Squashed Fly Biscuits - the round shortbread ones or garibaldis, whichever is more convenient.
Bonus points if someone is disappointed to find out they don’t contain real flies.
(all the bonus points ever if it involves T'reka, I’ve totally fallen in love with that story, but realistically whoever fits the prompt)
From the Journal of T'reka the Inquisitive:
With exposure, I have been picking up some of the human language. They understand that I am still learning and change their speech modes accordingly. On our return to Toxic Island, and with some help, I helped them understand that they were sharing the planet with my people, and that my people were more comfortable with the humans remaining on Toxic Island for now.
They are currently pleased with this, as colonizing Toxic Island has proven to be difficult. Or, to use a human term, ‘interesting’. They are sharing with me their foods and beverages. Which can be a source of some confusion…
*
Alice watched Trekker as she lit politely on a chair not made for her anatomy. For all her muted colour, she was a pretty bird. Avian life form. As always, her monitors’ lights indicated that she was recording.
As always, her query in English was preceded by mutterings in her native tongue. Alice could pick out a few words, here and there, even if she mangled their pronunciation.
Eventually, Trekker asked/sang, “What you make?”
Alice didn’t think too hard. She was busy measuring and mixing. “Squashed Fly Biscuits.”
Trekker’s eyes lit up. “You insectivorous?”
Oops. “Not this time. Sorry. It is a… wrong name on purpose. A misnomer.”
“No flies?” sang Trekker sadly.
“No flies. Is raisins. Dried grapes.” Alice offered her a spare handful.
Trekker examined them in a very birdlike way. Looking at them with each eye. Twice. Thrice. Gently picked one up in her wing-fingers and tasted it.
“Very grape. Very sugar.”
“Sweet. We say 'sweet’ for sugar taste,” corrected Alice.
“Your talk has many word for same thing,” complained Trekker. “Why you no say 'dry grape biscuits’?”
Ah. They’d had trouble over this, before. “It is funny for us. Raisins look like squashed flies. We do not eat real flies. They are… unclean.” Alice had to stop herself from adopting Trekker’s singsong method of talking. “Make us very sick.”
“Is joke, yes?”
“Yes. Is joke.”
“Is all joke for food? I hear males talk and eat of 'shit on shingle’.”
Alice blushed. “Not all jokes are for food,” she allowed. “Just some. We find many things funny.”
“Why did chicken cross the road? For science?” offered Trekker.
Alice sighed. As far as her version of diplomacy was concerned, this was a massive failure. “Ye-es,” she allowed. “But that is also a joke in bad taste.”
“Bad… taste?”
“Because it makes fun of you.”
Trekker bird-examined her. Looking with each eye. “You… respect science?”
“Yes. Otherwise we’d still be in a cave and hitting each other with rocks.”
“For my people… science is… foolish. I am… used… to being made fun of.” She preened a little. Coming over as nervous and shy. “Curiosity is same word for… idiot.”
Alice sniffed back proto-tears. Never before had she wanted so hard to just grab the alien creature and hug all the bad feeling away. Alas, this was still seen as an attack move by Trekker. “We hold curiosity in great merit,” Alice explained. “For us, stupidity is never asking 'why’.”
Trekker sat a little straighter. Held her head a little higher. “I am start to hold human in great merit,” she sang.
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