there for a second—but y’know, thinking about it, maybe I’m just paranoid. Bad Horse doesn’t know Spanish. Shit, Kuairu didn’t know Spanish, and he’s Hispanic. Maybe I can pull this off! Maybe nobody is going to notice that the fetish thing was me being an English-fluent bellend! Maybe I’ll take this secret to my grave!
God fuck!
Bless this fandom’s inability to speak my mother tongue!
“¡Eh, tú! Aragón! Haragán, hermano! Cómo va?”
God dammit. Son of a bitch.
I forgot Wanderer D exists for a moment.
So the place is the Alehouse, a pretty sweet restaurant that you know is American because they have a giant flag by the wall.
The crowd is one you should be familiar with, at least partially. The seducer, Iryerris, by my side. He’s not wearing leather anymore, he’s wearing a suit for the Gala, but he kept the cat ears. Majin by my other side. Across the whole table: Pascoite, Bloons, EquestrianSen, Regidar, Distaff Pope—hope I’m not forgetting anybody—and Wanderer D.
Y’know. The Mexican mod. The one who speaks pitch-perfect Spanish.
“Hey, man! What’s up!” This is my reply, and I say it in Spanish, obviously. This was an agreement D and I had: if we meet, we speak in Spanish, and we do not tell our companions what we’re talking about.
The idea is to scare the gringos, as I already mentioned, and D goes straight to the fucking point.
“So.” He’s smiling as he says this. “That blog about the dog. Was it true?”
There’s something mischievous about Wanderer D. He’s what happens when a man is put into a position of power, and he knows exactly how to have fun with it. He’s smooth when talking, he has a deep voice, but there’s something boisterous about him. Something bold. Something, pardon the pun, telenovelesque.
So I smile at him. Was the dog blog true, he asks? I reply with the truth: “It absolutely was. The blog was completely true.”
Then I start to explain exactly what happened, and, remember: this is in Spanish, and the entire table is silent, listening to us. Watching us talk. They don’t understanding a single word.
I am gesturing wildly.
“Like, I look down my window, right? And here’s this dude grabbing his dog, and he’s masturbating it right there.” I jack off the air in front of me. “And his thumb is,” I mimic this with clinical precision, “clearly stuck inside the dog’s asshole.” I twist my thumb in my fist to further the point. “And he just massages the fucking thing and and bam, bam,” masturbating the air, speaking in Spanish, normal Saturday evening, “bam, bam, bam!”
Pause.
I put my hands down, and I switch back to English: “So yeah, that whole thing’s true.”
The table is in silence. Jaxie is looking at us, bewildered. “What the fuck?” he asks.
“Oh, you know. Spanish stuff.”
Lunch arrives. I ask for a salad, and it’s bigger than my fucking head, and it is also spicy. I honestly do not fucking understand what happened to you people in 1776, because first the whole Constitution business, and now this? I also ask for some crab dip; you can’t leave Baltimore without trying it, everybody keeps telling me.
GaPJaxie sits in front of me. He asks for an ale named, I shit you not, “The Wastelands”. That’s the name of the drink. We’re all surprised when it arrives and ends up being dry as fuck because, turns out, we’re all huge fucking idiots sometimes.
Jaxie is a nice fellow. I met him early during the day after we had a nice chat regarding the panel he hosted with Majin; he’ll host another one later on this day, with Bad Horse and Wanderer D, and we’ll also attend that one. He has short hair and sharp face. He has long limbs, and he moves with skittish snaps that makes them look longer. There’s a certain focus in his expression, whenever he’s not talking to someone. As if he was always thinking about something you don’t know about.
“Oh my God, your throat gets drier the more you drink this. I can’t believe it.”
“Really?” I point at his ale. “Can I try it? You can try mine if you want.”
“Sure!”
We both grab each other’s glass, and take a sip.
We put the glasses down, in silence.
“Yep,” I say after a bit, tapping the table with my fingers. “Yyyyep. Mine is bet—”
“Yours is far better.”
Nobody can fucking touch Jaxie’s drink. This Alehouse has somehow found a way to liquefy dust.
“…So Aragón said he has a ‘fetish’ for Raritwi, because in Spanish it has religious undertones.”
“Really, now?”
AH, FUCK!
Snap my head to the right, quickly—and God dammit Majin is telling Wanderer D the whole story. Oh shit. Oh shit, D is looking at me and he’s…
…Smiling?
In Spanish, D asks me: “Well, that isn’t true, is it?”
I smile back at him. I wink. He laughs.
And in English, D tells Majin: “I guess, yeah!”
Conversation continues like normal, and I can’t believe what just happened. Holy shit. Did Wanderer D just cover my ass here to help me save face? Jesus. I can’t believe this worked. Holy shit.
Am I safe now? This should be it. Am I just—shit is this going to be the official story from now on? Am I finally going to be seen as not a total idiot?
Wait, no, wait a minute. I take out my phone and quickly check the raspberry blog. If I remember correctly, some of my followers did say that…
…aaaaaah God dammit.
Well, fuck it. I’ll just say what happened in the blog once I write it. HEY, GUYS. I FOOLED YOU ALL. THAT’S NOT HOW SPANISH WORKS.
I’M JUST AN IDIOT.
SURPRIIIIIIISE.
I see Majin taking out the ecig, and I squint. “Tobacco-flavored still?” I ask, pointing at it.
Majin looks at me. “Yes?”
I nod. I point at it. Fuck it, I think. “Fuck it,” I say. “Third time’s the charm. May I?”
Majin smiles, and hands me the ecig.
AGCHJG. GAGHGCK AGJGKK.
GAJGJH.
CAGKGHGK GAHGJG. GAHGKKGKG JGAHGK.
“Aragón. For fuck’s sake.”
So after learning that somebody took pictures of me suffocating (I have learned a valuable lesson: I don't like vaping), we go to the panel Bad Horse, Wanderer D, and Jaxie are hosting. It’s on advanced writing tips.
It’s a good panel! I feel I say that about every panel, but to be honest, I only attended three of them and they were all top-notch (eat your heart out, Galacon). I’m sitting with Octavia Harmony, and when Bad Horse mentions using geography to advance your story thematically – characters move forward literally and metaphorically, is the gist of it; wait for Bad Horse’s blog on the issue to know more details – and what that means if you make your character literally return to the place whre the story started, Octavia Harmony leans towards me.
“Isn’t that from the Hero’s Journey?” he asks.
And I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “Returning home is the last part of the traditional Hero’s Journey, actually. Hmm.”
So when they say, ‘any questions?’ I get up and get in queue. R5h is right behind me, and we’re both waiting for our chance to ask something. Mind you: I have no joke in mind this time. I’ve learned my lesson. I fully intend to ask a serious question. I am not gonna fuck this up.
It’s my turn. I walk up to the microphone.
Bad Horse speaks before I can say anything. “Ah, this time do not use the word, please.”
They snicker, I snicker back. We’re having fun! Question time.
“Okay,” I start. So far so good. “Bad Horse, you mentioned that geographical movement can be used as an indicator of the way the characters have evolved, and that returning to a previous place can cause contradictory elements. But the Hero’s Journey—I don’t know how you guys feel about it—traditionally ends with the hero’s return to the place where it all started.”
Right, good explanation. Now, the question.
“So, wouldn’t it actually be fitting for the hero to return to a previous place, sometimes? To create contrast? I mean, I suppose you did mention coming back to a room where the heroes have been previously defeated to invoke that old sense of dread, and that could be used.”
Wait.
Hold on did I just answer my own fucking question as I was asking it?
Oh shit.
Oh shit, I did. Fuck. Okay I can deal with this. I can, uh, I can buy time—what if I just. What if I just keep talking, right, and eventually I’ll find something to ask. Yes. Yes, good idea.
“…So the fact that returning to a previous place can metaphorically bring the characters back and undo their ongoing growth might actually be part of the story, if they, uh, if they need to grow past their past failures, and coming back might be a step forward.” THAT IS NOT A QUESTION. ASK A QUESTION. “No?” OKAY GOOD SAVE.
The three panelists look at me.
Total fucking confusion in their eyes.
“Uh…” Wanderer D is a brave man: he picks up the mic. “Uh, okay. So you’re asking if returning to a previous place actually undoes the character’s growth?”
YES. “Not really.” FUCK. WHY DID I SAY THAT. “I’m asking, uh.” YEAH NO SHIT YOU HAVE NO CLUE WHAT TO SAY. YOU DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE A QUESTION. “I’m saying, okay. So, let me start again.” WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS. “The Hero’s Journey involes coming back to the starting place. This is so there’s a contrast between how they started the story and how they ended it. By coming back, you finish the story as a circle—and it can feel somewhat unfinished if stories don’t wrap up like this, so the question is, uh. So, right, they come back, right?”
The three panelists look at me.
Again.
Bad Horse squints. “I don’t… I—what?” He cocks his head to the side. “What?”
“Okay. So what I’m asking is—”
Jaxie leans in. “We’ve got one minute before the panel ends.”
“—and that was all!” I give the mic to R5h, still waiting behind me, and I shoot some fingerguns at the panelists. “Great panel, guys! Heyoo.”
I go back to my seat.
“Well,” I say, sitting down. Octavia Harmony and Majin are there with me. “That went we—”
“That was fucking undecipherable.”
I say my goodbyes soon enough; the next day I need to wake up early, because there’s a plane to catch. Sure, the plane leaves at 5pm – but I’d like to see the con in the morning before that.
So I phone LazyReader—I’m staying at his house, remember?—and I ask him where he is. “I’m at Quills and Sofas,” I explain. “Where are you?”
“At the game room! We’re playing changeling. Room 309-310, if you want to come here and wait till the round is over.”
I nod. He can’t see it, we’re talking over the phone, but it’s the thought that counts. “Sure,” I say. “I’m at room 328, I’ll be right there.”
I hang up. Okay, I think to myself as I put my phone in my pocket. Room 309-310. That should be easy to find.
“Dude Aragón it’s been like forty minutes where the shit were y—”
“I AM TERRIBLE AT NAVIGATING SPACES, OKAY?”
“Yo—you got lost?”
“YES.”
“Aren’t the rooms literally numbered?”
“YES.”
“And you got lost.”
“YES.”
LazyReader rubs his forehead. “Okay, just wait until this round is over, and then we go home.”
So I sit down—I’m panting, I’ve been running around like a lost piglet in New York City for the last thirty-seven minutes—and I look at the room, waiting for LazyReader to finish his round so we can go home. It’ll last five to ten minutes, and once it’s over we’ll catch a Lyft and immediately go to sleep.
But in the meantime, I have enough time to look around, and think for a bit. I know. Shocking.
At some point during the night, between the panel and me leaving, I got a Fimfic Private Message. I checked it, and I must admit—it made me smile a bit, if anything because I found it funny.
Would you look at that.
Seems like I still got it.
I look at LazyReader, and I soon pick up that he’s made friends in this room. Two or three. In the time I’m there, he starts talking to a fourth person—and they’re soon extremely friendly, too. It takes him, what, three seconds?
I haven’t talked a lot about LazyReader, but what can you say about him? That he’s nice? He let me stay at his house for free without knowing me all that well, just because he knew that I needed a place where to sleep. Of course he’s nice. That he’s fun? He’s been playing this game and making friends left and right for hours, he’s the social equivalent of a Katamari ball. Of course he’s fun.
Nothing you can say about him. He’s the perfect example of what the show is about, I suppose. We can leave it at that.
The day is almost over, and to be honest, I am tired. Yesterday I walked among legends. Today, I walked among friends. I also fucked up – funny how during Day One there were barely any Aragón Moments ™, so in Day Two I picked up the slack by having two, in a row, in front of a microphone and a live audience. Son of a bitch.
And now Bronycon is ending, and the next day is going to be the last. I wonder if I’m ever coming back. I hope I will. If not to Bronycon, to something else—maybe just to get a chance to meet these people again, in the future.
LazyReader is about to end the round, and they’re all talking and laughing among themselves. The atmosphere of the room reminds me of Quills and Sofas, when all the writers reunite and goof around and talk about nothing and everything at the same time. There’s laughter, there’s screaming, and they’re all having a good time.
Lotta people at Bronycon, when you get to think about it. Irye and Jaxie, Wanderer D and Bloons, Sapphire and Bad Horse, Octavia Harmony and Regidar. Majin—legendary—and the Quill and Blade folks. Swan Song, and R5H. The five-year old girl who believed in Chat Noir. Every other person I can’t possibly list.
Completely different folks, completely different motivations and characters and ways to talk and think and act. Me, among them, fucking up big time. LazyReader and his new friends, in this room. And we’re all doing the same. Talking, and laughing, and screaming, and having a good time.
The next day I would learn that Bronycon is wrapping up in 2019. It’s the end of an era. Times change, and we all move on, and nothing will ever be the same, and one gets blue when thinking what waits for us in the future.
But for the moment, you know. I look at this, and I think of Quills and Sofas, and one can’t help but smile.
What the hell.
We all still got it.
To be continued, and finished, in Day Three.
Sorry, Morning Sun, and sorry, Dubs. It got too long and I had to shuffle your scenes. Next time you have the spotlight.
So turns out Sapphire recorded the Quill and Blade scene that opens the blog, and showed me the transcription of the video she made (because she's having trouble uploading the video; I'll post it once we manage to get it.) It's this:
What the shit, man. I got super close, no? See what I mean with accurate. Dang it.
You didn't mention the part where they cut your mic off at the second panel, too. Maybe you're just not fit for any form of public speaking at Bronycon?
Legen
Dary
Tell me more about the public toilets
YOU SON OF A BITCH
I BELIEVED YOU
On the one hand, I do regret not interacting with you more. Definitely could've made some of those moments worse and/or better for you. Possibly at the same time. On the other, our paths intersected so rarely that it's like I'm getting to hear about a completely different convention, and it's amazing.
Also, holy crap, you got lost going from Quills & Sofas to the gaming room? That's almost literally walking in a straight line.
You absolute legend. And that chat noir experience sounds super wholesome.
gg, Aragon.
4913556
NO! Why is Bronycon ending?
Glad we got to meet - even briefly.
Thanks for taking the time to read some of my crap
Just cuz I can't speak Spanish doesn't mean I don't know it. And I totally would have ratted you out by accident if I was there, not gonna lie. XD
Maybe, but I wouldn't cough up a storm after having an e-cig. So I'm still better!
YOU JUST GRAB FINGERS. HOW HARD IS IT TO GRAB FINGERS. AY, ESTE BLANQUITO.
LOL. Nah, we typically dress "American style", which means tight jeans that totally show off our butts.
Really wish I could have hanged out with you more! I had my own little case of fuck ups that we could probably measure who had it worse. XD
I said this last year, too, and no one believed me, but Bloons is actually pretty hot. I'm glad you agree.
i.imgur.com/nYGeIhi.png
Well now this boisterous man is blushing.
Or is he trying to seduce you?
I have to say Aragon that once I met you it has become harder to read your blogs as my natural inclination is to read them in your actual speaking voice.
Which is difficult because you have a rather unique vocal profile for an English speaker and you speak at roughly 1200 WPM.
Glad you had a good time, though.
4913615
I'd ship it, but you're already my husbando, WD.
4913620 There's always enough D to share.
...
And I just wrote that. Wow. Eh. Publi—
4913621
Oooh, I like the way you think.
I might have to convert!
Anyway, yeah, your question during the Advanced Writing panel was incomprehensible. It was kind of hilarious to listen to.
The wit in these blogs cracks me up, man, it honestly does. No matter what, you'll still have that. And I didn't even hear any of this "fetish means something different in Spanish" bullshit. Or I just don't remember it, considering I was at least at the dinner and I should have heard Majin talking to Wanderer D about it.
In my defense, so many things happened at BronyCon, it's hard to keep track of it all. Made me realize that every group should just have that one person who records everything just to keep it all intact.
Or you write blogs, I suppose.
Honestly though, like:
Gosh, this... just... I squealed, okay? I squealed as much as that little girl did because that moment was magical. If anyone is giving you shit about bunnyhopping or being girly, I made the most unmanly sounds at that moment, because, goodness me, meeting that sweet little girl was just that amazing of an experience.
4913669 Dude, just reading it warmed my heart, I can't even imagine being there.
I mean, whose isn't?
4913621
Aragon is a terrible influence.
I'll cover your ass anytime baby
I'll digest this next week (busy weekend), but:
Has... has he seen the show? No, I'm serious. That's literally every permutation of the M6+Spike(eww)+Starlight. Doesn't keep Raritwi from being bar none one of the best M6 pairings.
This needs to be an animated series, Jesus Christ.
Yet again, this is amazing. By the way, had no idea Wanderer D was Mexican =O.
what a fucking ride these blogs are
No te liberaras de mi tan fácilmente.
HOW can you not reveal the name of Maijin's OC. Dammit, I sat next to the man in a Brazilian steakhouse and we devoured big hunks of meat off titanic sabers and I PAID for the whole thing (for at least a few seconds until everypony threw money at me) and yet I didn't know to ask.
Maijin! Please! …or did you just reveal it?
Fun fact: that thing about "fetish" having religious-ish (albeit pagan, not Christian) connotations in Spanish is essentially true: http://dle.rae.es/?id=HpHhvVa
(Compare with English Fetishism, not to be confused with Sexual Fetishism)
And at least in my experience, "I have a fetish" usually DOES mean something among the lines of "I have a strong bias" (usually, but not necessarily, of a sexual nature).
Still a very bad word choice (especially in a PG panel), but your excuse actually does make some sense!
4913588
Many reasons. In short, the fandom is aging, attendance is shrinking, and we want BC to go out /as/ BC in the way everyone remembers and loves it - the Giant Amazing Awesome MLP con it has grown into - and so rather than dwindle and fade into something not-us, we're going out with a giant, amazing 4-day party next year.
ALSO FOR THIS SIN THERE CAN BE NO FORG- okay I forgive you
4914223
If the fandom grows again, will there eventually be another convention?
Because G5 is coming.
And you know what? Even if it doesn't happen, the MLP Fandom shall never die. And even if it does, it'll live on in our actions and way of life.
4913575
Google <fetish etymology>:
The word didn't take on any sexual connotation until Freud wrote an essay, "Fetishism", in 1927, claiming that all fetishes (objects believed to have supernatural powers) symbolized penises. (Freud was all about the penises.)
From Primer diccionario general etimológico de la lengua española, published in Barcelona in 1902, Volume 2, p. 735:
lh4.googleusercontent.com/muKFuGhjZFCO6atd4TP8Fpx9FEzzb0RfozaUESH8mqLGbhrT9uFaMfPWHqzrg0sz2ifSaGRSCclGLb_ZrLdz8iZD-P1LuKTu7S3VxPIyYv6GhPuqOh2rZ0jkzXkfLwCCCb6_YUni
"Cada uno de los ídolos ú objetos de culto supersticioso en tierra de negros." = "Idols or objects of superstitious worship in the land of blacks."
So Aragon spent the past week priding himself on getting away with saying something that was in fact correct.
(This still doesn't explain why he has a religious devotion to RariTwi, though.)
You did eventually manage to get out your question, which was that the hero in a Hero's Journey comes back to where he began, but is now victorious instead of a loser, and this seems to contradict my claim that places should be associated with a consistent emotion (whereas being a loser and being a victor produce opposite feelings).
I wasn't confused because I didn't understand the question. I was confused because I had this in my slides:
lh3.googleusercontent.com/HN531dXxQbwPr8Awj2M7JKJwNuGjp2QwuMC7fTq8vC0r07_KYdhNiKt2jQhAhAKUaHQ-cOrXEWzp-t7pkuhU74MKh8Umruq84u-_Kj4_F7ekgFvsvNGzka6My_rzdYlHKT6q1ZtZ
And this:
lh6.googleusercontent.com/cjK_KMutbgRNUsSz2IKC_oIbJi1QZTph2pTqs324MntdJb3spIfSxuWjq17b2pwo7uR1D23yIE-nUDfJPoem1caBsVvxVyRL0E97LskUvib6eKPKL2nMDGOY2Je39REQJU3m5_UX
And this:
lh4.googleusercontent.com/kmu5oEvOnK7i-Cc1FyiGYxKLWfxoWwUngm9NWk7URFEc9UzFJ-DfNL4XMuwWnvpBPvnPTqxrQ9aq2y0S45g17W0mn_Yyx2aKjMxc7L-H8kQQLko4RrVGikJpZQfCnB25SB27lieV
I did, however, have two slides in my presentation that didn't address your question.
4914223
I do think attendance would be higher if Bronycon weren't scheduled on the same weekend as Galacon. The Americans and Europeans should talk to each other to avoid that in 2019.
Being one week after Trotcon was also a problem for people in the midwest.
4913883
I think the OC's name was "Your Mom".
4914492
4914293
There already are other cons
Once again, I find myself somewhat sharply reminded that Cons, of pretty much any stripe (Pony or gaming or RPG or whatever) do not apper to be anything like the wargames shows that are the things I attend (in the UK). Like, not even distantly. You'd have though they might be, but they really do not seem to be.
4914293
I'm not thinking beyond 2019 at the moment, so I have no idea what will come in the future.
4914489
The problem is that there's a ton of stuff:
Anthrocon/AX, SDCC, Otakon, etc. Colliding with another event is virtually guaranteed, and Galacon always seems to be the most common collision spot.
4913752
For real though, I just can't see them working together unless the characters have a ton of extra content thrown their way... much like I do with Spike stories.
I pride myself in having seen every episode of the show, though!
Also, Aragon:
Now I know the truth.
Wait, what do European bathrooms look like, then? How do you avoid people awkwardly seeing you on the toilet?
Also, how dare you suggest that Gandalf the Grey does not crush mad pussy?
This is fair.
I wish I could have seen that scene with the little girl who went agog over Iry.
Oh
My god
Ahh, I remember seeing the discussion about this on Discord. The foreign language/Spain thing is slightly believable. If you're ten or something. Or maybe haven't read enough to know it's an English language thing too. I dunno.
I knew it! I knew it!
Also, my god, this is just the best description. This is going on my resume. When people ask, "So what are you like?" this is what I'm reading.
So your pictures came back: