Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [167]
And so they came, and saw, and in some cases even conquered. Keeping all that in mind, you also have to add into this rather heady mixture of social misfits desiring community, the interest of general sci-fi and fantasy fans, passive fans, people lost and looking for directions, the generally curious, couples with an afternoon to kill, aspiring artists, aspiring writers, innocent children who don’t know any better, and people who just want to come and gawk, because aside from just the hardcore weirdoes and the chronically lonely, comic book conventions had also recently become immensely popular with the masses—and I do mean masses—due to all the recent superhero movies. Consequently, tons of people came every year to see guest actors, featured directors, and previews for whatever Hollywood was offering up next. Not that it was really any different from what had been in theaters the previous year, or the year before that, or the year before that—but to promote it, the studios gave away free stuff, and the masses love free stuff.
Owing to the enormous popularity of connectedness, voyeurism, and just general ‘wa’s up’ surrounding comics conventions (or ‘cons’ in attendee parlance), we had to park several miles away in a small lot somewhere very near the international date line, and paid the attendant with a credit card that, fortunately for us both, still worked. He let us in with barely a second glance, despite the fact that—with the exception of Waboombas and Morgan—we were all still extremely naked.
“Here for the comics convention?” he asked pleasantly, as if carloads of bare-assed people showed up for that every day.
“Yes, we are,” I said, equally pleasantly.
“Enjoy yourselves,” he said, handing us a ticket and waving us in.
“We already are,” Wisper said, smiling pleasantly and fanning her bare breasts to alleviate the heat from the man’s intense gaze.
Once safely parked, I opened the trunk, and it barfed out our luggage. All that crashing, towing, and wild driving had left things in a terrible jumble that took a few minutes to sort out.
I handed Waboombas her suitcases, tossed Morgan his, and grabbed mine from under the spare tire, turning it over to Wisper.
“See if there’s something in there that will fit,” I said.
She cocked her head and looked at me with irritation.
“Just for now,” I said. “Promise.”
She sighed, unconvinced, and opened the case. As she did, I grabbed something from inside and handed it to River.
“It’s likely to be a tight fit,” I told him, “but you can probably squeeze into this.”
“Are you insane?” he asked. “I am not wearing clothing!”
Waboombas laughed. Or burped, I still hadn’t worked it out. “I love this guy.”
“Then you’ll have to stay in the car. In this world, there are laws about exposing your privates in public.”
“What? I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous in my life. Laws against the human body. Where are we? Nazi Germany?”
Why did everyone always pull out ‘Nazi Germany’ when they found something the least bit repressive? Things must have been really bad there at one time.
By way of attempting an explanation, I took the bag I’d most been concerned with—the bag that would make everything better—and pulled it onto the asphalt, opening the zipper for River and the others to see.
“Comics!” River said excitedly.
He reached down and took a couple, then grimaced.
“What is this?” he said, holding one out like it was covered in Ebola virus. “Spiderman is wearing pants? I’ve been reading Spiderman my whole life!